Byrne's argument against a realist interpretation of theology

Byrne argues that the main hallmark of realist disciplines of thought is the ability to accumulate insight and discovery into the real itself, and that this insight and discovery is to be understood in terms of accumulated reliable belief, or belief that is widely held as true by practitioners over time. According to Byrne, reliable belief is rational in that it is ‘acquired through awareness of evidence, reasons and the like, and/or due reflection’ (158). But reliable belief is also rational insofar as the mechanism or process yielding that belief – gathering evidence, obtaining reasons, engaging in due reflection – is ‘open’ to the truth, or successfully tracks the truth. Thus, there is a normative link between the rationality of beliefs and the truth of those beliefs. Byrne writes,

Science, and the natural sciences in particular, is therefore a paradigm case for a discipline of thought that can be interpreted realistically. Byrne writes,

Byrne recognizes that even with remarkable theoretical change within the history of science, science has shown ‘the ability to test and reliably confirm or disconfirm existential [as well as theoretical] statements about the world’, which means that ‘reliable beliefs as to what things, stuffs and structures there are accumulate’ (160). Science's ability to track the truth about the world also hinges on its being governed by standards (‘norms and proofs of evidence’) that are widely if not universally recognized, both inside and outside of the scientific community. And it is these standards that ‘enable scientists to be open to real-world influences’ (161).

With this understanding of realist disciplines of thought in place, Byrne launches his sceptical attack on theology. Unlike science, which shows the accumulation of genuine insight and discovery, or reliable belief, over the course of its history, theology does not show the accumulation of genuine insight and discovery, or reliable belief, over the course of its history. He says, ‘The stock of reliable beliefs about the Christian God, about its attributes and plans, has not increased one iota’ (162). Moreover, unlike science, which is guided by real-world ‘influences from physical reality’ that consequently put their practitioners into cognitive contact with that reality,

Byrne's argument, then, is that while science shows real evidence of intellectual progress – we really do know more about the natural world now than we ever did before – theology does not show evidence of such progress. Theology is stuck with the same small stock of basic beliefs that its practitioners held nearly 2,000 years ago.

In order to defend this claim, Byrne draws further contrasts between science and theology. While science is guided by modes of investigation and enquiry that incorporate evidence, reasons, and argument, theology is most often guided by modes of investigation and enquiry that do not incorporate evidence, reasons, and argument. In direct contrast to scientific enquiry, theological enquiry often shows itself to be markedly irrational. Many disputes in Christian history – Byrne cites the Arian controversy and the rise of orthodoxy as an example – were settled not by rational argument (as some might think), but rather by an imposition of power. Moreover, Christian history itself, and Christianity as a religion, is marked by sectarian divide.

Unlike science, then, which is bound by universally approved modes of investigation and enquiry, theology lacks any ‘shared rule of faith across sectarian divisions’ (163). And if there is no ‘shared rule of faith across sectarian divisions’, then there is no shared rule for accumulating reliable beliefs about the divine. On behalf of scepticism in theology, therefore, Byrne concludes: ‘Theology displays reason and argument. But it lacks the means for establishing which arguments are cogent and which are not. It is perpetually doomed therefore to interminable discussions of the same issues. It is thus constitutionally incapable of yielding any reliable beliefs about its putative subject matter’(165).

Byrne may be guilty of an overstatement here, but his main point is not that theology is not productive of at least some reliable beliefs about God (he seems to concede at times that it is); it is rather that theology does not show the accumulation of reliable beliefs about God. ‘Regardless of whether the Christian God exists’, Byrne writes, ‘we can see that the discipline of Christian theology is not building up reliable beliefs about that God [my emphasis]’ (166). According to Byrne, there is simply no way of determining if or when theology adds to the ‘stock’ of its most basic beliefs. For example, Martin Luther claimed on scriptural grounds (along with genuine argument) that human beings are justified by faith alone. Here, Byrne concedes, theology potentially shows the accumulation of reliable belief, insofar as it is guided by processes that are ‘minimally rational’ (164). And yet, even here, Byrne says, theology cannot necessarily be interpreted realistically. As Christian history confirms, Luther's theological reflection, like all theological reflection, is marked by interpretation and hence subject to disagreement: the sort of internal disagreement (lacking in science) that makes convergence within theology difficult if not impossible. Once again, scepticism looms.

Before moving on to the next section, we should also note that Byrne considers an important response to his argument (which I return to and develop below). Citing Christian thinkers such as Karl Barth in theology and (more recently) Alvin Plantinga in philosophy, Byrne says that theology can perhaps be interpreted realistically if it is viewed from inside Christianity itself as undergirded and driven by faith – itself a gift of God that generates true beliefs about God. Thus, from this point of view, ‘the divine itself can establish the truth of theological claims’ (166). So Byrne admits that one way of rebutting the objection that theology does not possess standards for sorting out true and false belief (in order to generate reliable belief) is to make theology a product or expression of faith, and God the guarantor of the mechanism or process that leads to the production of true beliefs in faith. ‘What we have in the above line of thought’, he says, ‘is the prospect of getting the divine cavalry to ride to the rescue of Christian theology’ (166). And yet, Byrne replies, ‘even those who think that the Godhead does implant theological beliefs into people will have to concede that the process has not worked to establish an increasing stock of reliable beliefs about this God’ (167). The process may have worked to establish some basic stock of reliable beliefs about God, says Byrne, but not an increasing stock of reliable beliefs about God.

There is a further problem here. Even if we concede that a divinely authored process yields true beliefs about God, it becomes impossible to determine which theological beliefs so qualify. Byrne takes this to be a crippling problem for theology: since there are no independent means of determining whether the ‘undetectable’ mechanism or process generating theological beliefs is really provided or guided by the divine itself then there is no way of determining which theological beliefs Christian practitioners hold are true. Byrne again cites what he takes to be a central problem: even within Christian faith and theology itself there are sectarian divisions and hence competing truth claims about the divine: on what basis, then, Byrne asks, can we determine which truth claims are veridical (and hence afford genuine knowledge of the divine) and which are not? He concludes:

Byrne's argument against theology as a realist discipline can be summarized as follows. Unlike disciplines of thought that can be interpreted realistically (such as science), theology does not deserve a realist interpretation because (1) theology does not show the accumulation of reliable belief; which means it cannot be the case that (2) theology is guided by intellectual traditions or modes of discovery that allow its practitioners to be open to influence from divine reality and hence put into cognitive contact with divine reality; or that (3) theology yields ongoing insight and discovery into the nature of divine reality. Claim (1) is further evidenced by the fact that (4) theology is beset by internal disagreement and division concerning which theological beliefs are true. In the section that follows, I argue first that (1) does not necessarily entail the negation of (2) or (3). More specifically, I defend (2) and (3) as essential to a realist interpretation of theology. In the third section of the essay, I also give a plausible account of (4) in order to defend theology further against a non-realist hermeneutic.

Theology grounded in faith

To begin, we need to question Byrne's claim that theology cannot be interpreted realistically if it does not show the accumulation of reliable belief, which suggests to Byrne that theology does not successfully track the truth. The main hallmark of a realist discipline, I contend, is that it successfully tracks the truth and also yields ongoing insight and discovery into reality itself; but I do not agree with Byrne that this also entails that a realist discipline must show the accumulation of reliable belief as well. As I will now defend it, theology, and Christian theology in particular, can be interpreted so that it both successfully tracks divine truth and yields ongoing insight and discovery into divine reality – and hence deserves a realist hermeneutic – even if, unlike science (for example), there has not been a significant increase in reliable belief over time within theology, and there remains profound disagreement and division within theology regarding what constitutes true theological belief.

The goal, then, to start, is for theology to show in what sense it contains its own intellectual traditions or modes of discovery that enable it to be interpreted realistically. As Byrne points out, there is a long and venerable tradition in Christian theology (which Byrne simply does not give its proper due) for rooting theological activity in faith, so construed as a gift of God that guides theology to its intended end, which is the truth about God. In recent analytic philosophy of religion, Plantinga has given the most robust articulation and defence of this model, but there are other models within the Christian tradition that we can draw on as well.Footnote ³

According to Thomas Aquinas, faith, qua supernaturally infused virtue, is a good, enduring ‘habit’ (habitus) or cognitive disposition that directs the intellect ‘aright to God’.Footnote ⁴ More specifically, the habit or virtue of faith directs the intellect to divine truth (as revealed in propositional form in Christian scripture and teaching, or sacra doctrina) by way of the lumen fidei or inner ‘light of faith’ that actually illumines the intellect regarding what it should believe – that is, what true propositions have been revealed by God and hence deserve to be believed.Footnote ⁵ Now for Aquinas, this inner light also moves the intellect to assent by way of the will: when the will is also under the influence of God's grace, it draws or inclines the intellect to assent to those true propositions that the intellect recognizes as divinely revealed – propositions that, from the perspective of the intellect in this life, depict divine truth and hence God as a good (the ‘divine good’, taken as a final end) to be desired; and more specifically, hoped for and loved.Footnote ⁶

We can interpret Aquinas's account of faith realistically as follows. As the possessor of a graced intellect, the person of faith rightly recognizes or discerns the propositions of faith to be genuine revelations from God; as the possessor of a graced will, the person of faith is rightly drawn or inclined to assent to the propositions of faith on the distinct ground that they are genuine revelations from God. Aquinas says the following: ‘The believer has sufficient motive for believing, for he is moved by … the inward instinct of the Divine invitation [interiori instinctu Dei invitantis]: hence he does not believe lightly’.Footnote ⁷ On my interpretation, this ‘inward instinct’ constitutes a truth-indicative ground given that it furnishes the sort of evidence (what Plantinga calls ‘doxastic evidence’) that is sufficiently indicative of the truth of the propositions of faith, or the status of those propositions as genuine revelations from God. So under the influence of God's grace, and guided by the light of faith, the person of faith possesses cognitive recourse to truth-indicative reasons or evidence (the divine illumination that fills the mind and moves the will) that constitute both the requisite motivation and grounds the person of faith needs in order to assent rationally to the true propositions of faith that God has revealed.

Here, then, we have a model in microcosm for how theology, as founded on faith, can be interpreted realistically: under the influence of grace, the mind of the Christian believer becomes open to the divine itself and hence guided by rational (i.e. truth-indicative) grounds in forming true beliefs about God. Now, Byrne would surely object that Aquinas, like Plantinga, is guilty of invoking an undetectable, supernaturalist epistemology for explaining how faith (and consequently theology) is productive of true beliefs about God, and hence putting its practitioners into cognitive contact with the divine. There is simply no way of determining whether the cognitive machinery operative in producing those beliefs is reliable (in the sense that it can be relied on to produce true beliefs) – that the machinery is reliable is, we could say again, a matter of faith.

But against Byrne, we need to ask, why is it necessary that the machinery and the process it generates be detectable? And detectable to whom? The reliability of Aquinas's lumen fidei as well as the operations of grace on the will in directing the intellect to divine truth is guaranteed by God, not by the faithful's ability (or anyone else's ability) to determine their reliability. (This is one of the benefits of externalism in epistemology). Moreover, the assent of faith – or forming true beliefs about God in faith – is hardly blind. In fact, from the point of view of the person of faith, the assent of faith is eminently rational: what more rational grounds do the faithful need for holding to the truth about God, or making truth claims about God, than the divine witness itself – God's ‘moving inwardly’ in the mind and the will, leading the person of faith to believe and even proclaim the truth about God that God has revealed?Footnote ⁸

I stress this point again in order to refute Byrne's claim that ‘theology has not possessed intellectual traditions or modes of discovery of analogous kind to enable its practitioners to be open to influences from divine reality and its practitioners have not been put in cognitive contact with divine reality’. Using Aquinas as an example, I have shown (however briefly) that theology – and specifically, those who profess to do theology – do have recourse to such intellectual traditions or modes of discovery. Byrne may retort that we once again have brought in ‘the divine cavalry to ride to the rescue of Christian theology’. But again, if the onus is on theology itself to show how it can be interpreted realistically, then appealing to the divine itself as the source of faith and hence the source of theology is no rescue mission, or some sort of blind acceptance of divine authority. It is precisely the move one would and should expect theology, and those who profess to do theology, to make.

Byrne's real issue with faith-based theology, however, is not merely that its intellectual traditions or modes of enquiry cannot shown to be rational from inside theology itself, but rather that its intellectual traditions or modes of enquiry cannot be publicly shown to be rational. It is worth quoting Byrne here again:

In response to Byrne, however, we once again need to pose the following critical questions: Why do we need independent means, or ‘cast-iron, external signs’ for determining whether theological enquiry is being guided by God? Furthermore, why should God be responsible for furnishing these means or signs? Shouldn't faith in God itself be sufficient – faith, that is, that God is reliably guiding theological enquiry, when it is informed by faith? Moreover, God has hardly been ‘notably lax’ in providing the requisite tools for theological enquiry. In fact, God has given theology all that it needs for successfully enquiring into the divine: the gift of revealed truth in Christian scripture and creeds, the gift of the lumen fidei (what Christians have traditionally identified as the Holy Spirit) that illumines the faithful about that truth, the gift of reason and experience for enquiring further into that truth; and the gift of the community of faith itself – Christian tradition and the church – as the interpreter and custodian of revealed truth.

Despite all of this, Byrne clearly thinks that ‘cast-iron, external signs’ are necessary in order to determine which lines of enquiry within theology itself are guided and directed by God, especially given the tendency of theology to veer towards sectarianism. Here, Byrne casts suspicion on the claim that theology, so undergirded by faith, has a divine source: the presence of theological disagreement and division and hence competing truth claims within theology is reason to doubt whether theology is divinely guided by a truth-oriented mechanism or process. Were theology, and all those who claim within theology to have faith, genuinely guided by such a mechanism or process, then theology presumably would not display ‘an inveterate tendency to sectarianism’ (167). In other words, if there is such a thing as divine truth, shouldn't it be obvious to all and hence agreed upon by all, at least by all who claim to have faith?

I don't think the answer to this question is at all obvious: again, the fact that there is theological disagreement and division over what constitutes divine truth does nothing to undermine the claim that there is such a thing as divine truth, and moreover, that the faithful can and do genuinely enjoy epistemic access to it. All this fact suggests is that those who claim to possess faith and do theology are liable to fall into error; that the inherent weakness or fallibility of the mind and will, as well as the presence of sin within the mind and the will, can impede and at times even undermine the truth-oriented mechanism or process that is necessary for forming true beliefs about God, and hence engaging in ‘fruitful, authentic lines of theological enquiry’. (I will develop this argument further below). So the problem is not, as Byrne suggests, whether any believe rightly or all believe wrongly. Disagreement over what constitutes divine truth and our means of access to it – whether it occurs within the Christian tradition or between the Christian tradition and other religious traditions – just as easily can (and I argue, does) arise because some rightly believe and some wrongly believe; or because some rightly claim to have access to divine truth and others wrongly claim to have access to divine truth.

Now, Byrne could once again press his point: even if some of the lines of enquiry in theology are divinely guided – and we can concede that there are some – how can we ever determine which lines of enquiry amongst all lines of enquiry so qualify? In the absence of ‘cast-iron, external signs’, how can we ever sort out true belief from false belief? Here, Byrne thinks that science once again has a leg up on theology: ‘There are agreed standards of good work and good reasoning in science and those standards are productive of beliefs which everyone, in or outside the community of scientists, can rely on. They enable scientists to be open to real-world influences’ (161). But despite what Byrne claims, theology can make comparable or analogous claims: it has its own set of widely recognized standards of ‘good work and good reasoning’, at least within the community of faith itself, on which many if not most members of the community of faith can and do rely.

Once again: it has a reliable source of information about God in Christian scripture; when undergirded by faith, it has the lumen fidei or the Holy Spirit to illumine the hearing and reading of Christian scripture; it also has reason, experience, and a rich and reliable history of interpretation within Christian tradition and the church from which to draw. These sources and norms of enquiry provide theology with all it needs to produce true beliefs about God; they also provide theology with all it needs to delineate ‘fruitful, authentic lines of enquiry’ or orthodox beliefs from inauthentic, fraudulent lines of theological enquiry or unorthodox beliefs. These standards may not be recognized by those outside the community of faith; but surely they can be so interpreted (as I am doing now) to show how they can be rational (and hence productive of true belief) from an epistemic point of view inside the community of faith.

Of course, there is also disagreement, at times profound disagreement and controversy within theology itself surrounding what constitutes ‘fruitful, authentic lines of theological enquiry’ or orthodox beliefs. But that disagreement and controversy need not subvert enquiry or the ability to arrive at orthodox beliefs; in fact, it often is the very means by which divine truth is obtained. Byrne cites the Arian controversy as an example in Christian history that shows how theology, unlike science, is guided by irrational formative processes: ‘what we now style orthodoxy was not the result of canons of argument meeting objectively established evidence. It was the outcome of power, both ecclesiastical and political’ (162–163).

This is a highly disputable claim, and by no means demonstrably true. While the rise and victory of orthodoxy certainly was shaped in part by ecclesiastical and political forces, it by no means was determined entirely by those forces: for those who profess mainstream, orthodox Christian faith, it was also shaped by intense intellectual and spiritual (i.e. Spirit-driven) and hence rational argumentative debate between leaders of the burgeoning Christian church. What arose out of orthodoxy, therefore, were central true beliefs regarding God as Trinity and the divinity of Christ which (with some variation between East and West) continue to be held and proclaimed by the vast majority of Christians across the globe today.

This brings us to a further point, to which I alluded to earlier. We need to question how deeply divided theology is along sectarian lines. Byrne claims the following:

Byrne's characterization of Christianity here is potentially misleading. Clearly, Christianity is ecclesially diverse – the Christian church is no monolith – but it is not so sharply divided so as to completely relativize standards for assessing true and false belief. Protestant, Catholic, and Eastern Orthodox practitioners and theologians who claim any allegiance to classical, orthodox Christianity do have a ‘shared rule of faith’ constituted by the sources and norms discussed earlier that inform and steer theological enquiry towards its intended end, which is the truth about God. Certainly, theological reflection and diversity of belief across these great traditions certainly varies – and this poses problems (which I will subsequently address) for how theology can be interpreted realistically – but the stock of shared beliefs that underwrite that reflection does not.

Theology as faith seeking understanding

We are now in a position to get to the heart of Byrne's argument. According to Byrne, theology cannot be interpreted realistically not simply because it cannot yield any reliable beliefs about divine reality, but rather because it does not show the accumulation of reliable beliefs about divine reality. During the course of Christian history, Byrne says, ‘many theological theories have come and gone in Christian thought, but there has been no accumulation of insight and discovery whatsoever. The stock of reliable beliefs about the Christian God, about its attributes and plans, has not increased one iota’ (162). Here is the objection in perhaps its most virulent form: ‘It is not just that theology has not had sufficient time to develop the intellectual traditions or methods which will enable it to start accumulating reliable beliefs about the divine. There is rather something structural and endemic about its non-cumulative character’ (163).

In response to this objection, we need once again to remind ourselves of the main hallmark of a realist discipline as I am defining and defending it: the accumulation of insight and discovery into the nature of reality itself. Taking science as a model, Byrne argues that the accumulation of such insight and discovery is marked by the accumulation of reliable belief. But need we limit ourselves to this way of thinking about the way in which insight is gained and discovery is made, especially in the realm of theology? The accumulation of reliable belief as a model for scientific insight and discovery certainly makes sense: science rightly prides itself on achieving observable, quantifiable results through empirical investigation. But this model simply doesn't fit theology.

The insights and discoveries made in theology simply cannot be observed and quantified they way they can in science, and to say that they can be so quantified is to assume that theology operates exactly like science: its modes of enquiry, when successful, yield observable, quantifiable results. But theology's subject matter is by nature unobservable and unquantifiable! So why should we expect theology to show the empirically demonstrable or verifiable accumulation of reliable belief in deference to modern science? Now, I am not suggesting that progress in theology cannot be made. Surely, if theology is to be interpreted realistically then it needs to provide ongoing insight and discovery into the nature or reality of the divine. But I am now suggesting that we can and should measure the progress that theology makes in some other way, other than by the scientific standard of the accumulation of reliable belief.

How might what we think about the nature of the insight gained and discovery made within theology? Reflecting for a moment on a recent development within Christian history will help. In 1999, on the heels of a remarkable and unprecedented resurgence in ecumenical dialogue between Catholic and Lutheran Christians, leaders from the Catholic Church and the Lutheran World Federation signed the Joint Declaration on the Doctrine of Justification, and thereby expressed a common commitment to a basic Christian truth: God justifies human beings by grace through faith in Christ. In order to articulate further this common commitment, it is worth quoting the document here directly:

The significance of this statement cannot be underscored enough. Here, Catholics and Lutherans – who for centuries had been divided ecclesially and theologically over the issue of justification – demonstrate that ‘a consensus in basic truths of the doctrine of justification exists between Lutherans and Catholics’, and that consequently the earlier mutual doctrinal condemnations brought against one another on this issue no longer apply.Footnote ¹⁰

How should we interpret what happened here? We could say that Catholic and Lutheran Christians (finally) accumulated a true belief about the nature of justification, or how God rightly relates human beings to God. This belief was formed by a truth-aimed, rational process (the guidance of the Holy Spirit along with theological argument and debate) and based on truth-indicative, rational grounds (biblical evidence as illumined by the divine witness and viewed through the lens of tradition). But the document suggests something more:

Here, Catholics and Lutherans jointly claim to have achieved a ‘shared understanding’ of the good news concerning the justification of sinners by God, and thus a ‘consensus in the basic truths’ concerning it. Now, while this language is not technical or philosophical (nor is it intended to be), it still points to an important feature of the nature of the theological discovery that has been made. In the document, Catholics and Lutherans do not claim to have acquired a new belief about God. They claim, instead, to have reached a shared understanding of the truth of what they already believe; or a new level of insight into the truth of what they already believe that clarifies, sharpens, and hence more closely aligns what they already believe. What is that shared understanding or new level of insight? Salvation is an act of the triune God alone: we are justified by grace, through faith in the saving action of Christ's incarnation, death and resurrection; which we receive and share through the power of the Holy Spirit in accord with the will of the Father.

This claim about the nature of justification represents a real advance in theology – genuine insight into divine truth – that has enabled Catholics and Lutherans (and presumably other Christians as well) to overcome the impasse at which they traditionally have met: the emphasis is not on the saving efficacy of faith, or on the saving efficacy of works, but rather on the saving efficacy of Christ, and more broadly, the way in which the triune God – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit – effects our salvation. Now clearly, the shared understanding reached hear requires further theological elaboration. (The Declaration says as much). But it furnishes a starting point for such elaboration; it is also constitutes a point of contact between Catholics and Lutherans as well as other Protestant and non-Catholic Christians, enabling them to overcome other ecclesiastical and theological differences and divides.

All of this lends support to a realist interpretation of theology: the shared understanding gained through joint Lutheran–Catholic dialogue, as expressed in the 1999 Declaration, is evidence that theology is capable of accumulating insight and discovery into the nature of the divine, even if that insight and discovery is equated with something other than reliable belief. I claim, then, that theology can and should be interpreted realistically when it is properly viewed not merely as an exercise of faith but also an exercise of ‘faith seeking understanding’ (fides quaerens intellectum).Footnote ¹² As we have already seen, on one level, we can interpret theology realistically insofar as it is undergirded by faith; because faith furnishes rationally formed true beliefs about God – beliefs that derive their content from basic truths about God that God has revealed. But on another level, we also can interpret theology realistically insofar as it aids in elucidating, expounding, and deepening the knowledge of God that is available through faith. Theology therefore aims not only at the production of true belief; it also aims at understanding – a further, more penetrating grasp of the divine truths to which faith cleaves.Footnote ¹³ It is understanding, then, that furnishes genuine insight and discovery about the divine: the sort of insight and discovery that increases through ongoing reflection, attention, argument, and debate, all of which constitute the heart of theological activity, so conceived as a realist discipline of thought.

Of course, to a theological outsider like Byrne, the sort of insight gained and discovery made through understanding – like the shared understanding gained in the 1999 Declaration – may seem like a minimal advance when compared to the sort of advances made in science, which Byrne says continues to add to its healthy stock of reliable beliefs. But again, this is to misunderstand a central feature of the way theology works. Unlike empirical knowledge, knowledge of God – the ultimate goal of theological enquiry – cannot be measured in terms of the accumulation of reliable belief, even if (as I have already argued) acquiring true beliefs is essential for gaining knowledge of God. From a more classical theological point of view, which I am articulating here, knowledge of God is measured not only by the quantity of the knowledge gained, but also by the quality of that knowledge. As we come to hold true beliefs about God in faith, and subsequently enquire into the content of our faith in an effort to achieve a greater understanding of that content, our knowledge of God increases not only in breadth but also in depth: faith leads to subsequent understanding; and in the next life, faith and understanding give way to pure intellective ‘vision’ of the divine: the beatific vision itself.

This brings us to a final important point. From a distinctly eschatological perspective, which locates theological enquiry on a trajectory that extends into the next life (and thus eternity with God), theology qualifies as a quintessentially realist discipline of thought – the true queen of the sciences! Aquinas argues that the science of God (scientia dei) is paradigmatically practised not by the faithful in this life but by the blessed in the next life – those scientists, who, fully redeemed and perfected by God, practise the science of God by way of direct participation (according to the finite mode of the intellect) in God's own self-knowledge. The knowledge of God possessed by these scientists is so direct that it indeed constitutes a genuine ‘vision’ of the divine – actually ‘seeing’ God ‘as God is’.Footnote ¹⁴ Thus, properly interpreting theology as a science in its own right requires looking beyond the horizon of this world and hence beyond what natural scientific enquiry investigates. The science of God, which begins (however incompletely and imperfectly) in this life in faith and subsequent understanding, ends not in scepticism, as Byrne supposes, but in pure, uninterrupted, unmediated, and ongoing insight and discovery into the nature of the divine in the beatific vision itself. Unlike the sciences of this world, then, theology qua the science of God has no end: there is no end to the science of God because there is no end to God.

The move I am making here at the end of this section to situate theology properly within an eschatological framework may once again strike the sceptic as foul play: a convenient and highly dubious way of casting theology within a distinctly realist light, or (in Byrne's words) calling in the divine cavalry at the last minute in order to rescue theology from a non-realist hermeneutic.Footnote ¹⁵ But again, if the onus is on theology to show in what way it can and should be interpreted realistically – and this is the challenge Byrne has issued to theology – then those who practise theology are entirely within their rights to draw on whatever resources theology has (whether scriptural, intellectual, ecclesiastical, etc.) in order to defend such an interpretation. Furthermore, the theologian makes such claims about the proper end of theological enquiry not from the end point of history itself (or from some Archimedean point of absolute knowledge) but rather from the standpoint of faith, and even more specifically, hope and love. It is faith along with hope and also love (the classical theological virtues) that looks to the future in anticipation, and a time when theology, qua the science of God, fully comes into its own; when the ‘vision’ of God of which we enjoy a foretaste in this life through faith and (to an even greater extent) shared understanding unites us not only to God but also to one another.

The problem of theological diversity

Having defended an alternative model for understanding theology as a realist discipline of thought, I turn now to consider the seemingly intractable problem of diversity of belief within theology. The fact that theology is beset by such seeming widespread disagreement, both historically and in its present form, seems to undermine the possibility of offering a realist interpretation of theology from the start. Surely, Byrne would ask, if theology is beset by such striking internal disagreement and competing truth claims about the divine, then how can we reasonably interpret it as divinely guided, as an exercise of faith seeking understanding, and hence capable of furnishing genuine knowledge of God? If there is genuine faith and there has been genuine accumulation of understanding within theology then it should be more widespread: as in science, consensus seems to be our most reliable guide in determining whether the truth really has been obtained. And such consensus in theology is clearly lacking. Consequently, it seems that theology cannot be interpreted realistically.

One line of response to this argument, which I began above, is simply to question how deeply divided theology as a discipline really is. As I have been defending it, classical orthodoxy, to which adherents in the main branches of Christianity (Protestant, Catholic, Eastern Orthodox) subscribe, furnishes a full stock of true beliefs about God which many, if not most, Christians throughout Christian history have held in faith. But at the cost of simply ignoring other observable theological divides, we can only carry this line of response so far. Even if certain sects within Christianity (for example, the Arians) no longer exist, given that (from a mainstream theological perspective) they were shown to possess false beliefs about the divine, the problem of theological diversity and division remains. We could point out any number of beliefs concerning, for example, God's attributes, providence, salvation, and God's presence in the church (or the Eucharist, more specifically) which Christians hold, and on which Christian theologians reflect, which remain open to ongoing debate and dispute. So we need now to offer a plausible explanation for why theology doesn't show a greater convergence of belief and understanding about its putative subject matter.

First, we need to note an obvious fact about the nature of theology's subject matter that differentiates it from science's subject matter (which, to his credit, Byrne notes as well). God utterly transcends the world and hence the immanent empirical realities that science investigates; consequently, God remains hidden from the mind in ways that the world does not. Now, God does not remain completely hidden from the mind: despite what Byrne contends, theology is not reducible to scepticism or agnosticism. From a theological point of view, given the obvious distance separating God from the mind, God has graciously reached out to the mind in revealing God's self to the mind, transmitting to the mind (by way of human authors) a scriptural record of God's presence and work in human history, from creation, through the incarnation into the very early church; a record that received subsequent clarification and interpretation with the emergence and establishment of orthodoxy. Given its divine source, this record and the truths contained therein provide a basis for genuine speculation into the nature of the divine – what Byrne refers to as God's ‘attributes and plans’.

But even given its basis in divine revelation, theology simply cannot claim the same sort of ready, ongoing epistemic access to divine reality that science can claim regarding empirical reality; and to suggest that it can or should possess this sort of access is simply unfair. Consequently, the amount of insight and discovery that accumulates in theology over the course of its history and is respectively gained and made through faith seeking understanding cannot possibly be compared to the amount of insight and discovery that accumulates in science over the course of its history. Nor can there be the sort of consensus of belief in theology that exists in science concerning the reality it investigates. The distance of God from the mind, which underscores the frailty, finitude, and hence fallibility of the mind, leaves ample room for widespread error in theological reflection: the sort of error that darkens the human mind, preventing more widespread convergence of belief as well as subsequent shared understanding of what is believed.

Second, we can explain the presence of diversity and particularly division within theology by pointing out the noetic effects of sin, or the way in which sin infects the mind as well as the will, thereby impairing the graced capacity for believing and ideally perceiving the truth about God.Footnote ¹⁶ In its broadest sense, sin is alienation from God and from other human beings; sin ruptures the relationship that God has with human beings as well as the relationship that human beings have with one another. Consequently, sin infects and thwarts God's efforts to bring human persons (and more specifically, the mind as well as the will) into right relationship with God through faith and the other theological virtues. Sin also infects and thwarts God's efforts to bring human persons into right relationship with one another, which explains why the faithful, who always remain susceptible to the effects of sin, veer towards sectarianism (or separation) rather than theological unity in holding and practising what they believe. Grace, of course, is the antidote to sin: it not only raises up the mind and will so that the Christian believer can, through faith, reunite with the divine, thereby enabling the believer to know and love God better; it also purifies and repairs the mind and will so the believer can reunite with others, thereby enabling the believer to know and love others better. But on this side of the eschaton, sin remains, and more than that, perpetuates itself – within theology, particularly through human error and pride. This is why theology, as infected by sin, can veer specifically towards idolatry: given the noetic effects of sin, theology remains susceptible to generating false conceptions of the divine, or false gods, that demand exclusive belief and worship and hence lure those who do theology into false or misguided belief as well as practice.

Now, neither divine transcendence nor human sin is a permanent block or barrier for achieving convergence of belief and understanding within theology. Were theology itself entirely in human hands (as Byrne seems to think), then clearly the path towards God that theology seeks to chart would be hopelessly ambiguous and divided. But theology is not entirely in human hands: as an exercise of faith seeking understanding, it is guided by the divine itself. Consequently, despite being constrained by human finitude (smallness of mind confronting the greatness of God) and frustrated by human sin (which further misdirects the mind and will towards idolatry), realist theological enquiry, and the insight and discovery it seeks to generate, remains possible because God chooses to direct it.

In fact, realist theological enquiry only remains possible because God chooses to renew and reform it by the transformative power of God's grace. Anselm, who along with Augustine originally aligns theological enquiry with faith seeking understanding, eloquently expresses this point in the following passage from his Proslogion. He writes:

Anselm clearly recognizes the reality of his own finitude and sin; but given his faith in the transformative power of God's grace, which will ‘renew and reform’ his capacity to remember, know, and love God, he remains confident in God that he may achieve some understanding of the divine, and more specifically the divine truth his heart already ‘believes and loves’.

There is a further hope implicit here that we need to draw out. If theology is truly guided, renewed, and reformed by God, then surely God, in overcoming the effects of finitude of sin on the minds and wills of theological practitioners, and hence granting the understanding that faith seeks and desires, will eventually achieve unity of belief and understanding and thereby also achieve eschatological resolution of theological divides. From a distinctly eschatological point of view, the goal of theological enquiry remains, then, obtaining the sort of shared faith and understanding that crosses and hence overcomes theological divides, uniting Christian believers across those divides. I have already mentioned that theology, qua the science of God, culminates in the direct ‘vision’ and knowledge of the divine. What this suggests is that theology qua an exercise of faith seeking understanding will further give way in eternity to a unified ‘vision’ and knowledge of the divine: a ‘vision’ that unites the faithful not only to God but also to one another.

Our sceptic may reply, here at the end, that the realist theologian is once again relying on a blind hope, or wishful thinking at best, in pointing towards some future state of affairs that has not yet obtained as a way of confronting the problem of division within theology. But in fact, this hope is not blind. As I have already pointed out, there is recent evidence in the history of Christianity for the sort of theological unity that can be achieved through shared understanding: the sort of understanding about the divine that we now can say enables convergence of belief across previous theological divides. Based on the shared understanding that was achieved through ecumenical dialogue, Catholic and Lutheran Christians now affirm together their belief in the saving power of God's grace through faith in Christ. Were it the case that Catholics and Lutherans did not achieve shared understanding, but rather something less – something like mutual admiration and respect for theological differences, or agreement to disagree – then it would be difficult to affirm that genuine consensus had been achieved. But the authors of the Joint Declaration state explicitly that shared understanding and consensus has been achieved, despite whatever different theological nuances remain. Therefore, given this remarkable recent development, the hope for further resolution of theological divides, and hence further convergence of belief through shared understanding, remains firmly grounded; even it remains (on this side of the eschaton, anyway) a hope that has not yet been fully realized.