Diagnosing the Theologically Vicious Heart

Here we are asking more than the question of when or how such a heart goes wrong. Given the dynamic process of error and sin, we are assuming the worst in a sense. The greater the capacities of the intellect and the higher the theologian has lifted himself, it is reasonable to conclude that such an apostasy would be, if not quicker, at least more far reaching than the apostasy of the simple false brother or sister. So we are asking the more refined question: Where does theological reflection drift into apostasy?

One way to answer the question is psychological. Such an explanation is still on the level of relating the mind of the theologian to his field of vision: e.g. the text in front of him, doctrinal constructs inside him, or a tradition behind him. But then one peels up another layer of his psyche in asking why the theologian was willing to abandon this truth for that innovation. Augustine took a parenthetical dive into this level in his book On Christian Doctrine. He said,

“In asserting rashly that which the author before him did not intend, he may find many other passages which he cannot reconcile with his interpretation. If he acknowledges these to be true and certain, his first interpretation cannot be true, and under these conditions it happens, I know not why, that, loving his own interpretation, he begins to become angrier with the Scriptures than he is with himself. And if he thirsts persistently for the error, he will become overcome by it.”1

This was essentially a side-trail in an entirely different topic for Augustine that one could only wish he had further pursued. Besides that, he was limiting his explanation to an interpreter of a biblical text. However, this critical mass of cognitive dissonance can happen within the soul standing between any two truths. In other words, an individual who is otherwise perfectly inclined toward orthodoxy comes to a crossroads where he thinks that some other notion is more worthy to be believed. He is deluded in this, of course, but holding to the biblical truth becomes the weaker pleasure. Previously he may have been content (or oblivious) to living with a state of cognitive dissonance. 

For example, such a person could previously have made both of these professions: (1) “I believe that Jesus bore my sins in his body on the tree, as 1 Peter 2:24 says” and (2) “I believe that true love ought to forgive without exacting retribution upon anything that opposes that love.” That these are mutually exclusive commitments of the mind may go unnoticed for a season. Consequently, we all live with any number of pockets of such cognitive dissonance.

But what Augustine’s statement highlights, whether or not he intended to, is that there comes a critical mass of psychological pressure to ditch the weaker pleasure. This is a fundamentally spiritual phenomenon. But for the grace of the Holy Spirit, our desires remain disordered, and so our “theological desires” are no different.  

While Owen did write on Apostasy from the Gospel, taking Hebrews 6:4-6 as his text, and so provided a kind of anatomy of apostasy in its general form, so far as I know, there is no work on the subject that would integrate the various relations of things spiritual, psychological, and logical, going on in the soul of the more theologically active (whether theologian, pastor, or gifted layperson). Such a work would have to be massive. Here I am only touching upon the spiritual vices that begin to grow like leaven in such a soul. 

Another way to approach our question is to ask what it is that the theologically vicious cannot see that others around him can? We are not speaking about something that is so mysterious that God’s word has not warned us against it in many ways. The history of the Reformed churches has really given parables of different personality types that we have probably all witnessed: those who develop these vices into a fuller apostasy.

The Hyper-Calvinist and free-thinking Rationalist that departed from the Reformed confessional community may have many differences between them, but surely both souls were equally quick to forget that we have nothing that has not been given.2 That includes the faculty of reason and even the use of our tongues and pens. Cranmer’s request that his hand be burned first—that hand which signed a false retraction under duress—was for a lesser offense than the heretic would carry to Judgment Day, who used his words in this life to lead God’s children astray. Theological activity that is not conscious of this is sure to depart the furthest from the Scriptures.

Even the best of the medieval devotional literature would have evaluated the use of our thinking as the Puritans did. Self-abasement seems to be at the core of a truly spiritual theology, as described by Thomas à Kempis. For him, right thinking about God is the life of wisdom and personal holiness. Knowledge sought for its own sake, or to make much of oneself, is linked to everything else that passes away.

The trouble seems not to be too rigorous a use of the intellect, nor too much accuracy in one’s doctrine; but rather there is in intellectual pursuit the establishing of oneself as an authority, or the pressure upon oneself to know some unit of information, or “curiosities.”3 Repeatedly the culprit is the inflation of the self.

By contrast, the central virtue he describes as a simplicity of heart, unencumbered by “uncontrolled desires.”4 Passions are to be resisted, but these are only evil as they are inflamed by false hope. That Kempis was not blaming intellect per se is clear in his description of the self-mortifying saint as one “given to contemplation.”5 Hence there is a true hope to contemplate.

What resistance did he prescribe to the inward life of our scholarly Self-ism? Although he would surely be charged with escapism today, he echoed the call of Christ to self-denial, the cross of the Christian that lives for Jesus with the expectation of no other reward.6 Even our choices of which books to read, reports to believe, authorities to esteem, arguments to pursue, and subjects to invest our interests, all reflect where we reside on the spectrum of humility to pride. Seeking the counsel of others, particularly those older, is a remedy. So too is the safety of being subject to authority. In each of these the self is submitting to God through abasing means. No thoughts are better for this, says Thomas, than those of death. Why else do we inflate the self but a false immortality?

One operative assumption in this “diagnosis” of a theologically vicious heart is that spiritual growth and spiritual languishing are both dynamic processes. Romans 12:2 places the duty of transformation and the default of conformity in the same breath. If our theology does not have an eye toward the Holy Spirit’s change of our own hearts, then our theology may actually contribute to our hardening. As there is no such thing as neutral territory outside of us, so the same is true on the inside. We are either actively pursuing the virtues in our theology, or else we will already be in the process of corrupting according to the vices. 

What makes theological vice all the more evil can be seen in what should strike us in the oxymoronic term: “theological vice.” If theology concerns the knowledge of God, then this is to make darkness out of light! It is to call evil what is good, to put what is bitter in for the sweet, and so to earn the woe of Isaiah 5:20.

Vermigli wrote that even the knowledge that comes from God may be arranged in two kinds: effectual or frigid.7 The former has the power to change our lives; and the latter is abused by us, like good fruit gone bad, having been plucked from the vine that is Christ. So it is not the light of God’s truth that goes wrong, but the heart that is a theological thief: stealing enough light to trade in for temporal flickerings. 

Boston says of the supposed virtue of naturally enlightened reason:

“The carnal mind drives heavily on in the thoughts of good, but furiously in the thoughts of evil. While holiness is before it, fetters are upon it; but when once it has got over the hedge, it is as a bird got out of a cage, and becomes a freethinker indeed.”8 

I mentioned that vice of this sort can grow equally among those who deliberately war against orthodoxy (e.g. the rationalist), but also among those who would uphold it (e.g. the Hyper-Calvinist). Among other difficulties, there is the so-called “cage stage” that one never grows out of and which, in many cases, can grow into a more pronounced distortion of the doctrine itself. How this occurs from a systematic theology point of view is subject for another writing. Our question is what is happening in the heart? At the surface, where even his simple friends can see, there is an ugliness of spirit. There is a hostile obsession.

When we do nothing but bite and claw to be champions of orthodoxy or to answer a critic, we are more like the devils and less like the saints will be in heaven. Edwards’ sermon on “Heaven, a World of Love,”9 is a powerful antidote to any such “theology of competition.” There is a kind of polemic that settles for nothing less than one’s own formulation, which, at some point, became more precious than the truth itself. It turns out to be motivated more by envy of the recognition others have obtained.

The life of the saints in glory is diametrically opposed to such bitter polemics. One reason for this is that the greater one’s capacity to enjoy God, the more of God one sees in the excellence of another saint, and thus the comparative littleness one sees of the comparison. In heaven (so Edwards argues) what causes admiration in one creature for another will be extrinsic, since his or her focus will be ultimately on God:

“Those who are highest in glory are those who are highest in holiness, and therefore are those who are most beloved by all the saints” and “those who are above others in holiness will be superior to them in humility.”10

Now what is true in heaven ought to be true of the heralds of heaven in the present. One ought to be able to rejoice in the esteem given to another, as what they have said, when they have said it well, allows more to see the glory of Christ. 

Nurturing the Theologically Virtuous Heart

Given everything that has been said, what does the study of theology require of us spiritually? According to Beeke and Smalley, there are ten things of note which I will summarize here:

(1) Be a disciple of Christ: Acts 4:13. (2) Depend on Christ’s mediatorial work: 1 Cor. 2:2; Jn. 5:39. (3) Seek continual divine illumination by prayer: Eph. 1:17-18; Psa. 119:18, 27, 33. (4) Study the word of God with trembling: Isa. 66:2. (5) Submit your mind to God’s authoritative word: Psa. 19:7-9. (6) Endure suffering for the sake of God’s word: 2 Tim. 2:2-3. (7) Cultivate a spiritual appetite for God’s word: Acts 20:32; Psa. 119:10, 103. (8) Pursue sound theology through an obedient life of love: Jn. 7:16-17; 1 Cor 8:1. (9) Be a faithful member of a faithful church: 2 Tim. 2:22; Prov. 13:20. (10) Use theology as fuel for praise: Psa. 119:171.11

Without a holistic view of theological activity, namely involving the whole soul and in the whole of life, such a list may seem to be drawing circles too wide. But to draw that conclusion would be to ignore what has been said here, that the theological enterprise of man is no less connected to his spiritual state, the grace that has been shown to him, and the spiritual exercises, than any other area of his life.

In his Introduction to Theological Studies, William Cunningham gives three spiritual truths prerequisite to sound theology:

“1st, that all really useful and valuable knowledge of theology, or of God’s will, must come from God himself; 2d, that God imparts this knowledge in connection with the study of his word, and the other means of grace, through the direct agency of the Holy Ghost … 3d, that prayer is the direct and appropriate means which God has appointed and promised to bless, for drawing down upon the influences of the Holy Ghost.”12

Cunningham makes much of the fact that knowledge of one’s spiritual dependence is insufficient, but a regular offering of one’s studies and heart attitude in prayer is alone evidence that one has the right to infer that he will be blessed. Likewise with temptation, so that the man commending spiritual warfare has wielded the sword for himself and not only mouthing the words of his textbook. Thus theology must be “experimental.”

Such principles remind us that to minister to someone else on this path is to be an instrument in the hands of the Spirit. The most important things that must happen to our souls to guarantee a truly spiritual use of the intellect are those things done by God. Augustine testified to this, confessing to the God who was “flavoring all my unlawful pleasures with bitter discontent,”13 and, “the more gracious the less you would allow anything that was not you to grow sweet to me.”14

To speak of theological “virtues” is to allow that we are not simply speaking of rational faculties as one object, coming into contact with ideas as other objects. Rather these intellectual realities are also moral realities. We can all agree that we have a moral responsibility to use our intellectual capacities in ways that are morally right. Even there, however, there is a sense of disconnect between the intellectual and the moral.

The sphere of aesthetics helps to bring the two realities into full contact. Note the way that the Scriptures speak. Aesthetic imagery is brought in to make the intellectual moral. This is the case even about the sensory imagery of light or honey. So knowledge is food for the soul and not merely light for the mind. The sense-saturated imperative to “taste and see that the LORD is good” (Ps. 34:8) is a convergence of the aesthetic, the intellectual, and the moral. The passage may be legitimately appropriated as a call to the cultivation of theological virtue. To think true things of God will be more satisfying to the soul than to waste away in the cheap promises of heterodox “free thinking.” 

Indeed, it can even be said that to know in this fuller sense is to expand the capacities of the natural sense. When Jonathan Edwards spoke of that spiritual sense of the heart, which tastes of the sweetness, or a “kind of excellency,”15 of divine things we might think of this as a second plane of knowledge, not “parallel” to intellectual, as if alien to reason, but rather a more comprehensive (even if transcendent) enlivening of the same. Tasting honey is more than reading about honey and processing what one has read about; but at the same time it can be contemplated with the mind. All the more so, however, once it has been tasted. 

When Scripture is seen as both light and heat together, and that for the soul of the student—the pastor in his study and not only with the congregation in mind—then learning can be profitable. Calvin especially emphasized a piety of taking in the word. This protects both theology and piety from two extremes: knowledge that does not beget piety, and spirituality divorced from the Scripture. The Reformer’s call to self-denial was especially relevant to our intellectual life. “Our own reason”16 is his first target in the Christian duty to crucify the flesh; and yet he was no fideist. His critique of reason here envisions finite reason as judge.

Self-denial must be a rational choice in the end. After all, we do reason that the rewards of heaven far surpass those of this life. He cites Titus 2:11-14 to show that the past grace and future grace of Christ’s appearings “animate us”17 to a sufficient level to renounce our ungodly desires. At its best, this is what is wrapped up in descriptions like “pilgrim theology.” Although I do not care for the use of such labels in the mouths of those who would detract from rigorous and comprehensive doctrine by a false humility of us all seeing only dimly, yet if meant in the way of wisdom I have been describing here, then it is a true and valuable label. 

Concluding Thoughts

This idea of the spirituality of theological activity is a necessary component of prolegomena. It should be among the first things contemplated not only at the front of a massive work on the subject, but also at the front end of one’s own calling into the field. The purpose of this essay was to put some flesh on what we mean by this “spirituality,” so that we do not speak in vague generalities. Such considerations are relevant not only for the academic theology and pastor, but also for any layperson who would make a serious study of theology. 

How does one study to the glory of God? In all that is involved, to glorify God would mean to do that thing in a way that accurately reflects some excellency of God. Faithfulness in staying the course, truthfulness in honest answers, wisdom in studying the right things, self-control and gentleness in contending for the orthodox faith, the exercise of will in hard work, and obeying the first commandment in not making even those studies an idol.

As to how our studies can be an idol, there is no great mystery. If one were to demand of God (whether in prayer or otherwise) to fulfill what we think ought to be the fruits of those labors of study: the right job, position, recognition, etc. Or else if we did them to the neglect of the ordinary means of grace to our own soul, or our love and service to others that God has called us to care for.

But is it wrong to be motivated, in one’s studies, to finish a course or degree program? That is not wrong in and of itself. It can be a subordinate end, or means, to some more explicitly God-glorifying end which is greater. Consider that God is the one that gives us the gifts that we have. Invariably we will gravitate to some field of study that interests us and so our desires match the God-given gifts. Therefore the desire to complete such a program that prepares us for it is a natural pathway to fulfilling God’s call. Such questions must be relentlessly asked at the beginning of the most minute theological endeavor. So let us always be asking them.

What is my own motive even in my inquiry into this or that doctrine or thesis? Is it to be original? Is it to vanquish some opponent or in some other way show myself to be superior? Is it to find some form of permanence? Do the works I read and the trails I follow fill me with more wonder at the Word of God, or with less? And does my processing of them to my own mind, and interpretation of them to other minds, have the effect that they would merely observe the City of God or to inhabit it as well? If I fall short of the latter, then I am not a faithful guide.

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1. Augustine, On Christian Doctrine, I.37.

2. 1 Corinthians 4:7

3. Thomas à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ (Peabody, MA: Hendrickson Publishers, 2004), 20.

4. à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, 3.

5. à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, 11.

6. à Kempis, The Imitation of Christ, 11-12.

7. Vermigli, quote in Beeke and Smalley, Reformed Systematic Theology, I.205.

8. Boston, Human Nature in its Fourfold State, 86.

9. Jonathan Edwards, Charity and its Fruits (Orlando: Soli Deo Gloria, 2005), 285-326.

10. Edwards, Charity and its Fruits, 297.

11. Beeke & Smalley, Reformed Systematic Theology, I:146-56.

12. William Cunningham, Introduction to Theological Studies (Greenville, SC: A Press, 1992​​), 76.

13. Augustine, Confessions, 20.

14. Augustine, Confessions, 78.

15. Edwards, Religious Affections in The Works of Jonathan Edwards: Volume One (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth Trust, 2009), 279.

16. Calvin, Institutes. III.7.3

17. Calvin, Institutes. III.7.3