A New Edition of Chesterton's Orthodoxy

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If you haven’t read G. K. Chesterton, you should take the opportunity to do so.

He’s humorous, incisive, perceptive, witty, and a fierce defender of the Christian faith. Chesterton’s Everlasting Man is one of the volumes that contributed to the conversion of C. S. Lewis. Some find his contrariness and paradoxical thinking grating, but most sense the twinkle in the eye of a brilliant thinker who has been captured by a love of the truth.

Chesterton’s work is out of copyright, so I anticipate (if it hasn’t happened already) many cheap and barely readable versions of the text to pop up in online marketplaces. One of the challenges of reading old books in our age is finding a well-produced edition for a reasonable price.

B&H has produced a gorgeous printing of Orthodoxy, with an introduction, annotations, and guided reading from Trevin Wax. The annotations alone are worth the price of the book, because Chesterton drops many names of popular politicians, thinkers, and cultural fixtures without any context. It’s possible to get the general idea of the text without knowing who he is referring to, but the notes that Wax provides at the bottom of the page are very helpful. The guided reading is also useful for those who haven’t encountered Chesterton before, or who are unfamiliar with the conflict of Christianity and modernity. Chesterton is a very deep thinker, so the first trip through Orthodoxy can be tough slogging for the uninitiated. Wax scaffolds the content with a brief introduction to each chapter telling the reader what the gist is and what to look for; at the end of chapter there is a brief summary and some discussion questions. These are all helpful for engaging the book on its own terms.

Orthodoxy itself, of course, is a classic volume. There is a reason it has been in print for an extended period of time. This volume is a follow up to Chesterton’s book, Heretics, where he takes on Christianity’s modern critics directly, and often by name. However, some of those critics did not engage with Chesterton because, they said, he had not outlined his own position in the positive. They recognized that it is much easier to tear down opinions than it is to build them anew. Chesterton agreed and took them up on the challenge. The result was Orthodoxy.

Chesterton was, of course, a Roman Catholic, which shapes his approach to defending the faith. He also grossly misunderstood Calvinism—or at least, he has misrepresented every real version I have ever encountered in life or in print. And yet, Chesterton’s defense of Christianity from modernity is a defense that is appealing even for a low-church Baptist with Calvinistic tendencies. He makes the locus of his understanding of Christianity the Apostle’s Creed, which is a good place to start, if you ask me.

It’s challenging to sum up the contents simply, but it might be fair to say that, having looked at modernity’s answers to life’s most pressing questions, Chesterton is explaining why Christianity provides the best description for the world as it exists. He begins by showing the circularity of materialistic arguments for the world and the better answer he found in Christianity. The argument moves on from there. This isn’t a typical apologetics book, but trust me, it’s worth your while.

The latest edition of Orthodoxy from B&H is worth the money. It is a handsome edition and the notes add value rather than distracting from the quality of the text. If you haven’t read it at all, get some version of the book and pick it up. You’ll thank me later.

NOTE: I received a gratis copy of this volume from the publisher with no expectation of a positive review.

Another Sort of Learning - A Review

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The Preacher who gave us Ecclesiastes famously wrote, “What has been is what will be, and what has been done is what will be done, and there is nothing new under the sun.” (Ecc 1:9)

This is true in many arenas, but those who read old books will find it true of controversies, antagonisms, and the general feel of cultural unrest. C. S. Lewis recommends reading old books “to keep the clean sea breeze of the centuries blowing through our minds.” (Lewis, “On Reading Old Books”) It is by reading old books that we gain a corrective to the characteristic blind spots of our own culture.

I’m not sure if James Schall’s book, Another Sort of Learning, counts as an old book, since it was published in 1988, but it had a revealing effect for me. Schall’s book is worth considering on its own, but it also provides evidence that today’s cultural battles are not really that new. More than thirty years ago, Schall was calling out the same problems that might be the source of concern in The American Conservative, First Things, or National Review today. That doesn’t mean that the concern is not warranted, but rather that we might be better served by recognizing that this election or this court case or this movie may not actually be the straw that broke the camels back. It may be, but that seems less and less likely the older I get. There is nothing new under the sun.

In Another Sort of Learning, Schall writes “about being a student, about reading, about the fact that each of us is called to understand. . . ‘the truth about our lives.’” This is a book that discusses other books that can help shape the mind. It is a book about thinking well, appreciation of the transcendentals, and recommendations of others who are thinking along the same vein.

Contents

The book is divided into three parts. The first is addressed to college students, pointing them toward what their goal as students ought to be. Schall expresses concern that students seek to answers to the big questions of life, rather than simply learning a trade. The whole of this section is framed around that. In his first essay, “Another Sort of Learning,” Schall commends used book stores for being able to find the right sorts of books that are often not in as regular circulation. A lovely way to begin an engaging book.

The second part of the volume recommends “Books You Will Never Be Assigned.” Here offers to “provide reviews of certain books that I think help us gain some insight into the heart of reality.” These are mainly modern books with an ancient soul. They are the sorts of secondary literature that take the Great Conversation seriously and try to engage it meaningfully rather than demonstrate why it is a foolish attempt. For those with a hefty book budget, these are chapters ripe with suggestion.

Part Three seeks to provide an alternative viewpoint to the most common modern perspective. Schall states, “I want to discuss rather substantive things, both intellectual and spiritual. Here I want to say something about the humanities, about devotion, prayer, something more, again, about permanent things.” Here he again is recommending volumes that pull readers deeper into the idea of reality about the universe, rather than directing them to their own reality.

Conclusion

Another Sort of Learning is a deeply conservative book. Not the sort of conservatism that produces strong tweets or rages against the right enemies, but the sort of conservatism that digs deep into the intellectual realities of the world and seeks to find truth, goodness, and beauty. It is a sort of reactionary perspective that is revulsed by the evils of modernity, looking to the solidity of the past for a conversation of substance.

One of the interesting benefits of reading a book like this over thirty years old is that it skips a generation. The authors that I recognize are mainly the ones still being discussed today, so Schall’s reading lists can point us back to older books of substances that may further help clear away the cobwebs of the contemporary cacophony. There is nothing new under the sun, but Schall provides access to the ongoing debates that doesn’t include the gaps and blind spots of the latest cycle of blogs.

Another benefit of Another Sort of Learning is that Schall describes the same sorts of problems being lamented by thoughtful people today. There is, indeed, nothing new under the sun. On one hand, the continuance of this concern about the loss of the transcendentals is discouraging because we have not made much progress. On the other hand, the continuance of concern on this issue shows that we have not altogether lost the fight. This is an encouraging volume that is worth the time to read. The essays are no worse for being more than thirty years old. Maybe they are even better for it.  Overall, the collection is well-written and engaging, perfect for taking a chapter at a time after a long day at work.

Doors in the Walls of the World - A Review

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At some stage in their career, if they are any good, an author gets to the point where their work will be enough of a commercial success that they gain freedom from publishers to write books that a less well-known author would not be able to get in print. Peter Kreeft hit that status quite a while ago and the freedom he has found to experiment and explore is a wonderful thing. Whenever Kreeft publishes a book, buy it and read it.

Doors in the Walls of the World: Signs of Transcendence in the Human Story is the sort of volume that probably wouldn’t have gotten off the ground if Kreeft were less well-known, but it is just the sort of book that many people need at just this moment. This is a book that is much needed in this age of scientism and materialism. It is, fundamentally, an apologetic for a supernatural understanding of this world.

The introduction begins by considering several kinds of wonder. Wonder may be found in surprise. It may be found in intellectual exploration and curiosity. Wonder also results in awe. It is this third form of wonder that is the main grist of this book. This is a book about finding something beyond the world as we see it. It is about finding a door in the wall of the world, as the title indicates. This world is the material reality that we sense—the cave in Plato’s myth—and the doors in the cave wall are gateways to the supernatural reality that lies beyond.

Kreeft proceeds to show that life, in many ways, is a story. There is a Storyteller beyond the story. There is plot, setting, characters, theme, and style. These are, in plain English, history, physical science, psychology, religion and philosophy, and art. All of these are doors in the walls of the world, through which we can pass to wonder at the supernatural. They are clues to help us understand the transcendent.

Each of the chapters is a brief discussion on one of the five elements of story. Kreeft uses fictionalized illustrations, literary examples, and plain prose writing to make his case. His case is that there is something beyond the world that we can see and we would be foolish to think that the shadows on the cave walls are all there is.

Doors in the Walls of the World is the sort of book that does not dazzle with its purple prose or overwhelm with a logical argument. It is like a short film that carries a powerful message that is vitally important and, perhaps, couldn’t be told in another way. This is the sort of volume that should be read quickly, and maybe repeatedly, to be digested in wonder of the goodness of the hope it points toward. It’s a rest stop that refreshes with a surprising garden in the middle of a journey. This book is a testament to wonder and deserves to be read for those of us in a dry and weary cave who could use a little magic, mystery, and joy.

How to Think Like Shakespeare - A Review

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The list of books I have purchased because of Ken Myers and his Mars Hill Audio Journal continues to grow. Though subscriptions to the journal run about $30, regular listeners are likely to find the actual cost of the journal and the free, weekly Friday Features much greater because Myers has the gift of bibliography. He also brings such interesting people in for interviews or reads such enthralling essays that curious minds will find it difficult not to want to follow where he leads. For those without robust university libraries nearby, the cost of following those intellectual breadcrumbs can rise as online orders and regular deliveries from the postman serve to dish up fuel for the mind.

One recent book that I purchased because of Ken Myers is How to Think Like Shakespeare: Lessons from a Renaissance Education. The author, Scott Newstok is a professor of English at Rhodes College. He has previously published on both Shakespeare and renaissance education. In this volume, published with Princeton University Press, Newstok brings those ideas together.

How to Think Like Shakespeare sounds like a “how to” manual. Thankfully, it is not, though that might annoy some who pick up the volume thinking it will provide “10 easy steps to better writing” or whatever.

In an interview with Myers, Newstok related that one of the driving forces behind his writing the book was a rejection of the education-industrial complex. His daughter, enrolled in a public school, came home muttering about “assessment,” which is code for “high stakes testing to justify money spent on novel methods with unproven results which may not have a valid goal in mind.” The problem with assessment is that it pushes toward educating in measurable information without necessarily considering whether the end goal is right and proper. What could have turned into a manifesto is framed much more positively, though, as Newstok provides a framework for considerations for the Renaissance Mind.

The purpose of this book is to help reframe the goal of education around more human considerations. Newstok writes:

My conviction is that education must be about thinking––not training a set of specific skills. . . . Education isn’t merely accumulating data; machines can memorize far more, and far less fallibly, than humans.

The best way to learn about thinking is not to hire a neuroscientist to measure the electrical activity in the brain, but to watch how others have thought before. Since we do not have a time machine to travel back to meet Shakespeare or other thinkers who lived before our technology-saturated age, we must consider what they have written and follow the trails they have followed.

How to Think About Shakespeare takes an intriguing approach. In a world that prizes originality, the book is comprised largely of quotes and tight allusions. Newstok is fastidious in his annotation, so this is no plagiarist’s volume. However, what is illustrated is the great degree that we are dependent upon those that have come before us. In many cases, they have already thought better with clearer language about the things that we consider imponderable.

The book has fourteen chapters, which all deal with particular issues relevant to human thinking and our contemporary culture. For example, Newstok begins with “Of Thinking,” which is appropriate considering the title of the volume. The upshot being that the lament “why can’t people think” is not a new problem driven by smart phones (though perhaps accelerated), but one that spans the intellectual history of the world. The conclusion we might draw from that is that it may be better to see how the problem has been overcome in the past and model our solutions off of that, rather than trying to reinvent the wheel. Newstok then moves on to discuss ends, craft, fit, place, attention, and more. All the topics serve to outline aspects of human thought in a humane world. Each of the chapters is brief—usually about a dozen pages, which keeps the pace quick while providing some material for future consideration.

How to Think Like Shakespeare is not so much earthshattering as paradigm disrupting. It’s hard to define, really, but this is book that caused me to think and is still nagging at me to continue thinking. Mostly, it’s driving me to continue to explore what it means to be human and to think as a human in a computerized world. Newstok’s brief chapters highlight the ways that we have been habituated to a technological society. He doesn’t provide a lot of clear answers, but he raises some of the more significant questions that we should be asking and which humanity has previously asked. This is the sort of book that I read and have dipped into several times as I’ve mulled its contents since then. The book is one that that will stick with you at the edge of your mind and encourage dabbling.

Recovering the Lost Art of Reading - A Review

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Mortimer Adler’s How to Read a Book is a classic introduction to the art of reading. It’s a favorite among homeschoolers and careful thinkers who have wanted to learn how to wrestle with ideas critically and thoroughly. Decades after the first edition was published, there is still a lot to commend it to readers. There is still much to be commended.

But I now have a new top book to recommend for those seeking to learn how to read better and to teach others to read better.

Leland Ryken and Glenda Faye Mathes teamed up to write Recovering the Lost Art of Reading to provide both encouragement and instruction in the practice of consuming literature in various genres.

The book begins with an explanation of the problem. Fewer people are reading books and they tend to read them carelessly. It’s not that fewer people are reading, because the flood of short internet articles ensure that people are taking in information and ideas through words. At the same time, the careful perusal of literature and well-written nonfiction in longform is an artform that fewer seem to be mastering.

Anecdotally, I have met more and more teens who have never read a single book in full, and I have had adults brag they haven’t cracked open a volume in a decade. Meanwhile, total sales of books are up, but I have to wonder what part the frequent sales on ebooks and the habits of prolific readers have to do with that trend. There is evidence that reading on screens is less effective than reading actual books.

The chief problem with a reduced rate of reading good books well is that books that have stood the connect us to our shared human heritage. In many cases these volumes are being ignored because of cultural concerns or because reading them is simply hard work.

 When the culture loses touch with the artifacts of its past we lose voices that can keep us from making old mistakes again, voices that call us to a deeper sense of beauty, and voices that connect us to minds from the past. As Alan Jacobs notes in his book, Breaking Bread with the Dead, when people stop reading “classics” (for whatever reason) we could be dragged back toward the past we long to avoid.

Recovering the Lost Art of Reading helps to remedy the lack of reading by providing accessible instruction about how to read well. So, the second (and far longer) part of the volume offers something of a primer on reading. It begins with a discussion of literature, its significance, and its benefits. Next, introduction to various genres with helpful instructions for reading each type of material well. After these helpful chapters on theory, Mathes and Ryken shift gears in Part Three to a mix of practical instruction and exhortation on recovering the art of reading, where they connect reading to the true, the good, and the beautiful. The pursuit of these is foundational to a well-lived life and a Christian life that seeks to recognize God at work in the world across cultures.

One of the notable features about the book is that there is a focus on a particularly Christian approach to reading. So, their chapter on the Bible as literature describes the process of reading Scripture for its beauty, form, and creativity as something that is spiritually significant. Similarly, the persistent concern for the moral exercise of reading is not primarily about academic virtue, but about putting on the mind of Christ by encountering truth, goodness, and beauty in transcultural forms.

The self-description of the book is apt. The authors write, “[This is] a guidebook by two season and enthusiastic reading travelers, who show all readers . . . how to discover more delight in the reading journey.” This is not an academic volume, though it has academic value. It is not a prescriptive “how to” like Adler’s book. It is filled with instruction, but it is not purely didactic. It’s the sort of book that can be read piecemeal as someone tries to grow in the art of reading. It’s also the sort of book that can be used as a textbook in a high school or introductory college literature class. It would also be useful as a companion to a reading group. Most significantly, it’s a book that will help its reader grow in their love of the better things in life.

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The unfortunate reality is that those that really need to read this volume—the truly reluctant readers—are unlikely to pick it up. But the casual reader can benefit and the seasoned reader can deepen their love for the practice. With so many distractions, in the form of funny internet videos and short blog articles, this book may not win as many as it should. However, the audience that it does reach will be improved and deepened in their understanding of literature, their love of reading, and their love of God.

As someone who loves reading, I found this book refreshing. Instead of providing rigid rules about book lists, types of reading, etc., we get a volume about taking delight in reading and growing through the process.

The self-description of the book is apt. The authors write, “[This is] a guidebook by two season and enthusiastic reading travelers, who show all readers . . . how to discover more delight in the reading journey.” This is not an academic volume, though it has academic value. It is not a prescriptive “how to” like Adler’s book. It is filled with instruction, but it is not purely didactic. It’s the sort of book that can be read piecemeal as someone tries to grow in the art of reading. It’s also the sort of book that can be used as a textbook in a high school or introductory college literature class. It would also be useful as a companion to a reading group. Most significantly, it’s a book that will help its reader grow in their love of the better things in life.

The unfortunate reality is that those that really need to read this volume—the truly reluctant readers—are unlikely to pick it up. But the casual reader can benefit and the seasoned reader can deepen their love for the practice. With so many distractions, in the form of funny internet videos and short blog articles, this book may not win as many as it should. However, the audience that it does reach will be improved and deepened in their understanding of literature, their love of reading, and their love of God.

As someone who loves reading, I found this book refreshing. Instead of providing rigid rules about book lists, types of reading, etc., we get a volume about taking delight in reading and growing through the process.

Population Control and the Moral Order of the Created Order

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In a previous post I worked through some of the worldview of Edgar Chasteen, a one-time Southern Baptist professor of Sociology who advocated for compulsory birth control. Along the way he put some spectacularly anti-human ideas on display, including advocacy of abortion, regret over medical advances reaching the developing world. He also advocated for an individualistic morality including a sexual ethic redefined around the therapeutic. In short, he got a lot of stuff wrong.

However, in his book, The Case for Compulsory Birth Control, there is a paragraph of that shows he recognizes there may be light behind the clouds. It’s a moment when it seems he realizes the horror his worldview is capable of. He writes:

“The control of population size is of the utmost urgency, but we must understand that control is only a means to an end––that end being survival, both of humanity and humanness. I say this because some of those currently recommending population control measures have obviously forgotten it. Their proposals read like a catalogue of horrors. While they might preserve life, they would destroy the reasons for living. To survive, we would have to abandon most of the virtues and values which sustain us.” (192)

The man affirms the legalization and promotion of the killing of children in the womb through elective abortion, so it isn’t like this gives him a crown to toss at Christ’s throne, but it is telling that he recognizes that there must be a point to morality, a purpose toward which ethical action is aligned.

For Chasteen that end is humanness and survival of the species, which is a fairly low bar. But he recognizes that certain actions would take away that humanness.

And yet, Chasteen’s ethics allow no basis for preserving humanity or humanness. He summarizes his metaethics by this statement: “An action is moral only when prompted or hindered by what is right as defined by the individual conscience.” There is, therefore, no reason for survival of the species or a nebulous notion like “humanness” to be retained based on his summary of ethics; it’s all about what each individual feels is important.

Chasteen’s argument plays out in much the way C. S. Lewis describes in The Abolition of Man. Lewis writes,

“The Innovator attacks traditional values (the Tao) in defense of what he at first supposes to be (in some special sense) ‘rational’ or ‘biological’ values. But as we have seen, all the values which he uses in attacking the Tao, and even claims to be substituting for it, are themselves derived from the Tao.” (41)

Those trying to change morality often do so by declaring one “big idea” of utmost importance:

“The Innovator may place economic value first. To get people fed and clothed is the great end, and in pursuit of it[,] scruples about justice and good faith may be set aside. The Tao of course agrees with him about the importance of getting the people fed and clothed. Unless the Innovator were himself using the Tao he could never have learned of such a duty.” (42)

In the case of Chasteen, the “big idea” is survival of humanity, but justice toward the unborn and good faith toward particular humanity is less important than that end. And yet, the end is derived from outside his system of ethics. There is no basis from within Chasteen’s individualistic, subjectivist morality for concern about the preservation of humanity.

Lewis demonstrates what this looks like in his novel, That Hideous Strength. One of the leading villains argues:

“Existence is its own justification. The tendency to developmental change which we call Evolution is justified by the fact that it is a general characteristic of biological entities. The present establishment of contact between the highest biological entities and the Macrobes [i.e., supernatural beings] is justified by the fact that it is occurring, and it ought to be increased because an increase is taking place.” (295)

Furthermore, Filostrato (a villainous character) asserts:

“In us organic life has produced Mind. It has done its work. After that we want no more of it. We do not want the world any longer furred over with organic life, like what you call the blue mould––all sprouting and budding and breeding and decaying. We must get rid of it. By little and little, of course. Slowly we learn how. Learn how to make our brains live with less and less body: learn to build our bodies directly with chemicals, no longer have to stuff them full of dead brutes and weeds. Learn how to reproduce ourselves without copulation.” (173)

And, then:

“Nature herself begins to throw away the anachronism. When she has thrown it away, then real civilization becomes possible. You would understand if you were peasants. Who would try to work with stallions and bulls? No, no; we want geldings and oxen. There will never be peace and order and discipline so long as there is sex. When man has thrown it away, then he will become finally governable.” (173)

It may not be necessary to throw away sex itself, as long as sex can through technical means make the natural purpose of sexual intercourse unavailable or punishable. That was the goal of the Population Control movement, it is the goal of parts of the environmental movement, and it is a dangerous goal to have shaping moral decisions.

Chasteen did not attain the degree of rejection of the Tao that Lewis’ character did in That Hideous Strength, but he is well along the path, based on his 1971 book. More significantly, society is well along the pathway to the abolition of humanity, and we ourselves can easily be carried along with it if we don’t watch our step.

There are reasons why sexual ethics has become the primary fulcrum of our society and that there is increasing pressure to reduce human population. There is implicit within those arguments a denial of God’s goodness and the moral order of the created order. But the goodness of sex and humanity cannot be established apart from the moral order of the created order, thus the movement is parasitic and transitory. We need to recognize it, remain free from the errors of its thinking, and communicate a better way to our friends, family and neighbors through the gospel of Christ.

The End of Our Exploring - A Review

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If what I see on social media is to be believed, all the cool kids are deconstructing the faith of their childhood. It’s all the rage, but it’s not really a new thing.

For some, kissing dating goodbye was a traumatic experience, though for many of the most vocal critics, I suspect Josh Harris’s book provided a solution to a problem they only wish they had. Nevertheless, the experience turned too much for Harris’s faith, as he has recently abandoned Christianity and begun selling “deconstruction kits” along with a series of webinars for $275.

Other deconstruction workers are less entrepreneurial, but there is a steady stream of people who were once overt, professional Christians who have transitioned to making money off of deconverting and encouraging other people to do the same.

One response to the deconstruction/deconversion movement is to provide answers to the cultural defeaters of the day. Standard apologetics books like Lee Strobel’s Case for Christ or Josh McDowell’s More than a Carpenter provide helpful aids to those with general struggles regarding particular questions about Christianity. Other books like Tim Keller’s The Reason for God and Making Sense of God tend to focus on bigger picture problems and defeaters. Recently books like Alisa Childers’s Another Gospel? tell the story of starting down the path of deconstruction and ending back a Jesus. These assume that someone is either outside of Christianity looking in or already down the road of deconversion and need pulling back. It is a helpful approach for many.

But what about those that stand on the fuzzy border between faith and doubt and wonder which way to turn?

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Matthew Lee Anderson’s 2013 book, The End of Our Exploring: A Book About Questioning and the Confidence of Faith, provides a helpful resource for those with questions or who want to create a space for legitimate questions within the faith community.

Anderson is a pastor’s kid who was (by his own confession) the insufferable know-it-all who was too cocksure to ask good questions or hear good answers. He has come a long way, and this book can help readers make significant progress without some of the awkward relationships.

The book begins by exploring the nature of questioning, identifying that many questions are not good questions because they presuppose an answer. They key message is that good questions can be helpful as we seek to recalibrate our faith—knocking off the pieces inconsistent with Scripture and keeping the parts that fit with an integrated biblical understanding––but most people are not well-equipped to ask good questions.

Anderson goes on to note that our information economy that values data rather than wisdom contributes to shallowness of discourse. So does the shallowness with which much of the Christian community in the West actually holds their Christian convictions. The result is that young people often either fail to ask good questions or encounter hostility when questions are asked.

Questioning is viewed as dangerous in some churches because too few people know the answers. In some churches, questioning is taboo because it leads to the uncovering of inconsistencies between faith and practice. Sometimes questioning is unwelcome because the people being questioned have the same questions, fear they are wrong, but are clinging to faith in the face of that prospect.

Some see questioning as an act of faithlessness, but Anderson shows how good questioning can be a catalyst for a deeper faith, because there are valid answers to the hardest questions that can be tossed at Christianity. The End of Our Exploring explains why that is so and also helps the reader begin to formulate better questions.

As a parent of children who “know all the answers” because we have spent a lot of time on discipleship, I find Anderson’s faithful but open approach to questioning helpful. This is a book that I will have my children read toward the end of high school. Sometimes it is frightening that my kids have the ready answers to theological questions. I worry that they have borrowed my authority, as it were, because they have seen me teach through an abbreviated systematic theology, several books of the Bible, and other topical lessons. They know that I have read the books and explored the questions, but it is important that they do some of their own exploring, too.

The way that Anderson encourages exploring is critical to the outcome achieved. The nature of this exploring is clear from the title of the book, which comes from a T. S. Eliot poem:

And the end of all our exploring
Will be to arrive where we started
And know the place for the first time.

That perspective marks the fundamental difference between faithful questioning and deconstructing. When people deconstruct they are seeking to tear down because they’ve already decided the thing is wrong. Anderson’s questioning and exploring is an attempt to know the truth better. It does not presuppose the truth, as if the conclusion is foregone and the exploration is simply a sowing of wild oats, but it does not begin from a posture of skepticism and caustic disbelief.

 The End of Our Exploring is a warm, personal book. It is thoughtful, rigorous, and challenging. Above all, it is helpful as I continue my exploring and seek to point other explorers toward a deeper understanding of truth.

Subversive - A Review

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Faithful Christianity must always wage a war on two fronts. On one front are those who see the trends in culture and wish to conform Christianity to whatever the current fad in ethics or philosophy offers. On the other front are those who remember a particular cultural expression of Christianity and see that as normative, not the central aspects of Christian doctrine. Dorothy L. Sayers is helpful in subverting those who disagree on both fronts.

Crystal Downing’s book, Subversive: Christ, Culture, and the Shocking Dorothy L. Sayers, is an engaging book about one of the most interesting Christian humanists of the early twentieth century. In some circles Sayers is remembered for her friendship with C. S. Lewis, which was a wonderful example of two minds meeting and cultivating a meaningful friendship despite—or perhaps because of—their disagreements. Others remember Sayers primarily for her detective fiction, particularly because of her famous sleuth Lord Peter Wimsey, but perhaps more significantly for the love story Wimsey had with the semi-autobiographical character, Harriet Vane. These are good reasons to remember Sayers. But a better reason to read Sayers is her engaging thought about Christianity and culture, which is the main focus of Downing’s book.

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The thesis of this book is that Sayers held and put on display a Christianity that undermined the cultural Christianities of her day. Downing is also arguing that Sayers is valuable for our time precisely because of her ability to point beyond enculturated Christianity to a full-throated Christian orthodoxy. This comes through as Downing sees Sayers arguing for a Christianity that would better resist the market-based attitude of church shopping, the inroads of the prosperity gospel in congregations, and the conflation of politics. These are all errors that Downing sees in evangelicalism, which she finds Sayers helpful in eradicating.

When Downing stays on point, focusing on Sayers and her legacy, she is very helpful. The research is well done, touching on a wide range of Sayers’ work. If there is a strong emphasis on interpreting the themes of Sayers’ plays, that is little surprising since Downing’s background is in theatre as well as literature. This is a useful corrective to the theologians and literary critics who invest their research nearly exclusively in Sayers’ non-fiction and prose works.

In Sayers’ day, she was critiqued by those both to her right and left. Progressives critiqued (or dismissed) her for her stolid adherence to traditional Christian orthodoxy. Fundamentalists railed against Sayers for using slang language in her plays and embellishing the details around Christ’s life and death in her passion play, The Man Born to be King. In that sense, Sayers was certainly subversive of the various cultural Christianities of her day, pointing back toward the ancient, orthodox faith.

Inasmuch as Subversive explores how Sayers did her work in her day, it is revealing and explanatory. When Downing tries to bring Sayers forward into our own day to combat the theological and cultural dangers surrounding us, she betrays a good deal more bias that Sayers would have allowed and sometimes does not appropriately differentiate between her own opinions and those of Sayers.

One of Downing’s repeated concerns is that Christians avoid “certitude.”  To Downing, this seems to refer to those with an attitude like Judas who, “like many Christians today [was] certain that his interpretation of the truth was absolute.” (97) It is this sort of self-assurance that Sayers sought to subvert, but Sayers was also quick to subvert the ideas of those who were certain that the interpretations of the community of faith not correct.

According to Downing, the “exact opposite” of “certitude” is faith. (98) It isn’t clear from the text in what sense these two concepts are opposed, but Downing is confident that being confident in one’s reading of Scripture is a great evil. She argues, “Anyone who claims to know the correct interpretation of Scripture––as did Arius––ultimately proclaims to know the mind of God, which is both arrogant and blasphemous.” (37) In truth, Arius’ great error was not that he relied upon the Bible (which association Downing makes frequently) or that he was overconfident, but that the position he (or his followers) held was blasphemously wrong and sought to promote his misconception. Downing’s opposition of faith and “certitude” seems to paint faith as something other than what Scripture supports (e.g., Heb 10:19–39). Rather than a humble but confident faith, Downing seems to point to ambiguity as an essential attribute of the Christian life, though the lack of definitions sometimes make it unclear what Downing is striving for. More significantly for this book, Downing’s opposition of “certitude” and faith does not seem to arise from Sayers.

The authority of Scripture is another a particular sticking point for Downing. At one point she argues that the authority of the four ecumenical creeds exceeds that of the canon of Scripture because these “’footings’ of the foundation [of the church] as they are known, were poured by earnest followers of Christ in the early centuries of the faith before the biblical canon was even finalized.” (35) This is basically a paraphrase of a letter Sayers wrote to a critic. However, Downing introduces some terminological confusion. In some places Downing sets reliance on the prime authority of the creeds against “bibliolatry,” which in context sounds like the classical Protestant understanding of the supremacy of Scripture. In other places, Downing uses “bibliolatry” to refer to an unhealthy reverence for the King James Version (a problem Sayers faced), which is another problem altogether. There is imprecision here that Sayers would not have tolerated.

Downing’s actual beef appears to be with modernist hermeneutics, which often result in excessive confidence in readings of Scripture due to their presumed objectivity. One need not hold to supremacy of the creeds to argue against such hubris; orthodox Christians are justified in believing the creeds are authoritative inasmuch as they are faithful distillations of Scripture. Here Downing seems to have a related, but substantially different opinion than Sayers, who uses the ecumenical creeds as the starting line for “official” Christianity. But, as Sayers affirmatively declares, the men arguing at Nicaea “were fifty time greater sticklers for Biblical authority than any one living today.” (Letters, III:367) For Sayers, the issue is not the source of authority, but the way the argument is put together and the manner in which the conclusion is held. It is not that Sayers holds my position on the authority of Scripture (I am quite certain she did not), but rather than she does not hold Downing’s either, and that is difficult to tell from the text of Subversive.

At times, Downing does not differentiate her own opinions (which may be true of false on their own merits) from those of the subject of the book. Readers may well find themselves disagreeing with Downing and believe they are disagreeing with Sayers. This will not always be correct, based on my reading of Sayers. This ambiguity may push away some of the very readers who most need Sayers’ corrective to have a properly confident faith, that is held with humility.

Sayers’ work is incredibly valuable for our day largely because she built a positive case for a robust Christianity in her public work. She spent more time making much of Christ than subverting incorrect views. Sayers’ subversion was of cultural Christianity by presenting a true Christianity faithfully. Rather than to seek to undermine the legitimate faith of others, by way of critique she presented a more compelling vision that she hoped would outshine the lesser gods of the day. Her harshest published criticisms were delivered with a such a wit that it would draw a chuckle rather than a groan. Her subversively constructive approach is what makes Sayers such a valuable conversation partner in our age. In the end, there is enough of Sayers and enough good research in this volume to make it a worthwhile volume, especially for those engaged in the study of the life and work of Dorothy L. Sayers.

NOTE: I received a gratis copy of this volume from the publisher with no expectation of a positive review.

Xmas and Christmas - A Lesson from C. S. Lewis

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Among C. S. Lewis’s lesser-known works is an essay, “Xmas and Christmas: A Lost Chapter from Herodutus” where Lewis does an anthropological analysis of the relationship between so much of what goes on during the December time frame and the actual purpose of the Christmas holiday. The essay does not pack the rhetorical punch of his more significant works like “The Weight of Glory” or “Meditations on a Toolshed,” but it is helpful in pointing out the strangeness of what we so often take for granted.

For example, Lewis highlights the fact that seasonal décor tends to romanticize antiquated styles, like coaches and coachmen, as if they have some relation to the actual significance of the season. This is evidenced by the practice of sending cards to one another. As Lewis wryly writes:

“Every citizen is obliged to send to each of his friends and relations a square piece of hard paper stamped with a picture, which in their speech is called an Exmas-card. But the pictures represent birds sitting on branches, or trees with a dark green prickly leaf, or else men in such garments as the Niatirbians [Lewis’s transparent play on a term for residents of Britain] believe that their ancestors wore two hundred years ago riding in coaches such as their ancestors used, or houses with snow on their roofs. And the Niatirbians are unwilling to say what these picture have to do with the festival, guarding (a I suppose) some sacred mystery. And because all men must send these cards the marketplace is filled with the crowd of those buying them, so that there is great labour and weariness.”

The worst is when one thinks they are done with their card sending, but finds an unexpected mailing from an acquaintance that demands yet another card in return. Such an unexpected piece of correspondence may even require another trip out into the mobbed marketplace.

But it isn’t just Exmas cards that are the problem:

“They also send gifts to one another, suffering the same things about the gifts as about the cards. For every citizen has to guess the value of the gift which every friend will send him so that he may send one of equal value, whether he can afford it or not.”

This droll description of the tensions of the season make for amusing copy, but Lewis is doing more than simply arguing that people are silly with their expectations of tit for tat cards and gifts. His larger point is that the commercial and social trappings of Xmas have the potential to mask the true significance of Christmas.

Lewis writes,

“Such, then, are their customs about Exmas. But the few among the Niatrirbians have also a festival, separate and to themselves, called Crissmas, which is on the same day as Exmas. And those who keep Chrissmas . . . rise early on that day with shining faces and go before sunrise to certain temples where they partake of a sacred feast.”

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There is a stark difference between the excesses of Exmas and the worship of Chrissmas. Which, of course, is intended to make the reader think about his own practices during this sacred, but culturally harried time.