Today, many Christian theologians see themselves as principally opposed to philosophy so that they can build a theology largely devoid of any extrabiblical influence. Whether they embrace the label or not, this is a kind of “biblicism” that fails to appreciate or employ the right use of reason and the tools of philosophy. The major problem with such an approach—and there are many—is that it fails to account for the nature of Scripture’s own testimony to the philosophy according to Christ within the context of a Christian view. As we have seen, one cannot escape philosophy. The question becomes whether one must always, in the nature of the case, carry out philosophy ‘outside’ of Christ, or if one can do philosophy under the Lordship of Christ and his Word.

Theology, when done rightly, necessitates philosophy; and philosophy, when done truthfully, requires theology. Theology is, after all, “Queen of the Sciences.”[1] In their broadest senses, theology and philosophy are the same thing.[2] Every level and specific application of theology uses the tools of philosophy. The preeminence of Christ also entails an ultimately theological basis for philosophy. In this article, I hope to show that good philosophy is a necessary and Christ-exalting ally to theology.
When I say theology and philosophy are the “same thing,” I refer to their subject matter and much of their methodology. I do not mean that they are impossible to differentiate from one another once one moves beyond their broad definitions or that the two are necessarily or absolutely identical. As one progresses to more fine-grained understandings of each discipline, differences do arise. The relation between theology and philosophy is thus worth exploring further, even if that relation is admittedly difficult to articulate.
Theology and Philosophy are Friends, Not Enemies
Philosophy is technically the love of wisdom, while theology is the study of God. But these definitions are broad and etymological in nature. Philosophy is traditionally divided into metaphysics (What is the nature of reality?), epistemology (How do we know?), and ethics (How ought we live?)—with subdivisions within each. Everything has a philosophy. For example, there is philosophy of language, art, mathematics, history, and science. As Alvin Plantinga once quipped, philosophy is essentially thinking hard about something. Perhaps the harder one thinks about various topics, the better a philosopher that individual is. Philosophy, then, pertains to every topic a human being might possibly think about. If a subject can be thought of, then a philosophy of that subject exists.
Like philosophy, theology can be divided into various branches. Exegetical, systematic, biblical, historical, analytic, contemplative, philosophical, pastoral, and practical are all different types of theology (although not everyone agrees upon each of these). Nevertheless, like philosophy, theology is thinking about something in its relation to God, whether politics, education, marriage, or childrearing. Accordingly, there does not appear to be anything that cannot be thought of in relation to God. Philosophy and theology are thus, at the very least, alike in many ways. Not only do they both pertain to anything that may be thought about, but they address much the same subject matter.
In this way, then, we might even say that there is no ultimate difference between philosophy and theology. Why? Because God is the truly wise one. And any philosopher who truly seeks wisdom will arrive at God.[3] Equally, any faithful theologian will think his thoughts after God. Indeed, one might think hard about any topic in its relation to God such that philosophy and theology are virtually indistinguishable from one another. As mentioned above, it would nevertheless be a mistake to think of the two disciplines as identical. Upon closer examination, the terms “philosophy” and “theology” are used as descriptors of particular activities in virtue of degree of their relations to either thought itself or to God. A Socratic dialogue might, for example, take into account the question and nature of life after death but be considered “philosophy” rather than “theology.” Yet when the Apostle Paul writes about life after death, it is generally understood to be theology rather than philosophy. The strength of “rather than” is not absolute, but admits of degrees. In truth Socrates is doing both philosophy and theology, even if his theology does lead us to the one, true and living God. Equally, Paul is doing both theology and philosophy, as his cogitation about God leads him to a true philosophy of life.
In this way, we can see how philosophy and theology—or is it theology and philosophy? —are friends, not enemies. That being the case, their emphases as well as their contexts differ significantly. For this reason, room exists for differentiating philosophy and theology, but not at the expense of their shared properties or, when related rightly, their symbiotic relationship. Indeed, the best theologians and the best theology regularly rely on doing philosophy, and that is what I will now consider.
Theology Requires Philosophy at Every Level
Obviously, if theology and philosophy are friends and not enemies, then theology will be found partnering with and depending upon philosophy at every level. Again, this is true in general, but it is also true when theology is much more narrowly defined. Indeed, every specific application of theology will rely in some sense upon the use of philosophy. Let’s consider a few examples.
For starters, exegetical theology requires a philosophy of language, biblical theology requires a philosophy of history, and systematic theology requires the philosophical discipline of logic. At the same time, a proper understanding of language, history, and logic are only possible given what theology says about them by way of its explication of divine revelation.[4] Theology, then, rather than philosophy, is always closer to the principium in play (that is, the most basic principles).[5] Even if theology and philosophy overlap as described above, it does not follow that the content or conclusions of all theology and philosophy are good or true, nor does it follow that all uses of philosophy in a methodological sense are consistent with the first principles of Christian theology.[6]
This means that theology requires philosophy at every level without depending upon philosophical argument in any pre-dogmatic sense. In other words, theology that coheres with biblical revelation must never submit to philosophies sourced from ideologies developed independent of God’s Word. Instead, true theology and true philosophy must always treat Scripture as first order.[7] While philosophy (thinking hard about something) will be present in every theological inquiry, it is important to distinguish philosophy as servant from philosophy as master.
Rightly Relating Philosophy and Theology
If we accept the claim that philosophy is a servant and not a master (with sources unto itself), then this will have sweeping implications for personal faith and apologetics, especially as it relates to natural theology. For consider the implications set forth by philosopher Michael Sudduth: “The pre-dogmatic function of natural theology . . . entails a more positive use of theistic arguments to establish the faith. Here reason has become a principium of the dogmatic system.
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Jesus’ deity a matter not of triviality but of reality. The great, staggering truth of Christianity is that Christ, the God-man, was nurtured in a womb—that He who had always existed became part of God’s space-time economy. Jesus, while true man, is also true God.

Maybe you’ve heard this description somewhere: He was born in poverty, lived only thirty-three years, spent most of His life in obscurity, never wrote a book, never had any position in public life, was crucified with two thieves—and yet two thousand years later, millions still follow Him. It’s certainly not the whole story of Jesus Christ, but it is a helpful, thought-provoking summary of His legacy. Whether we’re convinced in our faith or questioning in our agnosticism, there’s no escaping the fact that Jesus of Nazareth has left an indelible mark on human history. All of us must reckon with the question of His identity.
Rumors, conversations, and confusion surrounding Jesus’ identity are nothing new. Many were trying to sort out who He was during His earthly ministry. At one point, Jesus asked the twelve disciples, “Who do people say that the Son of Man is?” (Matt. 16:13). To this they replied, “Some say John the Baptist, others say Elijah, and others Jeremiah or one of the prophets.” When Jesus asked them in response, “But who do you say that I am?” Peter replied, “You are the Christ, the Son of the living God” (vv. 14–16)
The variety of responses received then are more than matched today. Consider, for example, Gandhi’s view: he maintained that “the soul of religions is one, but is encased in a multitude of forms.”1 Certainly this position isn’t tenable for the Christian, for we serve the God who claimed, “I am the way, and the truth, and the life” (John 14:6). Tragically, though, many professing Christians would either respond to Gandhi’s sentiment with ambivalence or, in the spirit of inclusivity, embrace it outright. But we must be clear: we cannot be orthodox in our faith while holding to an unbiblical view of Christ.
As we build the case for the authentic Jesus, there are four factors we ought to consider: His humanity, His deity, His unity, and His authority.
Jesus Is a Man
The authentic Jesus, first of all, is a human Jesus. Irrespective of His supernatural conception, Jesus’ birth itself was, in fact, normal. He entered life as an infant who learned how to walk and speak. Joseph and Mary would have trained Him in the details of His daily routine. (See Luke 2:52.) The philosopher Søren Kierkegaard said of Jesus, “His life ran, like ours, ‘from womb to tomb.’”2
That Jesus was human is evident in both His human experience and His human emotion.
His Human Experience
We can piece together a very human Christ from the Gospel records. In the account of the woman at the well, for example, we find Jesus “wearied … from his journey,” bidding His disciples to go on while He rested (John 4:6). He also experienced real hunger (Matt. 21:18) and thirst (John 19:28). Incidentally, this is in part why the Pharisees were annoyed with Jesus: because in His hunger and thirst, He would even dine with sinners (Luke 5:29–30).
Further, Jesus knew human pain. In Mark 14, which records the scene in the garden of Gethsemane, we’re told that Jesus was “greatly distressed and troubled,” and His soul was “very sorrowful, even to death” (14:33–34).
Still other examples of Jesus’ human experiences include His customary Sabbath observance (Luke 4:16) and His being tempted (Heb. 4:15). Such experiences underscore the fact that portraying Christ as anything less than fully man is simply unfaithful to what is recorded about Him. Any attempt to show that Jesus is God by diminishing His humanity is to introduce an unauthentic Jesus.
His Human Emotion
In addition to human experiences, Jesus also felt the full gamut of human emotions. He knew what it was to be joyful. Speaking to His disciples about the realities of their salvation in Him, Luke records in his Gospel that Jesus “rejoiced in the Holy Spirit” and began to pray (10:21). In other words, in His humanity, He experienced a very natural, yet also supernatural, joy.
On the other hand, Jesus endured great sorrow. He loved, and He lost those He loved (John 11:5). Matthew paints a vivid picture for us also of our Lord’s compassion: “When he saw the crowds, he had compassion for them, because they were harassed and helpless, like sheep without a shepherd” (9:36). Humanity’s lostness weighed heavily on Christ’s heart.
Jesus was not some unfeeling creature, an alien from another place. He cannot be thought of in those terms. He was able to sit and empathize with men and women in their thirst, hunger, joy, sorrow, love, and pain. As Isaiah prophesied, He was a man “acquainted with grief” (53:3).
Docetism: A Deficient View
Despite the straightforward teaching concerning Christ’s humanity, deficient views of His nature abound. Among the earliest of unorthodox teachings was Docetism. Its name comes from the Greek word dokeō, “to appear.” Based on the Gnostic worldview that matter is evil and spirit is good, Docetism taught that God could never have taken on a real human body. Whatever the incarnation was, Docetism maintained, it was merely appearances. Jesus wasn’t a real human being. He looked like one, He sounded like one, but according to the Docetists, He wasn’t one.
Responding to this claim in his first-century context, John made this statement regarding Jesus’ true humanity:
That which was from the beginning, which we have heard, which we have seen with our eyes, which we looked upon and have touched with our hands, concerning the word of life—the life was made manifest, and we have seen it, and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life, which was with the Father and was made manifest to us—that which we have seen and heard we proclaim also to you, so that you too may have fellowship with us; and indeed our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ. And we are writing these things so that our joy may be complete. (1 John 1:1–4)
Jesus was, in fact, a real human being.
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Jesus calls us to learn about our enemies and about ourselves—and to spread the aroma of Christ through the world by the ministry of the word for the salvation of the elect. To this end, he bids us understand that we are like sheep in the midst of wolves, so that we will seek to be wise as serpents and gentle as doves.

One of the remarkable features of Jesus’ teaching is the way in which he drew simple analogies and metaphors from the world around him in order to instruct his disciples about the most profound truths of the kingdom of God.
Jesus spent much time reading the book of nature. He could point to a simple flower in order to explain to his disciples the mystery of God’s providential care and provision for them (Luke 12:27). Some of Christ’s most impactful illustrations came from the agrarian culture in which he lived and traveled. He expended prolonged periods of mental energy meditating on the birds of the air and the livestock that flooded the Palestinian landscape. At the inauguration of his missionary enterprise, Jesus gathered the twelve to himself and said to them,

Behold, I am sending you out as sheep in the midst of wolves, so be wise as serpents and innocent as doves. Beware of men, for they will deliver you over to courts and flog you in their synagogues,  and you will be dragged before governors and kings for my sake, to bear witness before them and the Gentiles. When they deliver you over, do not be anxious how you are to speak or what you are to say, for what you are to say will be given to you in that hour. For it is not you who speak, but the Spirit of your Father speaking through you.(Matt. 10:16–20)

Jesus is preparing his disciples for spiritual warfare in Matthew 10:16-20.
In a day when Christians have all but lost the culture war in America—and the prospect of the persecution of true believers is imminent—it is incumbent on us to listen carefully to what the Savior told his disciples upon their first missionary journey. In the ancient wartime manual, The Art of War, Sun Tzu explained,

If you know the enemy and know yourself, you need not fear the result of a hundred battles. If you know yourself but not the enemy, for every victory gained you will also suffer a defeat. If you know neither the enemy nor yourself, you will succumb in every battle.

In Matthew 10:16-20, Jesus is essentially giving his disciples his manual of spiritual warfare for the mission of God. The danger of the task that lay before the disciples required a clear illustration from the Savior regarding the way in which they should prepare themselves for the opposition they would encounter.
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