Pisteology

Pisteology (pronounced pi-stol-uh-jee)

(1) In theology, the branch dealing with the place and authority of faith.

(2) In philosophy, a theory or science of faith.

Circa 1870s: From the German Pisteologie, the construct being the Ancient Greek πίστις (píst(is)) (faith) + -eo- (faith) (akin to peíthein to persuade) + -logie.  The English form is thus understood as píst(is) +-e-‎ + -ology.  The Ancient Greek noun πίστις (pístis) (faith) was from the Primitive Indo-European bheydhtis, the construct being πείθω (peíthō) (I persuade) +‎ -τις (-tis); πεῖσῐς (peîsis) was the later formation.  Although in English constructions it’s used as “faith” (in the theological sense), in the original Greek it could impart (1) trust in others, (2) a belief in a higher power, (3) the state of being persuaded of something: belief, confidence, assurance, (4) trust in a commercial sense (credit worthiness), (5) faithfulness, honesty, trustworthiness, fidelity, (6) that which gives assurance: treaty, oath, guarantee, (7) means of persuasion: argument, proof and (8) that which is entrusted.  The suffix -ology was formed from -o- (as an interconsonantal vowel) +‎ -logy.  The origin in English of the -logy suffix lies with loanwords from the Ancient Greek, usually via Latin and French, where the suffix (-λογία) is an integral part of the word loaned (eg astrology from astrologia) since the sixteenth century.  French picked up -logie from the Latin -logia, from the Ancient Greek -λογία (-logía).  Within Greek, the suffix is an -ία (-ía) abstract from λόγος (lógos) (account, explanation, narrative), and that a verbal noun from λέγω (légō) (I say, speak, converse, tell a story).  In English the suffix became extraordinarily productive, used notably to form names of sciences or disciplines of study, analogous to the names traditionally borrowed from the Latin (eg astrology from astrologia; geology from geologia) and by the late eighteenth century, the practice (despite the disapproval of the pedants) extended to terms with no connection to Greek or Latin such as those building on French or German bases (eg insectology (1766) after the French insectologie; terminology (1801) after the German Terminologie).  Within a few decades of the intrusion of modern languages, combinations emerged using English terms (eg undergroundology (1820); hatology (1837)).  In this evolution, the development may be though similar to the latter-day proliferation of “-isms” (fascism; feminism et al).  The alternative spellings are pistology & pistiology.  Pisteology is a noun and pisteological is an adjective; the noun plural is pisteologies.

The early use of pisteology was in the context of theology and it appears in an 1880 essay on the matter of faith by the Congregational minister Alfred Cave (1847–1900).  The Oxford English Dictionary (OED) refers to the word as exclusively theological but in later editions noted it was also used to mean “a theory or science of faith”, reflecting its adoption in academic philosophy although the embrace must have been tentative because pisteology was (and remains) “rare”, listed as such by those lexicographers who give it a mention though what is clear is that it seems never to have been cross-cultural, remaining implicitly a thing of Christendom.  In a sense, it’s surprising it hasn’t appeared more, especially in the troubled twentieth century when matters of “faith and doubt” were questioned and explored in a flurry of published works.  Perhaps it was a division of academic responsibility, the devoted studying belief and the scholars the institution, the pragmatic settling for the Vatican’s (unofficial) fudge: “You don’t have to believe it but you must accept it.”

Pondering cross-cultural pisteology: Lindsay Lohan carrying the Holy Qur'an (Koran), Brooklyn, New York, May 2015.

While clearly the universities got involved and the intersection between pisteology epistemology (the study of knowledge and belief) does seem obvious to the point when the former might be thought a fork of the latter, its roots and concerns remained theological and Christian, exploring how faith functions in religious traditions, doctrines, and human understanding of the divine and many famous thinkers have written works which may be thought pisteological landmarks.  Saint Augustine of Hippo (354–430) wrote so widely it’s probably possible to find something which tracks the path of some direction in Christianity but underling it all was his famous admission: “I believe in order to understand”, more than a subtle hint that faith is a prerequisite for true comprehension of divine truth.  Saint Thomas Aquinas (1225–1274) lived 800-odd year later and was better acquainted with the philosophers of the Classical age.  Aquinas is sometimes said to have “integrated” Aristotelian philosophy with Christian theology and while this is misleading, he understood the spirit of reasoning from Antiquity was compelling and in a way that’s influential still, he argued faith and reason complement each other, defined faith as a virtue by which the intellect assents to divine truth under the influence of the will.  A central figure in Reformed theology, John Calvin (1509-1564) explored faith extensively in his Institutes of the Christian Religion. He described faith as a firm and certain knowledge of God's benevolence toward us, founded on the promise of the gospel and revealed by the Holy Spirit.  Martin Luther (1483–1546) probably thought this not so much a fudge as a needless layer, arguing that it was faith alone (rather than a virtuous life of good works) by which one would on judgement day be judged.  Faith then was the cornerstone of salvation in his doctrine of sola fide (faith alone), a rigor which would have pleased John Calvin (1509–1564).  The philosopher Søren Kierkegaard (1813–1855) was not a theologian but his writings had an influence on theological thought and in a nod to Aquinas highlighted the paradox of faith and what he called “leap of faith” as essential to authentic religious life and although he never explicitly discussed the “You don’t have to believe it but you must accept it” school of thought, it does seem implicit in his paradox.

For the bedside table: Karl Barth’s Kirchliche Dogmatik.

Friedrich Schleiermacher (1768–1834) is often styled “the father of modern liberal theology” and to him faith was an experiential relationship with the divine, rooted in a “feeling of absolute dependence.”  More conservative theologians didn’t much object to that notion but they probably thought of him something in the vein William Shakespeare (1564–1616) in Julius Caesar (1599) had Caesar say of Cassius: “He thinks too much: such men are dangerous.”  John Henry Newman (1801–1890) was one of those conservatives (albeit something of a convert to the cause who had a strange path to Rome) and he wrote much about the development of doctrine and the role of faith in understanding divine truth but it was the Swiss Protestant theologian Karl Barth (1882-1968) whose Kirchliche Dogmatik (Church Dogmatics (in English translation a fourteen-volume work of some six-million words and published between 1932 and 1967) that appeared the modern world’s most ambitious attempt to recover the proclamation of the word of God as the place where God's message of salvation meets sinful man: faith as an act of trust and obedience to God's self-revelation.  Barth’s contribution to pisteology was a rejection of natural theology, emphasizing faith as a response to God's revelation in Jesus Christ; it wasn’t exactly Martin Luther without the anti-Semitism but the little monk’s ghost does loom over those fourteen volumes.  Pius XII (1879-1958; pope 1939-1958), a fair judge of such things, thought Barth the most important theologian since Aquinas.

Barth though was a formalist, writing for other theologians who breathed rarefied intellectual air and he didn’t make pisteology easy or accessible and although Albert Speer (1905–1981; Nazi court architect 1934-1942; Nazi minister of armaments and war production 1942-1945) claimed to have read all fourteen volumes while serving the twenty year sentence (he was lucky to receive) for war crimes and crimes against humanity, (he had more time than most to devote to the task), he did acknowledge the conceptual and textual difficulties.  Barth seems not to have done much for Speer’s faith in God but, being Speer, he took from the six million works what suited him and decided he was atoning for his sins: “There is much that I still cannot comprehend, chiefly because of the terminology and the subject.  But I have had a curious experience.  The uncomprehended passages exert a tranquilizing effect.  With Barth's help I feel in balance and actually, in spite of all that's oppressive, as if liberated.”  Speer continued: “I owe to Barth the insight that man’s responsibility is not relieved just because evil is part of his nature. Man is by nature evil and nevertheless responsible.  It seems to me there is a kind of complement to that idea in Plato’s statement that for a man who has committed a wrong ‘there is only one salvation: punishment.’  Plato continues: ‘Therefore it is better for him to suffer this punishment than to escape it; for it sustains man’s inward being.’”

For those who want to explore Christocentric pisteology, Barth’s Kirchliche Dogmatik really isn’t a good place to start because his texts are difficult and that’s not a consequence of the English translation; those who have read the original in German make the same point.  Nor will those tempted by his reputation to try one of his shorter works be likely to find an easier path because his style was always one of dense prose littered with words obscure in meaning to all but those who had spent time in divinity departments.  When writing of German Lutheran theologian Isaak August Dorner (1809–1884) in Protestant Theology in the Nineteenth Century (1946) he wrote: “The assertion of a receptivity in man, the Catholic-type conception of the gratia preveniens which runs alongside this receptivity, the mystical culmination of this pisteology, are all elements of a speculative basic approach which can even be seen here, in Dorner.”  Is it any wonder some might confuse pisteology with piscatology (the study of fishing)?