Living to God: Systematic Theology as Eupraxic and Doxological

J. Neil Daniels

"Saint Augustine," by Philippe de Champaigne (1602–1674)

Introduction: A Discipline with a Pulse

Systematic theology has too often been accused of living in the rarefied air of lecture halls, its feet dangling above the ground of real Christian life. The caricature is familiar: theologians scribbling away on doctrines with no concern for how the truths they polish might actually take root in the lives of ordinary believers. But this caricature only persists because it is partly true—one has only to scan the table of contents of many twentieth-century systematic theologies to notice how little attention is paid to ethics, spirituality, or worship. Joel Beeke and Paul Smalley note the striking contrast between earlier Reformed systems (Calvin, Ames, Turretin, à Brakel, John Brown of Haddington) and more modern ones, many of which omit any significant discussion of the Christian life as lived before God and neighbor.¹ Theology, if reduced to the abstractions of lecture notes, ceases to be theology in the full biblical sense.

The older theologians knew better. William Ames could sum up his entire project in a single memorable line: “Theology is the doctrine of living to God.”² This deceptively simple definition draws together what later generations too often rent apart: theology as knowing, theology as doing, and theology as praising. It is my contention—though really it is the Church’s confession from the beginning—that systematic theology is eupraxic and doxological. It orders thought for the sake of right living, and it orders living for the sake of worship.

The Eupraxic Shape of Theology

The term “eupraxic” comes from two Greek words—eu (“good, well”) and praxis (“action, practice”). To call theology eupraxic is to insist that theology without practice is a dead letter, much like James warns that “faith by itself, if it does not have works, is dead” (Jas 2:17). John Owen, no stranger to polemics, was insistent on this point: true knowledge of God inevitably presses toward holiness.³ A theology that leaves one unchanged has not been truly grasped.

The biblical writers themselves model this union of doctrine and life. Paul in Romans, for instance, expounds soaring vistas of divine mercy in chapters 1–11, only to pivot decisively: “Therefore I urge you, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice” (Rom 12:1). Doctrine turns, almost seamlessly, into ethics. The mind renewed by God’s Word becomes the life conformed to His will.

The pattern holds in Paul’s other letters as well—Ephesians begins with a three-chapter hymn to God’s saving plan and pivots to detailed instructions for households, masters, servants, and children. This structure is not accidental; it demonstrates the inseparability of theology and praxis.

And yet modern theological writing often severs the link. Beeke and Smalley lament that after the nineteenth century, systematic theologies dropped serious engagement with Christian ethics and spirituality.⁴ Contrast this with Ames’ Marrow of Theology, which devotes extensive sections to Christian virtue, or à Brakel’s Christian’s Reasonable Service, which reads like a catechism of lived discipleship woven into dogmatic reflection. Theology, for them, was never less than practical wisdom, a guide for life before God.

One might pause here to recall Kierkegaard’s cutting parable about the philosopher who builds a grand palace of thought but lives in a dog kennel beside it.⁵ The picture is absurd, but it sticks because it rings true—how often theology becomes a palace in which its builder never dwells. The eupraxic insistence of the Reformers and Puritans was precisely a refusal to live in kennels while boasting of palaces.

Orthodoxy, Orthopraxy, Orthokardia

Kevin Vanhoozer once remarked that good systematic theology provides not only “a design for thinking but also a design for living.”⁶ The old pairing of orthodoxy (right belief) and orthopraxy (right practice) has been helpfully expanded in recent decades to include orthokardia—right-heartedness, or godly affection. Michael Bird, following Mark Allan Powell, reminds students that one cannot have a relationship with one’s Christology, but only with Christ Himself.⁷ Doctrine, practice, and devotion converge in a life lived coram Deo, before the face of God.

This has pastoral teeth. Graham Cole distinguishes between “espoused theology” (what we claim to believe) and “operational theology” (what our lives actually reveal we believe).⁸ One may profess the inerrancy of Scripture while never consulting it, or loudly affirm God’s sovereignty while fretting and scheming as though everything depended on human manipulation. Eupraxic theology closes the gap, binding confession to conduct.

The parable of Jesus’ wise and foolish builders (Matt 7:24–27) may be read as a miniature treatise on eupraxic theology. Both men hear Christ’s words; only one puts them into practice. Knowledge alone does not distinguish wisdom from folly. Application does. And that is the labor of systematic theology rightly done: to train the Christian mind so that it finds embodiment in the Christian life.

A Digression on Forgotten Voices

Permit me a small side-note: the theologian Gisbertus Voetius, not widely read outside Reformed circles, once remarked that “all theology among pilgrims on earth is in its nature practical.”⁹ For him, theology that failed to direct believers toward repentance, hope, or consolation was malformed. Voetius was no sentimental pietist; he was one of the sharpest polemicists of the seventeenth century. Yet even he saw that theology divorced from practice becomes a sterile game.

Or take J. Kenneth Grider, writing from within the Wesleyan-Holiness tradition in the twentieth century. Grider was convinced that theology is never detached from the theologian’s personal life setting.¹⁰ Theology without holiness, he argued, collapses in on itself. Whether Reformed or Wesleyan, scholastic or pietistic, the refrain is the same: theology is for living.

Theology that Worships

If theology is eupraxic, it is no less doxological. The word doxology (from doxa, “glory, praise”) signals that the end of theology is not merely understanding, nor even obedience, but worship. John Owen put it starkly: “The ultimate end of true theology is the celebration of the praise of God.”¹¹

The Bible itself confirms this trajectory. Paul’s magisterial letter to the Romans reaches its doctrinal climax in chapters 9–11, only to spill over into doxology: “Oh, the depth of the riches and wisdom and knowledge of God!” (Rom 11:33). Doctrine becomes song. Likewise, the opening chapter of Ephesians begins with a cascade of praise, blessing God for every spiritual blessing in Christ (Eph 1:3–14). Theology erupts in doxology.

John Calvin insisted that true knowledge of God must lead to pietas, reverence and worship. Herman Bavinck echoed him centuries later: theology is knowledge that inevitably turns into adoration.¹² One might even say that theology without praise is like astronomy without wonder—dry catalogues of stars with no hint of the night sky’s grandeur.

Singing Theology

Some modern theologians have sought to recover this doxological note in concrete ways. Wayne Grudem, for instance, ends each chapter of his Systematic Theology with hymns of praise, ranging from Reginald Heber’s “Holy, Holy, Holy” to contemporary worship choruses.¹³ The intention is not gimmicky. It is to remind the reader that doctrine studied rightly should end in song. John MacArthur and Richard Mayhue do something similar, prefacing each chapter of their Biblical Doctrine with hymns and closing with prayer.¹⁴

This practice reflects a deeper truth: theology is not merely the work of solitary minds but of the worshiping church. The creeds were sung before they were codified; liturgy shaped doctrine even as doctrine shaped liturgy. To study theology outside the context of worship is to miss its proper resonance. The best systematic theologies remind us of this by leaning, however slightly, toward the hymnal.

Worship as Life

The doxological dimension of theology also widens the scope of worship beyond corporate singing. Paul exhorts believers to present their bodies as living sacrifices—“which is your spiritual worship” (Rom 12:1). In other words, all of life is liturgy. Systematic theology, when pursued doxologically, calls us not only to sing rightly but to live rightly in worship.

This is where eupraxic and doxological theology meet. Obedience without worship is legalism; worship without obedience is hypocrisy. Together, they capture the full arc of Christian existence. Knowledge of God leads to obedience; obedience unfolds as worship.

A Word of Caution

Yet we must also guard against distortions. Theology can become utilitarian, valued only insofar as it yields immediate “life applications.” That, too, is a mistake. Theology must first be true before it is useful, and sometimes the usefulness of truth appears only over time. Likewise, worship can become sentimental, cut loose from the anchor of doctrine, producing fervor without truth. The balance must be held: truth leading to practice, practice becoming praise.

Donald Bloesch once wrote that theology is prescriptive rather than merely descriptive or constructive.¹⁵ That is to say, theology commands, calls, summons. It is not idle reflection on religious experience but proclamation of the gospel as God’s power. In this sense, theology that fails to end in both obedience and praise is not just incomplete; it is disobedient.

Conclusion: Living to God

To circle back to Ames, theology is indeed “the doctrine of living to God.” That short phrase contains a whole program: thinking rightly (orthodoxy), living rightly (orthopraxy), and worshiping rightly (orthokardia). Theology without practice is lifeless. Theology without worship is joyless. Together, they are the lifeblood of the Christian life.

The purpose of systematic theology, then, is not to build grand palaces of thought in which no one lives. It is to build homes—fit dwelling places where truth, practice, and praise converge. And perhaps, if one leans close enough, one may even hear the faint strains of a hymn sung in those halls.

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Endnotes

1. Joel R. Beeke and Paul M. Smalley, Reformed Systematic Theology, 4 vols. (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2019–2021), 1:50.

2. William Ames, The Marrow of Theology, trans. John D. Eusden (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 1968), 1.1.1 (77).

3. John Owen, see Works, ed. William H. Goold (Edinburgh: Banner of Truth, 1965), vol. 6.

4. Beeke and Smalley, Reformed Systematic Theology, 1:51.

5. Søren Kierkegaard, Parables of Kierkegaard, ed. Thomas C. Oden (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978), 21.

6. Kevin J. Vanhoozer, “Systematic Theology,” in New Dictionary of Theology: Historical and Systematic, 2nd ed., ed. Martin Davie et al. (Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Academic, 2016), 886.

7. Michael F. Bird, Evangelical Theology: A Biblical and Systematic Introduction, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan Academic, 2020), 94–95; citing Mark Allan Powell, Loving Jesus (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2004), 52.

8. Graham A. Cole, Faithful Theology: An Introduction (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2020), 32.

9. Gisbertus Voetius, Selectae Disputationes Theologicae, “Concerning Practical Theology,” cited in Beeke and Smalley, Reformed Systematic Theology 1:170.

10. J. Kenneth Grider, A Wesleyan-Holiness Theology (Kansas City, MO: Beacon Hill, 2001), 22–27.

11. John Owen, Biblical Theology: The History of Theology from Adam to Christ, trans. Stephen P. Westcott (Orlando, FL: Soli Deo Gloria, 1994), 6.4 (618–19).

12. Herman Bavinck, Reformed Dogmatics, ed. John Bolt, trans. John Vriend, 4 vols. (Grand Rapids, MI: Baker, 2003–2008), 1:43.

13. Wayne E. Grudem, Systematic Theology, 2nd ed. (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 2000), Preface, xxiii.

14. John MacArthur and Richard Mayhue, eds., Biblical Doctrine: A Systematic Summary of Bible Truth (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2017).

15. Donald G. Bloesch, A Theology of Word and Spirit: Authority and Method in Theology (Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 1992), 22.