God. Real. Right.

The topic of conversion is a huge one for theologians, usually spoken of in terms of repentance and faith, and in relation to calling and regeneration. But conversion is also a sociological phenomenon. That is, especially since William James at the turn of the Twentieth Century, people have been interested in studying things like conversion as a purely empirical phenomenon. The problematic issues introduced by that practice are too many even to list here, much less address. There is one aspect of it, though, not only worth mentioning, but also worth learning something from–although it almost hurts to admit it.
Here’s what it means to study conversion empirically instead of theologically. To study it theologically is to ask questions about what is true regarding who can be converted, how God converts them, what the results of their conversion will be, and so forth. More specifically, theological inquiry into conversion will address questions like whether a person can repent and exercise faith when they have not yet been given new life by God–when they have not yet experienced regeneration. (For the record, my answer is an adamant “yes.”) Such questions are spiritual in nature to the extent that there is no instrument or method for observing the arrival of one and then the other. How exactly would a person observe the arrival of the new birth and compare it chronologically with the moment of saving faith?
So when people driven by an empirical culture (as this culture certainly is) wish to study religion, they must study things which can somehow be observed or measured. But that method necessarily excludes the most significant parts of the equation: God, truth, and spirituality–none of which can be measured in a caliper, evaluated in response to changing temperatures, or excluded to establish a control group.
That limitation does not make the empirical study of religion useless; it simply qualifies the meaning of what comes from it. So those studying empirically, in most cases sociologically, will inevitably study structure rather than content. For example, Scot McKnight succeeds at stripping conversion of its content (sounds worse than it is) and studying instead its structure. But then he does not stay there, adding only what is necessary in content to make some distinctions between the kinds of conversions people experience in his book, Finding Faith, Losing Faith: Stories of Conversion and Apostasy. (This post is not a review of his book, so for some detail on him or his books visit Scot’s website, jesuscreed.org. His book simply exemplifies the kind of contrast this post is trying to describe.)
But there is something very substantial and not simply empirical to glean from studies like his. By accurately (structurally) comparing the conversions of self-described Christians into self-described atheists, agnostics, or otherwise with the conversions of non-Christians into Christians, his book provides some great fodder for introspection on the part of believers. He studies four different kinds of conversions, then examines the context, crisis, quest, encounter, commitment, and consequences of each type of conversion. Those six elements comprise the structure of conversion for McKnight. (Anyone feeling a bit squeamish about comparing the conversion to Christianity with apostasy from it should note that absolutely anything can be compared with anything else as long as the structure is sufficiently generic. Chairs are like dreams in that it is possible to think about each one, for instance.) All that’s left to describe any conversion is simply to fill in the blanks for each structural element. “Bob converted to Roman Catholicism. OK. What was the context in which he was situated before he experienced what crisis which led to what kind of quest,” and on through the six elements.
Doing that kind of empirical study usually produces nothing more than an esoterically interesting account of some niche interest in a culture. But in the case of conversion studies, the comparison provides an opportunity to see where self-described “Christianity” may, in reality (not empirically), be nothing more than just another vacuous faith which happens to use vocabulary disconnected from its truth. If people come to Christianity (not necessarily to Christ) because they were disenchanted with their atheism, then leave Christianity when they become disenchanted with their “Christian” community, then for anyone who believes there actually is a difference between the power of Christ to change lives and the changes people create for themselves the evidence points to one of two or both possibilities: that the one experiencing apostasy did not experience the power of Christ to transform him, or the “Christian” community failed to relate the powerful presence of Christ, acting instead just like any other group would.
The point is simply that structural observations like the one in McKnight’s book are worth making, and worth reading. And once done, they are worth using to investigate where the real difference is between “grace alone through faith alone in Christ alone” and every other kind of delivering faith people seek. But the empirical method is not sufficient to provide that answer. It cannot be reduced to a phenomenon. That answer, that power, that reality is in fact in a relationship with a person who, while in every way historical, in every way material in His Son’s incarnation, and in every way still real, is described by Peter as the One “whom having not seen, we love.”