Ascetical Theology 101

By Derek Olsen

Introduction

A little bit ago The Lead pointed to a great speech given by a Roman Catholic Benedictine abbot on climate change and sustainability. To summarize, he championed a return to the roots of our moral theology. The only way to combat the environmental woes that assail us, he insists, is to return to the practice of the virtues that Christianity has always promoted.

Say what?

What virtues would those be—and what have we “always” said about them? What the heck is this “moral theology” thing anyway, and is it something that we Anglican types do too?

Moral theology is indeed an important part of the Anglican way, but we haven’t always called it that—nor communicated it clearly. So, in case you were out that day in catechism class (or skipped catechism class altogether) here’s a quick refresher on moral theology—what it isn’t, what it is, and how we do it…

There Are Several Kinds of Theology

Most of us know about theology. It’s usually complicated and boring. Not only is it complicated and boring but all too often it’s speculative too. That is, you can spend your whole life doing it and have no idea if you’re even in the ballpark or not. And that’s no fun.

Let me challenge this notion a bit with the notion that there are different fields within the over-all category of “theology”—and that the category as a whole does get a bad rap. Three fields that I want to focus on are systematic theology, moral theology, and ascetical theology.

Most of the time when people think (nasty thoughts) about theology, they’re thinking of systematic theology. This is the discipline that, according to The Concise Oxford Dictionary of the Christian Church, “investigate[s] the contents of belief by means of reason enlightened by faith and to promote its deeper understanding.” Or, as I call it, thinking about Christian thoughts. This is the field that explores the Christian doctrine of God, tries to wrap its head around the notion of the Trinity, and deals with the theoretical links between God and creation—especially us humans. It can indeed get very complicated and very speculative. While I confess to finding parts of it boring, thankfully others don’t—because it does have an important role in our faith.

If the Christian faith is about a relationship between us and God—which I believe it is—then systematic theology asks: what are the contours of that relationship and who and what are we in relationship with?

Systematic theology is about the thoughts we think and how they ground our relationships with God.

Moral theology, on the other hand, while it interacts with some of the concepts used in systematic theology has a very different starting place and ending place. Moral theology focuses on human action—why we do what we do and the theological logic that grounds it. If the Christian faith is about a relationship between us and God, then moral theology asks: in light of that relationship, what actions should humans do or not do? In some times and places, moral theology has taken a turn towards legalism—prescribing what we ought and oughtn’t do—and many Christians including Anglicans have often shied away from these developments and have tended more towards the roots of moral theology which are found in ascetical theology. Ascetical theology and moral theology share quite a bit of common ground and the two terms are sometimes used interchangeably—but I think it’s worth teasing out a difference in order to see ascetical theology more clearly.

It’s actually this latter field of theology that Anglicans have typically embraced. Its roots are in the monastic theology that grounds our liturgies and prayer books. If the Christian faith is about a relationship between us and God, then ascetical theology asks: what habits can we cultivate to nurture that relationship?

So while thoughts are involved, ascetical theology isn’t fundamentally about thinking and while deeds are involved it’s not fundamentally about specific acts either—it’s about our habits: how we think, how we feel, and ultimately how we behave towards all of the players in the relationship—God and our neighbors (which includes the whole of creation…).

Because it’s about habits it tends to be less speculative than systematic theology; because it’s about habits it tends to be less legalistic than moral theology. The flip side, though, is that it requires not just thought or isolated actions but real transformation of our habits and that makes it much more challenging and more personally risky.

Ascetical Theology Starts with Sin

Christian ascetical theology really does begin with Jesus and Paul but was expanded upon, systematized, and field-tested in the harsh laboratory of the Egyptian desert. The early monastic movement took quite seriously the notion of embodying the demands of Scripture and worked hard at the practical science of Christian perfection—in so far as that’s possible. The basis of ascetical theology, then, comes from these monastic roots particularly as systematized by John Cassian and others.

The monastic teachers inevitably started with sin. That is, if we go back to our definition of ascetical theology—what habits nurture the relationship with God and neighbor—the monastics found that it was much easier to identify the negatives—those habits that prevent us from nurturing a mature relationship with God and neighbor. Assisted by good things that they learned from Greco-Roman Stoic philosophy (after all, we Christians didn’t invent the notion of healthy relationships…), the monastics found that the great majority of the countless ways that we injure ourselves and each other can be classified under eight broad headings which they called the principal vices:

• Gluttony
• Lust
• Covetousness
• Anger (used as a technical term for an attitude—not a feeling)
• Sorrow (ditto)
• Acedia (an anxiety or weariness of the heart)
• Vainglory
• Pride

(Another way of grouping them is the Seven Deadly Sins which bundles Sorrow and Acedia together into “Sloth”)

Remember, these are broad headings that describe the ways that we distort our relationships. Just because “Lust” makes the list doesn’t mean that these can be rejected with a dismissory, “Oh, he thinks sex is bad—we’ve moved beyond that now…” Rather we need to recognize that the ways that we use and express our sexuality can and do damage relationships—just as how we consume can, or how we think about and act towards other people can.

We’ve All Got a Favorite

All of us participate in all of these vices to one degree or another. And, many of these tend to interconnect with one another. However, the monastics discovered that most people tend to favor one or two of these more than the others. You have to deal with them all sooner or later, but you’ve got to tackle the big ones first—and “the big ones” are different for each one of us. I’d suggest—returning to the abbot’s speech that touched this whole thing off—that societies are no different. While we can think of a whole host of ways that Western society enacts each these eight vices, I’d suggest that the one that is presently most lethal is gluttony.

The Western way of life is consuming ourselves to death—and we’re taking the rest of the world with us, too.

But There’s a Fix

Thankfully the monastic experimenters didn’t just identify and classify problems, they worked on solutions too. After identifying the habits that get us into trouble, they studied those habits that can counteract these destructive tendencies. These are the principle virtues:

• Temperance
• Chastity
• Prudence
• Justice
• Fortitude
• Faith
• Hope
• Love

Just as the vices are interrelated and are broad categories for a host of acts, the same is true of the virtues. The monastics taught that to grow in one virtue was to grow in all of them since all of them point to and are wrapped up in love. Love is the sum of the virtues.

Sometimes specific virtues can be used to counter certain vices. For instance, temperance can directly oppose gluttony—but this rarely succeeds if we attempt the virtue by itself. Love is the sum of the virtues, and if we find that we are enacting one of the virtues in a way that doesn’t exhibit the others and that doesn’t ultimately lead us into love, chances are we’ve figured out another way to call vice virtue! Temperance without justice, without hope, without love, may not be temperance at all but repression masquerading as virtue.

We need to cultivate temperance on a societal level, but to do it without justice, hope, and love would be to make our problems simply different and not better.

We’re Not Alone Either

By this time the little Lutheran who lives in my brain is jumping up and down, waving his hands wildly, shouting “What about grace! Isn’t this just works-righteousness by another name!”

Thankfully, no—it’s not. The monastics insisted that no part of this process of transformation can occur apart from God and apart from God’s grace. After all, this isn’t about self-improvement, it’s about relationship-improvement and the One to whom we relate wants this to work out even more than we do. God’s grace begins, assists, and completes the process, but there’s still a role for us to play too. In one memorable part of John Cassian’s writings a student asks that if God begins and ends it, what’s left for us to do? The older monk gently corrects him with the wry remark that things with beginning and ends have middles too—and that’s where we come in. God offers us grace but we have to recognize and accept it too. God constantly offers us ways to improve our relationships with him, with our neighbors, with the whole creation—but we’ve got to take him up on it.

We’re not saved by cultivating virtue, by forming holy habits. We’re saved by God’s free gift of grace. But God invites us to improve the relationship, not to just let it lie. That’s the point of ascetical theology—to help us form the holy habits that make the relationship deeper, stronger, and more dear.

Holy habits are the habits that build love, that build compassion, that build respect. And those are the qualities that we need as individuals and as societies if we expect to make a difference in our world. Climate change, sustainability—those are just pieces of a much larger mess that we’ve all participated in creating. Just as the Abbot of Worth suggests, maybe these habits are what we have to offer the world.

So ascetical theology really is an Anglican thing to do. It may even be an American thing to do… But deeper than that, it’s the Christian thing to do—to respond to the grace that God freely offers. To take our relationships with both hands and to do the hard work of embracing holy habits.

Derek Olsen is in the final stretch of completing a Ph.D. in New Testament (with a healthy side of Homiletics) at Emory University. He has taught seminary courses in biblical studies, preaching, and liturgics; he currently resides in Maryland. His reflections on life, liturgical spirituality, and being a Gen-X/Y dad appear at Haligweorc.

Comments (13)

Derek - wow. Great stuff. It gives me a good start on some teaching I have to do next month on the Desert Fathers, Advent, etc. Do you have an opinion about Kathleen Norris's new book on Acedia?
Also - something I heard from a wise person once: If you try to recite the 7 deadly sins from memory, the one you have the hardest time remembering may be the one you need to look at. This can be both hilarious and sobering. Which in my experience also describes a lot of the experience of ascetical theology.

KATHY

Thanks, Kathy!

I've heard of Norris's new book but haven't had a chance to read it yet. As with many folks, her Dakota and Cloister Walk were important introductions to the monastic path for me during college in Minnesota. I find much in her works I agree with and generally even what I don't agree with I find thought-provoking.

I've heard that before about the seven deadly sins too--but repressed it... :-D

Excellent and elegant, Derek. Something to share.

A very interesting article, especially in its treatment of ascetical theology. At the same time, some of this troubles me. For years I taught a year-long course in systematic theology in several very different parishes and invariably these courses brought thoughtful adults into the church and were the catalyst for many adult baptisms. Recently a former ambassador called me from California and mentioned that he thinks often about the issues we discussed in one of these courses 25 years ago. Others recall these explorations into systematic theology from the early 60's. So, I take exception to the notion that systematic theology is boring. Only teachers of the subject are boring. And there is the further problem that theology is not much in vogue or practice these days. I recently remarked in a sermon that if you want to know the sound of silence, try having a conversation about theology with an Episcopal clergyman. When I emerged from seminary theology was very much part of the public dialogue. We read and discussed Barth and Tillich and Bonhoeffer, and Jacques Maritain, and Berdyaev, John A.T. Robinson, Paul van Buren, Thomas J.J. Altizer, and many others. There was public controversy about the doctrine of the Trinity especially after Jim Pike passed judgment on that doctrine as "excess theological baggage." I had theological discussions with filling station attendants at midnight. It was exhilarating. So I cannot stand idly by and have systematic theology demeaned as boring. It is only boring to those who do not wish to engage its challenging concepts in a dynamic way. I do not suspect this of the writer; but he needs to be careful about offering justification to those too lazy to engage and teach a great body of very rich thought about ultimate matters.

Phillip,

I wouldn't characterize systematic theology as boring--I happen to enjoy it. However, I enjoy it toward application in ascetical theology of the type Derek describes here. I think often systematics tends so to the theoretical that most have a hard time seeing what the dogma of the Holy Trinity has to do with everyday living. Thankfully, the Rule of Benedict, for one, is an example of practical and practicable Trinitarianism. Some systematicians in our time have returned us to the interconnection of dogma and life. I think of Catherine LaCugna, for example.

Christopher Evans

Phillip,

So, I take exception to the notion that systematic theology is boring. Only teachers of the subject are boring. And there is the further problem that theology is not much in vogue or practice these days. I recently remarked in a sermon that if you want to know the sound of silence, try having a conversation about theology with an Episcopal clergyman.

Ok--I'll grant you these points and admit to a certain degree of rhetorical excess.

I do think that systematic theology is a field that is hard to teach well. Once you get beyond the basic doctrines most systematicians inevitably begin filling in the gaps or fleshing out the field with recourse to philosophy. Without a good grounding in modern philosophy most modern theologians prove either very hard going or will be misunderstood. Furthermore, the philosophical underpinings tend to move the discourse away from embodied practicalities and towards rarified intellectual navel-gazing.

The heart of systematics, the basic doctrines of the faith, are simple, are not boring, and need to be taught much more often than they are...

Derek,

I probably am not qualified to speak to "most modern theologians." In fact I am not even sure who they are. But theologians like Hans Kung, for just one instance, can write about theology at great length and never be pedantic or irrelevant to the living of the Christian life. My inclination is to think of theological interpretation and proclamation as, at best, an obscure undertaking, if not a lost art.

Years ago we had the very best continuing education series for clergy ever in the Diocese of Newark. We brought such folks as Hans Kung, Krister Stendahl, Mortimer Adler (How to Think about God), Ann Douglas, Reginald Fuller, et.al., and we had a very lively dialogue about theology. Today, should I have the occasion to put together another such series, it is very hard to say who might be invited. If there are any great theological minds or scholars who like exploring theological ideas out there, I do not know who they are.

Making theology largely an exercise in philosophical ideas and obscure and uninviting seems to me to be owning up to a generation that has lost its theological vitality.

I am aware that there is currently a lively interest in expressions of theological truth in ascetical writings, but I have not given up on other theological explorations and hope someday before I die to find some who wish to have a serious go at exploring systematics in earnest.

However you live the Christian life, however you like to acquire information and understanding of the faith we profess, it is grounded on some understanding of the realities to which it points and on which it is based. And, as my fifth grade teacher once pointed out to me when I raised my hand too quickly,"If you cannot say it, you do not know it.'


Derek, forgive my doggedness; I am an old and unrepentant Ph.D. from Emory, formed in the I.L.A.

Ah--and there may be our fundamental disagreement...:"If you cannot say it, you do not know it.'

I very much admit to being in the same camp as Thomas a Kempis:

What good does it do to speak learnedly about the Trinity if, lacking humility, you displease the Trinity? Indeed it is not learning that makes a man holy and just, but a virtuous life makes him pleasing to God. I would rather feel contrition than know how to define it. For what would it profit us to know the whole Bible by heart and the principles of all the philosophers if we live without grace and the love of God? Vanity of vanities and all is vanity, except to love God and serve Him alone.

I don't just live in "a generation that has lost its theological vitality", I live in a generation who seems generally clueless about what it means to be Christian period. I'd rather address that first, then move on to the higher reaches.

That is, I'm not advocating Christian anti-intellectualism (which the Thomas quote leans toward when taken out of context) but insisting that milk be served before the meat.

The great truths of Christianity cannot be apprehended by thought alone--as the great systematicians agree--and many of folks I meet and teach need basic catechesis before moving to systematics.

For what it is worth, my courses in basic systematic theology are just that, basic catechesis. And the hunger for that kind of exploration is evident in the dialogue that ensues.

Part of the confusion in our exchange may be from my experience in and desire for theological explorations among those who have already read widely in theology and enjoy expanding their grasp of its many meanings, and, on the other hand, the activity of teaching theology and exploring its meanings with those who are seeking to deepen their existing rudimentary knowledge or teaching those who have had little exposure to it.

I will grant that we have a generation unexposed to this body of knowledge, and care must be taken to teach only as it is appropriate. On the other hand, I find little interest in theological exploration among the reverend clergy. That is another matter altogether.

Not just "little interest," but a lack of curiosity. How can we not be curious about the nature of God and God's dealings with humanity?

Phillip and Derek,

I've used Olivier Clement's *Roots of Christian Mysicism* with three different parish study groups and have found it a resource that draws theological practice and theological coneptualizing together powerfully.

The title is a translator's odd fancy. Clement's original French was caled *Sources* and that title fits the book much better. He's made a broad, compelling synthesis of Christian teachers from the first six or so centuries, mostly, but not entirely Eastern church.

A.M. Allchin sent me to the book a dozen or more years ago, and for a year after I got it, I just browsed, seeing where my copy would fall open until I found a quotation I'd never read before, and then taking some good reflective time with another wonderful paragraph or two of one or another early Christian theologian at his/her (yes, we're short on 'hers'.

About a third of the book's substance is remarkably well chosen quotations from theologians of the church's first half millennium, theologians for whom spiritual practice and praying/thinking with the mind in the heart were givens.

As I read (others have said this too), I sense were watching a seasoned patristics teacher offering us all his most compelling and revealing notecards from reading these early teachers. He's made collage of them. But it's more than an anthology of quotations - Clement with broadly contemporary sympathies gathers, orders, and synthesizes his massive body of quotations to provoke really good conversations about classic Christian doctrine.

Two of the three settings where I was teaching from *Roots*, included a substantial number of previously unchurched participants. It took some encouragement to get the group through the fist chapter (and I told people this up front and asked them to talk to one another through it with phone calls and emails). Then they began to love it. The initial encouraging emails became an active list-serve discussion of what they were reading.

Clement brings systematics and ascetical theology back to their origins where they were inseparable.


I see that Phillip quoted himself about having a theological conversation with an Episcopal clergyperson...

"I recently remarked in a sermon that if you want to know the sound of silence, try having a conversation about theology with an Episcopal clergyman."

Clearly this interesting dialogue between some clergy-people and some non-clergy-people proves that claim to be at least untrue in this one case!

Keep up the conversation, wonderful!

As a recent seminary graduate, I believe that there is a great hunger for learning theology - and in all of its wonderful manifestations (even the sometimes "dreaded" systematic theology)! Lord knows we need it.

Thanks for your offerings here!

Peace,

Peter Carey+
http://santospopsicles.blogspot.com

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