Thinking Faith blogs

Reductionism is a key issue in many Christian critiques of other ideologies. Claims that the rich diversity of life as we know it can be explained by a single fundamental kind of reality often sound authoritative and sensational, but fundamental substances that are supposed to underlie what we experience are thereby attributed with a kind of occult power. I'm not denying that things are not always what they seem; we can uncover surprises about the world and develop illuminating explanations. And indeed, the explanations we find most profound and enlightening often relate one kind of phenomenon to another that appears very different. If I explain that water makes things wet because of its dampening properties, I'm merely presenting a tautology; explanations need to do some conceptual work!  But while the sensational appeal of an explanation may increase as the two kinds of phenomena being related become more and more different, another problem may arise if my explanation invokes inconceivable or incoherent properties. Consider a claim that feelings of guilt are a product of certain states of brain chemistry.  The problem here can be simply stated as a category error: chemistry is not in the same category as feelings, so neither is properly explained in terms of the other. That's not to say that there can't be meaningful correlation between feelings of guilt and certain states of brain chemistry (although even "brain chemistry" might turn out to be a category error). But the problem arises if I attribute power to one of these to produce the other, as in the above claim. 

Thus it can be argued that the guile of a reductionistic explanation is in the same category as the allure of an idol, in biblical worldview terms. (This reasoning needs unpacking further - as done, for example, in Roy Clouser's The Myth of Religious Neutrality.) How can we avoid such idolatry?  One approach is to posit God as the ultimate  explanation: the being Who grounds all phenomena.  But such a perspective doesn't seem to foster any further scientific analysis, and we may be sure that some kind of scientific work can legitimately be pursued without falling into idolatry. 

Enter the most distinctive element of the reformational philosophy tradition. Dirk Vollenhoven and Herman Dooyeweerd, brothers-in-law, were professors of philosophy and law, respectively, at the Free University of Amsterdam, and in the 1920s and 1930s they gradually came to agree on a spectrum of what they called modalities [or aspects] in which reality is 'disclosed' to us. These are, in other words, a set of fundamentally discrete ways in which reality (its things, relations, and time) can be known and analysed by humans. The diagram below attempts to illustrate these using both words and images.

This diagram is also designed to represent an ordering among these fifteen aspects that is somewhat flexible - and this is where it gets quite interesting. Reformational philosophers agree that the aspects lower in this diagram are conceptually foundational to those above them, while higher aspects in some sense 'guide' or 'direct' those below. For example, spatial functions can be conceived of without any kinetic ones (e.g. shapes need not be conceived of in terms of motion or rest) whereas kinetic functions depend upon spatial ones (movement has to be in space), and indeed motion can guide our interpretation of a space. Or again, jural functions like giving due credit don't presuppose altruistic ones like generosity, but generosity only makes sense against a notion of what was justly due.

Using thought experiments like these, Reformational philosophers tend to agree about the ordering of those aspects that are stacked vertically in the diagram here, but hold divergent views about the ones in the turquoise boxes. Most strikingly, the aesthetic aspect is conventionally the 12th (just before the jural) but sometimes placed as early as 7th (straight after the sensory).

A number of previous posts here have explored how careful distinction of these aspects can help us do better scholarship, and you may like to read about how this idea was pivotal to an outcome from the FiSWES project.

This week’s post takes the form of a brief book review, my first as a blogger here (but hopefully not my last; I’ve got a few other books in mind that I’d really like to share with you). I thought I’d start with one of my favourite books on the intersections between Christian thought and academic culture, James K. A. Smith’s Who’s Afraid of Postmodernism? (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2006). It’s a slim little volume, but don’t let its slight dimensions fool you: this is a lively, provocative book with a lot to say.

The title of the book sets out Smith’s basic thesis pretty well. Essentially, he suggests that postmodernism, as a significant movement within academic discourse, has suffered unfairly from a severe image problem within the Christian community, especially by comparison with modernism. Modernism – with its basis in scientific rationalism and humanistic narratives of technological and social progress – is often presented as an intellectual framework whose only defect is its tendency towards atheism, its willingness to explain God away; by contrast, postmodernism is seen as a kind of intellectual bogeyman, the antithesis of modernism’s calm rationality and hopefulness, flagrantly rejecting every value that the Church should be holding dear. Smith’s aim is to redress the balance: he points out a number of ways that postmodernism serves to reemphasise vital aspects of our faith and witness that are all too easily obscured by an uncritically modernist worldview.

By its very nature postmodernism, more than perhaps any other intellectual movement, can only be understood as a (far from unified) patchwork of individual thinkers’ contributions. Smith’s approach is thus to move away from the kinds of generalisation often found in (generally dismissive) Christian discussions of the topic, and instead focus on the contributions of three of the most influential writers associated with the movement. Hence the subtitle: Taking Derrida, Lyotard, and Foucault to Church. 

All three of these writers have a pretty fearsome reputation (I’m ashamed at how glancing my own engagement with them has been over the years), and the first impressive achievement of this book is to make their thought so accessible. Each chapter begins by using a relevant film as a lens to approach the ideas of a specific author (the origins of the book in a lecture series are quite evident here). It’s a gesture that could easily seem clichéd or superficial, but in practice it works remarkably well – Smith’s insightful analysis of his chosen examples leads smoothly into a discussion of the key ideas of each author that is surprisingly rich, given the brevity of the book as a whole. He focuses on key statements by each writer that have become in effect postmodern ‘slogans’ within contemporary culture: Derrida’s claim that ‘there is nothing outside the text’, Lyotard’s description of postmodernism as ‘incredulity towards metanarratives’, and Foucault’s equating of power and knowledge. 

I can’t hope to sum up Smith’s responses to each of these in such a short review, but I was particularly struck throughout by his ability to find redemptive meaning in each writer’s work, and to move from it towards a thoughtful and loving critique of contemporary Christian culture. He focuses in particular on the importance of the church as an active, distinctive and engaged community of truth; he suggests that postmodernist ideas can help us to engage more with the insights of the historical church, and even to rediscover helpful liturgical practices that set the body of Christ apart from the world and redirect our gaze towards Jesus. In the end, he suggests that postmodern ideas, far from undermining the basic tenets of Christianity, can in fact act as a stimulus for revitalising our thought and action.

What do you think? Do leave a comment to let me know!

‘Oh, you’re thinking of doing English at university? You’ll have to be careful about that. A lot of people lose their faith.’

I was seventeen. I had been a Christian for several years, and I had loved books for much longer. I was doing two English A-Levels and thoroughly enjoying them, and I had just moved past a period of crippling doubt in God – the first I had experienced – into a steadier, more confident faith.

Dangerous territory

So hearing the above, from an older friend at church, was jarring. It didn’t stop me pursuing my studies, but it was an attitude I’ve encountered more than once in the evangelical church. The academic study of literature is dangerous for the Christian: Christianity is a religion of the Book, but for some, really only the one Book is safe.

This can manifest simply as gentle warnings and raised eyebrows, which is all I faced, or – for others I’ve talked to – active discouragement from pursuing English at all. Related subjects such as philosophy and history often attract similar worries: I remember a peer’s loss of childhood faith being directly linked by other Christians to her study of philosophy.

The death of the Author?

Why is this the case? I don’t think the concerns stem simply from anti-intellectualism, though that is certainly something evangelicals have to reckon with. Distrust of academic literary study, where it is raised, seems to come mainly from anxiety about postmodern or relativist practices of reading, and the way these may undermine the Bible’s authority. The death of the author and the death of God, two memorable claims advanced by twentieth-century thinkers, are certainly linked, and for some Christians this is enough warning to stay well clear of the literary academy.

This concern is rarely stated explicitly. But it’s a problem. Not an urgent or even a major one, perhaps; Christian young people still study literature, and there are more believers in this section of academia than at first appears. But there is often a lack of support from their churches, partially out of ignorance of the nature of the work and partially from the anxiety I’ve discussed.

Bridging the gap

Christians in literary study can feel isolated, already a problem in a field not well suited to collaboration, and encounter few resources to help them integrate faith and work. If we believe Christ to be the Lord of all life, what can we do to foster more and better Christian engagement with the literary academy?

I have a few ideas on the church side of things:

1. On an individual level, we can affirm and encourage young people with an interest in literature (and similarly ‘difficult’ subjects), making sure they hear positive reactions as well as negative or unsure ones.
2. The church can acknowledge the power and value of literature that is not explicitly 'Christian': this can work out in lots of ways, but centrally I think it’s important to talk about, give, lend, and reference a wide variety of books in church contexts. (This will mean going beyond C. S. Lewis and other ‘safe’ fiction.)
3. Ultimately it should be an integrated, public part of our witness, as individuals and churches, that academic life can and should be lived for Christ, including the ‘difficult’ parts of the humanities.

From the academic side, Christians in literary study can aim towards a greater willingness to integrate their faith with their academic field in an explicit way. We can model a commitment to doing it well in Christ which will be winsome both to unbelievers and to those Christians who are sceptical.

And we can do better at supporting one another – there are resources and initiatives available on specific issues relating to literature and Christian faith, and there are Christians faithfully doing literary work, but often these are not very well linked up. In the UK, the Christian Literary Studies Group is one forum for exploring this interface and also has a helpful list of resources and groups. I would love to hear in the comments about other ways that Christian literary scholars can connect with one another and with their churches, for everyone’s benefit.

Church Scientific is a project of Faith-in-Scholarship in partnership with Blenheim Baptist Church. Launched last October, it seeks to help Christian students and researchers in science-related subjects to explore how a Christian worldview might enhance their scientific work. We believe Church Scientific is unique in bringing Christianity to bear on scientific work in three ways:

1. It explores and develops a Christian philosophy of science;
2. It examines the processes of research and discovery, seeking to help scientists in their endeavours;
3. It addresses scientists in the communal context of Christian fellowship, including the church.

The core of the project is a series of scientists' workshops. These ran in Leeds in autumn 2016, with six different speakers presenting a total of nine talks to a group of around 15 participants. These talks picked up from the overarching question, "Could a Christian worldview contribute to science?" by unpacking some of the ideas that philosopher Elaine Storkey had laid out in her talk at the launch event. There's more detail about the talks in this post at www.churchscientific.org.uk.

The next phase is a series of science café evenings.  In each of five evenings, three participants will give short talks about an area of research that they are currently pursuing, mentioning any ways in which a Christian worldview might be having an influence in their work. After each talk, an audience (hopefully drawn from churches across Leeds) will take some time in small groups to discuss what they've heard, and come up with some ideas and questions for the speaker. Then there'll be a period of conversation with the speaker, so that everyone can benefit from the combined wisdom and creativity of the whole group. So we're not putting scientists on pedestals to expound knowledge so much as seeking to bring faithful scholars into conversation with fellow believers and followers of Christ.  I'm excited to see how this works out!

The third and final phase will be a conference to bring together the best of what's been shared in the earlier parts of the project. This will also provide an opportunity for refinement and development of ideas that are taking shape as we go along. The format of the conference is still being discussed, but we envisage it taking place around July 2017, somewhere in Leeds. Watch this space!

So far Church Scientific has a northern feel: located in Leeds, it's funded by a Scientists in Congregations project based at St John's College Durham, along with Blenheim Baptist Church (Leeds) and Wetherby Baptist Church (North Yorkshire). But next year we also hope to take it to new locations - subject to funding, of course!  For all the news, you can follow us on Facebook.