People don't do theology in a vacuum but in a community with

Frederica Mathewes-Green, with eyes sharpened by faith and history, declared: “People don't do theology in a vacuum but in a community with other theological thinkers, where there's jealousy, vanity, hurt pride, all those things.” In this truth she unmasks the myth that lofty ideas are born in pure silence, untouched by the soil of human weakness. Theology—like philosophy, like art, like every pursuit of truth—is not forged in solitude alone, but in the heat of human fellowship, where rivalries, emotions, and passions mingle with reason. To seek God in thought is noble, but the seekers themselves are human, and their humanity presses upon their work.

The meaning of her words is clear: theology does not descend pristine from the heavens, untainted and whole. It is shaped in councils, debated in disputes, sharpened by dialogue, and, yes, scarred by jealousy, vanity, and hurt pride. For men and women who grapple with divine mysteries are still flesh and blood; their hearts still yearn for recognition, their egos still ache when challenged. Even in holy pursuits, the shadows of ambition may rise. Yet this is not a reason for despair—it is a reason for humility.

The ancients knew this well. Consider the great Council of Nicaea, where bishops gathered to settle questions of Christ’s divinity. Their debates were fierce, their passions heated, and their disagreements at times bitter. Some argued not only with words but with the fire of personal pride. Yet from that council, despite the jealousies and rivalries, emerged a creed that has endured for centuries. The presence of human weakness did not prevent truth from being spoken; rather, truth was hammered out like iron on the anvil of human conflict.

History gives us another witness in Martin Luther. His break with Rome was not born in private alone, but in public dispute, in dialogue with critics and opponents. Many around him were moved by faith, but others were stirred by ambition, politics, and pride. The Reformation itself, while grounded in theology, was also entangled in human rivalry. Still, out of that storm of conflicting passions, faith was renewed, and whole nations were reshaped. The lesson is that even when vanity and hurt pride infect the struggle, God may yet use flawed instruments to carve enduring truths.

Mathewes-Green’s insight teaches us that to study the divine is to dwell in community, and community is always messy. There will be clashes of thought and personality, sparks of envy, wounds of pride. But within that tension, wisdom grows. Just as iron sharpens iron, so do thinkers sharpen one another—even through their rivalries. The very weaknesses of human nature can, paradoxically, serve the work of refining truth, for they compel us to test, to argue, to clarify.

The lesson, then, is not to dream of a perfect circle of scholars free from envy and pride, but to accept that theology—like all noble pursuits—is done by humans, not angels. If you enter such a community, do so with humility. Expect jealousy, and do not be consumed by it. Expect pride, and learn to master your own. Expect wounds, but also expect growth. For it is through this struggle that greater clarity is won.

Practical wisdom follows. If you are a seeker of truth, remember that your work is never done alone, no matter how solitary your study may seem. Engage with others—not only those who affirm you, but those who challenge you. When you feel jealousy stir, let it drive you not to bitterness, but to deeper effort. When pride wounds you, let it teach you patience. And above all, let love for truth be greater than your desire to be right.

So let this teaching endure: theology is done in community, and community is flawed. But from within that imperfection, truth may still be revealed. Do not despise the struggle, nor the weakness of others, nor your own. Embrace the refining fire of debate and fellowship, and you will find that even through jealousy, vanity, and pride, the voice of wisdom may yet be heard.