Abstract
The PhD is one of the most demanding investments (in terms of time, energy and money) made by most aspiring theologians. This article argues that apart from thinking about the topic of the PhD, the student needs to think through some basic questions about why she/he wants to go through this process. How does one see one’s topic in relation to the work one is going to do? How does it related to your interests in life and religion? And are you willing to engage in the change/growth in your own theology that is part of the process?
In 1 August 2009, I took up the position of Professor of Historical Theology at the University of Nottingham. In the excitement of taking up this new challenge, I did not take account of one downside. Like most academics, I had an office full of paper in piles that all had to be sorted: some items to be kept (and filed), and much more to be discarded via the shredder (and thence to compost) or the recycling sack. In those piles, I came across drafts of PhD chapters, plans for theses, finished works, and copies of umpteen reports on PhDs. Thumbing through them – I reckon that over the past 12 years I have been involved with well over 100 theses as supervisor, examiner, or advisor – I began to look at the comments I had pencilled in the margins. Sometimes these made me chuckle as I remembered the student in question, at other times I was saddened that work that was initially promising never came to completion, but what struck me increasingly as I went through these pages was that I made the same comments, time and again, on the work of many different individuals whose topics were also different from one another.
Having noticed that there was a pattern to my comments, I decided to jot down these commonplaces and consider what they might say about the pitfalls that are encountered by novice theologians as they set out on what is both a Herculean labour and an academic rite of passage. What follows makes no pretence to being a ‘scientific’ study, but rather some pointers built upon a fairly large exposure to the genre covering a wide range of theological topics based not only on my own students and those I have examined – of necessity a group within just one corner of the discipline – but on the theses I met in outline or prior to examination through acting as a moderator/advisor on PhDs in several institutions. I now pass them on because, on reflection, I believe that these pitfalls are fairly common in the discipline and that consideration of these issues may save those setting out on the road to the doctorate much time and energy.
Old Questions versus Real Questions
Theology as a discipline is conservative of its past: what theological work can be written without engagement with texts that are almost 2,000 years old, the New Testament, and many that are much older than that. Who is the theologian today who does not engage in creative dialogue with a part of the range of theological writing produced down the centuries? So in a sense, there are few, if any, ‘new’ questions in theology in the way that there are new questions in physics. On the other hand, there are many questions that have been beaten to death by a succession of people going over the
The second of these options is that which attracts most students: they have heard of a debate in their undergraduate classes, read about it and become interested during their masters’ degrees, and think that because they know the debate so well, and have mastered the skills of evidence-handling within the debate – often to the extent of knowing every problematic detail of the evidence – that they can join the debate via the PhD. Alas, there may be so little to tackle, in reality, that all that happens is that a new summary is produced, an academic pirouette is performed, some trees are cut down for paper, and occasionally a doctorate is obtained. What is actually new could all be published in a short paper in one of area’s learned journals.
What is the tell-tale sign of such overworked, stalemated areas? In the literature review, one finds that all the positions have been very clearly staked out not only in major works but in a host of secondary works, usually in the journals, supporting or attacking those positions. The lines are clearly drawn, sometimes they are even summarized in textbooks, and the PhD is no more than a statement of adherence to one or other camp. However, if one wishes to be a researcher, adding to the sum of knowledge, as distinct from a cataloguer and organizer of academic opinions, then one must ask: have I anything
The machine-driven PhD
In many areas of theology, but especially in Scripture studies, there is the phenomenon of the PhD that is built around a system whereby a fixed method is applied to a small batch of evidence, and the product is an exegesis that is the function of the method employed. From the stand-point of the PhD student, it has the advantages that it trains one in formal method, teaches skills in close reading, fosters a paradigm, and virtually guarantees (provided the student has acquired the appropriate skills and applied them diligently) the successful outcome of the candidacy. This is a well-known model and, truth be told, is a necessary one given that many students need a PhD not because they are naturally research-active but because they are needed within their churches or communities to be teachers in colleges where ministers are trained. The PhD in this case gives them the edge so that that they understand the problems of their students, allows them the confidence to write textbooks, and trains them to access and prepare materials on their own in the field.
However, while we all need good teachers – and I would never want to criticize those who desire to be recognized as a ‘teacher’ (
Second, when a student has successfully finished such a work, having devoted several years of life to the project and now in possession of an impressive manuscript of 80,000 words, the natural desire is to share it with the academy by publication. Here the student often faces disappointment – and I write as the editor of a series – for publishers often simply do not wish to know. While it may suit student and supervisor to write a PhD within a well-known formula, to a publisher faced with investing money in the work’s publication it is simply more of the same: another book within a flooded marked whose original content can be adequately reduced to a couple of journal articles. However, if such a PhD does generate a couple of good articles, that is a successful outcome and should be welcomed: it is the what is left when the literature review, the discussion of method, and odd-and-ends put in to satisfy various extrinsic needs (such as some pet hate of one of the examiners) have been removed. Such an outcome, giving the new doctor an entrée to the world of writing theology in journals, is far to be preferred to the expenditure on a vanity publication of the thesis. Such books are never reviewed, rarely read, and often stand as monuments to youthful hopes unrealized. The successful PhD needs to be encouraged to view her/his work realistically, and then move on. My own doctor-father – who had three doctorates – always ended our meetings by invoking the sage’s words:
Apologetics
Many of those who put themselves forward to undertake a PhD in theology – and here our discipline in noticeably different from much of the rest of the academy – do so not simply because of a passionate engagement with the topic (many researchers are passionate about their interests), but out of a desire to defend a position that they perceive being attacked, undermined, or ignored. They then hope that their work may provide an antidote to this problem, a refutation of those who challenge their committed position, and a defence of the faith. In short, they see themselves as apologists and the PhD as an act of apologetics. While every thesis, from its very nature, upholds one position and, by implication, challenges others, this desire to engage in explicit apologetics in the writing of a PhD fails to take account of the nature of the activity.
A PhD is a work that should demonstrate that its author has already mastered all the skills to be an academic theologian, has made a contribution to the advancement of knowledge, and can be considered a member of the academy. Its keynote is the demonstration of understanding a problem, rather than providing a defence of a position; while it should exhibit skilled and measured criticism of every position, it should not be structured around the refutation of a set of doctrines held as false. Many theologians have to engage in apologetics, but this should be seen as separate or subsequent to the PhD process, and not as an activity that can be assimilated to it. The apologist writes with her/his own skills taken as granted, and then proceeds to show the shortcomings in others’ positions. But in the PhD, it is the clear possession of those skills and of a high level of understanding that is in question: that is the fundamental fact that must be communicated, or the thesis will fail. Then, those skills have to be used to some purpose, and exposition of one’s own position is logically prior to offering a defence of that position against an opponent.
Many students turn to studies from engagement in mission or ministry precisely because they are fearful of the attacks that are being made upon either Christianity or their particular positions on aspects of Christianity and hope that by writing their PhD they will perform a direct service to the Church. In my experience they often see themselves defending a position ‘on which’ they believe ‘the faith stands or falls’ and imagine themselves in a tradition stretching from Athanasius through Luther to Bonhoeffer. In the face of such ardour it is often difficult to say that while, ideally, every PhD should become a book, not every book should become a PhD. Having a PhD may make them better equipped to the act as apologists later on, but that should not be their aim at the outset. So the starting point should be focussed on encompassing and assimilating the ways of the scholar by acting as a scholar in the basic mode of scholarship; then later the doctor can turn to more specialist activities. Some, however, cannot wait till then to set off as knights errant – they lack that curious anatomical feature that German academics call
Tilting at windmills
Having a reason to set one’s thoughts on paper in the fashion that one does is a basic aspect of literary style. The ancient rhetoricians referred to it as the
However, certain students are naturally pugnacious: the idiocy of the proponents of false notions must be simultaneously exposed with the false ideas! While I personally detest this identification of people with ideas – people seem multi-dimensional, ideas can often be barely two-dimensional – there are those for whom the fray is the spice of life. When I have encountered one of that group I have invariably written in the margin of the thesis: ‘get your PhD first, you can spend the rest of your life reviewing books’ (which is often the academic equivalent of trench warfare).
Pursuing old enemies
It is the common perception of ‘theology’ that it is idle religious types fighting old battles about obscure points that really affect no one. Indeed, the adjective ‘theological’ has as one of its accepted meanings ‘the pursuit of useless arguments’, while many Continental languages have the phrase ‘
Sadly, too often PhD proposals are built around a core aim of pursuing an old enemy and repeating ancient slogans, while casually ignoring the fact of historical change: a real dispute of the early-5th century or of the 16th century may now be a matter whose chief importance lies in explaining how we came to be what we are. To repeat the battles of yesterday does not advance understanding for it fails to situate those battles in context and then view them historically. To claim that while one repeats Augustine against Pelagius one is ‘defending’ the doctrine of grace is simply to engage in name-calling. One may need to label modern positions that fall short of an adequate understanding of Christianity, but then simply to use tags, for example, such as ‘these latter-day Pelagians’ is not to encounter our time and its problems to prejudge a situation in terms of the past. The PhD must aim at the subtlety that is needed for the understanding of complex situations, rather than engage shouting matches, especially if the shouts are simply repetitions from societies and times very different to our own.
In an age when religion is being blamed for discord, it is the task of every act of scholarship to promote discourse. Discourse is facilitated by seeking to understand the whole nexus of positions with which one disagrees; by developing sympathy so that one can look at opinions and actions without allergic reactions; and by developing the moral discipline that can distinguish between a person and an idea. Any PhD that does not promote discourse in our world is a missed opportunity; while any PhD that contributes to discord ultimately negates the values of the Christian societies that value such possessions as doctorates. However, even if you reject my moral arguments, the reality is that the world and theology moves on, and no young theologian can demonstrate her/his brilliance by the repetition of the shibboleths of yesterday.
Citing Theses
One feature of theses in theology – I am told that it virtually never happens in other areas where academics are under greater pressures to publish or perish – is the frequency with which unpublished theses are cited in other doctoral theses. I always shudder when I go through the footnotes or bibliography of a thesis and see this formula after a title ‘. . . (Unpublished PhD Thesis, University of Erewhon, 2001)’. Moreover, I
We live in a world where publishing has never been easier: only a couple of decades ago we still had printers’ galleys and it was not unusual for a journal to charge a fee for any changes of corrections one made to a paper once they had paid a compositor ‘to set it’. Today, it is just a few clicks of a mouse. So the question arises why has this thesis not being published either as a book or as an article or a suite of articles?
First, although many theses may succeed in obtaining for their writers the degree of doctor, which does not necessarily mean that the scholarship meets the best standards of academia. The thesis may have ‘barely passed’ or it may have been referred back to the student and only passed on the second attempt when its most serious defects had been removed or repaired. So what weight can you put on any particular part of its findings?
Second, if the author is a good scholar she/he will be anxious to get the thesis out into the mainstream of academic life by publishing the work and establishing a reputation as an expert in an area. Why has this not happened? There may be a simple answer to this such as pressure of other work, or it may be that the ideas were still only half-baked in the thesis, and many successful theses are still ‘being worked-up as a book’ (that is, properly thought through) a decade or more later! But it may be that the student was only half-hearted and completed the PhD as a chore, and in that case while it may be technically acceptable as a thesis, it may be uncreative and defective as a piece of scholarship. It may be that the work is so riddled with holes that no publisher will touch it!
Third, if one sees ‘unpublished thesis’ in a note, this really means that the information is still private and inaccessible (it is far too difficult to call it out again from a distant library to check a note!). So the ideas have not been put into the common arena where they can be sifted by the criticism of other, more mature scholars. Yet, it is this essentially private and untried material that you, as a PhD student are willing to use as part of the foundation of your own edifice! You might reply that ‘it was good enough to get a PhD’ and such faith in the universal quality of the PhD is touching but the fact remains that standards do vary, above a minimum, and that it why good universities go hunting good supervisors and ambitious students seek out these scholars as their directors – and these same ambitious good students seek to get their theses finished to such a standard that on the day of their
Change and Growth
The long process of the PhD is one of remarkable growth and development in the theology of the student: you and your theology change as you get deeper and deeper into a topic and ask new and challenging questions. Not only will many of your assumptions and guesses about the nature of a subject change over the course off doing the research, but many of the theological positions that you took for granted will be challenged and modified during the research, and other theological standpoints that you would not have entertained at the outset will gradually appear more appealing – or less appalling. However, it is not infrequently the case that the candidate has not recognized this development in her/his own theology. This manifests itself in two ways in the final draft or the presented thesis. First, the aims set out at the beginning are not fulfilled in the thesis, but a different set of findings presented. What appeared important at the beginning was no longer what seemed important at the end. The result is a mismatch that can result in the need to restructure; and hence the common advice: write the first chapter last. Second, and less easy to spot until one reads an entire thesis in draft (as opposed to individual chapters or sections) is where the underlying theology – the lived, operational theology of the actual author – has shifted from what it was in chapters 2 and 3 to what it is in chapters 5 and 6. This is entirely natural – it would be foolish to study theology and not reckon with those studies affecting who we are and our theology – but this seems always to surprise candidates. The result is that there is often a dissonance between the early and the later parts of the thesis, and this dissonance has to be remedied if the work is to be consistent and argue its case cogently.
Alas, while we all love our ideas (which is why it is so hard to shake off silly ones), we are even more deeply attached to our theological ideas, and sometimes the event of confronting how we have changed is painful. At such moments is worth remembering that theology is not just about study but reflection; and that while we publicly proclaim that the study of theology has an affect on people’s lives, we must also acknowledge that it affects us theologians as individuals. Indeed, I would go so far as to say that if anyone were to write a PhD in theology and not have her/his own theology affected in the process, then that person probably does not have the personal qualities of reflection and imaginative sympathy that are the keys to creative and good theology.
At the moment that one sets out on a PhD one stands at a cross-roads: one could go in many directions, and whichever choice one makes at that moment may affect the rest of your life as a scholar and as an academic. It is also a great adventure: the thrill of discovery repays many boring hours in libraries or with grammar books! It is also a most useful occupation: the world and the Church need skilled researchers and good teachers who, to use Daniel’s image, can be ‘stars’. So think well what you want to do, find a supervisor who is
Footnotes
Funding
This article has been made Open Access through a grant from the University of Nottingham.