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This gesture, this fundamental human impulse to articulate our understanding of ourselves and our place in the cosmos, is where our subject begins. We are meaning-seeking creatures. We build models of reality not just to survive, but to comprehend. Some of these models are scientific, some are artistic, and some are theological. Many assume theology is simply a list of beliefs to be accepted or rejected. A set of answers. But that's incorrect. Theology, as we will define it in this course, is not the possession of answers. It is a discipline of inquiry. It is a structured, rigorous, and often difficult process of asking questions about ultimate reality. It begins not with certainty, but with the same impulse that launched that golden record into the void: a profound and searching curiosity.
What is the difference between a deeply held prejudice and a deeply held conviction? The answer is scrutiny.
The problem this course addresses is the danger of unexamined belief. Faith, in any tradition, that is not subjected to rigorous intellectual examination becomes brittle. It can lead to fideism—the idea that faith is hostile to reason—which can manifest as fundamentalism, intellectual apathy, or a vulnerability to manipulation. When belief is cordoned off from critical thought, it cannot adapt, it cannot be clarified, and it cannot respond to new knowledge from other fields like cosmology, biology, or history. The result is a faith that is either irrelevant to the modern world or actively hostile to it. Our task is not to destroy faith, but to strengthen it through inquiry. We distinguish theology from two adjacent activities. It is not catechesis, which is the instruction of doctrine for the purpose of adherence. And it is not merely religious studies, which often takes a descriptive, anthropological approach from an external perspective. Theology is a constructive and critical task undertaken from *within* a commitment, aiming to make that commitment intelligible, coherent, and responsible.
The most enduring definition of our discipline comes from an 11th-century Benedictine monk and Archbishop of Canterbury.
The classic, formal definition of theology is 'fides quaerens intellectum'. This Latin phrase, articulated by Anselm of Canterbury, translates to 'faith seeking understanding'. Let's parse this carefully. 'Fides', or faith, is the starting point. It is the raw data of theology—the scriptures, the doctrines, the rituals, the communal experiences of a particular tradition. It is a posture of trust and commitment. But it is only the beginning. 'Quaerens' means 'seeking'. This is the active verb, the engine of the entire enterprise. It implies a process, a journey, a dynamic and unending inquiry. It is not 'faith having found', but 'faith in the act of searching'. Finally, 'intellectum', or understanding. This is the goal. It is not mere accumulation of facts, nor is it about 'proving' the faith to an outsider. Rather, it is the pursuit of clarity, coherence, and intellectual insight into the content and implications of one's faith. It is the process of making sense of the commitments one holds, of seeing how they fit together, and how they relate to the rest of human knowledge. Theology, then, is the disciplined application of reason to the content of faith to achieve deeper understanding.
This definition wasn't coined in a peaceful, ivory-tower vacuum. It was a response to a profound intellectual shift in medieval Europe.
Anselm of Canterbury, who lived from about 1033 to 1109, formulated this definition in his work, the *Proslogion*. He was a Benedictine monk and a key figure in the development of Scholasticism. The intellectual world of the 11th century was being reshaped by the rediscovery of classical philosophy, particularly the works of Aristotle, which placed a new emphasis on logic and rational argumentation. The problem Anselm faced was how to reconcile this powerful toolkit of reason with the received doctrines of the Christian faith. Was faith simply to be accepted, or could it be understood? Anselm's project was to apply rigorous logical analysis to the tenets of Christianity. Importantly, his audience was not skeptics; he was writing for his fellow monks. His goal was not to persuade the unbeliever but to provide the believer with a deeper, more rationally satisfying grasp of the faith they already held. This move was pivotal. It helped shift the locus of theological work from a purely monastic, devotional context—the Abbey—to the structured, argumentative, and systematic environment of the nascent medieval universities like Paris and Bologna—the Academy. Anselm's 'faith seeking understanding' became the methodological charter for academic theology for centuries to come.
So how does one actually 'do' theology? It is a structured, cyclical process, not simply unstructured reflection.
The process of 'faith seeking understanding' can be broken down into a general method, a kind of intellectual engine for generating theological insight. While different traditions emphasize different components, a robust theological method generally involves four integrated movements. First, we begin with the primary sources, the 'data' of a given faith. In the Christian tradition, this is primarily Scripture and the history of its interpretation, known as Tradition. This is our 'fides', the starting point. Second, we apply critical reason. This is the 'quaerens'. We use logic and philosophical analysis to examine these sources for their internal coherence, their underlying assumptions, and their logical implications. We ask: What does this text or doctrine actually claim? Are these claims consistent with one another? What follows if they are true? Third, we bring these sources and our rational analysis into dialogue with contemporary human experience and knowledge. This includes the findings of the natural sciences, the insights of the social sciences, and the lived realities of human joy, suffering, and the pursuit of justice. Theology that ignores this step becomes an inert museum piece. Fourth, we aim for synthesis and articulation. This is the 'intellectum'. The theologian's task is to construct a coherent, compelling, and intellectually honest account that integrates these first three components. This is rarely a final, static answer. More often, this new understanding raises new questions, and the cycle begins again.
Let's examine the most famous and controversial product of this method, straight from Anselm's *Proslogion*.
Anselm's Ontological Argument is a perfect, distilled example of 'fides quaerens intellectum'. He begins with a definition of God derived from faith—not from empirical observation—and then uses pure logic to seek an understanding of God's nature, specifically, the necessity of God's existence. The structure is a 'reductio ad absurdum', or a proof by contradiction. Let's walk through a simplified version of its logical syntax. Premise one establishes the definition: God is 'that than which nothing greater can be conceived.' This is the 'fides'. Premise two is a logical axiom about greatness. He then posits a hypothetical for contradiction: suppose this greatest conceivable being exists only in the mind. The argument then shows that this leads to a logical contradiction: a greater being could be conceived—one that also exists in reality. This violates the initial definition. Therefore, the hypothetical must be false. The conclusion, the 'intellectum', is that this being must exist in reality. Whether you find the argument persuasive is not the point for today. The point is the method: faith provides the definition, reason performs the operation, and understanding is the result.
This approach to theology—faith seeking understanding—has several defining characteristics that distinguish it from other disciplines.
When we practice theology in this Anselmian mode, our work will have several key features. First, it is tradition-specific. Unlike philosophy of religion, which attempts to reason from general principles accessible to all, theology operates from within the particular commitments of a specific faith tradition. A Christian theologian starts from a different 'fides' than a Jewish or Muslim theologian. Second, it is critically rational. Theology is not fideism or 'blind faith'. It embraces the tools of logic, history, and literary criticism to examine its own sources and claims. It is, in a sense, a form of institutionalized self-critique. Third, it is systematic in its aspiration. Theologians seek to articulate a worldview that is coherent and comprehensive. They ask how doctrines about creation, for example, relate to doctrines about salvation or ethics. The goal is to build a logically consistent model. Finally, it is existential and practical. While highly abstract, theology is never merely an intellectual game. It grapples with ultimate questions of meaning, value, purpose, and morality. It seeks an understanding that can inform and shape how one lives a human life.
Let's apply this method to one of the most difficult and persistent challenges for monotheistic faith: the problem of evil.
The 'problem of evil' is a classic test case for the theological method. We start with the 'fides', the data from the tradition. Premise one: God is omnipotent, omniscient, and perfectly good. Premise two: Evil and suffering are real features of the world. The 'quaerens', the seeking, begins with the intellectual tension: these two premises appear to be logically incompatible. This is the famous formulation often attributed to Epicurus. How can a good and powerful God allow such suffering? The task of theology is not to deny the premises but to seek an 'intellectum', an understanding that can hold them in a coherent relationship. A classic response is the Free Will Defense, articulated in modern form by the philosopher Alvin Plantinga. It introduces a third proposition: that a world containing free creatures is a greater good than a world of automata. From this, it deduces that genuine freedom must include the possibility of choosing evil. Therefore, God's permission of evil is not a contradiction of God's goodness, but a necessary consequence of creating the greater good of a world with free beings. This argument doesn't 'solve' suffering, but it offers a logically coherent model for understanding—a classic act of 'fides quaerens intellectum'.
This rational method is powerful, but it is not without significant limitations and potential downsides.
The model of 'faith seeking understanding' has inherent tradeoffs. First, because it begins from a specific 'fides', its conclusions are often unpersuasive to those who do not share its initial premises. It is, by nature, an 'insider' discipline, which can limit its contribution to broader public discourse. Second, there is the risk of rationalism—reducing faith to a set of logically consistent propositions. This can neglect the roles of mystery, paradox, ritual, and emotion, which are central to many religious experiences. It risks turning a living faith into a sterile philosophical system. A third limitation is what some have called 'theological arrogance'. The attempt to create a complete, systematic understanding of the divine can fail to respect the profound unknowability of God, a concept central to many traditions and known as apophatic theology. Finally, this method can struggle to account for radical evil or profound suffering. While a logical theodicy might work in a seminar room, it can feel abstract and unsatisfying in the face of genuine tragedy. Reason has its limits, and a mature theology must also know when to be silent.
To clarify what theology *is*, it is helpful to distinguish it from what it is *not*.
How does theology relate to other major disciplines of human inquiry? Let's compare it to two neighbors. First, Philosophy of Religion. This field uses the same tools of logic and reason as theology, but it has a different starting point. Philosophy, in principle, begins from a position of neutrality, using reason accessible to any rational person to ask questions like 'Could a supreme being exist?' or 'What is the nature of religious language?'. Theology, as we've defined it, starts from a commitment *within* a tradition and asks, 'Given our belief in God, what can we understand about God's nature and actions?'. Second, the Natural Sciences. Science and theology have different objects of study and different methods. Science investigates the empirical world, asking 'how' questions through observation, experimentation, and falsifiable hypotheses. Theology investigates questions of ultimate meaning, value, and purpose, asking 'why' questions through textual interpretation, tradition, and rational reflection. The late Stephen Jay Gould proposed a model of 'Non-Overlapping Magisteria' or NOMA, suggesting they are separate domains of authority. While this model is debated, it correctly identifies that they are asking fundamentally different kinds of questions.
As you begin your own theological work, be aware of several common methodological traps.
There are four common pitfalls that students new to theology often encounter. The first is confusing theology with apologetics. Apologetics is the practice of defending a faith against external objections. Its goal is persuasion. Theology's primary goal is understanding for the community of faith itself. While they can overlap, their primary audience and purpose are distinct. The second pitfall is proof-texting. This is the practice of lifting a single verse of scripture out of its literary and historical context to 'prove' a theological point. This is poor exegesis and violates the rigor of the theological method. Third is the trap of rationalism, the belief that reason is the sole arbiter of truth and that anything that cannot be logically demonstrated is false. This ignores the roles of revelation, mystery, and experience in religious life. Finally, there is the opposite error: fideism. This is the rejection of reason in favor of an uncritical, 'blind' faith. This abandons the 'quaerens'—the seeking—and thus ceases to be theology in the sense we have defined it today. A robust theology avoids both of these extremes.
Doing academic theology requires a specific set of scholarly tools, far beyond a simple copy of a sacred text.
To engage in this discipline at a college level, you need the right tools. First and foremost are scholarly editions of primary texts. For Christian theology, this means a modern translation of the Bible based on critical texts, like the New Revised Standard Version with Apocrypha, which includes extensive textual notes. Second are the landmark works of systematic theology. These are comprehensive attempts to articulate a coherent system of belief. Examples include Thomas Aquinas's *Summa Theologica* from the medieval period, Karl Barth's *Church Dogmatics* from the 20th century, and a more contemporary work like Kathryn Tanner's *Christ the Key*. Third, you need tools for close textual work: lexicons for original languages, like the Brown-Driver-Briggs for Hebrew, and concordances for tracing themes. Many of these are now available in powerful digital platforms like Logos Bible Software. Finally, to engage with the current state of the field, you must become familiar with peer-reviewed academic journals, such as the *Journal of the American Academy of Religion* or *Modern Theology*, which are accessible through your university's library databases like the ATLA Religion Database.
Now it's your turn to begin the process of faith seeking understanding.
For this week, your task is to practice the first two steps of the theological method. Take a single, foundational statement of belief. I suggest the first line of the ancient Nicene Creed: 'We believe in one God, the Father, the Almighty, maker of heaven and earth.' Your assignment is not to defend or critique this statement, but to analyze it. First, identify the core assertions. What is being claimed about God's nature—unity, parent-like relation, power—and God's actions? This is the 'fides', the data. Second, begin the 'quaerens', the seeking. Generate a list of critical questions that arise from a close, rational reading of this line. For example: What does 'one God' imply in a pluralistic world? In what sense is the term 'Father' being used, and what are its limitations? How does the claim 'maker of heaven and earth' relate to the scientific account of cosmic origins? Your goal is not to answer these questions yet. The goal is to learn how to ask them with precision. Come to our next session with at least five well-formulated questions derived from this single sentence. This is the beginning of the theological task.
Today we defined theology not as the simple possession of faith, but as the active and critical discipline of faith seeking understanding. This process, rooted in tradition and guided by reason, allows us to explore the deepest questions of meaning in a structured, academic way.