Seminarium

The Elements of Great Teaching

Reading Philosophy in Christian Communities: Part 1—On Appropriating Philosophical Inquiry

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In this series of two posts on reading philosophy in Christian communities, capsule I am going to think a bit about two aspects of this general topic (though there are certainly many more directions in which one could go): (1) The ways in which philosophy is often appropriated (or not) by churches and Christian institutions; and (2) An argument for why seminary education should include philosophy as a key part of its curriculum for training ministers.

Turning Students into Atheists?

I went to college at an evangelical Christian liberal-arts institution. When I was an undergraduate, sickness there was no philosophy major at my school and no professional philosopher on the faculty (this situation has, gratefully, changed since then). In fact, there was only one introduction to philosophy course offered and it was taught by a theologian. My professor was incredible and I credit him, nearly entirely, with my own choice to become a philosopher.

Toward the end of the course, however, I told my professor that philosophy had hooked me and I wanted to go further in studying it. As we were finishing up our conversation that day, I asked him why the institution did not have a philosophy major since it seemed to be so deeply relevant to thinking well about religious life. He smiled and said: “Because the administration is scared of turning our students into atheists.”  Though I expect he was being ironic, his comment struck me deeply that day and it has continued to trouble me ever since.

Avoidance or Engagement?

My professor’s comment indicated a basic structure of what I take to be a fairly frequent manifestation of what we might term a Christian fearfulness about philosophical inquiry. There are numerous ways one can respond to the idea that philosophy is a challenge to Christian identity. By far the most common, I believe, is to avoid philosophy in the name of self-protective theology. This would be a particular sort of example of what C.S. Peirce  terms the practice of fixing belief by “tenacity” such that one isolates oneself, or one’s community, from critical challenge from outside. Let’s term this approach the strategy of avoidance.

If the strategy of avoidance is insular, there is another common strategy that can be understood as a direct response to this perceived insularity: I will call it the strategy of oppositional engagement. This strategy is deployed most frequently by professional philosophers in the aim of either directly responding to what are raised as “defeaters” to Christian belief or offering positive reasons to affirm particular Christian truth-claims. So, on the defensive side, for example, challenges to particular sorts of naturalism, arguments in favor of the historical reliability of religious texts, various replies to the problem of evil, and responses to questions about religious pluralism might all show up as important goals. Alternatively, one might find positive arguments for God’s existence, say, or arguments for the rationality of religious belief as examples of positive apologetics.

Both of these strategies are understandable and both are important options to keep in play depending on the situation. On the one hand, avoidance is probably the best way forward for many religious believers insofar as philosophy is simply not for everyone and so philosophical engagement is not the best way to meet many people where they are. On the other hand, oppositional engagement is often an important task when attempting to meet the objections of one’s critics and also for overcoming the suspicion of rampant anti-intellectualism within religious communities. However, both of these strategies raise worries that we should not ignore.

Navigating the Storms

Although avoidance recognizes that people are different and that religious confidence and doctrinal stability is often what allows individuals to navigate their own storms of existence, the self-protective theology that it so frequently endorses is problematic for theological reasons as well as psychological ones. Theologically, avoidance fails to take seriously the narrative of divine hospitality that is found throughout the Scriptures. Indeed, perhaps in order that evangelism not slide into imperialism, the strategy of avoidance needs to be minimized as much as possible within the contemporary Christian community.

Psychologically, the tenacity reflected in the strategy of avoidance is something that Peirce himself notes is nearly impossible to maintain in a pluralistic society. But not only is it difficult to avoid alternative views, it is not advisable. Part of what makes bringing the life of the mind together with the life of faith important is the fact that faith is something that is lived out in the world with others. Unless one takes one’s own views seriously as worthy of assent, and one’s own practices seriously as worthy of participation, etc., then the existential weight of faith itself is lessened. The strategy of avoidance, then, seems to lead either to insular anti-intellectualism or to self-doubt that undermines the attempt at self-protective theology in the first place.

I take it that the strategy of oppositional engagement is much more promising. Indeed, thinkers such as Alvin Plantinga, William Lane Craig, Richard Swinburne, among many, many others, have very good reasons for calling for Christian philosophers to do philosophy as Christians, rather than abandoning their Christian identity in order to assume the supposedly secular norms of philosophical inquiry (see Plantinga’s famous essay “Advice to Christian Philosophers.” And, as Craig suggests somewhere, perhaps one of the most important facts about Christian philosophers is simply that they exist. That is, they stand as examples to Christian and non-Christian communities that anti-intellectualism is not ubiquitous within the church. Moreover, it seems important that one be able to point to Christian philosophers (and Christian scholars of whatever sort) as reasons to think that the objections that are raised against Christian belief and identity are not as obviously successful as critics would contend.

Problems with Oppositional Engagement

So, let me be clear. I am deeply appreciative of the work of Christian philosophers, but I think that the general strategy of oppositional engagement they often deploy is problematic for two reasons. On the one hand, although perhaps a reasonable response to the militancy of some opponents to religion, the strategy can potentially foster a militancy of its own.

Far too often, professional philosophical arguments are brought to the church as a sort of popular apologetic discourse that ends up encouraging its own sort of self-protective theology. Namely, it teaches people (often youth) not to listen to objections very closely because they already have answers ready to hand for any objection. “When they say that, you say this,” becomes the general mode of discourse in too much of the philosophy occurring within the confines of churches and even many college courses on philosophy at confessional institutions. On the other hand, the strategy of oppositional engagement can threaten to occur nearly exclusively at an intellectual level and thus to forget the important existential (emotional, historical, interpersonal) contexts in which such intellectual questions are both born and borne.

Before moving on, then, I want to make clear that I am speaking in dangerously general terms and these generalizations are not meant to be comprehensive assessments of sociological data. Despite the fact that my Christian liberal-arts college did not teach much philosophy, many (such as Calvin, Wheaton, Messiah, etc.) do. Moreover, some of the most important research philosophy departments exist at religiously affiliated universities (e.g., Notre Dame, Baylor, Fordham, and St. Louis, etc.). I am merely trying to lay out general trends in the appropriation of philosophy within Christian institutions (whether ecclesial or academic). Further, quite a few prominent Christian philosophers have argued against apologetics as the primary mode of Christian philosophy. They are right to do so. Though there are certainly many other ways to understand things, I have simply suggested that on the one hand, there is frequently not appropriation at all (avoidance). While, on the other hand, there is often appropriation for very specific apologetic goals (oppositional engagement). Not all professional Christian philosophers operate this way, but some do. Similarly, not all avoidance reflects anti-intellectualism, but much of it does.

An Invitation to Dialogue

Accordingly, both of the above strategies are, in some cases, quite sensible, but both raise reasons to be suspicious of them as entirely adequate for appropriating philosophy within Christian communities. Thus, I want to propose a different strategy. This strategy attempts to overcome isolation in the name of engagement, but not for the sake of defensive response, but invitational dialogue. I propose this strategy as a general approach to philosophical engagement, but specifically I want to offer it as part of a continued call to seminary students and eventual ministers to read more philosophy.

Instead of avoidance or opposition, let me propose the strategy of invitational dialogue. This strategy says that one reads philosophy as a Christian in order better to think through whatever one thinks about. Hence, this strategy does not assume that one reads philosophy primarily for answers to objections (as does the strategy of oppositional engagement), but instead for a better sense of the questions that matter to existing individuals wherever they find themselves.  Notice, here, that this strategy does not focus on apologetic discourse either defensively or positively. Rather, it says that philosophy, in general, is an attempt to think carefully about things that matter. As such, whenever ministers engage in ministry (be it teaching, preaching, counseling, or whatever), they are primarily engaged in thinking with others about religious existence. Such engagement requires being honest about questions that remain. Avoidance denies such questions. Oppositional engagement ignores their weight. Invitational dialogue attempts to repeat the divine invitation of Isaiah 41: “Come let’s reason together.”

Toward a More Plausible Christianity

Reading philosophy may sometimes offer very good reasons for choosing atheism (see Scott Aikin and Robert Talisse’s Reasonable Atheism (2011)), but it does not necessarily lead all readers in that direction. For Christians, then, I hope that reading philosophy helps us to realize that Christian life is more plausible when we own up to the challenges and questions that exist within it. “Lord I believe, but help my unbelief” (Mark 9:24) is a deeply philosophical way of making sense of faith.

Ultimately, reading Plato is important for ministers not primarily because Platonic idealism is a reasonable way of making sense of human existence (though it might be), but because it helps us to strengthen our abilities to take objections seriously while trying to get to what it is that underlies particular questions.

Reading Martin Heidegger is important for ministers not primarily because his existential phenomenology is right about the secondary status of positive science (though it might be), but because it offers us the opportunity to “go to a thinker’s encounter,” as Heidegger says.

Reading John Rawls is important for ministers not primarily because of his specific argument that maxim should guide public decision about wealth distribution is correct (though it might be), but because he helps us to think about the ways in which people start from different “comprehensive” commitments and assumptions when they begin to talk with each other.

Reading Judith Butler is important for ministers not primarily because her notion of performative identity theory is something that should guide homiletic practice (though it might be), but because it helps us to remember that we always start from somewhere and none of us are the stable identities that we sometimes think. Many more examples could be offered here, but the specific names are not as important as the basic idea that philosophy helps us, on the one hand, to admit that questions exist and that we should be skilled at asking such questions more effectively and, on the other hand, to realize that there are various answers to the questions being asked and it matters that we give good reasons for the answers we provide.

Making Sense of Myself

As a professional philosopher who is also a Pentecostal Christian, attempting to make sense of myself and my existence in light of these various dimensions of my identity is rarely easy. That said, I believe that not reading philosophy can make it less likely that ministers will be able to speak to topics being discussed in other areas of their congregants’ lives. Personally, I know that I struggled to find conversation partners in my own churches when I was a college student reading philosophy. Importantly, there is nothing necessarily unique about philosophy in this regard. Studying contemporary physics, engaging literary criticism, appreciating environmental science, etc., also might sometimes make it difficult to see the church as a space that brings the life of the mind together with the life of faith.

I know that many people have very different experiences, but when ministers are out of touch with the issues being weighed and considered in the college classroom, problems can quickly arise. I see philosophy to be such a foundational discipline that I think even though it is not unique, it is distinctively important in this respect. When individuals lose intellectual confidence in their ministers it can all too easily make it seem that Christianity is unable to speak to such important moral, political, existential, and epistemological concerns as well. Moreover, such a situation can potentially make ministers simply look ignorant of the serious questions being asked (i.e., they are not even appreciated as questions worth asking), which then can erode the plausibility structure of Christianity itself for many educated individuals.

When philosophy is read well, as an attempt to be better prepared for the invitational dialogue that will eventually be required in all ministry, rather than merely the oppositional engagement that is only occasionally required and only then in very limited contexts, it should be seen as a key component of the life of faith. It is important because faith is not simply a matter of belief, but of engaged living. Philosophy helps us to engage each other where we are, as we are, and then to think well about where we should go, and who we should be.

More Philosophy, Please

Even though I finished my Ph.D. nearly a decade ago, my mom continues to pray daily “that the Lord will protect my mind.” I am deeply appreciative that she does this, but I am glad that I was never protected from philosophy. I have been made better because my former professor decided that the risk of reading philosophy within Christian communities was well worth it. He was right.

Seminary students, and anyone going into ministry, please read more philosophy. Read it for all of those who will be under your ministry who are like I was when I was 20 and looking for someone in my churches to think with me and admit that even though Christian life is not as easy as is often presented, it nonetheless remains a narrative well worth continuing to find oneself within.

Anticipating Part Two of this series, there are lots of reasons one might advocate the study of philosophy in seminary: conceptual clarity, theological depth, analytic precision, etc. Yet, here I have suggested that one of the most important reasons for ministers to read philosophy is because reading philosophy fosters a comfort with complexity and an ability to take questions seriously even when answers are not immediately available. Lord, I believe. Help my unbelief.

Works Cited:

Aikin, Scott F. and Robert B. Talisse. 2011. Reasonable Atheism: A Moral Case for Respectful Disbelief. Prometheus Books.

Image:  “Study for St Paul Preaching in Athens.” Raphael (1483–1520). PD.

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J. Aaron Simmons is associate professor of philosophy at Furman University. Specializing in 19th and 20th century European philosophy and philosophy of religion, he is the author or editor of numerous books, including God and the Other and The New Phenomenology.

 

Comments

  1. This is a really nice piece. I appreciate the middle ground you work out (invitational dialogue). You mention that the study of philosophy is useful at least in part because it “fosters a comfort with complexity and an ability to take questions seriously even when answers are not immediately available.” I think this is right. I am inclined to add that it allows an ability to take questions seriously even when they do not seem a valid threat to us (something rather valuable for ministers, I suspect). So, for example, while I may be unconcerned with or unmoved by some argument–say a particular argument for determinism–I can understand why someone would be concerned with such an argument, and I can empathetically assist someone in approaching this question with both an honest search for truth while still living a life of faith.

    I found myself pondering, while reading the piece, this very approach (i.e. the connection between an honest search for truth and a life of faith).   I have had many conversations with a friend (who is no longer religious) in which he accuses me of disingenuousness when approaching philosophical questions–the idea that I come to all philosophical arguments with answers (given by scripture, doctrine, etc.) that I then seek to prove or provide some rhetorical argument for. He is not entirely wrong–I do, in fact, have a vested interest in certain answers to various question, e.g. that there is real human freedom and are such things as human souls. Nonetheless, I still think that I am capable of genuine philosophical inquiry, for two reasons. Firstly, because I think that both faith and reason are oriented to the very same capital-T Truth. Secondly, because of something you say here: philosophy is “an attempt to think carefully about things that matter.” And it is simply true that experiences and encounters with God through religion matter–to me and to many others. What’s more is that there is a certain maturing that occurs to Christian faith when we recognize just what it means to assert “God exists” or “God is good,” after having read a strong presentation of the problem of evil. It seems to me that it is good to investigate these things philosophically, even if we know that at the end of the investigation we will still assert: “God exists and is good.” It is just that now in making this assertion, we will have a better notion of what we are saying.

    Furthermore, it seems to me that in many ways the questions that philosophy opens up reveal extremely human concerns, the sorts of questions that merit contemplation and show us an extremely deep yearning for truth (as in, “the way, truth, and life”), which presents yet another way to seek God more self-sacrificially and evermore completely.

    • Hey Brandon,

      Thanks so much for your great comments. I think that you are right to add that reading philosophy helps ministers to take seriously arguments that may not be challenges to them, but might be for their congregants (and, as such, to affirm the legitimacy of questions others ask even if one does not ask them oneself). Indeed, this seems to be an important part of the dialogue that I think philosophy helps to foster. I wish that more Christian ministers saw themselves as dialogical partners rather than authoritative proclaimers. As I understand it, the most prominent Biblical model of authority actually looks more like a conversation partner who is enmeshed-with, rather than someone who rules from on high who is removed-from. In other, more theological, words, I take kenosis to be key to Christian ministry. It is funny, though, that many Christian ministers (and quite a few Christian philosophers with whom I have engaged over the years) seem to discuss kenosis but put all the stress on the ruling on high part of the divine life. So, omnipotence becomes the key quality of God rather than the willed humility. For my part, Christology opens my theology – and not vice-versa. As such, I think the relationship of power and engagement gets reversed. Kenosis is maximally revelatory of who God is and then by exploring the ramifications of that quality we then eventually deal with the “omni” qualities of classical theism. Unfortunately, though, classical theism sometimes becomes a model of God to which one pledges fidelity even moreso than to the person of God. Our models can easily become idols that problematize the intimacy of the invitational relationship that I understand Christianity to present in the notion of kenosis. 

      Regarding your idea of bringing truth seeking together with the life of faith, I should say, here, that I am not sure that I would split these. Indeed, when I speak of the life of the mind and the life of faith as being connected, I guess that what I mean to say is that they are two different dimensions of religious existence. It is kind of like phenomenological intentionality: there is no original split between consciousness and its object. There is, instead, an original relationship: consciousness is always consciousness-of. If the relationship is prior to the terms of the relationship, as it were, then our questions get reoriented. It is not a matter of how to incorporate the life of the mind and the life of faith, it is more about how faithfully to think well. 

      As concerns your friend’s worries, interestingly enough Martin Heidegger would agree with your friend – he says that all genuine questioning must be atheistic and not presuppose that it has the answers to the questions being asked. But, ultimately, I think that Heidegger was wrong. We all start from somewhere and bring various commitments to the table of discourse. Everyone is always already invested in something or they wouldn’t believe anything.  Accordingly, if one understands Heidegger simply to mean that we should be careful about what David Foster Wallace terms our “default settings” that can remain unexamined because they are assumed to be “obvious,” then his concern is legitimate. But, if he means to suggest that atheism is somehow less committed and less invested in particular truth claims than is theism generally, or Christianity specifically, then he faces significant problems.

      When you refer to “capital-T Truth,” I admit that I get a bit squeamish. A lot depends on what you mean by “capital-T Truth.” I tend to get hesitant about that idea simply because so many Christians use it as a club to beat down the supposed challenge of postmodern relativism (which usually just reflects a lack of serious engagement with postmodernism). As a postmodernist myself, I think that all truth (as affirmed by existing individuals) is relative to where we find ourselves (what else could it be given that we are always somewhere?), but not all relativism is problematic, however (this was Kierkegaard’s point about subjectivity not entailing subjectivism). So, ultimately, I am an epistemic anti-realist (we can’t get out of our own perspective and context to affirm things from “nowhere”), but I am a metaphysical realist (I do think that there is probably a way things are independent of human thought).

      Your point about holding some things true regardless of the various objections raised is well taken, but I do think it is worth more Christians admitting, as I once heard a very influential Christian philosophy do at a conference, that although we might be wrong about our deepest held Christian beliefs, but it is going to take a very long conversation to dislodge such beliefs because they are at the core of who one is as a Christian. Indeed, religion is about more than belief – it is about personal identity within a community. Objections to this or that truth claim should be seriously considered and one’s views revised in light of objections that hold, but to think that Christianity is ultimately simply a matter of doxastic affirmation is to misunderstand the dialogical invitation of a kenotic God.  God invites us to relational conversation and although one should rarely expect guarantees, I think that as is the case in relationships of trust confidence is possible even without certainty. Again, it is crucial that one realize that Jesus himself affirms that the weight of faith is present in the paradoxical statement: “Lord I believe, help my unbelief.”

  2. Aaron, excellent blog post – I also have similar feelings about philosophy and Christian community. I wonder if the worries about philosophy are largely a problem associated with particular kinds of Christian communities, like radical Protestant traditions (Baptists, for instance). It would seem that other parts of the tradition (Mainline Protestants, Catholicism, and Orthodox) have more readily embraced philosophy. I wonder if current North American debates over various social issues has only deepened this suspicion of philosophy (since many of those falling outside considered “orthodox ((I say this with as little prescription as possible))” positions often use philosophy as a key source for developing and sustaining their positions)?

    • Hey John,

      I think you are entirely right. My account of “Christian communities” is, regrettably, too general. I think you are right to suggest that more evangelical Protestant traditions have often seemed resistant to philosophy in ways that mainline Protestant, Catholics, and Orthodox Christians have not. Yet, importantly many of the most important Christian philosophers in the past few decades have come from various evangelical backgrounds. That said, things are more complicated regarding the appropriation of philosophy than one might think. I do think that you are largely right to suggest that the debates over social issues also figure prominently in some of the possible suspicion of philosophy. As a social progressive who is also a Pentecostal, I often find it difficult to get those in my church to take what I say seriously because the progressivism is viewed as reason enough to be suspicious. I think this is deeply regrettable (and it goes in both directions, of course). Yet, I see philosophy as a way of encouraging the sort of dialogical situation that fosters serious engagement about such issues. Doing philosophy doesn’t make one a liberal any more than doing economics makes one a conservative. These are various disciplinary tools for thinking well about topics that matter. Where one comes down in regard to a particular issue should be informed by the best evidence available and in light of the objections that continue to press. Hopefully by doing more philosophy, Christians (of all traditions) will be less quick to assume they understand a view because of the label it receives in a cultural context. Thanks so much for the comment!

      Aaron

  3. I think your post is right on from my experience and I’m sure the vast majority of other thinking Christians. I’ve had my dad tell me that I’m “getting distracted” by suggesting that Marx had some good points (it didn’t help that the usual channel-Fox News- was on the living room tv), and my uncle cautioned me against reading because it is dangerous. Keep in mind that said uncle is a pastor who rarely reads his own Bible. Like you said, educational conversations IN GENERAL are absent from the discourse between Christians. Why have we hidden ourselves from the public so much?The fact that you applied specific ideas from Heidegger, Rawls, Plato, and Butler to a theological practicality (and in one sentence!) was awesome. It was as if you anticipated the minsters following up with: “ok, but which philosophers would be helpful and how can they help me to benefit my congregation?”. If possible, however, can you go into more detail about Heidegger’s urging of a “thinker’s encounter”? What would it look like for a minister to “think along” with Heidegger?Your line about philosophy making us comfortable with complexity was at the top of my highlight reel. For me, I have found my faith ruptured by philosophy, causing my “older self” to feel scared over maybe losing my faith to then (usually a day later) realizing that I have grown into a qualitatively different faith that puts me simultaneously on edge and at ease. Christians have a tendency to feel too comfortable about the hypostatic union, for instance. Kierke’s work on the God-man paradox is enough to humble us who reduce our relationship with God to a doctrinal certitude that insulates our comfortable ego from strain and challenge. I’m always saddened when I go to Barnes and noble and see in the philosophy section that a subsection is entitled “atheism”, as if the two were SYNONYMOUS!All and all, your blog reaffirms my appreciation for philosophers like you and your entourage for making me feel less alone in trying to balance this odd duality of a Christian who believes thinking critically is his given vocation. Great job working to make us all seem less weird to our fellow believers and the rest of the world.

    • Hey Chris,

      Thanks so much for the comment and the affirmation that my basic ideas resonate with your experience. As I have made clear in much of my work, I find the philosophy of Soren Kierkegaard to be especially helpful for Christian existence (and existence in general!). In particular, the way in which he appreciates the interruptive dimension of the Gospel, which resonates very much with thinkers like Dostoevsky, Chesterton, and Caputo, who all suggest that Christianity offers an aporetic logic that challenges assumptions that would reinforce power structures operative in the name of “Christianity.” Regarding your dad an uncle, etc., I think that the above comment from John (and my reply) might address that to some extent. Political differences often masquerade as theological differences. Yet, doing philosophy and theology well should invite patience with various political viewpoints because one quickly realizes that there is no Christian view on most political issues. There are simply historical views that Christians have held. This basic historicism of the link between theology and politics is important for understanding ourselves in our contexts. As Heidegger once said, the task is to “catch up to where we already are.” There is some great work by George Marsden, Nathan Hatch, David Bebbington, and many others on specifically evangelical histories as concerns such political theologies. I highly recommend more Christians know their own histories.  Thanks for reading!

      Aaron

  4. Excellent piece, Aaron. I always appreciate your perspective. I must say, though, that I struggle with understanding how philosophy can be engaged authentically, with something truly at stake, if a person’s ontological commitments are not on the table “all in”, as it were. To use philosophy simply as a way to become better acquainted with or “comfortable with” complexity is certainly a start, but if no arguments or evidence are capable of reshaping fundamental commitments to the world, then philosophical engagement is reduced to a form of calisthenics rather than an authentic questioning (which always involves one’s being). And since one cannot approach any topic ex nihilo, but must be situated and already committed (phenomenologically, emotionally, intellectually), philosophy should make one as nervous as juggling live firearms. I think you’re right to say Christians (which I would change to “all people”) should engage in philosophy. But I would go a step further and say that people should be willing to risk their identities in the pursuit. Otherwise, you’re not really playing poker, because there’s nothing real at stake in the pot. Thanks for the great post and for continuing something that so many in your community have given up.

    • Hey Thomas,

      I think you are raise an important objection. Philosophy can often just be a way of playing at conversation rather than actually engaging in it (and risking one’s beliefs and practices and identity in the process)!  I think this is very often what happens in apologetics courses at Christian universities, for example. That said, I guess I would respond (with you, I think) by pointing out that this is not really philosophical engagement. Philosophy requires risk – you can’t really do philosophy if you begin by saying that there are no objections that are reasonable in relation to your view. Even if there might not be any reasonable objections at present, in principle it seems like an openness to such objections is crucial to the honesty required in genuine truth-seeking. Now, I don’t think that all beliefs are held in the same way and with the same relation to evidence, etc.  My belief that my wife loves me is not something that I am willing to give up easily (as compared to my belief about the exact distance from Greenville to Charleston, say). The reason for this is because my relation to my wife is a matter of personal trust. Sure, that trust is based on evidence at various points and is certainly something about which I could be wrong. Maybe my wife is just deceiving me because she wants the social status that comes from being married to a philosopher, say (doubtful!). But, the point is that I think there are very good philosophical accounts of why epistemic relationships are not one size fits all. The content of what is believed affects the way in which it is believed – and vice-versa. So, for me humility, falibilism, hospitality to objection, etc., are all absolutely key to philosophy and also to Christian life. But, that doesn’t mean that it is unreasonable to maintain Christian identity even in the face of serious objections. It just means that one must take those objections seriously and be willing to continue to rethink and reform one’s identity in light of them. The same is true in my relation to my wife. Our relationship is not the same today as it was ten years ago – nor should it be. it has changed in response to living together. What I used to think was true about marriage, say, I think differently about today. Yet, the trust and risk involved in the relationship remains. So, yes, Christians (and, indeed all people) should engage in philosophy (though that engagement might look different in different cases), and doing philosophy requires risking one’s identity. But, risk does not mean abandonment. Often risks are worth taking because of what one discovers by taking them.

      Aaron

  5. Hello Dr. Simmons,

    I was wondering if you would be interested in a conversation about the Four Fears that seem to be readily evident throughout the biblical narrative.  I am discussing this in detail with a friend overseas and have invited another pastor from DC to do the same.

    These fears can be enumerated as follows:

    1. The Fear of God

    2. The Fear of the Devil

    3. The Fear of Change

    4. The Fear of Things Staying the Same

    While the first two fears are very obvious, the Third Fear can be seen indirectly in how the God of the Bible does not change, how Samuel describes a God that cannot be tested, and even the Apostle John in Revelations says “don’t add or subtract anything” from this text.

    So, what appears to ensue, then, is a compressive environment that does not seem to align itself with the need for survival.  Our own fossil records would indicate that if we do not ever change, then we eventually become extinct, which begs the question, then, “Does the personality of what we typically call Creation align itself with the personality of the one who has claimed to create it?”  In most cases, the artwork should resemble the personality of the artist, which is why much of the biblical narrative is concerning.

    The Fourth Fear seems to result from a chronic or even an acute combination of the first three.  A more acute version can be seen in the story of Gideon’s Army in Judges 7.  In the form of a chemical or mathematical equation, then, we might see this pattern emerge:

    Fear of God + Fear of Devil + Fear of Change —> Fear of Staying the Same

    Is this conversation of any interest to you?

    Sincerely,

    Adam J. Read

  6. Hey Adam,

    Thanks for your comment. I have not done any specific work on the four fears that you mention, but it would seem to me that even if we were to assume that they were pronounced in the Christian tradition (or within the Scriptural texts), then making sense of them would depend quite a bit on how one cashes out the motivation of the “fear.” So, for example, the fear of God would seem most often in Scripture to be something motivated by God in relation to the complacency of humanity. Fearing God, then, seems to me to be more a matter of reverence and respect than it does a matter of being afraid of God. Alternatively, the fear of the devil seems to be something most often presented as a moral and epistemic failure on behalf of the religious person. In other words, fearing the devil would be something one would do only if one didn’t revere and respect God’s ability to overcome evil, etc.  Yet, the devil is popularly presented as something of which one should be afraid – yet truly fearing God would seem to entail no longer being afraid of the devil. When it comes to fear of change, I admit that this is not something that bothers me in relation to the divine or the Scriptures. On the one hand, I am an open theist and so I think that God does change (so, therefore, is not strongly immutable) and often changes in relation to our actions and appeals (so, therefore, God is not strongly impassable, either). So, fear of change for me would not be theological, but rather psychological relative to social realities. Finally, fear of staying the same could be cashed out in a variety of ways. For example, it might indicate and attempt to be critically aware of one’s own complacency and temptation to ignore the comfort that attends traditional privilege. That seems potentially virtuous to me. Yet, it also might reflect an impatience motivated by a failure to think deeply and well about existence itself (so, this would be the sort of person who can’t stand still because it would mean having to attend to what one is doing). The need for a new cell phone every six months, say, might be a reflection of this general fear. This seems not to be virtuous.

    Anyway, those are just some thoughts. I hope they helpful.

    Aaron

    • Hi Aaron,

      Thanks very much for the response….but I am confused now on your comment about God being able to change.  It says in Malachi 3:6 specifically that God does not change, so I’m trying to figure out if your statement is a personal observation based on the overall characteristics of God as portrayed in scripture.

      If that is the case, then I would wholeheartedly agree that he does in fact change quite a bit throughout the Bible.  In fact, the personality of God the Father is strikingly different from that of Jesus.  If you gave each a personality test, for example, I think they would come up strikingly different.  It could almost be compared to the differences between Republicans and Democrats in our modern culture, as bizarre as that sounds.

      For example, Psalm 50:10 describes God as sort of a wealthy cattle rancher.  Now, I love a good steak just like the next guy, and I have nothing against cattle ranchers, but the way this verse is worded is very weird.  The KJV states it as “For every beast of the forest is mine, and the cattle upon a thousand hills.”  It’s like he just has to have everything…so it sort of bears resemblance to people that have tons of money.  Mitt Romney played this card to his demise in the last election, as he couldn’t really relate to people that weren’t overtly wealthy.

      But on the other hand, the Democrats seem to align with Jesus.  The Affordable Care Act seems like Jesus coming out and healing people, and stories like Him feeding the five thousand look similar to social programs that give what some call “handouts.”  Jesus also seemed to live in a much more austere manner, certainly in comparison to a God that lives in a heaven whose streets are paved with gold.

      Maybe the Dem/Rep thing doesn’t fly with anyone else, but the patterns seem to fit very well in my mind.

      You also talked about complacency and such, and although the idea of the trinity can work if you tweak your mind enough, the fact that there is a father and a son involved in the NT sends a very weird message.  It’s as if the Father sits up in heaven with what really looks like this same complacency and sends his son to get killed.  If any other son did this in our modern age, and the dad were brought into court, this could be construed as a very twisted form of premeditated murder.  It’s obviously not how it was supposed to be construed in the original text, but the pattern similarity seems to pose some very real problems for us today.

      If I were to rewrite this story…and someone actually, truly needed to die, it would seem much less complacent and detached in my mind if the dad were to go try to work things out with the world because his son had his whole life ahead of him to live.

      I guess this brings me back to the other post we were talking about and the whole idea of Exemplification.  If God is truly perfect, he should not give himself diplomatic immunity to do whatever he wants to just because he has a title.  That would seem to warrant some sort of celestial extradition or deportation of God back to his own world as we see happening occasionally on the news.  Maybe they do things differently where he comes from, but that sort of action really doesn’t set an example that I would want to follow, much less worship.

      That’s why I keep thinking that the God of Moses still has some significant structural issues to it.  If you took just the book of Genesis…and isolated it from the rest of scripture, could you actually come out of it with a valid deity that didn’t grossly resemble the personality of Pharaoh?  That was Moses’ primary male role model.  It’s also why I look at Islam, Christianity, and Judaism as the Mosaic faiths instead of the Abrahamic faiths.  They all seem to hinge on the story Moses started with, and if Moses did write Genesis, then he would be the writer, editor, and publisher…all in house with no third party inspections allowed before it hit the presses.  If Genesis can’t hold water, it would seem that all of these faiths are subject to ultimate collapse.

      Pretty concerning on my end, since none of these religions seem to be able to admit any problem whatsoever in their logic.

      Adam