On Theologians and Theological Books

Touchstone
By David W. Fagerberg
ALTHOUGH there is no listing for it on the IRS form, I sometimes describe myself as someone
who reads for a living. It is true that this work is interrupted on a fairly regular basis by teaching
classes, writing exams, and attending faculty meetings, but I try to look upon these as mere
anomalies in my true job description.

I might prove to skeptics that reading is a real occupation by pointing out that, just like other
occupations, this career comes complete with its own midlife crisis. A midlife crisis occurs when
youthful enthusiasm collides violently with the mature conclusion that the time remaining on the
far side of the midpoint is inadequate to achieve all the goals conceived on the near side of the
midpoint. Thus the blusterous banker comes to worry whether he will ever become as rich as he
had intended, and the brash actor harbors secret doubts as to whether he will ever become a star,
and I have begun to fret whether I will, in fact, as planned, read every book in theology before I
die.

I am actually coming to suspect that some one of them will escape me. It is becoming a real
possibility that the imbalance between an expanding bibliography and a dwindling supply of days
means that I will finish in the red, debited, shy of my goal. It is just possible, I moan, that some
text in Christology, ecclesiology, Orthodoxy, dogmatics, patristics, medieval studies, neoThomism, Biblical studies, Judaica, mysticism, monasticism, iconography, sacramentology,
liturgiology, eschatology, scholasticism, church history, history of doctrine, hagiography,
asceticism, angelology, or spirituality will escape my attention before I die.

Coming face to face with ones evanescing future provokes a sober re-evaluation of ones
identity. My identity, in my capacity as professional reader, has often been designated
theologian at least that is what I have been called by confreres and innocents and wellwishers because the books I read are in theology. But with this midlife crisis comes a different
awareness of the designation.

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In most fields there is a difference between performing a task and reading about the performance
of the task. Building a house is different from reading a book about the history of the hammer;
making music is different from reading a book about Mozarts early childhood; and if the
designation carpenter or musician belongs to the person with a hammer or violin in his hand,
not the person with a book in his hand, then perhaps the designation theologian does not belong
to the person with the library card. But then who does deserve the name?

Being a theologian
The tradition (the very one in which I read) seems to make just such a distinction between reading
theology and being a theologian. Just because theology is the subject, the subject is not
necessarily a theologian. It is not enough to be acquainted with the theological grammar; being a
theologian means being able to use this grammar to speak about God. Even more, it means
speaking of God. Even more, it means speaking with God. Evagrius of Pontus calls prayer
theology. If you are a theologian you truly pray. If you truly pray you are a theologian. And
before there were universities with theology faculty, it was possible to learn the grammar of
theologia. It is not just a matter of acquaintance with a concept. What is important is not the
information, but being formed within a different kind of in-formation.

Once a brother came to Abba Theodore of Pherme, and spent three days asking him for a
word. But the Abba did not answer, and he went away sadly. So Abba Theodores disciples
asked him, Abba, why did you not speak to him? Look, he has gone away sad. And the
old man said: Believe me, I said nothing to him because his business is getting credit by
retailing what others have said to him.

Apparently even the Desert had its form of graduate student T.A. who sought honor by letting it
be known that they know someone. Rufinus Aquileiensis describes them thus.

Their one desire is to see one of the holy Fathers, to hear some words from him, and then to
repeat these, boasting that they have learned them from so and so. And if they perhaps
acquire a little knowledge by listening, they immediately want to become instructors, and to
teach not what they have done but what they have heard and seen; and they despise the
others. They aspire to the priesthood, and try to mix with the clergy, not knowing that there
is less blame in not wanting to teach when one is strong in virtue than in teaching about
virtue when one is in the grip of passions and vice.

This accounts, I believe, for the numerous remarks in the ascetical tradition that criticize the
attempt to find God by the intellect alone. The tradition does not distrust the intellect, only the
intellect left to its own resources. Theologians formed of brain alone are susceptible to vicious
pride. The Devil, according to Unseen Warfare,

is wont to suggest to them thoughts that are lofty, subtle, and wondrous, especially to those
who are sharp-witted and quick to make lofty speculations. Attracted by the pleasure of
possessing and examining such lofty thoughts, they forget to watch their purity of heart and
to pay attention to a humble opinion of themselves and to true self-mortification. When the
mind is firmly grounded in the self-relying thought that its own judgments are better than
all others, who can cure it in the end? Then everything is so disorganized that there is
neither place nor person for applying a healing poultice.

Such persons may be found in the stoa or in the academy, in the classroom or at the evening
repast after a day of professional meetings, where Symeon the New Theologian can picture them.

This is the disease not only of those who venture to speak about God on their own
authority, but also of those who repeat by rote things which the inspired theologians of old
said and wrote against heretics. They engage in vain curiosity, not to gain spiritual profit
but to be admired by those who listen to them at banquets and reunions, and thus gain a
reputation of being theologians. This saddens and disturbs me when I think of the
awesomeness of the enterprise and of the judgments awaiting the audacious.

One must not only know the truth, but desire it, for What is the use of knowing the truth and
loving what is false? Hugh of St. Victor wants to know.

The journey
The passions make it impossible to do theology. Evagrius seems to have been the first one to
record a synthesized explanation of the journey to theology, but he himself had to learn humility
from the monks in the desert. When he asks a certain old father to speak some word whereby I
may be able to save myself, the old man replies, If you wish to be saved, when you go to any
man speak not before he asks you a question. Evagrius vanity is cut, and he regrets having even
asked the question, saying, I have read many books and I cannot accept instruction of this kind.

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Nevertheless, he is said to have profited greatly and goes forth to practice what this elder
commands.

The Desert Fathers thought of man possessing three centers of action, or faculties, called the
intellective, incensive, and concupiscible powers. These are the capacity to think, the capacity to
be moved in spirit, and the capacity to desire. So long as everything is in balance, reason will
stand under Gods law and direct our anger and appetites toward their proper ends (there are
injustices which deserve our anger, and things which we should desire at the right time, in the
right way). But when the intellective capacity no longer obeys the divine law, then the other two
abilities also lose their way, and a person is said to suffer the passions.

Passions of the intellective variety are vainglory, pride, unbelief, and ingratitude. Passions of the
incensive variety are heartlessness, despondency, envy, and lack of compassion. Passions of the
concupiscible variety are gluttony, greed, unchastity, and the desire for empty pleasures. This is
not an exhaustive list, but one can see that the passions afflict the whole person, in all his
capacities.

The ascetical tradition seeks a way to reintegrate the thought, spiritedness, and appetites of a
person under God. Evagrius says the journey to such a deified state runs through three stages,
beginning with praktike, leading to physika, and arriving at theologia. Theology is therefore much
more than a simple liquidation of ignorance. It is the fruit of a rightly-ordered existence. This is
why Evagrius book-reading does not bring him as close to being a theologian as the person
whose practice in humility has created right thinking, right feeling, and right appetite. The ascetic
seeks apatheia (dispassion, or rightly ordered faculties) which John Cassian translated as puritas
cordis (purity of heart), which Augustine to Petrarch to Kierkegaard have said means to will one
thing. To will God, and God alone, is a mark of theologia.

Seek the reason why God created, said Maximus the Confessor, for this is true knowledge.
Only after the passions are tamed can one think clearly about anything, including creation,
including the Creator. The theologian knows what matter is for, and therefore knows the cure for
what is the matter with the world. He knows the world to be a finite temple for the infinite.

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Acquired virtue
The would-be theologian, therefore, should seek out those persons who can guide him to
overcoming the passions. The accreditation such teachers possess is not always what one would
expect. We must find someone who knows the grammar of the heart even if he does not know the
grammar of classical languages. Abba Arsenius was once asking an old Egyptian for advice
about his temptations. And another, who saw this, said: Abba Arsenius, how is it that you, who
are so learned in the Greek and Latin languages, come to be asking that uneducated countryman
about your temptations? He answered: I have acquired the worlds knowledge of Greek and
Latin: but I have not yet been able to learn the alphabet of this uneducated man.

If there is any doubt as to what Abba Arsenius was saying, the story is recorded again. Abba
Evagrius once said to Abba Arsenius: How is it that we educated and learned men have no
virtue, and Egyptian peasants have a great deal? Abba Arsenius answered: We have nothing
because we go chasing worldly knowledge. These Egyptian peasants have acquired virtue by hard
work. It is not the case that the person with the most books is always the person with the most
virtue.

This conclusion must nettle the professional theologian, especially while he is still finishing his
student loan payments. Symeon the Pious tells his spiritual pupil, Symeon the New Theologian,
to gain God for yourself and you will not need a book. The pupil apparently took it to heart, for
he writes,

He who has acquired consciously within himself the Teacher of spiritual knowledge has
gone through all Scripture, has gained all that is to be gained from reading, and will no
longer have need to resort to books. How is this? The person who is in communion with him
who inspired those who wrote the Divine Scriptures, and is initiated by Him into the
undivulged secrets of the hidden mysteries, will himself be an inspired book to others a
book containing old and new mysteries and written by the hand of God . . . .

When God writes his life, the theologian becomes, himself, an autograph of God. He is taught by
the Holy Spirit, and, St. Gregory of Sinai says, the intellect, once purified and reestablished in its
pristine state, perceives God and from him derives divine images. Instead of a book the intellect
has the spirit.

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If one searches, one can find in the tradition a few encouraging words to say about book-owners.
Abba Epiphanius admits that the acquisition of Christian books is necessary for those who can
use them. For the mere sight of these books renders us less inclined to sin, and incites us to
believe more firmly in righteousness. And John Climacus advises gentle patience and tolerance
towards my type. Do not be a harsh critic of those who resort to eloquence to teach many
important things, but who have few actions to match their words. For edifying words have often
compensated for a lack of deeds. All of us do not get an equal share of every good, and for some
the word is mightier than the deed and vice-versa for others.

Dangerous books
Nevertheless, one should be careful about the trouble that could be caused by owning books,
since even a very small pile of books could get in the way. A brother asked Abba Serapion:
Speak to me a word. The old man said: What can I say to you? You have taken what belongs to
widows and orphans and put it on your window-ledge. He saw that the window-ledge was full of
books. And:

Abba Theodore had three good books. And going to Abba Macarius, he said to him: I have
three good books and am helped by reading them. But other monks also want to read them,
and they are helped by them. Tell me, what am I to do? And the old man said: Reading
books is good, but possessing nothing is more than all. When he heard this, he went away
and sold the books, and gave the money to the poor.

If your library causes you to sin, pluck it out. It is better to go into the Kingdom of God emptyhanded than to go to Gehenna with your library intact.

Courting popularity is a regular pitfall for scholars, as St. John of the Cross knows. There comes
to them a certain desire to speak of spiritual things in the presence of others, and sometimes even
to teach such things rather than to learn them. Many can never have enough of listening to
counsels and learning spiritual precepts, and of possessing and reading many books which treat of
this matter, and then spend their time on all these things rather than on works of mortification and
the perfecting of the inward poverty of spirit.

C. S. Lewis supposes that the devils also know how to use theological books to their advantage.
When Wormwood, the novice tempter in The Screwtape Letters, finds the person he has been

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assigned begin to slip from his fingers, he asks his uncle what to do. As long as he does not
convert it into action, it does not matter how much he thinks about this new repentance,
Screwtape tells him. Let the little brute wallow in it. Let him, if he has any bent that way, write a
book about it; that is often an excellent way of sterilizing the seeds which the Enemy [God] plants
in a human soul.

Awareness of this spiritual fact leads Gregory of Sinai to urge restraint before contributing to the
worlds pile of books by writing one yourself. He concurs with Maximus the Confessor that there
are only three motives for writing which are above reproach and censure: to assist ones memory,
to help others, and as an act of obedience. According to Gregory, It is for the last reason that
most spiritual writings have been composed, at the humble request of those who have need of
them. If you write about spiritual matters simply for pleasure, fame or self-display, you will get
your desserts, as Scripture says, and will not profit from it in this life or gain any reward in the
life to come. On the contrary, you will be condemned for courting popularity and for fraudulently
trafficking in Gods wisdom.

The ascetical tradition I am citing from expresses concern not about intelligence or intellection,
but about the particular temptation of pride which will come to dabblers and dilettantes. Pascal
manages to impale both himself and his reader on the irony that we can become vain even while
excoriating vanity. Vanity is so anchored in the heart of man that a soldier, a soldiers servant, a
cook, a porter brags, and wishes to have his admirers. Even philosophers wish for them. Those
who write against it want to have the glory of having written well; and those who read it desire
the glory of having read it. I who write this have perhaps this desire, and perhaps those who will
read it.

Costly books
This way of looking at things is not intended to make us cynical about theology books, or even
cynical about the people who read them. It may even admit that the struggle to become a
theologian may be abetted by a book. (Although it would have to be the right kind of book. Isaac
the Syrian cautions that Not every book is conducive to recollection. Books that deal with
speculative theology are not usually helpful for purification of the heart. Changing from one book
to another leads to wandering thoughts. Do not think that every book of instruction on the fear of
God will lead automatically to purity of conscience and to recollection )

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It only says that being a theologian has less to do with the subject matter of the book, and more to
do with the subject reading the book. The reader must make some attempt at the truth he is
reading. When my teacher, Paul Holmer, tried to get us to read our textbooks in this way, he used
to say that one cannot peddle truth or happiness: what a thought cost in the first instance, it will
also cost in the second.

The point was made also by Abba Theodore. When a brother began to talk and enquire of Abba
Theodore about matters of which he had no experience, the old man said to him: You have not
yet found a ship to sail in, nor put your luggage aboard, nor put out to sea, and are you already in
the city which you mean to reach? If you make some attempt at a thing you are discussing, you
will discuss it as it truly is.

In order to discuss theology, one must make an attempt at theology. But theology is prayerful
communion at the end of a long journey which begins in asceticism, not in the library, because,
John Climacus said, It is risky to swim in ones clothes. A slave of passion should not dabble in
theology.

David Fagerberg is Associate Professor and Assistant Director for Academic Affairs at the
Liturgical Institute, University of St. Mary of the Lake/Mundelein Seminary. He is the author of
The Size of Chestertons Catholicism (Notre Dame) and What is Liturgical Theology? (Liturgical
Press).