Over the past several decades, the theological journey of the Chinese church has unfolded in three identifiable waves—each shaped by historical moments and institutional movements.
Three Waves of Chinese Theology Since the 1970s
The first wave began in the 1970s and 1980s, marked by the theological movement promoted by institutions like the China Graduate School of Theology in Hong Kong (formerly under the leadership of Rev. Dr. Carver Yu and his two predecessors, Wilson Chow and Philip Teng). These years laid crucial groundwork for engaging Chinese culture with Christian thought.
The second wave, emerging in the 1990s, centered on the rise of Sino-Christian studies. It was driven by the Institute of Sino-Christian Studies in Hong Kong and the Centre for Sino-Christian Studies at Hong Kong Baptist University. I was personally involved in this stage, alongside fellow scholars like Dr. Ian Sun. Together, we grew into a movement committed to dialogue between Christian theology and Chinese intellectual traditions.
Today we witness a third wave, represented by the Institute for Advanced Studies in Chinese Christianity (IASCC). This effort seeks not only to continue the work of its predecessors but to consciously synthesize their legacy. Though an earlier initiative by GETS Theological Seminary initially stalled, it has since been revived with renewed energy. What’s significant is the intergenerational participation—scholars from all three stages are now working together. The word “advanced” in IASCC isn’t merely academic branding; it signals an intentional theological and cultural inheritance.
Where Is China’s Alexandria?
One concept we’ve returned to again and again is the notion of the “patristic era” of the Chinese church, as described by Prof. Yung-hwa Ge. A common question, “Where is China’s Alexandria?” has shaped our strategic thinking. Just as Alexandria was once a hub where Christian faith engaged Hellenistic thought, we too seek a center—a spiritual and intellectual anchor point—for the Chinese church’s maturing theological identity.
But no single location can bear this weight. Our answer has been to envision an international, multi-centered network: Los Angeles (where IASCC is based), Cambridge (with emerging partnerships), Henan (our symbolic Antioch), Beijing (our Rome), and Wenzhou (our Jerusalem). Each site carries symbolic weight, offering distinct threads of the church’s story.
Between East and West, Ancient and Modern
A second key concept in our reflections is “context.” Why must the Chinese church develop a high-level theological research institute now?
Because our moment is historically unique. China—and the Chinese church—stands at a complex crossroads. Politically and socially, remnants of premodern systems persist, rooted in millennia of state-religion fusion since the loss of “communication between heaven and earth.” At the same time, China’s logistics, market efficiency, and technological advancement represent one of the world’s most modern systems. And increasingly, we are stepping into a postmodern era marked by artificial intelligence and digital transformation.
This reality is best captured by the term “mixed modernities.” Unlike in the United States, where modernity largely centers on individual rights and capital, China’s development integrates premodern, modern, and postmodern forces. This blend opens unique possibilities for theological insight, not in the sense of national pride, but as a sociological observation.
We can think of this in terms of two intersecting axes: East vs. West, and past vs. present.
The first axis—East/West—has intensified in recent years. Consider the rise of the term mei xifang (“the American West”) in official discourse. This phrase not only reshapes perceptions of the West but also signals a deepening effort to reimagine Eastern identity. Global tensions, such as those highlighted by the Russia–Ukraine war, reveal growing divides not only between nations but between conceptual worldviews.
The second axis—past/present—raises a debate in Chinese academic circles: Which is more decisive, the cultural tension between East and West, or the historical tension between ancient and modern? While cultural conservatives often emphasize the former, Christian scholars increasingly view the ancient-modern tension as more theologically relevant. Even in the US, the so-called “spiritual civil war” seen in political discourse reflects a deeper clash between natural law and individual autonomy.
In short, we live in a moment where tradition can’t simply be revived, and modernity can’t be uncritically embraced. Theology must discern its way forward through this labyrinth.
A New Metaphor: The Third Oceanic Age
In light of this, I propose a new metaphor: the Third Oceanic Age.
In the First Oceanic Age, the Mediterranean became an inner sea for the Roman Empire—and for the gospel. Jesus calmed the Sea of Galilee. The church grew out of Jewish roots into a Gentile world.
In the Second Oceanic Age, the Atlantic and Pacific served as highways for exploration, colonization, and global missions. Christianity became a dominant global religion—often entangled with empire.
Now, in the Third Oceanic Age, the seas we must navigate are no longer geographical. They are:
- The internal ocean of the human brain, revealed by neuroscience;
- The external ocean of the cosmos, explored by visionaries like Elon Musk;
- The virtual ocean of the metaverse, shaped by artificial intelligence and digital reality.
Biblically, the sea is often a symbol of chaos—and of transformation. It is the place where Jesus demonstrates authority, where the Leviathan lurks, and where, in the end, the sea will be no more (Revelation 21:1). In this new oceanic age, theology must navigate fear with faith, and uncertainty with courage.
Why Language Matters
Whatever our identity—Chinese church, Chinese-speaking church, or Chinese diaspora church—we share a common theological medium: the modern Chinese language.
This language is not merely a national tool. It is a global one, shaped by Russian, Japanese, English, German, and classical Chinese traditions. Our task is not just to theologize in Chinese, but to allow theology to emerge from the Chinese language. This work is immense, foundational, and unfinished.
Facing the Future: Theology with Courage
So here is the challenge before us: Can theology in the Third Oceanic Age rise to meet this moment?
It must move beyond passive response. It must ask new questions about human dignity, the image of Christ, and the formation of future Christian communities. It must imagine new languages, symbols, and spiritual practices shaped not only by tradition but also by today’s cultural currents.
Most of all, it must begin not with theory, but with personhood. Before we do theology, we must learn to live as persons, rooted in place, language, and community. Otherwise, theology risks becoming a purely abstract exercise—akin to 1 + 1 = 2—with no bearing on real life.
Only what is local can be truly global. Only what is personal can be truly universal.
Editor’s note: This article was originally written in Chinese and was translated and edited by the ChinaSource team with permission.
