Religion and Theology

Few words carry more weight in modern life than the word religion. We generally feel we know exactly what it means. We recognize religious people and religious questions, and we speak easily of the world’s many religions. Yet it is striking that the word itself appears only rarely in the English Bible — and when it does appear, it does not always mean what we now mean by it.

In a few passages, such as Acts 25:5 and James 1:26–27, the word refers mainly to outward forms of worship. In Galatians 1:13-14, “the Jews’ religion” corresponds to what we would call Judaism. Elsewhere, as in Acts 13:43, the word religious is better translated simply as devout. This contrast is telling. While Scripture uses the term sparingly and inconsistently, modern speech uses it often and with confidence. That modern usage, therefore, should guide our definition. There is little to gain by forcing the word back into meanings it held only occasionally in biblical translation.

Even so, clearly defining religion is harder than it looks. Although the term feels familiar, popular abstract words tend to be slippery. Different people use them in slightly different ways, which makes precision difficult. In practice, most definitions of religion tell us more about the author’s perspective than about any settled meaning of the word itself. Almost every new book or article on religion offers a new definition. This one will be no exception.

Still, I must explain what I mean by religion before going further. I believe the definition I propose captures what is always meant when the word is used seriously, and that it includes what is common to all its legitimate uses. It is neither broader nor narrower than ordinary usage allows.

By religion, then, I mean a conception of the unseen that leads to righteousness.

This definition is admittedly imperfect, and in some ways unsatisfying. Yet it is sufficient for our purposes, especially as it prepares the way for a definition of theology and sets the scope of this work.

Religion, as I understand it, is not primarily a set of actions — moral or ritual — but a way of thinking, a frame of mind. Actions become religious only because of the thoughts and convictions behind them. At the same time, a genuinely religious way of thinking almost always expresses itself outwardly: in reverence, generosity, and moral conduct. Religion is not a passing idea; it is a dominant one, shaping the whole person. In this sense, religion is fundamentally a conception.

One of the defining features of religion is its focus on what lies beyond ordinary perception. A religious person looks past what can be seen and measured and reflects on realities that cannot be directly observed. As Scripture puts it, such a person looks “not at the things seen, but at the things not seen.” These unseen realities influence thought and action. By contrast, an irreligious person is guided only by what belongs to the present, visible world.

This distinguishes religion from natural science, which concerns itself with observable phenomena, and from morality understood narrowly, which becomes religious only when it looks beyond the visible world for deeper motives and meaning. Religion, then, is a conception of the unseen.

Another essential feature of religion is its moral effect. True religion appeals to and strengthens the moral sense; it encourages what is right. In this respect, it differs both from superstition, which degrades, and from idle speculation about invisible things that has no moral impact. Not everyone uses the word religion this way, but this ennobling sense is common and, I believe, useful. We rarely use irreligious as anything but a criticism. It makes sense, then, to reserve religion for something that genuinely elevates human life. Religion, in short, is a conception of the unseen that makes for righteousness.

From another angle, religion can be described as a person’s self-surrender to such a conception of the unseen. The practical value of religion depends on this surrender. Still, the moment a person truly grasps unseen realities, those realities begin to exert influence. Religious ideas are never entirely inactive. For that reason, it is reasonable to speak of the conception itself as religion, trusting that wherever it exists, it will shape and uplift its holder to some degree.

Notably, this definition does not explicitly mention God. For Christians, belief in a personal God dominates the unseen world and provides the strongest motive for righteousness. But history shows that deeply religious people have existed outside Christianity and even outside belief in a personal deity. In the ancient world, many were profoundly aware of an invisible order and a life beyond death, and found in that awareness a powerful reason to live rightly.

Buddha, as portrayed in the Buddhist sacred texts, is a clear example. He renounced worldly pleasure in search of release beyond the grave and taught that moral living was the path to that release. Such a life cannot reasonably be called anything but religious, even though he denied knowledge of a personal Creator or Ruler.

Yet Buddha did believe firmly in an unseen moral order — forces beyond human control and absolutely certain in their operation. His religion rested on recognition of a power greater than himself, and his life expressed submission to that power. This idea of a superior power is already implied in the notion of righteousness, which means conformity to an authoritative standard. Moreover, any conception of the unseen that leads to righteousness necessarily treats the unseen as greater than the seen. Self-surrender to higher, unseen authority is therefore already built into our definition.

This definition does not claim that the conception of the unseen must be true in order to count as religion. I do not attempt here to decide whether a false belief can strengthen the moral sense. Any belief about unseen realities — true or false — that improves human character and helps people live well may reasonably be called religion.

At the same time, all human experience suggests that truth matters deeply. A belief that corresponds to reality guides action more safely than one that does not. If any conception of the unseen benefits humanity, its value will increase in proportion to its truth. It follows that humanity’s highest interest lies in bringing its understanding of the unseen into the closest possible alignment with reality.

The moral sense itself reinforces this conclusion. However imperfectly developed, it functions as a supreme law for each person until further enlightenment. Ignoring it leads to moral decline. That fact strongly suggests that whatever strengthens the moral sense is, at least in part, aligned with unseen reality — and that whatever damages it cannot be fully true. In this way, the moral sense becomes a partial guide to truth about the unseen.

Still, this guide must be used cautiously. Truth and error are often mixed, and unseen realities are difficult to grasp. The moral sense alone cannot reliably separate what is helpful from what is harmful. It must therefore be supplemented by other forms of evidence.

All of this shows that humanity’s highest good requires the clearest and most accurate possible understanding of unseen realities. The pursuit of that understanding is the task of theology.

The word theology does not appear in the Bible. Literally, it means “discourse about God,” but word origins rarely determine actual meaning. Usage does. And because religion and theology are so closely connected, how we define one inevitably shapes how we define the other.

In line with the definition of religion already given, I define theology as the branch of human knowledge that includes everything we know about the unseen insofar as it leads to righteousness. Systematic theology is the organized presentation of that knowledge, showing how its parts relate to one another.

As I write, theology will be treated both as a science and as a philosophy. It is a science in that it gathers, describes, and organizes facts — facts known through observation and widely acknowledged — and draws conclusions only from these. It is a philosophy in that it uses those conclusions to approach the deeper principles underlying religious life and, ultimately, all reality.

As a field of knowledge, theology touches every other field, because everything known is connected to everything else. And because it sets before humanity the highest possible aim — an aim demanding total commitment — and points toward a universe that will endure long after the visible world fades, theology rightly claims a central place among human studies. It seeks a glimpse, reflected in the fleeting world around us and in the inner life of the soul, of realities incomparable in greatness and eternal in duration.

The relationship between theology and religion now becomes clear. There can be no religion without theology, because anyone influenced by the unseen must have ideas about it. The clearer and more powerful those ideas, the more orderly and influential they become — and those ideas are theology. At the same time, it is possible to be a theologian without being religious. A person may think deeply about the unseen yet refuse to submit to its moral demands. Such refusal, however, almost certainly distorts one’s understanding of those realities.

Theology is especially closely related to ethics. The unseen moral world within us is subtly connected to the unseen world beyond us. In conscience, the theologian hears the voice of an unseen and personal authority. Across history, the most effective moral teaching has drawn its power from that source.

This understanding of theology also determines the method followed in the posts to come. 

We will collect and arrange facts that cannot be explained solely by physical forces or ordinary human experience, and that therefore point to other kinds of forces at work. From these facts, we will move carefully toward the principles behind them, and from those toward still broader truths. At times, we will pause to consider how these principles affect both the inner life and outward conduct of humanity.

To this study — sacred because it concerns our highest interests — I now invite the reader.

 

 

 

 

 

 

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This post is based upon the opening chapter of J. A. Beet's book Through Christ to God: A Study in Scientific Theology (1893). The original text may be found at the Internet Archive here: Through Christ to God.