Re (1): wisdom

Hello Karen,

Thanks for posting your thoughts. You know, your comments about the professor that irritated you brings out an important consideration. It is good to be challenged in our thinking, but like all things in life it must be taken in balance. There is a time to sow and a time to reap; there is a time to examine what one believes and a time to say "this is what I believe and I'm sticking to it." If all we do is examine our beliefs endlessly, we get nowhere; conversely if all we do is say "this is what I believe and I'm sticking to it," we also get nowhere. There are certainly professors who believe it is their business to strip away all beliefs without offering anything substantive to take their place. Then there are those that appear to be callous but are actually interested in the spiritual well being of their charges, realizing that a bit of prodding is sometimes what it takes to knock the rust off old dogmas. A professor may question from good motives or bad and do so charitably or maliciously, though even the negative end of these spectrums does not have to determine the outcome they hold over us. As C.S. Lewis writes in Letters of C.S. Lewis about persecution (though I am thinking more in terms of "professor as hammer" than persecution as a means to growth, though both apply):


But generally the reason why such study can become toxic (as good as it may be for some people who rarely question anything—I personally have a hard time envisioning what such blesséd serenity would look like) is not because the professor delights in stripping away belief with nothing substantive to offer in its place: it is more subtle than that.

I am taking four philosophy courses this semester in addition to my third semester of French and I can assure you that my life can quickly become lopsided if I don't actively counteract the influence of the thousands of words I am compelled to read for my classes. (More on those words in a moment.) To a very large degree the words upon which we feast our mind—whether by choice or compulsion matters little—become our reality. We are, after all, creatures of faith, and faith comes to a large degree by hearing, or, put in other words, faith is manufactured from the substance (or lack thereof) upon which we feast our minds. If what we feast our minds upon is wholesome, our faith is solid and centered squarely on the shoulders of reality. If, on the other hand, what we feast our minds upon is in some way errant (and often this has more to do with balance and degree rather than with truth or relevancy), our faith will truly be a "manufactured" faith.

There are, I believe, two distinct manifestations of what we might call the spirit of the anti-Christ. In this case, I am not referring specifically to any distinct spiritual entity so much as a frame of mind of spiritual creatures easily shipwrecked. There is the obvious sense in which an anti-Christ spirit intentionally thumbs its nose at God. But there is also a spirit of anti-Christ that says nothing one way or another about God and makes no overt claims to any kind of self-sufficiency. Why is it an anti-Christ spirit? Because it takes the place of Christ, however subtly. And because it purports no malice nor sees any need, it is all the more diabolical.

We often say that leaving part of the truth out a statement is just as dishonest as a blatant lie. Let us say, for the sake of an example, that I am a teenage male who has taken Mom and Dad's car out for the evening and the roads are slick. I am driving along and I notice a very attractive young woman and in my quest to get a better look at her, I lose my focus and end up wrecking the car. When I arrive home, I tell Mom and Dad I wrecked the car but leave out the part that it was not the ice but rather my wayward gaze that got me in trouble. This example, which selectively leaves out a part of the truth in order to deceive would be our first and most obvious spirit of the anti-Christ. It keeps Christ in view but leaves out the urgency or is defiant (perhaps a belligerent attitude upon my arrival home).

But now let us stretch our imaginations and say that when I get home I say nothing about the car whatsoever. Rather than telling Mom and Dad about the car, I instead bring up the subject of basketball. Soon we are engaged in a conversation and the furthest thing from their minds at the moment is their car. Now of course my example is not likely to work indefinitely because the next morning when they discover the truth about their car (which I would be hard pressed to hide), I will be a primary suspect. It is highly unlikely that further conversations about basketball will help me at this point, whatever course of action I choose. But do you see my point? In this case, I did not merely leave out part of the truth to deceive: I did not tell the truth at all and I did not "lie" to do so either. I simply diverted attention completely away from the topic at hand and I did so purposely, the natural-born scheming brat that I am. Such would be an example of the second, more subtle manifestation of an anti-Christ spirit. It does not claim to be God. It does not shake its fist in God's face. It diverts full attention away from God altogether on things, like basketball, that are neither good nor bad, just not the most important considerations.

So too, all the secular studies—whether in philosophy or other—can have the same effect. In and of themselves they are as morally neutral as a conversation about basketball. But taken in large doses without a healthy balance of spiritual input and they start weaving together a very secular worldview where God is simply an unnoticed "other." This is the way in which I believe Satan most effectively works with all of us, whether it be in the classroom or in the simple busyness of our lives. Most of us are not in open rebellion against God, we simply get busy and form habits of busyness and before long we have simply crowded out the truth in exchange for a series of tasks that are morally neutral, but that serve to distract us from that which is most important.

One last thought about philosophy, since this forum is the perfect place to rant, rave, moan, and whine: the thing that is slaughtering me this semester in all of my philosophy courses is not that they directly challenge my beliefs. Rather their assault is two-pronged and lethal because of the sheer amount of literature one must process in order to master the material: it is the proverbial state of overload. Perhaps I am biased toward my own disciplines of interest, but most people who take philosophy seriously are either brilliant thinkers themselves or at the least admire those who are. Further, philosophy is the discipline of disciplines, from which all other subjects have been given birth. Nearly every subject offered in the college classroom today—particularly the sciences—owe their origin to philosophy. Philosophy informs the very way in which other disciplines approach their subject matter. A philosophy major or minor in college encounters many other majors and minors of other disciplines, because their subject of interest necessitates at least one course in their discipline of choice: philosophy of law, philosophy of education, bioethics, etc. The only thing that sits above philosophy is theology, for if God is not the First Cause then man is indeed the measure of all things.

Now then, I said that many who are interested in philosophy admire brilliant thinkers even if they themselves have no such latent ability. Not surprisingly, brilliant thinkers don't always agree with one another. As philosophy majors or minors, much of our reading consists of dozens of essays—all argued brilliantly—all on the same topic and often proffering contradictory perspectives with an equal degree of propensity. If one does not keep at least one foot on the ground, his head soon begins to swim and he begins to question what is truth and can it be known? It soon seems like truth amounts only to the man who can argue best and most eloquently: man, the measure of all things. Now if man is merely the measurer assigning units of measure like Adam assigning the names of the animals, that is one thing. But when man becomes the chief architect as well... But you see, as a Christian friend recently pointed out to me, I have it backward: I doubt my faith and believe my doubts rather than doubting my doubts and believing my faith.

In any event, such argumentation as we encounter in our daily readings does serve to illustrate that we cannot lean on our own understanding, but it can have the effect of even causing us to distrust our ability to lean on God's understanding as well: how can we be certain we've got it right? I am reminded of Phaedo's account of Socrates' trial (through the quill of Plato):


Socrates could well be speaking for me, for too much exposure to philosophical analysis can lead me to one extreme or the other: to think myself very wise or to despair of all truth and knowledge when what I so desperately long for is a cool, refreshing draught of the Living Water. It is not philosophy that is at fault nor do I suppose necessarily my own unskillfulness at it. Rather, it is a factor of balance. The professor may have done your classmate a favor because he may have been a largely unthinking person. But it is surely possible to err in the other direction as well. We must maintain balance if we expect to maintain health and sanity. No one method or approach can do or say it all. And while we will likely never know many of the answers, we do at least know the One who does. Let us not lean on our own understanding or that of others around us or we too will tend to either exalt ourselves too highly or become broken men, despairing of life and any possibility of light shining therein.

God bless,
Eric

Wisdom: Socrates, the Psalmist, and the Serpent

• Re(2): wisdom - By Linda October 14, 2004 at 07:16:40 PM
  • Re(3): wisdom - By Eric October 14, 2004 at 09:45:46 PM
    • Re(4): wisdom - By Karen October 15, 2004 at 07:20:33 PM
      • Re(5): wisdom - By Linda October 18, 2004 at 06:38:50 PM