This post was written by Patrick Rist on April 22, 2008
In our last posting, we mentioned what Ken Myers calls “Adverbial Christianity” – the notion that so often the world dictates the nouns of our lives, while Christianity is brought in so that we can pursue these pre-established goals “peacefully,” or “graciously,” or “honestly,” and the like.
This is an anemic vision of the Christian life, but it is quite often the status quo for believers in academia. The way out of it is not easy – there are not any quick fixes. But surely we can all affirm that we have been called to something higher, something better, and that faithfulness means at least trying.
It is in that spirit that I’d like to offer some thoughts on how to begin the process of integrating one’s scholarly work with historic Christian thought. On one hand, it would be hard to improve upon Paul Gould’s essay, “The Two Tasks Introduced: The Fully Integrated Life of the Christian Scholar,” in The Two Tasks of the Christian Scholar, but what I’ve been considering would probably be considered prolegomena (even to Gould’s prolegomena).
§ At the most basic level, integration means thinking theologically about one’s academic discipline. This presupposes that theology, and the Bible upon which valid theology is based, actually has something to say about things other than “religion” and “spirituality.” The Bible is not a science textbook (as we are so often and so tiresomely reminded), yet it presents itself as a true and accurate account of the world and the human condition. Therefore, unless we are willing to buy into a truncated, impoverished view of truth, we must take the Bible and theology seriously and allow it to speak into our understanding of our scholarly endeavors.
§ Once we take this step, then the hard work really begins. It is my belief that Christian scholars, whatever their discipline, should become lay theologians to the best of their abilities. There are far too many “Christian scholars” who are Christian by virtue of their confession but not by virtue of the “Christian-ness” of their scholarship. Scholarship that is thoroughly Christian is the product of much analysis (and judgment) of the reigning paradigms in a given discipline, not a little Christian jargon spread over the top like mayonnaise (and that goes for amorphous, often inane verbiage about “justice,” too).
In order to do this sort of analysis, it seems to me that Christian academics should begin to humbly learn theological categories. This is a process of replacing one’s mental furniture with new concepts – and training oneself in a different style of thinking.
It would seem that this would be a better preliminary step than going directly to books written by Christians in one’s field – if there are any. Having grounding in theological convictions would enable one to better ascertain the validity of what another Christian has written, and also to recognize the positive contributions that they are making.
§ Finally (at least for today’s post!), a key part of the integration process that is so often ignored, or at least left unstated, is reflection. What we have been describing – the serious study of theology, the replacing of mental furniture, the analysis of the presuppositions of one’s field – these are not things that can be simply checked off a “to do” list. These are ongoing, difficult projects, which require strenuous mental effort and time – time to digest, assimilate, and perhaps harmonize what one is learning. And only after lengthy reflection can one hope to actually produce something as a result.
I must state it boldly: There can be no integration without reflection. If you find that you are simply too busy, too “pro-active” to take the time to reflect, you may think that you want to do integration, but you’ll have to be satisfied with the adverbs.
This post was written by Patrick Rist on April 15, 2008
Recently I was talking with a Christian professor at a large state university, and asked her how her faith had informed her practice of her discipline (she was a sociologist). She replied that she tried to be a conscientious teacher and treat her students well. She also said she discouraged profanity in her classroom.
This was a good person, who undoubtedly is a sincere, pious Christian. But I was reminded of what Ken Myers (of Mars Hill Audio) calls “Adverbial Christianity.” The world sets the overall agenda of our lives, providing the nouns: the work, the goals, the purpose. The church only gets to provide the adverbs, so that things are done “peacefully,” or “lovingly,” or “gracefully.”
This adverbial posture is far cry from the vision of academic integration. And yet one suspects that this is where we might find the majority of Christian professors, whether they are at secular or church-related schools.
Why? Is the notion of integrating one’s scholarship with a Christian view of life and reality that difficult to grasp, simply as a concept? While it may be a challenge to flesh out in practice, particularly for some disciplines, it is deeply troubling to encounter academics to whom this notion has never even occurred as a possibility.
It may be time for us to re-visit some basic concepts surrounding the pursuit of the integration of the Christian worldview and the academic calling. We’ll try to do this in the next few entries.
This post was written by Mark Hansard on April 7, 2008
Dear editors and publishers of Christianity Today,
I am becoming more and more dismayed at the editorial direction of your magazine, which appears to increasingly embrace the “emergent” or “emerging church” movement and promote it, as if this movement(s) will do our churches a valuable service. While it is true that today’s culture of young people is different than previous generations, it is not in their interest to abandon the life of the mind and the soul’s powers of reason in order to reach them. Much of what I read in CT and hear from youth leaders, is anti-intellectualism of the worst kind: the kind that dismisses logical thinking and apologetics as “modern” and irrelevant today.
For example, in Scot McKnight’s “Five Streams of the Emerging Church” (Feb. 2007), he says that postmodernity “cannot be reduced to a denial of truth” but instead “is the collapse of overarching metanarratives…like those of Marxism and science…because of the impossibility of getting outside of their assumptions.” But this is self-referentially incoherent, since postmodernity has a set of assumptions that, presumably, it cannot “get outside of.” If none of us can “get outside of” our assumptions, the only recourse is complete agnosticism about knowledge itself: an admission that radical skepticism is the only option. True, on his description, McKnight’s view of postmodernity doesn’t lead to a denial of truth. Rather, it leads to a denial that truth can be known. This is somewhat silly in my opinion, since McKnight is probably writing his article on a word processor, something he would not be able to do unless scientific presuppositions about physics had turned out to be true and led to the construction of microchips.
In another egregious example, Molly Worthen, in her article “Not Your Father’s L’Abri” (March, 2008), quotes John Sandri as saying, “I’m not an inerrantist, but I’m not an ‘errantist’ either. Both are wrong. Man makes these opposing points of view. The modernist agenda is behind both.” The problems with such a quotation are legion. For one thing, I assume that he holds to some middle position between inerrancy and “errancy,” but the way the quotation is constructed it appears he is denying the law of the excluded middle (either there is at least one error in Scripture, or there is not—no other logical option is available). Whether he intends to deny this law of logic is unclear, but it certainly leaves a muddleheaded impression that does your readers a disservice (besides—what’s wrong with inerrancy?!). Frankly, I grow weary of hearing youth leaders say that logic is “modern,” and thus something irrelevant to young people today. I suppose they get such ideas from professors like Sandri, but I find that exactly the opposite is true.
As I have occasion to speak to college students and 20-Somethings, I teach of the importance of reason, how Jesus used logic in his debates with the Pharisees, and how we can defend Christianity rationally. The response is often stunned amazement and interest, rather than hostility or indifference. Often, after the teaching time is over, students will rush forward to be the first in line to ask questions. It is as if the reasoning portions of their souls, which have to this point been anesthetized, are resurrected. Occasionally an emergent adherent will scoff, not because he does not have the same needs which this sort of teaching meets, but because he has been trained to think it will not work in reaching the unchurched.
Today’s leading literature departments are abandoning deconstructionism and a whole host of postmodern beliefs. At the same time, the emerging church movement (if it is even one movement that can be defined) is embracing many of these same postmodern beliefs. Instead of being counter-cultural like many emergentists believe, they are simply following academic ideas that are twenty years out of date. It is difficult enough to get today’s youth to use their minds without emerging leaders encouraging this sort of intellectual lethargy.
Today’s evangelical leaders have a choice: either to acquiesce in the anesthetization of the mind, or to take part in its rational resurrection. It is clear that Christianity Today has made its choice to go along with the anesthesiologist. For this reason, I will not be renewing my subscription to CT.
Sincerely,
Mark Hansard
This post was written by Mark Hansard on March 28, 2008
The Intercollegiate Studies Institute (ISI) publishes a series of introductory student guides on areas of interest in the humanities to round out a student’s education in Western civilization with traditional canonical works which may not be required reading in some secular academic settings. From American history to classics studies to philosophy, these little guides are quite useful in aiding students as they navigate their university studies in order to achieve what would today be considered a “classical education.”
For example, Mark C. Henrie, in A Student’s Guide to the Core Curriculum, offers eight areas of study which students can pursue to lay a foundation for Western thought, including classical literature (Homer and Virgil), ancient philosophy, Shakespeare, the Bible, modern political theory, and others. In the chapter on studying Bible, there is a brief discussion of the historical-critical method and how this skews study of Scripture in many religion departments. Henrie helpfully recommends that, for believing students, they become involved in a church or para-church organization that could help them navigate these issues in such a course.
Additionally, the guides often include wonderful asides that are useful for forming a student’s soul. For example, Henrie’s introduction includes a brief description of Aristotle’s view of intellectual friendship, in which friends discuss with each other thoughtful insights that they can “present to others for testing.” This, he says, “is the surest means for connecting pleasure with true education.” Bravo. How wonderful it would be if today’s students occasionally turned off their video games to have a stimulating intellectual discussion that might turn out to be life-altering.
It seems to me these guides might also be useful for the scholar who wishes to read more broadly, perhaps in fields outside his own, and gain some knowledge of the classical view of such fields. These little books are merely 100 pages each and can be read in one sitting. The downside, of course is that they are very broad, very basic, and thus necessarily very general. They proffer a certain view of each field which they do not defend, but merely authoritatively state. Nevertheless, I have found them quite useful in rounding out my own education in areas which I could only take a brief introductory course as an undergraduate.
This post was written by Randy Newman on March 17, 2008
Many people are shaking their heads as they read about now-resigned New York Governor Elliot Spitzer’s entanglement in a prostitution ring. People marvel at “how he could be so stupid.” They’re asking each other, “Didn’t he know this would ruin his career and his marriage?”
But stupidity was not his problem. And if our worldview can only explain his actions as a mental lapse or intellectual weakness, we fail to grasp what really happened. And, tragically, we would be susceptible to falling into similar traps (even if less expensive ones).
Academicians, especially, may misread this mess as merely intellectual, since they spend so much time analyzing thought and living in the world of ideas. (Some have even tried to explain Spitzer’s behavior in terms of evolutionary psychology and genetics.) But we need far more insight than just an answer to the question, “what was he thinking?”
For starters, we must acknowledge that Spitzer did not attain his high ranking in the legal and political worlds with a low I.Q. He is an intelligent man with cognitive capabilities beyond most people. Nor is he ignorant of the world of crime and sleaze. If examples alone could prevent such things, this man would have certainly been immune.
His problem flows from a sick heart not a weak brain. His soul needs tutoring more than his mind. He failed to take heed of the many warnings against the power of power. His success in prosecution seduced him to thinking he could do anything, with anyone, at any price.
As people marvel at the hourly cost of hiring one of those prostitutes, they may fail to see that it was indeed the very price, something most people could not afford, that was part of the lure. The very act of dropping thousands of dollars for one hour of sex was more intoxicating than the sex itself. To quote another intelligent man who succumbed to moral temptation, he did it “because he could.”
Our secularized culture tends to reduce these kinds of events. He wasn’t thinking. When we do that, we deceive ourselves into believing we could never do anything like he did because, “I would never be so stupid.” But ignoring our heart and the power of sin could pave the way for something just as “stupid.”
Our Christian worldview, which sees human life as a complex intersection of intellect, emotions, will, and a host of spiritual dynamics, does a better job for preparing us for temptations that can ruin our lives. As we read the articles about this man’s fall, let us not deceive ourselves but rather, let us guard our hearts and feed our souls on things more substantive than power, sex, and pride – especially a pride that would make us think we’re too smart to make “stupid” mistakes.
This post was written by Randy Newman on March 10, 2008
Finding books or other materials to give or lend to intellectually minded non-Christians poses a constant challenge. Many of the hot-selling items just won’t connect with professors, grad students, or others who take the life of the mind seriously. Of course, the old standby, Mere Christianity by C.S. Lewis, still engages and challenges. But it is a bit dated and, as such, cannot interact with crucial events of recent times, such as September 11th, the Tsunami, or the current rise of books by atheists Dawkins, Hitchens, et. al.
Timothy Keller, pastor of Redeemer Presbyterian Church in New York City, has just written a very helpful tool for us that can open up doors for evangelism and dialogue in new and exciting ways. His book, The Reason for God, models evangelism to a postmodern audience for Christians to follow and offers a challenging presentation of the gospel for non-believers to consider. The book’s subtitle, Belief in an Age of Skepticism, lets the reader know right from the start that he’s responding to Dawkins and Hitchens but does so from an initiating posture, rather than a defensive one.
You can see a clip of Keller’s rationale for writing the book at: www.reasonforgod.com.
The book’s two parts work well for gradually building a compelling case for the gospel without overstating or insulting a thoughtful skeptic. In fact, the word “humble” kept popping into my mind as I read the first half of the book, a series of answers to common obstacles to acceptance of Christianity. As Keller respectfully considers the objections many people ask – the exclusivity of Christianity, the problem of evil, hypocrisy in the church, the ugliness of hell, and several issues related to the Bible – he challenges the reader to consider that their objections may be just as faith-based as the Christianity they reject. He urges people to “doubt their doubts” and see that they have arrived at their position with no more “scientific,” or “provable,” or “objective” bases as the most ardent of believers.
The second half of the book presents positive reasons to give the gospel a second chance – clues for God’s existence, evidences of our inability to not believe in god, etc. and discussions of essential Christian doctrines in ways that are free from clichés and full of current cultural references. His chapter on the problem of sin, the issue that we seem to have the hardest time explaining to postmodern people, is truly a masterpiece and challenges any reader to rethink and, ye even, repent.
Keller rightly identifies our universal tendency to turn to other sources of satisfaction, comfort, meaning, and our own versions of salvation as the root of our problem. In a style that is both winsome and challenging, he concludes the chapter on sin with these words: “Everyone has to live for something. Whatever that something is becomes ‘Lord of your life,’ whether you think of it that way or not. Jesus is the only Lord who, if you receive him, will fulfill you completely, and, if you fail him, will forgive you eternally” (173).
I’m quite fussy about books to give to professors and other thoughtful friends. I don’t want to be embarrassed by an author who erects straw men or belittles the reader. I also don’t want the reader to be able to dismiss arguments that just won’t stand up to scrutiny. This eliminates a lot of popular items. Keller’s book will stand up to the toughest objections and does so in a compelling, winsome way. I’m looking for the best deal I can find on the purchase of a case or two of this important new tool in reaching out with the gospel.
This post was written by Patrick Rist on March 3, 2008
With the death of William F. Buckley (1925 – 2008) last week, America lost one of its most colorful and eloquent political commentators. Buckley’s political conservatism was always anchored in his conservative Catholicism – a fact that led to his break with atheist Ayn Rand in the 1950s.
Although not all Christians (especially Christians in academia) agree with Buckley’s political vision, are there other lessons that we can take from his life? I believe that there are many, and I’d like to offer some possibilities:
– Although not an academic by profession, Buckley was an intellectual, and was driven to learn. I once read an article about him that said he admitted being unwilling to cross the street without a book or magazine, lest traffic keep him immobilized for ten seconds.
– Much was made of his use of arcane words – even a word-a-day calendar was marketed under his name. It was hard to say how much of this vocabulary was a desire to show off, and how much of it was just part of who he was. Nevertheless, words are part of our inheritance, and like any inheritance should be preserved, not squandered. Buckley made a point of preserving the richness of our language.
– The payoff for the reading and learning for Buckley was that he was a prolific writer – evidently being able to write as fast as he could type. And the majority of even his thrice-weekly newspaper columns were of the highest quality prose and reasoning.
– But perhaps the greatest lesson from Buckley’s life is that even though he had passionately-held beliefs and convictions, and ardently defended those beliefs in the public arena, his public conduct and even his rhetoric was always gentlemanly (with a notable exception being an on-air row with the execrable Gore Vidal).
Increasingly, I seem to encounter Christians who are unwilling to hold positions strongly enough to defend them – ostensibly for fear of giving offense to non-believers. Or Christians who are so angry at the surrounding pagan culture that they are unwilling (or even unable) to engage in dialogue with those who don’t share a common starting point with them.
Buckley’s eloquent style, laced with wit and maybe a little satire, will long stand as an example for us to emulate. While standing firmly on his convictions, he had the confidence to engage in debate in a gracious yet straightforward way. We have come a long way from Buckley in his heyday, to figures like Ann Coulter (or Al Franken).
As evidence of Buckley’s friendly manner, he had longstanding friendships with people on the opposite side of the political spectrum. One of these was the liberal economist, John Kenneth Galbraith. It was Galbraith who, while speaking at a dinner given in honor of Buckley, said that while Buckley’s TV show, Firing Line, was a fine program, the real drama on it each week was whether or not Buckley would be able to part his hair with his tongue.
This post was written by Patrick Rist on February 25, 2008
D. Michael Lindsay is professor of sociology at Rice University, and author of the important new book, Faith in the Halls of Power, which was the result of a five-year study of evangelicals in the highest echelons of business, academia and government. Recently he published an article (found here) in which he details a disturbing trend among these powerful evangelicals: a full 60% aren’t involved in church in any meaningful way.
I encourage you to read the article (it’s quite short). But the gist of it is this: many of these wealthy and accomplished individuals feel that they have no time for involvement in the slow, inefficient goings-on of a local church. Many of them pour their religious energies into “high-impact” parachurch organizations. In addition, many are involved in what could be termed “niche” outreaches that service the spiritual needs of those in their unique situations – for example, the article mentions fellowship groups organized solely for CEOs.
Lindsay rightly laments these developments, as well he should. But such trends are probably the outgrowth of other assumptions common among Christians today:
§ Church should be fun. Few would state it so baldly, but this is what is probably behind a lot of complaints about different elements of the service. And after all, if everything else is either fun or attempts to be fun in our society, shouldn’t church be entertaining as well?
§ I should only go to church with people I like. Actually, a strong case could be made that the opposite is true – that being around people who scrape and abrade against us is actually good for our souls: hard relationships, properly pursued, teach us things that easy relationships cannot.
§ I should only go to church with people like me. Many churches and even denominations market themselves to certain segments of society – interestingly, poor and working class folks aren’t often targeted. The New Testament, though, seems to indicate that churches consisted of people from all walks of life and all income brackets. And this too, presented opportunities for growth (see above).
§ Church involvement is optional. Where’d this come from? Although the New Testament does not explicitly command church attendance (Hebrews 10: 24 -25 comes very close), it is clear that those who considered themselves sovereignly called by God out of paganism to himself, understood that he also called them into a new community in their city. “Joining the church” was not a “choice” they made – it was understood to go hand in hand with being regenerate.
§ And the foundational assumption: Christianity is infinitely malleable, able to fit easily into any cultural milieu. Thus, in a culture that elevates business management and marketing technique to the level of grand narrative (or low-brow entertainment, like The Apprentice), the church should be expected to function like a business. Christians should approach their spiritual lives with Stephen Covey-like efficiency.
Few of us have overcome these sorts of assumptions completely (or at least I’d like to believe that, because I certainly haven’t). Which one or two do you find to be strong in your thinking?
As those deeply concerned with the life of the mind, we often find ourselves “on the out” at church. How can we guard against an attitude of resentment and superiority, without sacrificing what we believe to be of enormous importance?
This post was written by Chris Gadsden on February 18, 2008
John Coe, Associate Professor of Spiritual Theology and Philosophy at Rosemead Graduate School of Psychology (Biola University), once lectured on this subject in class. I grasped it in a small way then, but it is becoming more real to me now as I journey further into the dark waters of graduate work. The pull, the siren call of academics is incredibly potent. But Coe’s words have been for me like the cords that kept Odysseus bound to the mast of his ship. The following is a smattering of Dr. Coe’s thoughts on this weighty subject.
· The temptation to find our identity in what we do is a form of idolatry. Rather than glory in our ability to achieve, we must despair of our attempts to fill our empty selves with affirmation and recognition from others. Despair is part of repentance.
· Our vocation, whether in the university or elsewhere, wants to exalt itself as master and lord over us. We must despair of our training, our expertise, our reputation, etc. These things must be servants and the center must be Jesus Christ.
· There is a deceit of excellence – calling us to give ourselves to our discipline or our work. “Don’t give yourself to your discipline. Give yourself to becoming more alive to God. Don’t be charmed by excellence,” says Coe. Our colleagues, those who trained us and those over us tend to foster this idolatry — they violate as they were violated. The university itself tends to overwhelm us with an intellectual or academic focus because that is the insidious spirit of academia. In the midst of all the wonderful gifts the university has to offer, this spirit works its subtle art in our souls.
The following is a prayer exercise (from Dr. Coe) designed to help us examine our hearts in this area. The bulk of time should be spent in an attitude of listening and receptivity, trusting God to respond to your questions, rather than trying to “fix yourself.” The exercise may take about 1 hour.
· First 20 min., “Lord, what has been my attitude in the past about my education?” Did it seem like a waste of time? Was I driven? What was my attitude about my research, teaching and writing in grad school?
· Next 20 min., Explore your attitude right now toward your profession. What draws you to it? What motivates you in your research? How do you feel about teaching? How many publications should I have each year? What is my relationship with my colleagues and administrators? Do I need their approval? What about those professors who don’t like me? Should I be here, working this many hours?
· Last 20 min. – Ask God to help you in word only to despair over some things you need to despair over. This may not be deep change, but at least a confession of intent to despair. Do I need to despair over my research, my profession, my colleagues’ approval?
This post was written by Patrick Rist on February 11, 2008
Last week, a number of tornadoes tore through Tennessee, where I live. Many homes were destroyed, and dozens of lives were lost. Near our home, friends of ours lost their church in the storm. It was obliterated.
Natural disasters often raise questions concerning God’s providence and sovereignty. Why, if God is both all-powerful and loving, do these things happen? Does he allow them? Are they the work of Satan? Are such things simply beyond his control?
Questions such as these are, of course, categorized under the heading, “The Problem of Evil.” More specifically, the technical term for these questions and the arguments that seek to answer them is theodicy: the defense of God’s righteousness and omnipotence in the face of evil and suffering. At your next cocktail party, try to use the word theodicy in conversation – it’s a real showstopper.
There is a long and ever-lengthening history of theodicy in Christian thought, which is evidence of how desperately we want to understand this issue. It is also probably evidence of how far we are from resolving it. It seems to me that theodicies come in two categories: (1) the fairly helpful, and (2) the awful.
Under the fairly helpful category, one might place work that Alvin Plantinga has done. To simplify almost to the point of slander, Plantinga’s argument is that it is perfectly reasonable to state that if there is evil in the world, and if there is an all-powerful, all-righteous God, then there must be a perfectly good reason for God to allow the evil.
This is not a particularly comforting counsel to share with someone who’s grieving the loss of a home or a loved one. Plantinga’s main project was to demonstrate that it was not a logical contradiction to hold that evil and the biblical God could both exist. And remarkably, many of Plantinga’s philosophical adversaries acknowledged that he’d done so.
We may find Plantinga’s arguments pretty thin stuff. But at least he is not trying to get God “off the hook,” even at the cost of ignoring the biblical data, which is what many of the most awful theodicies seem to be attempting.
“Open theism” seems (to me) to spring from an unwillingness to allow the Bible to say what it says, and to take us where we would probably rather not go. Among other things, some of its advocates hold that while God knows everything that is knowable, he can’t know the future because it hasn’t happened yet. Thus, I suppose I could share with my friends who lost their church: “Take comfort! God’s just as surprised by this as you are!”
The Bible clearly teaches that God knows the end from the beginning; further, it is replete with sobering statements concerning his foreknowledge and foreordination of events, indicating a supervision and orchestration of history that I believe is beyond our ability to understand.
This is why I used the phrase, “fairly helpful” in describing the best theodicies. I do not believe that we can ultimately know the answer to the “why?” questions that natural disasters raise. We can and should try to understand all we can, but in the end we are left with mystery.
I have colleagues who think that I play the “mystery card” too readily. But we see Job getting an answer directly from God, and it is not an answer that causes Job to slap his forehead and exclaim, “Oh, of course! Now I get it! Thanks, God!” Instead, Job’s forehead is slapped by the ground as it rushes up to meet him.
Is appealing to and accepting mystery un-academic? Probably. But for the Christian, even the Christian scholar, there are worse things to be. For while there are many things we cannot know about this issue, there is one thing we can know, and it is the most important thing to know: The God who is sometimes pleased to allow hard and painful things into our lives is the same God who was pleased to crush his Son for our iniquities.
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