"Secular" Liberal Arts Education? Or Still "Secularist?"

Over at the Immanent Frame today, Jonathon Kahn offers some reflections that grow out of the Teagle-funded initiative, "Secularity and the Liberal Arts." Kahn's post, "Reconceiving the secular and the practice of the liberal arts," is essential reading for anyone involved in higher education--whether at public universities or Christian colleges. The very fact that such a conversation could take place is a testament to shifting paradigms fostered by so much good work sponsored by the Social Science Research Council's program, "Religion and the Public Sphere." It is also an indicator that important work by Charles Taylor, Jeffrey Stout, Nicholas Wolterstorff, William Connolly, George Marsden, and others is beginning to trickle-down into wider conversations amongst practitioners.

The context for the project is the demise of secularism (and the death of the secularization thesis) coupled with Charles Taylor's account of "the secular" not as some neutral, unbiased, universal space, but rather as the fact of contestability. To say we live in "a secular age" is not to claim that we live in an a-religious age but rather to recognize that we inhabit pluralistic cultures where no one set of plausibility structures is universal or axiomatic. Whereas secularism represented the doctrinaire imposition of one perspective as if it were not a perspective, the "secular" (in this new sense) names this contestable, pluralist environment in which we find ourselves in late modernity. (In ways that I've already noted elsewhere, Kahn notes that this Taylorian definition of "the secular" overlaps with Stout's redefinition of "secularization" in Democracy and Tradition as the state of affairs in which we cannot take for granted that our interlocutors share our fundamental starting points.)

In sum, while secularism is well lost, this does not hail the return of theocracy or Christendom: rather, it requires that we recognize we live in a "secular" age, a pluralist space. Secularism is dead; long live "the secular."

The "Secularity and the Liberal Arts" project sought to explore some implications of this for higher education. In particular, what does the end of secularism mean for those liberal arts colleges that proudly describe themselves as "secular?" As Kahn puts it,

Our “Secularity and the Liberal Arts” group wondered whether, or how, these theoretical moves had made their way onto our campuses. Did the practices and ways of liberal arts life reflect the theoretical work that has been done of late on the secular? We suspected that life on liberal arts campuses, both in and out of class, did not reflect this profound eclipse of the secularization thesis. Our institutions have long valued a notion of the secular that limits and restricts religious expression in order, ostensibly, to promote tolerance and critical thought, to sustain democratic institutions, and to foster civic engagement.

So what would it mean for "secular" liberal arts colleges to jettison their commitment to secularism while still constructing the college as a "secular" space? Could liberal arts education be post-secularist? Kahn summarizes the possibilities:

On these terms, secular institutions such as liberal arts campuses would excel at anticipating and navigating differences among their citizens. What Stout means by “secular, not secularist,” we suggest, is just this. A secularist seeks to rid democratically and pedagogically orientated spaces (e.g., campuses and classrooms) of religious commitments in the pursuit of arrogating authoritative forms of knowledge. Someone who possesses a revalued understanding of the secular as a discursive condition and practice seeks knowledge that helps us, as Stanley Hauerwas describes, “to act wisely in a context of conflict, ambiguity, and change.” When the authority of knowledge is less important than the things that can be done with knowledge (i.e., explicate its logic, argue with it, follow its implications, explore motivations for holding it, and reflect on how it shapes moral formation), the secular becomes a discussion between religious and non-religious citizens who are acutely aware that the demands of secularized democratic life require an extraordinary balance between cherishing one’s own convictions and holding to the awareness that these same cherished convictions are contestable, and that they may at times act as a bludgeon against other democratic citizens.

I want to go on record and say how encouraging it is to see this being articulated. In some ways, the shape of the conversation is getting very close to the sort imagined by George Marsden in The Outrageous Idea of Christian Scholarship. Such "secular" liberal arts colleges would be post-secularist in the best sense, making room for ideas, theories and perspectives rooted in religious and confessional traditions--though it also (rightly) requires religious believers to recognize that we live in a "secular" age--that our religious beliefs are not axiomatic, but contested and contestable.

My question is: would such "secular" liberal arts colleges really provide an education? My concern is this: the revisioned "secular" liberal arts college makes room for religious "views." Indeed, according to Kahn, this (post)"secular" liberal arts college "encourages the expression of views guided or governed by religious commitments." But when you look a little closer, you'll recognize that all of this pluralism is marshaled for something like the task of "critical thinking"--the task of helping students ask the proverbial "big questions." As Kahn observes,

For liberal arts colleges, the stakes of this question are important. The mission of liberal arts education is not simply the conveyance of certain bodies of information or technical skills that are useful in a market economy. Liberal arts colleges understand themselves as places that promote education as a way for students to consider larger questions of meaning and value. Liberal arts colleges are places where students are not thought naïve to ask so-called big questions: “What is the meaning of my life?” “How do I understand death?” “Does evil exist?” “What are my obligations to my neighbor, my country, my world?” And finally, “How might my education—in whatever field I study—help me assimilate these questions?” We were struck by the way that considerations of the secular had the profound effect of renewing discussions of what might be called the deeper purposes of liberal arts education.

But here we see that even such "secular" liberal arts colleges would not be willing to relinquish a lingering aspect of the Enlightenment liberalism that informed secularism--namely, the sacred autonomy of the student. In short, while I would applaud the move to this sort of "secular" liberal arts education, such a model still refuses to think about education as formation. It's willing to make room for a variety of "views" and "perspectives" to help students ask "the big questions"--giving them lots of options to consider. But this is largely training them to be spectators and refuses to tell them what they ought to think. Indeed, even the new "secular" liberal arts college will remain committed to a persistent aspect of liberal Enlightenment orthodoxy: an allergy to paideia, to the thick task of formation that constitutes inculcation in a tradition, habituation to a particular vision of the good. (See Alasdair MacIntyre on "The End of Education.") Even a "secular" liberal arts college remains secularist just to the extent that it remains allergic to the notion of education as formation.

Such a vision of education as formation--not just equipping students with a buffet of perspectives, views, and positions, but rather aiming to shape them into certain kinds of people--that is precisely the more holistic educational project envisioned by the Christian liberal arts college in a "secular" age.

Farewell Facebook: My Short-Lived Experiment

Today I deactivated my Facebook account and submitted the request for its deletion (to stave off any temptation from second thoughts later on). After being a Facebook user for about 3 months, I have decided to leave the FB world. I'll be sad to be "disconnected" from some of my "friends," but I'm feeling very good about the decision. So "Farewell, Facebook!"

In the spirit of George Costanza, I want to say, "It's not you, it's me." But I do think it's at least partly you.

There are multiple factors in this decision. For instance, I finally joined Facebook to stay connected with my son who left for college. But now everything I know about him through Facebook I wish I didn't! I also find that Facebook has taken away from what blogging I did--and I think blogging is a much better exercise for a writer than dashing off status updates.

But it's mostly me. Facebook plays into all of my vices: my pride and arrogance, my self-centeredness, my penchant for vainglory. Most of all, Facebook feeds and fuels my addictive personality, especially when it comes to communication. My wife can attest that I was addicted to snail mail before email was even a staple of my life. I have vivid memories of living in our first apartment, waiting to hear the clink of the mail slot, eager to see what would arrive. Indeed, sometimes my lack of patience became so ridiculous I would go to the front of the house and check the box over and over again--not yet? By now? Where's the mail? And then of course, once the mail was actually delivered, I'd have a kind of postpartum funk for the next few hours. Sad.

This fixation, of course, was completely irrational--most of what came in the mail was, well, not exactly bad news, but also not a check from the lottery either. Nonetheless, I've always had an irrationally hopeful attitude toward mail: who knows what opportunity might come through the slot?

Email, as you can imagine, took this to ridiculous new levels, precisely because email can arrive 24 hours a day. You can guess what this does to someone who's already addictively fixated on snail mail that arrives just once a day. Facebook, of course, just added another layer of fixation on such "connection," while also creating a quick and easy outlet for expression that is always a veiled cry for attention.

What's at issue here is precisely the fact that Facebook is an environment of practice which inculcates in us certain habits which then shape our orientation to the world--indeed, they make our worlds. So, in the spirit of Desiring the Kingdom, I started to take a "practices audit" of my Facebook patterns. The results weren't pretty.

All of this came to a head last night while reading Zadie Smith's recent review of the movie, "Facebook" alongside Jarod Lanier's manifesto, You Are Not a Gadget. As Smith notes, in language strikingly similar to my argument in DTK:

We know the consequences of this instinctively; we feel them. We know that having two thousand Facebook friends is not what it looks like. We know that we are using the software to behave in a certain, superficial way toward others. We know what we are doing “in” the software. But do we know, are we alert to, what the software is doing to us?

This was the final nail in the coffin of my concerns about Facebook. I realized what it was doing to me, and so bid, "Adieu."

Semper aggiornamento? On "Always Reforming"

There are strains of the Reformed tradition which like to emphasize that they are "always reforming," invoking the Latin semper reformanda as a motto. But if one analyzes when and how this is invoked, one will notice something very slippery: that under the banner of "reforming" what we get is really just an agenda for "updating" the faith. And such an "updating" project is far from what was envisioned by the Reformers.

Indeed, such "updating" is more like the mid-century stream of aggiornamento advocated by Catholic theologians who were trying to get the church to "go modern"--to "update" the faith by conforming it to the new regnant standards of what counted as rational, true and just. But such a project of "updating" is ultimately correlationist (as I use the term in Introducing Radical Orthodoxy): it locates the standards for what we ought to believe outside the faith--in the supposedly neutral, objective findings of economics or sociology or evolutionary psychology. This puts Christian faith back on its heels, in a stance of deference to the canons of extra-Scriptural authorities.

But such "updating" is not reform; or, to put it more starkly, to be "always updating" is not the equivalent of semper reformanda. To be sure, Christian faith pushes us to value careful attention to empirical realities and thus requires us to grapple with our unfolding knowledge of our material and social world. Without question. In equal measure, the church, in order to be faithful, is called to be always reforming, not sitting on its laurels as if it has arrived at the truth. Since such a pursuit is an eternal vocation, it would seem odd to think we've arrived.

However, the call to be always reforming is not simply a matter of "updating" the faith according to current trends and fads; nor is it even a matter of "correlating" the faith with the supposedly secure findings of other authorities. To be "always reforming" is to be engaged in the hard work of being a tradition, which includes the difficult labor of arguing about what constitutes a faithful extension of the tradition (I have something like Alasdair MacIntyre's account of "tradition" in mind here). This difficult work of reform differs from "updating" because it retains the center of gravity in the tradition (which, of course, includes and prioritizes the "founding document" of the tradition--in this case, Scripture).

This is merely a sketch to watch the "codes" at work when "always reforming" is invoked, and to urge a kind of semantic caution that under the banner of "reforming" language what we often get is a progressivism that is animated by a chronological snobbery which is a far cry from the task of reform, let alone the Reformers.

[Perhaps a word about the image above is in order: I was looking for something that captured the sense of "spiraling forward," which is how I envision this dynamic of reforming a tradition: returning to the sources in order to discern how to faithfully extend and move forward. This image doesn't quite get it, but it's better than yet another mugshot of a bearded Reformer.]

Barna Report on the "New Calvinism"

The Barna Group's report, "Is there a 'Reformed' Movement in American Churches?" seems to be getting a lot more discussion than it deserves (see, for instance, Scot McKnight's post at Jesus Creed). I'm leery about contributing to that attention, but also feel compelled to point out the weaknesses and shoddy social science behind this "report."

The context, of course, is relatively clear: over the past several years there's been a fair amount of journalistic buzz about the growth and importance of the "New Calvinists," or the young, restless and Reformed crowd, as described by Collin Hansen--to the point that it was hailed as one of the 10 ideas changing the world by Time magazine, also receiving attention from outlets like the New York Times and the Economist. And a casual observer can't help but notice an uptick in self-identifying Reformed voices in places like Christianity Today, or the significant attention garnered by figures such as Albert Moehler in the Southern Baptist Convention, or Tim Keller of Redeemer Presbyterian in Manhattan, or Mark Driscoll in Seattle.

The Barna Report is thus offered as a bubble-buster: a purported deflator of the hype armed with the "statistics" to prove that this perception is an illusion--that, in fact, things haven't changed in a decade. There are no more Calvinists around now then there were 10 years ago, and thus there's no discernible "Reformed movement" despite appearances to the contrary.

Now, let me first clarify that I don't really have a dog in this fight. A part of my argument in Letters to a Young Calvinist is that a lot of those who identify themselves as "Reformed" are not fully so--rather, they just mean they subscribe to a particular soteriology or doctrine of salvation with a particular understanding of election and predestination, etc. But I try to show that being "Reformed" is more fully-orbed than that--it involves particular ecclesiological and liturgical commitments, and also involves a theology of culture often absent from those who might identify with "the new Calvinism." So while I'm sympathetic to aspects of this movement, I don't have a stake in defending it, nor do I have any investment in defending claims about its growth.

So, with that said, let me offer several criticisms of this so-called "report" from the Barna Group:

1. The reports claims to evaluate "whether Reformed churches are growing." There are already a host of problems just in that claim, so much so I don't even know where to start. Let's point out a few:

(a) I can't think of anyone who has suggested that the growth of "the new Calvinism" entails a claim that "Reformed churches" are growing. Indeed, one of the sort of paradoxes is that this brand of Calvinism is flourishing outside of "Reformed churches"--amongst Southern Baptists and nondenominational evangelicals.

(b) No where does the report or study define "Reformed churches." Instead it queries pastors and clergy about how they would define "their" churches (as either Wesleyan/Arminian or Calvinist/Reformed). It then leaves it up to the pastors to define the terms (claiming that this is standard practice in social science--believe me, it's not). In addition to being clericalist (the pastor defines a congregation?! Not very Reformed!), by framing the binary choice in this way the poll already skews the definition of Reformed and Calvinist along certain lines; in other words, it loads the dice. In particular, this report is misguided by an overly narrow fixation on "Reformed" being reduced to a particular, personal soteriology.

And this lack of definition can explain other oddities. For instance, the report seems surprised that 31% of pastors who lead churches "within traditional charismatic and Pentecostal denominations" would describe themselves as "Reformed." They are puzzled by this because Pentecostalism is "generally viewed as stemming from Wesleyan or Holiness traditions" (i.e., "Arminian" traditions). But this is theologically naive precisely because it doesn't realize the significant theological issue that separates the Assemblies of God from, say, the Church of God-Cleveland (a Wesleyan Pentecostal denomination): that issue is sanctification, and the A/G affirms what it describes as a "Reformed" understanding of sanctification precisely because they reject the "perfectionism" of the Wesleyan/Holiness tradition. So if you ask a Pentecostal if they are "Reformed" or "Wesleyan," they are going to think you're talking about the doctrine of sanctification, not election and salvation. More would define themselves as "Reformed" because more Pentecostals are A/G.

(c) Why on earth would one have to rely on self-definition by pastors to determine whether a church is Reformed? A church is Reformed if it is an heir of, and identifies with, Reformed creeds and confessions. In other words, it's not a secret whether a church is "Reformed" or not. The Reformed Church in America, the Christian Reformed Church, the Presbyterian Church (USA), the Presbyterian Church in America, and a host of others are "Reformed" churches. If you want the statistics, you don't have to "ask the pastor." Such a methodology already betrays a kind of nondenominational evangelical bias. But also please note, once again, that almost all observers of the "new Calvinism" has noted its growth outside "Reformed churches." So not only does the Barna group have a naive, misguided methodology, they're also measuring the wrong thing.

2. We are not given any information about the relevant samples here, except a few hand-waving notes at the end of the report which claim to have secured a "representative" sample through 600 phone calls. This is not social scientific data that would ever pass muster in the scholarly field of sociology of religion (as represented, for instance, by work done in the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion). Indeed, I find it hard not to find this almost laughable in its methodological naivete and anecdotal nature.

3. Finally, this report is utterly naive about what constitutes cultural significance. It falls prey to what James Davison Hunter has criticized as the "grassroots" naivete of evangelicalism: the idea that there's power in numbers. So if "the numbers" don't show growth, then there's no signficant shift--there's no significant "Reformed movement." But as Hunter shows, it's not populist numbers that change culture: it's the leadership power of "elites." So even if there weren't a groundswell of "new Calvinists" in the pews, there only has to be an upsurge of Calvinists in strategic positions of influence and leadership in order for it to make an impact on American evangelicalism. The Barna Report comes nowhere close to being able to measure something like that.

A Revolution in Grading

While it is the very height of bourgeois whining, one doesn't have to spend too much time around professors before you begin to hear complaints about grading. Used to our tenured autonomy, and generally enjoying discussion of ideas and texts in class, "grading" is the one drudgery that we have to do. It also comes with some sense of urgency and tends to coagulate around certain times. Around mid-October and early December, I'm pretty sure my wife has taken to slipping Prozac in my tea--which is then exacerbated but my own uptake in whiskey consumption at these points in the semester.

But then this afternoon I hit upon this revolutionary idea while grading papers for my Congregational & Ministry Studies class, "Interpreting Church Practices": what if I assigned projects that I'd actually like to read? Then the time spent grading would actually be a pleasure (all things considered, of course--that is, as long as you can count on students producing decently readable papers).

That was my experience this afternoon. As part of a course focused on practices of marriage, family, and singleness, I assigned students the task of excavating and articulating the normative visions of marriage, family and sexuality implicit in cultural artifacts such as TV sitcoms, dramas, reality TV, films, and novels. So I just spent an afternoon reading some really thoughtful analyses of television shows like Desperate Housewives, Mad Men, and Gilmore Girls and films that included Paper Heart, Elizabethtown, and Away We Go. It was almost like not working--which is the way professors feel the rest of the time! This isn't going to help with the proverbial "blue books," but it's got me thinking about more creative assignments for papers and projects.

An Appendix to "Desiring the Kingdom"

I'm starting to experiment with using Scribd a bit, and just uploaded my first paper. Entitled "Worldview, Sphere Sovereignty, and DTK: A Guide for (Perplexed) Reformed Folk," this was a paper I presented last week at the ARIHE Symposium, a gathering of presidents, administrators, and educators from Reformed colleges and universities. One could think of it as a sort of "appendix" to Desiring the Kingdom, specifically addressed to Kuyperian worries about my argument and proposal.

Worldview, Sphere Sovereignty, and DTK: A Guide for (Perplexed) Reformed Folk

Charles Matthewes on "Narrow" Audiences

While browsing in the Eerdmans booth at the American Academy of Religion meeting, I got sucked into Charles Matthewes new book, The Republic of Grace: Augustinian Thoughts for Dark Times. While it's not absolutely central to the theme of the book, this comment in the Introduction stuck with me:

It may seem oddly limiting to write a book primarily addressed to Christians; that may seem a strangely narrow audience. But the appearance of narrowness deceives. It is ironic that explicit appeals to Christians are all-too-easily labeled "narrow" or "sectarian" when there are roughly 250 million Christians--of quite diverse flavors, of course--in the United States today, and more than 2 billion around the world. How "broad," in comparison, would be an argument addressed to readers of the New York Review of Books?

Interviews on the Interwebs

A couple of interviews that might be of interest:

First, I was interviewed by Kenneth Sheppard for Patrol Magazine on "Philosophy, Culture, and Communication"--a conversation about academic life, public scholarship, and how Christian scholars serve the church.

Second, I was interviewed for Inner Compass, Calvin College's PBS program on religion and culture. That is now archived online; you can watch it below.

Defining "The Good Life" - Inner Compass from Calvin College on Vimeo.

Danto on Philosophy and/as/of Literature

Arthur Danto's contribution to the Blackwell Companion to the Philosophy of Literature is not exactly worth the price of the book (it's $200!), but it would certainly be worth the bus fare to the library. His quarry in "Philosophy and/as/of Literature" is the literary nature of philosophical writing and what that means for philosophical reading today, given the professionalization of philosophy and the dominance of a certain genre of philosophical writing. There's a history to be told here, and Danto notes a significant shift:

For a period roughly coeval with that in which philosophy attained professionalization, the canonical literary format has been the professional philosophy paper. Our practice as philosophers consists in reading and writing such papers; in training our students to read and write them; in inviting others to come read us a paper, to which we respond by posing questions which in effect are editorial recommendations, typically incorporated and acknowledged in the first or last footnote of the paper, in which we are exempted from such errors and infelicities as may remain and thanked for our helpful suggestions (p. 54).

Yep, that about nails it. I think non-academics, or even scholars from other disciplines, are sometimes astounded to learn that a philosophy "speaker" is really just a reader: s/he stands up at the podium and reads a manuscript, head-down, and rattles through the material.

Danto goes on to analyze this in Kuhnian terms: this is "normal science" in philosophy. "Mastery of the literary form is the key to success in the form of life." It comes with tangible benefits (tenure, recognition, invitations to go read more papers). "These practical benefits aside, no one could conceivably be interested in participating in the form of life defined by this literary form, were it not believed that this is the avenue to philosophical truth." But then Danto can't resist lodging a bit of skepticism about this paradigm: "It is less obviously a matter of agreement that philosophical truth is defined by this being believed to be the way to find it."

What Danto observes is the significant gap between "normal science" in philosophical writing and the range of creative genres that constitute the history of philosophy. And he starts to wonder whether that means we might not be very good readers, precisely because of the way we've learned to write:

Much of what I have read on Plato reads much as though he, to whom the whole of subsequent philosophy is said to be so many footnotes, were in effect a footnote to himself and were being coached to get a paper accepted by the Philosophical Review. And a good bit of the writing on Descartes is by way of chivying his argumentation into notations we are certain he would have adopted had he lived to appreciate their advantages, since it is now so clear where he went wrong. But in both case it might at least have been asked whether what either writer was up to can that easily be separated from forms of presentation that may have seemed inevitable, so that the dialogue or meditation flattened into conventional periodical prose might not in the process have lost something central to those ways of writing (p. 55).

It is exactly this concern about the irreducibility of form and the worry about what's lost in translation that is dominating my thinking about volume 2 of "Cultural Liturgies." But it's also generally why I continue to resist certain hegemonies in professional philosophy, and even within my own department. Sure, Emmanuel Levinas' Totality and Infinity does not have any formalized syllogisms or logical notation--but in that incredible book Levinas is performing something that cannot be teased out in "summaries of the argument." Indeed, such summaries and translations and formalization do an injustice to the kind of philosophical truth embodied in such works. This is why Danto ultimately worries about how we read:

The form in which the truth as [Plato and Descartes] understood it must be grasped just might require a form of reading, hence a kind of relationship to those texts, altogether different from that appropriate to a paper, or to what we sometimes refer as a "contribution." And this is because something is intended to happen to the reader other than and in addition to being informed (p. 55).

Theology and Race: A "Duke School?"

When I read J. Kameron Carter's commanding Race: A Theological Account, I had just a twinge of concern that his senior colleague at Duke, Willie James Jennings, had been "scooped" just a bit. Jennings began work along these lines back in the early 1990s, but then he got swept up into administrative duties at Duke Divinity School which then sidetracked him from his original research. But I have often come back, for instance, to his 1996 Modern Theology essay, "'He Became Truly Human': Incarnation, Emancipation, and Authentic Humanity" as a touchstone for starting conversations about theology and race. And Carter himself tips his hat to Jennings' pioneering work.

So I am thrilled to see Jennings' work has finally culminated in his new book, The Christian Imagination: Theology and the Origins of Race (Yale UP, 2010). While its argument echoes Carter's narrative about race and theology in Western thought, it looks like Jennings' work also makes unique contributions. I'm eager to read it.

I also wonder whether we're not seeing the emergence of a kind of "Duke school" on theology and race. As further evidence, consider Emmanuel Katongole and Chris Rice's contributions along these lines as well (for example in their co-authored more popular book, Reconciling All Things: A Christian Vision for Justice, Peace, and Healing). Or consider Brian Bantum's new book, originally a Duke dissertation: Redeeming Mulatto: A Theology of Race and Christian Hybridity (Baylor UP, 2010).

In suggesting an emerging "Duke school," I don't mean to attribute to them some imperial program for a "school of thought." Nor do I mean to attribute to them some concern to formulate a "party line." Nonetheless, one can detect a similar sensibility in the work of Carter, Jennings, Katongole, and Bantum: a theological engagement with race that is "post-liberationist," one might say: not because they're somehow in favor of "oppression," but rather because, having come through liberationist paradigms, they have also seen the problems with such an approach (in particular, the way in which it still remains mired in modern categories that are at the root of the problem). It requires a certain courage to articulate this sort of position, since (as I've seen with my students), it can sometimes be mistaken for a 'color-blind' approach, or could appear to give comfort to those who would pretend to "transcend" race. But they are decidedly not advocating either. It's just that our imagination on these issues tends to remain binary and simplistic, whereas they are inviting us beyond such simple oppositions. Indeed, to use Bantum's term, they might be inviting us to a more "hybrid" theology.

I'm encouraged by this development, mainly because I have students who are so interested in working through these issues with rigor and nuance. I'm grateful to be able to point them to the Duke school, so to speak.

Letters to a Young Calvinist Facebook Page

We've set up a Facebook page for Letters to a Young Calvinist at, surprisingly enough, http://www.facebook.com/LettersToaYoungCalvinist.

Since the book really aims to be a primer and invitation to a wider conversation, we'll use this Facebook page as a way to highlight other resources, point to relevant conversations, and hopefully host some discussion of the book and related themes.

Kuyper for Piper: "Letters to a Young Calvinist" now available

Letters to a Young Calvinist has now been released and should be available at booksellers near you. I received my copies a couple of weeks ago and was jazzed to see it in print. Brazos has done a great job creating a cool little book that is accessible and approachable in its format and presentation. It's certainly my most "popular," accessible book to date.

Now my hope is that it finds its audience: there are all sorts of folks who I hope will read it, but I'm especially hoping it might be received by a younger generation who, like my younger self, were awakened to thoughtful Christianity by a certain stream of Reformed theology. Letters to a Young Calvinist is an invitation to see other streams of the Reformed tradition--to value the complex richness of the Reformed voices across the spectrum.

Sometimes I describe this little book as "Kuyper for Piper." The goal is to build on the young, restless, Reformed interest in the doctrines of grace by also celebrating other core themes of the Reformed tradition: creation, culture, covenant, and catholicity, with a special concern for appreciating the ecclesiology of the Reformers. In the process, however, there's also some internal critique of Kuyperianism as well.

As with any book, one sends it out into the world like a child: with some trepidation and angst, with much hope and gratitude. Watch for news about events related to the book, as well as a Facebook page that's in the works.

Academic Conference Rules

A great New Yorker cartoon that well captures the posturing of Q&A at academic conferences.

Room for Theology in "Theory": New Signs in SAQ

A few years back, Eugene McCarraher's review of Terry Eagleton's After Theory posed the question: "After Theory, Theology?" It was a brilliant review of an excellent book and got to the heart of matters in the current state of "theory" (that strange, amorphous mix of continental philosophy marshaled across a range of disciplines in order to do "critique"). Both Eagleton and McCarraher suggested that a thorough, consistent "postmodern" critique of Enlightenment rationality--theory's bread and butter--should ultimately open the door for religious perspectives to get a hearing in a genuinely pluralist academy. (George Marsden made similar claims in The Outrageous Idea of Christian Scholarship, but without all the sexy, pomo references.)

Not everyone got the memo, however, and in some ways the university remains the last bastion of a pretty strident secularism. However, there have been pockets of theoretical conversations across the disciplines which have begun to absorb this point. As a case in point, consider the latest issue of the South Atlantic Quarterly, one of the iconic "theory" journals, currently edited by Michael Hardt and published by Duke University Press. (Ever since I knew what "theory" was, I had always sort of dreamed of getting to publish in SAQ.) The Fall 2010 issue, guest edited by two anthropologists, Matthew Engelke (London School of Economics) and Joel Robbins (UC San Diego), is devoted to the theme, "Global Christianity, Global Critique." But such a title might hide the fact that this issue is actually pressing the implications of something like the Eagleton/McCarraher thesis: that perhaps theory not only needs to consider religion, but that theory might even be "religious"--and that perhaps an anthropology of religion might be well-informed by theology without giving up its critical capacities. In his contribution to the volume, Simon Coleman describes this as a "committed anthropology." (My own contribution is something I wouldn't have dreamed could appear in SAQ: "'The spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets': Global Pentecostalism and the Re-enchantment of Critique.")

There's no consensus represented by the contributors, but there is a set of shared intuitions and sensibilities. I think the issue signals a new day in both theory and the social sciences.

Here's the full Table of Contents so you can see other contributions:

Joel Robbins and Matthew Engelke
Introduction

Joel Robbins
Anthropology, Pentecostalism, and the New Paul: Conversion, Event, and Social Transformation

Elizabeth A. Castelli
The Philosophers' Paul in the Frame of the Global: Some Reflections

James K. A. Smith
"The spirits of the prophets are subject to the prophets": Global Pentecostalism and the Re-enchantment of Critique

Jon Bialecki
Angels and Grass: Church, Revival, and the Neo-Pauline Turn

C. J. C. Pickstock
Liturgy and the Senses

Birgit Meyer
Aesthetics of Persuasion: Global Christianity and Pentecostalism's Sensational Forms

Brian Goldstone and Stanley Hauerwas
Disciplined Seeing: Forms of Christianity and Forms of Life

Simon Coleman
An Anthropological Apologetics

Matthew Engelke
Number and the Imagination of Global Christianity; or, Mediation and Immediacy in the Work of Alain Badiou

Douthat on Smith on Religious "Knowledge"

Over at his NYTimes "Evaluations" blog, I appreciated Ross Douthat's engagement with my "off the cuff" piece on the Pew Survey on Religious Knowledge (also noted at the Atlantic's "Daily Dish" blog).

While he's sympathetic to my second thesis, Douthat raises a fair point by asking:

Can one be a serious practitioner of Catholic Christianity who doesn’t know (as 41 percent of Catholics in the Pew survey did not) that the Church teaches that the bread and wine actually become the body and blood of Jesus in the Eucharist, rather than just symbolizing and memorializing Christ’s sacrifice? (Note I’m not even talking about whether you believe in transsubstantiation here — just whether you know that it’s what the Church says is happening on the altar.) There I think the answer is probably no: At a certain very basic level, what you know about a religion and how you practice it go hand in hand, and you can’t really be “a master of the game” if you’re ignorant of its rules — in the same way, say, that you couldn’t be a great baseball player if you didn’t know that three strikes make an out.

Of course, I wasn't saying that there's no place for religious knowledge in faithful religious practice. But his case and the analogy got me thinking further:

(1) In my book Desiring the Kingdom, at several points I discuss how children and mentally challenged adults participate in worship, sort of as "limit cases" to consider. I don't pretend these are the norms. But in both cases, it seems to me one can have devout practice that isn't necessarily attended by reflective knowledge. (Nor does this preclude emphasizing that such reflective knowledge would be a desirable good.) I think these sorts of questions remain germane particularly given my interest in (and concerns with) Christian Smith's work on youth spirituality, which also tends to come down pretty hard (at least implicitly) on 19-year-olds who seem to be playing a game but unable to articulate the rules. I'm not in the least suggesting religious communities haven't failed in catechesis, but I do think there are also modes of religious "understanding" which do not always translate into articulated answers of the sort measured by surveys. And since Douthat specifically raises the Roman Catholic example, it seems to me that Catholic spirituality has always made room for an affirmation of faith that is tactile, kinetic, and visual and thus not always articulated by the believer. That is, while many converts to Catholicism have "intellectual" concerns front and center, global Catholic spirituality is precisely a tradition that has always been hospitable and accessible to the uneducated, even the illiterate, who are no less faithful. Of course, this is also a mode of spirituality that is susceptible to superstition, but the two are certainly not identical. (I'm thinking of the peasant believers in Graham Greene's The Power and the Glory.) So I can imagine all kinds of Catholic faithful who are not able to articulate what Douthat is asking of them, but nonetheless have a kind of tacit appreciation and understanding of just what's at stake in the Eucharist.

(2) I wonder about the baseball analogy: yes, it seems right that I would have to have a kind of propositional knowledge about 3 strikes constituting an "out." And so I think both Douthat and I agree that there are reasons to be disappointed about the outcome of the survey--which sort of shores up my cynical "civil religion" thesis, as Douthat notes). On the other hand, we should also recognize that knowing 3 strikes = an out is not the sort of knowledge that actually makes one a good baseball player. It is just the sort of "spectator knowledge" that armchair batters around the country will be muttering about in October. But of course that's a long ways from having the sort of know-how which enables one to get a piece of a 98-mile-an-hour fastball. And it seems to me that religious "knowledge" is more on the order of that know-how than spectatorish acquaintance with the rules.

FWIW.

Men at Forty

BY DONALD JUSTICE

Men at forty

Learn to close softly

The doors to rooms they will not be

Coming back to.

At rest on a stair landing,

They feel it moving

Beneath them now like the deck of a ship,

Though the swell is gentle.

And deep in mirrors

They rediscover

The face of the boy as he practices tying

His father’s tie there in secret,

And the face of that father,

Still warm with the mystery of lather.

They are more fathers than sons themselves now.

Something is filling them, something

That is like the twilight sound

Of the crickets, immense,

Filling the woods at the foot of the slope

Behind their mortgaged houses.

On the Pew Survey of Religious Knowledge @ Immanent Frame

The Pew Forum's "U.S. Religious Knowledge Survey" has generated some press and buzz (see the New York Times report, for instance). In response, the folks at Immanent Frame have assembled one of their "off the cuff" features on the survey, "Surveying Religious Knowledge." It includes brief assessments from an interdisciplinary cast of scholars. You'll also find my own take there.

Review of "Hipster Christianity"

The Other Journal has now posted "Poser Christianity," my review of McCracken's Hipster Christianity: When Church and Cool Collide.

The review goes in a particular direction, because I think McCracken was asking for it. But I should note that there are some points of overlapping concern. For example, I think McCracken is right to see certain renditions of the emerging church as basically just the successor to Willow-Creekish seeker-sensitivity. And I share his concern about Christian assimilation to cultural trends. We just disagree about what counts as "assimilation."

Post-Ironic? Again with DFW

I'm continuing to live with David Foster Wallace quite a bit. Following his reflections on the tyranny of irony, consider what he says later in the same essay:

"The next real literary 'rebels' in this country might well emerge as some weird bunch of anti-rebels, born oglers who dare somehow to back away from ironic watching, who have the childish gall actually to endorse and instantiate single-entendre principles. Who treat of plain old untrendy human troubles and emotions in U.S. life with reverence and conviction. Who eschew self-consciousness and hip fatigue. These anti-rebels would be outdated, of course, before they even started. Dead on the page. Too sincere. Clearly repressed. Backward, quaint, naive, anachronistic. Maybe that'll be the point. Maybe that's why they'll be the next real rebels. Real rebels, as far as I can see, risk disapproval. The old postmodern insurgents risked the gasp and squeal: shock, disgust, outrage, censorship, accusations of socialism, anarchism, nihilism. Today's risks are different. The new rebels might be artists willing to risk the yawn, the rolled eyes, the cool smile, the nudged ribs, the parody of gifted ironists, the 'Oh how banal.'" (p. 81).

One might wonder whether, already in 1990, DFW had foreseen the coming of David Eggers, Jonathan Safran Foer, Nicole Krauss, even Jonathan Franzen--whether Wallace had prophesied what Melvin Jules Bukiet would later pan as the "Brooklyn Books of Wonder." There is a certain "sincerity" to their work that can look almost naive and quaint alongside Pynchon and even Wallace himself. But perhaps that is their (relative) rebellion. (This reminds me of Zizek's aside about straight marriage as "the most dark and daring of all transgressions.")

I think Wallace "gets" how novelists could head in this direction. And yet, the prose of Franzen and Krauss does feel so flat and predictable and, well, "straight-forward" after the experimentalism of DFW. No doubt avant-garde form can become tiresome and self-conscious, but it also seems to me that we can't just return to the narrators and forms of Updike either. The omniscient narrator has died; any revivification of him (sic) is not a resurrection, but only a zombie.

Those Winter Sundays

Our church newsletter highlighted this wonderful poem, which I'd never read before. As fall's chill begins to crackle here in Michigan, the warmth in this poem was palpable for me, as is the sense of aged gratitude, delayed but now granted:

Those Winter Sundays

BY ROBERT HAYDEN

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I’d wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he’d call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know
of love’s austere and lonely offices?

The Material Conditions of a Job Interview

Over at the Leiter Reports blog, there's been an interesting conversation about where philosophy departments should interview job candidates. Let me sketch a bit of context for those not familiar with the meat market that is the Eastern meeting of the APA: this divisional meeting takes place each year between Christmas and New Year's, which is about the only time that philosophers can afford hotel rooms in big cities. Pretty much anyone who is hoping for a job in the coming year will be vetted in a first round of interviews at this meeting. Departments will send a subset of their search committee to meet with 10-15 candidates, rather assembly-line-like.

Many of these interviews take place in a large exhibit hall filled with round tables, tenured faculty seated around them interviewing candidate after candidate in a kind of speed-dating format. These brief meetings at the professional interview are meant to be a way to narrow down the 2 or 3 candidates that departments will then bring to their campuses for a full interview and visit (teach a class, give a talk, meet the dean, etc., etc.).

Now, because of the cattle-call atmosphere of this exhibit hall context (not to mention the horrible din of multiple concurrent interviews happening in an acoustic nightmare of a basement hall), some departments elect to rent a hotel suite and host interviews in a quieter, less public setting. This all sounds good, until you think about one oddity: often this means interviewing candidates in a room with a double bed--sometimes even with faculty interviewers sitting on the bed.

Given that context, one prospective interviewee posed this question to Leiter:

Am I the only female who thinks it silly in 2010 to force departments to pay many hundreds of dollars (coming right out of our budget) to exclude a certain piece of furniture in the interview room? In the past, at least it sufficed to hide the b__ behind a screen (for which hotels charged quite a bit extra). To create what they call "made" suites this year, one must pay for two rooms, but one is guaranteed cot-free (nor does it suffice to drag the offensive item out each interview morning). Isn't there already sufficient incentive to be 100% professional at interviews? Is being interviewed behind closed doors in a suite more acceptable than in a room containing a b__, as opposed to a couch, or a screened bed? does it really help to shroud beds, cots, or couches? (It's a bit like shrouding females to insure no unwanted attention?)

Kick the bed to the side, sit on a chair!

This strikes me as almost a caricature of what a "philosopher" would suggest: "C'mon--we're all just rational here. Why does it matter what's in the room?" That might sound "reasonable" and mature and no-nonsense, but it also strikes me as incredibly naive and inattentive to the complexities of how we inhabit the world. Thankfully comments on the post, from philosophers, show a more holistic appreciation for our embodiment.

In fact, if you imagine the scene, and try to live into the strangeness of the scenario for just a moment, you'll begin to appreciate how much the material environment conditions our perception. Indeed, one could spend all day using Merleau-Ponty to show just how we construe and constitute such a context: how the body sort of "knows" the bed in ways and on levels that are almost inarticulable, but nonetheless really significant and powerful. These ways of knowing are not often the subject of philosophical reflection, but that doesn't mean that our perception is not equally shaped by them.

My Interview with James Davison Hunter

The Other Journal has just posted my interview with James Davison Hunter about his important new book, To Change the World. It was conducted as an e-interview, so it's not quite as chatty as a live conversation, but I think it invites Hunter to clarify some key points, and articulate some new ones.

This is a follow-up and companion to my review of the book, "How (Not) to Change the World," also published in The Other Journal. The interview probably makes more sense after reading the review.

Q & A on Pentecostalism and Philosophy

My home institution has posted a little Q & A about my two new books, Thinking in Tongues: Pentecostal Contributions to Christian Philosophy and Science and the Spirit: A Pentecostal Engagement with the Sciences, co-edited with Amos Yong.

Check it out in order to see what has to be college's dorkiest file photo of me accompanying the story.

More DFW: On Fear of Ridicule, Irony

While, in my last post, I was praising David Foster Wallace's writing and voice--a "formal" praise--he is (was, sadly) also stunningly brilliant, even prescient. For example, consider just one of the essays in A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again, "E UNIBAS PLURAM: Television and U.S. Fiction," which is something of a metacommentary on the impact of television on fiction--and more specifically, young fiction writers--written in 1990. (Keep that in mind: this is 1990; there's no discussion of the internet in here, only futuristic talk of TC cables connecting computers by fiber optic lines--like a scene straight out of Infinite Jest.)

It is a long, winding essay, with continual payoffs. Central to his argument (helpfully noted in a section subtitled, "I do have a thesis") is the recognition of the self-consciousness, ironic layering of television, such that television had already beat postmodern novelists to the punch. The general cultural ethos, then, is shaped by "irony, poker-faced silence, and fear of ridicule."

In lieu of a long commentary, let me just give you a taste of Wallace's claims and criticism, which I think are only more true today. For example, consider this little meditation on fear of ridicule:

"And to the extent that it [TV] can train viewers to laugh at characters' unending put-downs of one another, to view ridicule as both the mode of social intercourse and the ultimate art-form, television can reinforce its own queer ontology of appearance: the most frightening prospect, for the well-conditioned viewer, becomes leaving oneself open to others' ridicule by betraying passé expressions of value, emotion, or vulnerability. Other people become judges; the crime is naiveté. The well-trained viewer becomes even more allergic to people. Lonelier" (p. 63).

Thus the dispassionate aloofness of a generation of passive viewers:

"In fact, the numb blank bored demeanor--what one friend calls the 'girl-who's-dancing-with-you-but-would-obviously-rather-be-dancing-with-somebody-else' expression--that has become my generation's version of cool is all about TV. [...] Indifference is actually just the '90's version of frugality for U.S. young people: wooed several gorgeous hours a day for nothing but our attention, we regard that attention as our chief commodity, our social capital, and we are loath to fritter it" (p. 64).

This is then followed by a similar phenomenology of irony, of which a slice here:

"The assumptions behind early postmodern irony...were still frankly idealistic: it was assumed that etiology and diagnosis pointed toward cure, that a revelation of imprisonment led to freedom. [Rortyan irony?] So then how have irony, irreverence, and rebellion come to be not liberating but enfeebling in the culture today's avant-garde tries to write about? One clue's to be found in the fact that irony is still around, bigger than ever after 30 long years as the dominant mode of hip expression. It's not a rhetorical mode that wears well. As Hyde (whom I pretty obviously like) puts it, 'Irony has only emergency use. Carried over time, it is the voice of the trapped who have come to enjoy their cage.' This is because irony, entertaining as it is, serves an almost exclusively negative function" (pp. 66-67).

"Make no mistake," he concludes: "Irony tyrannizes us."

Permission to Write: Thanks to DFW

The book from my summer reading that probably most affected me was David Lipsky's Although Of Course You End Up Becoming Yourself: A Road Trip with David Foster Wallace. While Lipsky's voice is a bit irritating, and while the book feels like a sort of theft on Lipsky's part, the transcript of a 5-day of conversation with Wallace is riveting. I read this after working through a number of stories in Oblivion ("Good Old Neon" is incredible), as well as his non-fiction (A Supposedly Fun Thing I'll Never Do Again and Consider the Lobster) and I've now noticed this:

Reading DFW gives me a sense of permission to write in a way that sounds like the voice in my head.

I don't know if that's a good thing, objectively speaking. It won't make me any friends with James Wood & Co. But I have found this to be liberating, energizing, and just generally encouraging. I feel like Wallace has loosened my tongue in a way, and I'm grateful.

Sept. 30: "On the Very Idea of Pentecostal Philosophy"

The Eerdmans Bookstore here in Grand Rapids will be hosting an evening event to celebrate the publication of Thinking in Tongues: Pentecostal Contributions to Christian Philosophy:

"On the Very Idea of a Pentecostal Philosophy"

7:00pm, Eerdmans Bookstore, 2140 Oak Industrial Drive NE, Grand Rapids, MI

Q &A, refreshments and book signing to follow.

Hope to see you there!

Still Thinking About Grad School?

Keith DeRose has some alternative advice about going to grad school, contra the "Just-don't-go" school. Worth a read. See my comments there.

On the Facebook

Well, I've taken the plunge: I'm on Facebook. While my publisher has been encouraging me to do this for a while, what pushed me over the edge was closer to home: our oldest son has gone to college, and the low-grade mourning I've suffered in his absence was just enough to cloud my faculties and enable me to sign-up as an attempt to stay in touch with him.

I'm hoping the kids will give me some tutorials over the weekend, because right now I'm pretty much completely lost--roaming around clicking, sharing, liking, friending without direction or discretion. I suspect I'll always feel more comfortable in the more static, sequestered environs of the blogosphere.

Letters to a Young Calvinist

In a couple of weeks I expect to finally get my hands on a copy of my new book, Letters to a Young Calvinist: An Invitation to the Reformed Tradition. My most "popular" book to date (nary a footnote to be found!), it's a little collection of epistles written to a young friend (and my younger self) who's caught a taste of the Reformed tradition through the "Calvinism" of the young, restless, and Reformed movement. And its an invitation to discover the wide, deep riches of the Reformed tradition--to appreciate that this is a big house with many rooms.

Brazos, as usual, has done a great job with the design, and I'm hopeful that this might find readers beyond academic environs. I'm working on a bit of a "book tour," hoping to take advantage of some engagements that will already put me in Seattle, Minneapolis, and Manhattan this coming year, along with an author event here in Grand Rapids. (If you think there might be interest in a reading/talk/signing in your area, let me know and we'll see what we could do.) I'm also hoping to develop a webpage of resources connected to the book, and even toying with the idea of joining Facebook (though I hope my "better angels" will win out on that one).

Here are some of the endorsements for the book:

"My friend Jamie Smith is never boring. Most of the time I cheered 'Amen!' as I read these letters, but even when I disagreed, I appreciated Jamie's model of charity and humility as well as conviction. In the midst of all the encouraging energy of the 'New Calvinism' movement, it is also important to say that being Reformed is more than TULIP. These are rewarding and creatively written letters for all of us."--Michael Horton, J. Gresham Machen Professor of Theology, Westminster Seminary California

"I wish there had been a Jamie Smith to write letters like these to me when I was a young Calvinist. But, hey, I'm glad to get them today! This is a wise and delightfully written portrayal of a robust Calvinism for the twenty-first century."--Richard J. Mouw, president and professor of Christian philosophy, Fuller Theological Seminary

"Although Letters to a Young Calvinist may not please everyone in the Reformed camp (it is a big and diverse family after all), Jamie Smith has done a fabulous job articulating a winsome and engaging account of the depth, splendor, and joy of the Reformed tradition. I found much of what I hold dear about Calvinism reaffirmed in these interesting letters and at the same time was delighted to learn new insights that got me excited about the tradition all over again. I hope this book introduces a whole new generation to the richness of the Reformed understanding of the faith."--Jim Belcher, author, Deep Church: A Third Way Beyond Emerging and Traditional

"James K. A. Smith winsomely steps into one of the most fascinating conversations in contemporary evangelicalism--the surprising resurgence of Calvinism among younger Christians. Letters to a Young Calvinist is thoughtful, nuanced, provocative, relational, and informed. No one will agree with everything here, but what I appreciated most was Smith's careful insistence that there's much more to being theologically Reformed than believing in the famous (and fabulous!) five points of Calvinism. He shows that the Reformed tradition is covenantal and cosmic in scope, big and bright in scale, doctrinal and devotional in spirit. A thoroughly engaging read!"--Tullian Tchividjian, pastor, Coral Ridge Presbyterian Church, Ft. Lauderdale, FL.; author, Surprised by Grace: God's Relentless Pursuit of Rebels

"Letters to a Young Calvinist is a splendid book that speaks to both head and heart, counseling the 'young, restless, and Reformed' toward growth into a wider and deeper Reformed tradition. . . . [T]he journey with Smith into the spacious and expansive Reformed tradition is well worth the ride. This wise and witty book is a delight to read!"--J. Todd Billings, associate professor of Reformed theology, Western Theological Seminary, Holland, Michigan

So You Want to Go to Grad School: Friends & Family

I should clarify one assumption: I assume that if you're writing to me, then you probably have some investment in being a Christian scholar--that in some way your sense of a calling to this vocation is bound up with your faith. That creates all sorts of unique challenges and opportunities, and there are, of course, a host of questions about the nature of "Christian scholarship." I'm not going to wade into those issues here.

Instead, I want to simply emphasize a very practical matter: If you are going to graduate school in order to pursue the vocation of a Christian scholar, there are some very simple but crucially important non-academic things you need to do.

First, you need to find a solid local congregation and commit to it. Resist the temptation to think you're "too busy" for church. Or "too smart" for church. You're not. And the sooner you learn that, the better. The academic life can easily become all-consuming, especially if it's laden with a sense of Christian vocation. It can too easily swallow up everything in its path and become an idol. It's way too easy to sequester yourself in a world that is, in many ways, weird and distorted. Your immersion in a local congregation will be its own sort of discipline: it will keep you tethered to the so-called "real world." And don't just be there as a cynical critic, looking down your nose at the ignoramuses around you. Despite all the knowledge you're acquiring, there are plumbers and school teachers and stay-at-home moms in that congregation that have wisdom you'll never have. Plus, if you're called to be a Christian scholar, in some sense you are called to be a servant. The local congregation is where you learn how to do that.

Second, maintain friendships outside the academy. This is especially true if you are married (and perhaps have children). While I was in my PhD program, our family was part of a small group (with folks who were not academics) that met every Friday night for a shared meal and Bible study, with little kids running around our apartment and young parents frazzled and exhausted, but all in this together. This group was, without question, an absolute lifeline for us during what can be a very difficult time. We also had dear friends who lived nearby and we fostered rituals that prevented us from spiraling inward. All of this was rooting; it took me out of myself; it regularly and persistently inserted me in a world where "my work" really wasn't all that important. And it was a godsend.

Third, if you are married, and especially if you have children, graduate education is going to be one of the single most powerful threats to your marriage. It tends to induce a degree of poverty, and economic issues are always sources of deep tension, especially in young marriages. Graduate education also has the possibility of becoming a mistress, a seductress (a mister? a seducer? if you're woman). You are going to be immersed in a world that is largely foreign and closed to your spouse--and that world will want all of you. And you need to resist--not in the typical evangelical fashion of thinking you'll just muster the willpower and wherewithal to say "no." No, what you need are systems and structures and rhythms that won't let that happen. That's what the first two points are aimed at. To them I would add one more exhortation: attach yourself to an older couple in your congregation who can be mentors, who don't operate with any myths about marriage, who know all the challenges of raising kids, and who are willing to listen. In a dream world, you might even find a Christian professor at your university who can model this, since they'll be familiar with the unique challenges of the academic life. But in any case, look for some folks who are a generation ahead of you and can be a source of wisdom and encouragement.

You are not a scholar first. (I'm talking to my younger self here.) You are called first to be a friend, a disciple, a spouse, a parent. The sooner you can learn to "situate" and relativize your scholarly vocation, the sooner you'll be able to receive it with gladness.

How (Not) to Change the World: On James Davison Hunter

The Other Journal has just published my longish review essay, "How (Not) to Change the World," on James Davison Hunter's important new book, To Change the World: The Irony, Tragedy, and Possibility of Christianity in the Late Modern World.

In a few days they'll follow up by publishing an interview I conducted with Hunter about his book and these issues.

So You Want to Go to Grad School: Money

Let's get down to the nitty-gritty: how are you going to pay for graduate school? Well, that's easy: you're not.

Seriously.

Here's the baseline advice I tell my students: do not go into debt for graduate study. At least not a doctoral program in philosophy, theology, or literature. There might be a calculus in which taking on debt makes sense for a law degree, an MBA, etc. But in the fields we're talking about, you should not be taking out loans to do a PhD.

In other words, if you do not get a "full ride" to a PhD program--that is, if you don't get full tuition remission plus an assistantship (stipend)--then the Lord is telling you something. I really mean that. I'm sorry if that sounds harsh or callous. But if you're trying to discern your future, and you're admitted to a program but don't receive funding (which probably only happens at lower tier schools anyway), that's the Spirit speaking to you loudly and clearly. I'm not saying that will be easy news to receive. But take a breath, step back, and hear it for what it is.

Now, if you do get accepted to multiple places with funding (congratulations!), then the next thing you have to think about is cost of living, especially if you're going to grad school with a family--which, by the way, is possible: Just for the record, we got married after my freshman year. (I'm not saying I recommend this--but we just celebrated our 20th anniversary last week.) We had our first child 2 years later while I was still an undergraduate. We had our second while I was doing my master's degree. And we had two children while I was in my PhD program. It wasn't easy, but it is possible.

Anyway, if you have the luxury of choosing between programs, you need to consider where you want to live, and how much it costs to live there (proximity to family support networks are also a legitimate concern when considering location). For example, imagine you get into Yale and Notre Dame; while the Eastern seaboard certainly has its attractions, a stipend goes a long way in South Bend, Indiana. Those are things to think about. Scholars are not immaterial minds: we, too, have bodies and need to consider material realities. While the academic life--especially grad school--requires a kind of vow of poverty, you can also make decisions to be the best possible steward of the resources provided.

Next time: Friends & family.

So You Want to Go to Grad School: Choosing Schools (2)

Last time I discussed choosing schools on the theological end of the spectrum. But the list would be different if we were talking about continental philosophy of religion, as opposed to philosophical theology. In that case, you'd want to work within a philosophy department so that your disciplinary formation was in the philosophical canon, and so that you'd emerge able to teach PHIL 101 rather than THEO 101. However, I should note a caution here: if you're interested in something like "continental philosophy of religion," that will have already put you outside of the pale of the dominant sensibility in North American philosophy ("analytic" philosophy). So that often means that programs which are hospitable to continental philosophy of religion are generally not going to be high-ranked programs according to the received criteria (i.e., The Leiter Report). Now, that's not a huge issue if you're hoping to teach at a smaller institution. But it does pose a bit of a challenge if you had aspirations of doing continental philosophy of religion in, say, Yale's philosophy department. That ain't gonna happen. But that's also not the end of the world.

If you're interested in pursuing continental philosophy of religion, I would advise you to consider two things: (1) Don't specialize in philosophy of religion. My colleagues in analytic philosophy of religion counsel the same thing. In the guild's parlance, you'd want philosophy of religion to be an AOC (area of competence) not an AOS (area of specialization). Even if it's your real passion, you need to prove your mettle and master some other subdiscipline like French phenomenology or ethics or hermeneutics. (2) Do your doctoral work in a "pluralist" program that also emphasizes the history of philosophy. That is, don't go to a program that has a continental axe to grind, constantly railing against analytic philosophy. This will only further sequester you from the mainstream in your discipline. Instead, look for programs that are hospitable to continental voices but also offer you an opportunity to receive training in the core of analytic philosophy (metaphysics, epistemology, ethics) and a solid foundation in the history of philosophy. And ideally it would also be a place that would give you training in pragmatism. I think the most exciting future of the discipline involves new, emerging conversations happening across old boundaries and divisions, between continental and analytic schools of thought. I think it's especially important for Christian philosophers to be building such bridges, and that requires a generous, well-rounded program. (I discuss some more issues of formation in my article, "Continental Philosophy of Religion: Prescriptions for a Healthy Subdiscipline."

With those concerns in mind, let me mention a few philosophy departments I'd recommend for consideration:

• Notre Dame: While this is a bastion of analytic philosophy of religion, it's also a place where you can receive solid training in continental sources along with excellent foundations in the history of philosophy, especially medieval thought. ND is also home to the Center for Philosophy of Religion under the energetic new leadership of Mike Rea.
• Fordham University: Longtime home to Merold Westphal, one of the doyens of continental philosophy of religion, Fordham is another one of those "pluralist" departments I spoke of.
• University of Chicago Committee on Social Thought: A fascinating program that could get you a job in a philosophy department (which would be harder to do with a degree from the div school). Plus, it's Chicago: one of the great American cities.
  
• Syracuse University: Syracuse's Philosophy Department was home to William Alston, a giant in analytic philosophy of religion, but it has also historically been home to some folks working on Kant, Heidegger, French thought, and feminism. John Caputo has had a cross-appointment in Religion and Philosophy, though he will be retiring at the end of this year, so folks should watch for who will be appointed to replace him. But Syracuse is worth a look. But do note that I'm suggesting that if you want to do philosophy of religion, then you should consider the Syracuse Philosophy Department and lean out into resources in the Religion department as you're able.
  
• Southern Illinois University Carbondale: Here's a little sleeper that I recommend to students if you're open to a "marginal" program--which is fine if your goal is to teach at a smaller college. I think this is a very interesting department, with excellent resources in pragmatism and phenomenology (including Anthony Steinbock, who I think is one of the most interesting scholars in English-speaking phenomenology).
• Philosophy Program, Baylor University: While this program is analytic at its heart, it's also a generous, pluralist place that can make room for philosophy of religion "with a continental twist" (I know a student who just completed a dissertation on Jean-Luc Marion). You will also find a pretty stellar cadre of scholars who are intentionally Christian. There are also solid resources in the Religion department at Baylor. This is a great place to consider especially if you feel your vocation is to a smaller, Christian liberal arts college.
  

I'm no doubt forgetting some, but there's a little sample to get you started.

Let me close with two other considerations about where to study:

First, British programs: obviously there are some very interesting places to study philosophical theology/continental philosophy of religion in the UK (Nottingham, Cambridge, University of Manchester, etc.). Just two concerns to keep in mind: (1) These programs are incredibly expensive and often don't have the funding support of North American programs [I'll talk about money in the next post]; (2) the nature of British postgraduate education encourages narrow and deep research, but doesn't always provide broad, disciplinary familiarity with the canon. So while UK PhDs can teach incredible upper-level seminars in their speciality, they're not always equipped to teach 101. They also don't tend to provide as many opportunities to teach while in graduate school, and thus UK doctoral students aren't developing a classroom repertoire. I think that becomes a handicap when interviewing at American colleges and universities.

Second, remember Canadian universities: you might consider some of the excellent resources north of the border, particularly at the University of Toronto (and the sprawling Toronto School of Theology), as well as McGill University in Montreal (for either continental philosophy or theology), McMaster University (continental philosophy), or the University of Guelph (for continental philosophy).

Next time: A Supplement on Choosing Schools in Philosophical Theology, then Money.