Church and Academy [4]

Theory Is the Best Practice

Theory without practice is useless. Practice without theory is idiotic.

Let me restate that in the church’s idiom: Theology without action is unfaithful. Action without theology is foolish.

Or, in strictly biblical terms: Faith without works is dead. Works without faith are pointless.

All of these assertions point to the continuity of theory and practice, understanding and acting, faith and works. You cannot have one without the other. They are not actually separable.

The church too often acts as though they are separable. There may not be a more critical illness afflicting God’s people, at least among Western Christians. Let me explain.

I grow weary of hearing Christians say, “But what are supposed to do?” Or, “We’re just talking about ideas. Can we be practical?” Or some other variation of the complaint.

Such statements represent a separation of theory and practice that is all too eager to jettison theory. On the one hand, many Christians see no need for theory in the first place. We understand enough; can’t we just get on with practice? On the other hand, many Christians forced to confront theory quickly grow impatient and want to know the so what? Where are the practical steps, action items, or strategic plans?

There are various reasons for this phenomenon. Our culture is dominated by technocrats, and “getting things done” is a core value. Church people are ill-equipped to make the move from theory to practice (much less from practice to theory) without specific directives. The importance of imagination for practice is largely unappreciated. And, at the bottom of it all, the understanding of theory as a practice has been lost. We simply capitulate to the division of theory and practice, assuming that there is such a thing as unpractical theory.

I think it’s fair to say I’m a practitioner. At 42, I haven’t lived in the ivory tower. The “field” is my native environment. I’m a scholar, but these comments cannot be dismissed as the complaints of an academic isolated from the realities of the congregation or the mission field. I am concerned, rather, by the practical implications of church’s isolation from the theory of the academy.

Granted, I’m familiar with theory that seems impractical. Of course, ideas that make no difference are conceivable. But that is not what I find the church rejecting. In fact, I rarely find the church distinguishing between consequential and inconsequential ideas (because, of course, doing so would require the practice of theory). Rather, any idea without practical specifications is, it seems, suspect among many (most?) church members.

So here’s my claim: theory is the best practice.

Churches need to learn how to understand their contexts, their Scripture, and their callings. The question is whether the local congregation can see (from the Greek, theōreō) what God is up to and how to respond wisely. Seeing aright is a full-blown practice or set of practices.

So theory is practical. But I’m saying, moreover, theory is the best practice. I admit, I’m tempted to hedge. It’s easy to make the obvious caveats: Not always for everyone in every context. Not absolutely. Not necessarily. Instead, I’m going to double down. Yes indeed, theory is the best practice.

This is an evaluative statement, and maybe you don’t share my values. Or maybe my values are wrong. But I do, at least, have reasons—you might say a theory—to substantiate the claim.

1. Church leaders can insist on theory. They cannot enforce practice.

I think these claims are self-evident, but let me extrapolate. Apart from an unChristian exercise of power, church leaders cannot enforce practice, but they can unimpeachably insist on theory. For example, it is perfectly acceptable to offer a plea, an exhortation, even a directive to pray based on an understanding and explanation of the practice. But any means of enforcing the practice, whether carrot or stick, is not only illicit but inimical to spiritual growth.

There can be no requirement of practice in the Christian community. There can be challenge, correction, and condemnation. There can be influence. There can be social pressure. These are inevitable for any community.

Granted, the distinction between prohibitions and requirements is blurry. For example, the Christian community has often enforced a prohibition on the practice of sexual immorality (1 Cor 5:1–13). Such prohibitions are always based on theory. If we cannot give an account of why a practice is outside the bounds of the community’s identity, we cannot justly proscribe it.

But more importantly, with rare exceptions, the Christian community does not enforce practices considered essential to Christian identity (worship, the eucharist, charity, witness, an so on). Ultimately, the burden is on theory to substantiate, motivate, and sustain practice.

2. Theory can change practice. Practice only changes theory if practitioners bother with a return to theory.

Because the why gives rise to the what, new understanding leads to new practice through innovation, revision, or abandonment. This is necessarily the case. There is no such thing as a human practice not based on theory.

Of course, we all do things thoughtlessly because we’ve always done them, or our parents did, or they are just what is done. In fact, those reasons are a kind of theory—a bad one, to be sure, but a theory nonetheless.

By contrast, practice often fails to reshape understanding. “Just do it” may be a useful mantra in athletics, but it is thoroughly stupid in the church’s life. And more to the point, any time practice reshapes understanding, it is because the church gives attention to theory.

Much of my work has focused on the importance of practice for reshaping theory. My schtick might be summarized as mission gives the church eyes to see. Good theory depends on good practice. But if the church fails to recognize how important seeing is, then practice can do little to reshape theory. If the church doesn’t return to theory and ask what new understandings might arise from practice—if theory isn’t an indispensable practice—then practice changes nothing necessarily.

I admit there is merit in pursuing a practice based on trust. Spiritual disciplines, for example, are often formative despite our understandings, and we practice them because people we trust recommend them. But the fact is, trust is foundational for how we know things and is, therefore, part of understanding. Practices follow from understanding, even if only communal understanding.

3. At the end of the day, practice is a function of worldview. Worldview has to be addressed theoretically.

I anticipate an objection: doesn’t practice reshape theory just as necessarily as theory reshapes practice? Isn’t the power of experience just as great, or even greater, than the power of theory. After all, don’t we think and believe things all the time that do not affect our practical decisions? Isn’t “I think” often impotent in the face of “I feel” or “I want”? Don’t our practices fall short of our avowed believes on a regular basis?

Certainly. But this raises the question: what do we really believe? Behind our statements of belief, even the ones we feel deeply and confess adamantly, is a substrate of understanding, a deep, usually inarticulate theory. This is worldview. How we actually see the world always determines practice.

So how do we address worldview? How can it change? While practice may occasionally penetrate the depths of understanding and reshape worldview, the transformation of worldview normally requires theory, namely, a theory of worldview—a theory of understanding, a theory of theory. Theory is the only practice that can plumb the depths of human being and doing. Theory is the privilege of being human, for whom being is both knowing and doing, doing because of knowing and knowing because of doing.

Why is theory the best practice? Because it is the only recourse for consciously reworking of the bedrock presumptions of our lives, on which all practices stand. That is the ambition of all preaching and teaching. That is the point of Christian theology. As far as the church is concerned, that is the reason for the academy.