The Intellectual Life as Intellectual Labor, Chapter 2

Sertillanges begins chapter two ("the virtues of the intellect") in Augustinian fashion, by identifying personhood with love: one is what one loves (or phenomenologically, one becomes what one loves). Intellectuals are (or ought to be) lovers of Truth, and therefore servants to Truth, and therefore submissive to Truth's commands.

Submission requires an active directing of passions and moral habits. They must be conformed to the demands that the love of Truth requires. Because of this, Virtue is necessary to the intellectual life as a purifier of the soul-in-service-to-Truth.

The particular virtues that aid intellectual pursuit include studiousness. Studiousness may be understood as diligent continuance of thought directed toward a question of truth. Temperance of mind is another virtue of the intellectual life. Temperance avoids the sloth of negligence as well as the pride of vain curiosity. Temperance aids the soul in avoiding taking up too little (malnourishment) or taking on too much (gluttony).

The vehicle of virtue is prayer. Indeed, prayer may be considered both a propaedeutic to study as well as the vessel by which the Spirit conveys the intellect to the Truth. To arrive at Truth is to arrive at God, the fount, headspring, source. The intellectual comes to the Truth through the effulgence of truths and this requires the humble acknowledgment of Truth as God's own to give, and it requires the humility to ask and receive wisely and freely.

The humility of prayer extends to the body. The body is our own unique tool and charge in the pursuit of Truth. The health and vitality of the body must be maintained to elicit the health and vitality of the mind, and it is often through the body that the mind is able to receive Truth.

For instance, think about the importance of memory for the receipt and retention of Truth. With music one must keep in the memory those notes that have passed out of hearing in order to understand, anticipate, and appreciate the notes that follow. One of the cultivators of memory is the body. Consider the difference of trying to memorize who my "riding partners" by repeating over and over again in the mind their names, as opposed to remembering them by riding with them once and then being responsible to remember them for the next time. The bodily experience of taking a trip together lends itself to the mind more potently than the abstraction of repeated names.

Love, studiousness, temperance, prayer, and bodily care constitute the chief virtues of the Intellectual Life.

The Intellectual Life as an Intellectual Labor, Chapter 1

In the first chapter of his book, The Intellectual Life, Sertillanges peers into the facets of the intellectual vocation. Three conclusions emerge: the intellectual has a sacred call, he does not stand alone, and belongs to his own time.

One cannot pursue the intellectual life who has not at least the smallest spark of desire for the discovery of Truth for its own beauty as opposed to some self-directed end. In other words, the intellectual doesn't search for truth so that he can do something with it for himself, but because the truth is worth knowing (he must do something with the truth, but that is the secondary and unselfish in nature, as will be seen below). The same Spirit that invested Bezalel and called Oholiab to design the tabernacle and carry out its construction invests men with the intellectual vocation. No Spirit, no vocation.

Sertillanges emphasizes the value of solitude for the intellectual, but he does not equate solitude with isolation. Isolation is poisonous to the intellectual life. The Spirit that fills the intellectual also fills the body of Christ, and so the intellectual who is not participating in the life of that Body is cut off from the Spirit and from a necessary constituent of the intellectual vocation. He draws from the Body as well as contributing to it.

Not only the Church, but also the City and his Time are communities in which the intellectual lives and serves. Although the intellectual touches all points of time through his study, he is uniquely set within the time and place where he lives, and must be attentive to the characteristics, needs, and opportunities his time and place afford. The intellectual looks back to draw upon history so that he may serve in the now and open an avenue for the communities of the future. There is a kind of universal horizon of koinonia among past, present, and future that the intellectual stewards by his labor.

The Intellectual Life as an Intellectual Labor, Introduction

This month a book club I participate in is reading A.G. Sertillanges' book, The Intellectual Life. The book is a lengthy meditation on and preparation for the life given by the book's title. I've read it once before and was excited by many of its insights, but I've not made much conscious use of them (I do hope some profitable unconscious effects have been produced!). This time around I'm attempting to be more intentional in my approach. The remaining post is an outline of that intention.

Phase I: Tilling & Sowing

In the first phase of reading The Intellectual Life, I'll be writing meditative summaries of the book's chapters after reading each one. Sertillanges' book is very well organized and lends itself to easy summary. The ease is dangerous, however, since it would be deceptive to think that one has profited by summarizing the points of each chapter and its sections. Sertillanges' language is so simple that it gives the appearance of ease, where great difficulty is actually present. Thus, I've added the task of "meditative" to my summaries; allowing room for my thoughts to analogize, apply, question, and so forth, and put all of that into written words. I'll then type the meditative summaries on this blog, critically reviewed and potentially substantively altered.

Phase II: Watering & Weeding

If it can be done, I am hoping to draw in a couple of the other men from book club to develop some specific applications of Sertillanges' book in some aspect of our own lives, whether as part of our individual development, or as a part of our vocations (several of us are teachers, who are paid to pursue an intellectual life, in my opinion). The very first chapter of Sertillanges' book emphasizes the necessity of community both as a necessary part of the intellectual vocation as a productive art (giving it life & health), as well as a recipient of the intellectual vocation's produce (partaking of its fruit). Phase II will be harder to accomplish, but will certainly make the fruit of higher quality and of greater quantity.

Phase III: Harvesting & Feasting

Should the work reach completing, there should be some fruits to be enjoyed and shared with others. There are some vague ideas in my mind of what fruit might result (curricular changes, pedagogical changes, articles written, lectures given, seminars conducted, etc.) but there will be plenty of room for surprise, especially if some non-teachers are able to join in the labor.

Phase IV: Composting & Reproducing

In the wake of our feasting, I hope the leftovers will lead into future activities of like kind, whether they involve repeating The Intellectual Life, or moving on to a different book, or developing an analogous project with some other medium or means of application. This is the vaguest and least imaginable phase, since it is so dependent upon the labors that have only just begun. However, I hope to look back upon this beginning in a few months, or a year, or more, and find that it was not wholly in vain.

Review: How to Help People Change by Jay Adams

I've been working on development reading during the summer months, and recently finished a book review on Jay Adams' book, How to Help People Change. I've posted my review along with applications I hope to make from it during the next year.

Jay Adams’ book is subtitled, “The Four-Step Biblical Process,” which he derives from II Timothy 3:16, “All Scripture is breathed out by God and is useful for teaching, for conviction, for correction, and for disciplined training in righteousness in order to make the man of God adequate, and to equip him fully for every good task.”[1] The italicized words or phrases comprise the four steps, which Adams proceeds to define and detail in order. There is a lot of very straightforward, easy to grasp exposition in this book, but it is only simple in that regard. Most of Adams’ claims are very challenging, convicting, and will require serious effort to apply in one’s life as a teacher (churchgoer, parent, spouse, etc.). In order to facilitate my own application of Adams’ fine book, I’m going to limit this review to one insight from each step, with one goal for application that I plan to revisit during the course of the year for accountability.

One of the key insights in Adams’ discussion of teaching is the need to teach in the milieu of life, that is, through concrete experiences, anecdotes, situations, and so on, that allow the person being taught to understand the Biblical principle in action in his or her own life as opposed to in abstraction as a truth worthy of assent. I think I’ve improved in recent years in my ability to structure a milieu in class and to respond to disciplinary situations with “milieu-thinking,” but one of the points Adams brings up that I haven’t been doing is in assigning students homework. I usually give students a way to replace a sinful response with a biblical one, but I have been less inclined to follow-up with them on their progress, or to offer specific instruction with a time-table for evaluation. While not all situations can be handled in such a intensive fashion, I need to be more thoughtful of those opportunities, look for them, and then commit to require the work of students and evaluate it so as to help them learn what the principles of God can look like in their daily lives. This should help to make the teaching of the principles viable for them as individuals, rather than as truths that “the teacher believes, but I just don’t get”. Action: require at least one student at least once a quarter to do “homework” that I will evaluate according to the students grasp of a Biblical principle.

There are many things from Adams’ chapters on conviction that I need to apply, as I have labored in sinful weakness by either avoiding seeking it our of a fear of man or seeking conviction out of personal gratification rather than to have the other person be pleasing to God. Both of these “ditches” result from emotionalizing conviction, an error that Adams does very well to point out. Adams shows that the Biblical meaning of conviction is to bring a case against someone in order to objectively demonstrate the person’s guilt before God by the standard of his law. In other words, bringing conviction is a matter of truth-telling based upon a sufficient amount of evidence classified according to the appropriate Biblical law or principle. Hasty judgment (insufficient evidence) and worldly labels (inappropriate Biblical law/principle) are two errors that Adams details, which counselors must avoid. I have also been guilty of judging prematurely and omitting/supplanting the appropriate Biblical law or principle. There is no justice in addressing a sin without enough evidence or in ignorance of God’s requirements—it would be better to conclude without judgment than to offer an unjust one, since God is able to judge where we are not. However, God’s justice is not an excuse, since we are commanded to know and apply the Word of God to bring about justice (in mercy and humility; Micah 6:8). I’ve done a pretty good job of avoiding hasty judgment in the classroom, but I’ve been less adequate in bringing God’s Word to bear from specific Scriptures that are exposited to the student. Action: open the Scriptures to reflect upon the situation that requires judgment before meeting it out as often as possible, both to help avoid judging from emotion, and to appropriately identify God’s standard that has been broken or omitted.

Adams’ chapters on correction are very instructive, showing that correction isn’t mainly about telling people what is right, but about helping them to return to righteous orientation to God, to be righted. He shows that correction requires repentance in response to conviction, and the process includes four steps toward completion: 1) confessing sin to God and to others (when required), 2) seeking forgiveness, 3) forsaking the sinful way, 4) beginning the alternative, godly way. To exemplify the steps: suppose a student has a problem with lying by continually describing his own or others circumstances in exaggerated language (e.g. “always” and “never”). Once the student believed his exaggerations were indeed lies, and had acknowledged his guilt, he would confess his sin in prayer to God and to those involved (“I was wrong to lie by using exaggeration to describe what happened”), then seek forgiveness (“Will you forgive me for lying to you?”), then he would put aside the sinful way (begin the work of identifying when he is tempted to exaggerate) and begin practicing a godly way (think of what words are truthful to say instead of exaggerations, and practice scenarios to habituate the change). One of the key community aspects of correction is the acceptance of forgiveness. It is difficult for the community to put aside and not recall the sins of others, even when forgiveness has been granted. A person who exaggerates is difficult to take seriously, and for good reasons. However, the community must strive to not use forgiven sin against one another, even as they seek to be wise as each member is striving to replace sin with righteousness. Adams’ discussion of putting off and putting on seems to be the most helpful in ensuring that forgiveness “sticks”. If a sinner commits to self-denial in the area of sin, and the community surrounds him with encouragement (i.e. positive, hopeful reminders of the right action; praise for successes; merciful responses to failures; refusing to be party to the sinful way) to put on righteousness where he has committed to put off sin, then everyone’s efforts are oriented toward right relationships to God and one another. Action: begin praying with teachers for individual students; first, that we would be wise in identifying their patterns of sin; second, that we would give “homework” that allows them to put off sin and put on righteousness; third, that we would draw the whole community into the mutual efforts of encouraging righteousness in the things in which we each are struggling.

The final step in Godly change is disciplined training in righteousness, which is similar to the putting off of sin and putting on of righteousness, but differs in emphasizing the elements of discipline (punishment and reward) and training (self-denial, rigorous and correct practice). Pain and perseverance are unavoidable aspects of overcoming sin and instilling righteousness, since the body becomes habituated to sin in ways that require uncomfortable self-denial and rigorous re-habituation. Adams makes at least two important points here: 1) the standard of righteousness must be correct (i.e. Biblical standard) and the final goal of training, 2) the process of training must be pursued with faith in God (that He can do what He has promised—to grow us into Christlikeness) and hope (positive, goal-oriented approach to the circumstances where sin is battled). An illustration is helpful to see what Adams means. Suppose Billy is the name of the example above of a student who lies by habitually exaggerating. God’s standard is clear (one should not use words against one’s neighbor, bearing false witness), but since Billy has been habituated to protecting his pride by lying about his neighbor (or God), it will require thoughtful examination of where Billy is tempted, and then strategic preparation for seeing and responding differently. This is the rigorous and right practice: Billy will need to practice responding in a way that assumes the best about his neighbor and God (using past failures, hypothetical situations, etc. to help craft situations “in the milieu”), which will orient him toward speaking truthfully rather than lying by exaggeration. Then, Billy will have to deny himself in the moments when temptations rise, since his emotional response will be to default to prideful self-protection. When he fails, some form of bodily punishment (another form of self-denial) should accompany. If Billy is young enough, a spanking is appropriate, but an older Billy will need something different. Adams emphasizes the importance of bodily punishment, not as a behavioristic way of changing the heart of a person, but as the means by which changed hearts can gain successful mastery over their bodies. Just as one can train in habits like brushing teeth, driving, or writing so as to unconsciously do them correctly, sinful habits or righteous habits can be trained. Overcoming sinful habits requires mental and bodily training. Adams uses, like Paul, the analogy of “coaching” for athletics—a coach trains athletes through physical skills practice, which he evaluates, corrects, and refines through constant attentiveness, wisdom, and disciplinary action. Action: pair up teachers with one another to identify sinful habits that need to be replaced with righteous habits and design a specific training program and accountability structure for success.

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[1] I believe this rendering is taken from Adams translation of the NT, The Christian Counselor’s New Testament.

Leisure: a concept I've misunderstood

I only just finished reading Josef Pieper's essay, Leisure, the Basis of Culture (I haven't yet read the second essay in the book, The Philosophical Act). I need more time to digest it, but it was a stunning perspective-shifting thesis that gave me the feeling of "I should've known that."

Pieper's thesis is that leisure is an activity entirely different from the concept of work, that in fact leisure is inherently worship, where work is separated so that the Divinity exercises full rights over the activity of the worshipper. Like most people today, I suppose, I've always considered leisure something that is a break from work for the sake of rest and a little "mindless activity." Pieper argues that leisure is not basically a break from work, but rather that work is designed to enable leisure--that is, work is for the sake of leisure, not leisure for the sake of work (i.e. a little rest makes one more productive). Not only is work designed to enable leisure, but leisure is not mindless activity, but the opportunity to receive epiphany or illumination.

Pieper describes the activity of leisure the way an athlete today might describe being "in the zone." One has worked diligently to prepare for "the game," and when the time comes, everything "just flows" and the activity is "effortless" and one may even become "unconscious" of all things other than the object of focus. Maybe it is because I played so many sports for so much time for half of my life that the sports analogy seems to fit, but I'm not sure there isn't more to it, especially when one considers how much singular dedication and focus modern-day athletes put into their sport, and how sacramental each competitive engagement becomes, down to the rituals that athletes follow, religiously.

Another thought-provoking observation of Pieper's is how, after Kant, intellectual activity could only be justified when considered as a form of work; individual and societal labor producing a product for evaluation, consumption, and subject to economic analysis. I have often felt compelled to justify my own intellectual activity as "work" and it has always been a difficult thing to do, since much of the intellectual "work" I do has no definite outcome, no time-table, no product. I often have a hard time telling my wife how much time I'll need to "work" on the intellectual preparation for teaching, which is certainly a kind of work, but the kind of work that requires a measure of illumination born of the kind of leisure of which Pieper outlines.

As I said, I need more time to digest Pieper's thesis, but on the first reading it has stirred a lot of rethinking about the nature of work, its purpose, and just how much the modern West has imbibed the notion of "total work."

Book Review: The Liberal Arts Tradition: A Philosophy of Christian Classical Education

The Liberal Arts Tradition: A Philosophy of Christian Classical Education by Kevin Clark
My rating: 4 of 5 stars

First, the positives.

Clark and Jain state in the introduction that their book is extending the bridge that the contributions of Douglas Wilson's book, Case for Classical Education, and Evans and Littlejohn's book, Wisdom and Eloquence, have made toward repairing the ruins of the classical liberal arts education. I think that they have given Classical educators, whether Boards, Administrators, or Teachers, a wealth of material for reflection, integration, and probably reorientation of their classical and Christian schools. Perhaps most significantly is their integration of Piety, Gymnastic, Music, and Philosophy into the pedagogical course that includes the seven liberal arts (grammar, dialectic, rhetoric, arithmetic, geometry, music, astronomy). They also seek to integrate Theology, but I found their sections on theology (the shortest in the book) to be the least developed and compelling. It isn't that I disagreed with their conception of the place of theology, but they did not bring much clarity to the study of theology as a subject, leaving it to be considered as a discipline that provides the grounds for and permeates the rest of the subjects. On the whole though, this is a delightfully fresh and welcomed addition to the literature on classical education and I hope it becomes a required reading for parents and classical educators in Classical schools and homeschools everywhere.

Second, the things that could be improved. Though this section is lengthier, it doesn't detract from the tremendous value of this book. In fact, it is because I like this book so much that I hope a second edition comes out that improves some of the things that may turn off the reader who isn't immediately excited about it, or has little or no experience with classical and Christian education.

First, a minor quibble. For a book that is outlining a philosophy of Christian Classical Education that values beauty, the layout of the book is underwhelming. The cover is adequate, but inside the margins are too narrow, the blocky highlight quotes that interrupt the text are obtrusive, and the footnotes will be intimidating to anyone who isn't used to reading scholarly literature (or, rather, scholarly literature that uses footnotes rather than endnotes). For the second edition, my humble suggestion would be to widen the margins to at least one inch on the top and bottom, and perhaps 1.25 on the outside edges; eliminate the highlight quotes or relegate them to the margins in a smaller font; turn the footnotes into endnotes, either at the end of chapters or at the end of the book.

Second, a second edition should go deeper into explaining the role of theology as a subject at the end of the course of education. If there are implicit theological elements throughout, what sort of "catechetical" knowledge of the Bible, if any, should classical educators provide, and how should theology capstone the entire endeavor at its end? What sort of theological study did the medievals employ?

Third, a second edition should expand the appendices. The first appendix was little more than talking points for what promises to be a much more detailed explication of a recurrent theme in the whole book, which is how the late medieval shift in philosophy opened avenues into modernity. The claim is probably an overstatement, or at least needs to integrate other factors, but as it stands in the book, the reader is just left wondering why such an important historical shift is only getting two pages of summary. Appendix II requires explanation. It was not clear to me how exactly the features of the chart were to be used, or what made the chart's contents a narrative. Appendix IV, like Appendix I needs to be expanded, and perhaps integrated with Appendix I since there seems to be some connection between nominalism, voluntarism, and the rejection of two of Aristotle's four causes. Appendix V looks great, so great in fact that it might be better put in the introduction to help the reader see the whole in one image before diving into each particular.

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Teaching and Christian Practices

In their introduction to Teaching and Christian Practices: Reshaping Faith & Learning, David I. Smith and James K. A. Smith identify a limitation in the foci of Christian conversations in higher education upon “the integration of faith and learning”. First, they say there has been a focus upon the content—what Christian ideas will be taught—in the integration of faith and learning. Second, there has been a focus upon the sorts of learning faculty ought to have in the integration of faith and learning. While recognizing the necessity and value of these two foci, Smith and Smith argue that little to no attention has been given to the learning of students. They ask, in effect, what historically Christian practices can inform and impel the education of learners in a classroom setting? Or, to put it another way, what makes any method of teaching and learning distinctively Christian? Moving beyond the ideologies of Christianity that form the presuppositions of Christian education, Smith and Smith want to focus upon Christian practices; specifically, how practices shape virtues and habits in the formation of learners. The focus upon practices relies largely upon Alistair McIntyre’s After Virtue, where he defines practice as:

[A]ny coherent and complex form of socially established cooperative human activity through which goods internal to that form of activity are realized in the course of trying to achieve those standards of excellence which are appropriate to, and partially definitive of, that form of activity, with the result that human powers to achieve excellence, and human conceptions of the ends and goods involved, are systematically extended. (quoted in Smith & Smith, 8)

According to McIntyre, a practice is social and largely inherited; it possesses certain internal goods to be realized in its course; and it maintains relevant standards of excellence, which are pursued and extended. What is, or is not, a practice? Consider the example of chess, for a moment. Playing chess in order to sharpen one’s thinking in preparation for law school would not constitute a practice, for although one’s participation in chess could be social and inherited as well as have standards of excellence to be sought, the goods involved terminate outside of the activity itself; the “good” of playing chess comes apart from chess itself. One’s “realization” of the goods associated with chess would only be deemed successful insofar as one saw their impact upon one’s legal education—chess is but a means to another end. However, one’s participation in the practice of chess would include motives terminating in the goods internal to chess itself, such as the analytical skill, strategic imagination, and competitive intensity that comes in the activity of playing chess. One’s “realization” of the goods associated with chess would be successful in the playing of chess itself, that is, playing chess according to its own standards of excellence within the social environment.

Within Classical and Christian education we could conceive of a similar bifurcation between a full-orbed practice, and education as a means to another end. The student who wants a Classical and Christian education primarily in order to boost test scores for college and gain more scholarship money is not engaged in the practice of Classical and Christian education. Neither is the teacher whose instructions emphasize grade achievements or other goals that terminate outside of the content and process of learning as such (even the goal of “pleasing one’s parents” would not constitute one’s Classical and Christian education as a practice).

In a lecture delivered at the Alcuin Retreat held at Calvin College in November 2012, David I. Smith provided an excellent example of how methodological habits can disrupt rather than cultivate the internal goods that educators strive to emphasize in their courses of learning. Smith’s son came home one day asking for his father’s help to study for a theology exam that was coming up the next day. The teacher described the course material as, “eleven ideas without which no one can understand the New Testament.” The test was to cover the eleven terms (e.g. “sanctification,” and “justification”) and their definitions. While quizzing his son on the definitions of, differences between, and examples of sanctification and justification, Dr. Smith’s son, exasperatingly exclaimed, “But Dad, I don’t really need to know these that well.” That is to say, Smith’s son had learned that when the teacher (whom Smith described as one of the best at the school) gave terms and definitions, only two kinds of assessment were likely: multiple choice questions or matching terms and definitions. In order to ace the test, and “understand the eleven most important ideas for understanding the New Testament,” one needed only to memorize the patterns associated with the terms and their definitions. To illustrate, Smith changed the terms and definitions into Wingdings font and it was still possible to discern which terms went with which definitions. In other words, one could ace the assessment without having ever achieved the ostensible goal set by the teacher—that is, to grow in one’s ability to correctly understand and apply the ideas most important in the New Testament. Because the teacher had not reflected upon the assessment in terms of whether it was really suited to meet the goal—in other words, by not adequately integrating all the elements in the course into a coherent practice—the chances of his students failing to receive the desired learning outcomes were increased, if not missed altogether.

What then would be distinctively Christian practices that bring consistency between "classical and Christian education" and teaching "classically" and "Christianly"? Perhaps it would include singing songs together to begin the day, or reciting a corporate prayer, or ritual conversational topics desired to stir up one another for good works (discussed once a week during lunch). Perhaps it would include topical prayers offered prior to assessments, such as, "Lord, as I endeavor to fulfill the task of this assignment, let my mind be clear of selfish ambitions, distracting desires, and other temptations of which I am unaware. If I have not prepared as I ought, forgive me, and teach me through my weaker efforts to desire greater diligence in preparation; showing mercy unto me according to your lovingkindness. If I have prepared, may my efforts be an acceptable service in your sight. Amen." There are plenty of possibilities, many of which may already be in place in your home, school, job, or church, and only need to additional realization to make the practice more understandingly performed and more gratefully appreciated. Maybe there are many more, which you could begin considering and working to implement. What practices have you in mind?

Book Review: From Eden to the New Jerusalem

T. Desmond Alexander’s book, From Eden to the New Jerusalem, is a concise introduction to Biblical Theology. It reads more like a series of topical articles, which have been pieced together than a self-contained book, but that doesn’t hinder the flow of the book in my opinion. In ways similar to what David Chilton does in his book, Paradise Regained, Alexander provides typological elements from the Old Testament that are continually revisited, grown, and brought into brightest clarity in the New Testament. Another similarity that Alexander’s book bears is to the book of Michael Williams, Far as the Curse is Found. Both books begin with something later in order to talk about beginnings. Williams begins with the resurrection in order to discuss redemptive history, and Alexander begins with Revelation 20-22, the vision of New Jerusalem in the New Heavens and New Earth, in order to discuss the various typologies that comprise his introduction to Biblical Theology. His aim is to paint in, “broad brush strokes designed to show the general shape of the meta-story” (11). How well does he do?

The opening chapter talks about the Garden of Eden and the Holy City of Revelation as places God established for the purpose of communing with Man—they are dwelling places shared by God and Man. After the Fall, there is no longer a garden, but God does commune through the tabernacle and the temple. Eventually God “tabernacles” in Man himself by way of the Incarnation, and by His Spirit in every one of His people, but manifestly in the people as a whole; the Church. Alexander points to many details that correspond to one another in each of these places of communion, showing how they are related and developed across the redemptive history portrayed in the Scriptures. Much of the material is of great supplementary value for a class that is covering redemptive history.

Chapter two examines the authority of God and Man as revealed in the ideas of Kingship, Kingdom, and (the typological element of) the throne. The prominent focus of Alexander is the vicegerency of Man in God’s economy; how it was given, lost, managed in the loss, and regained in Christ. Chapter three handles the enemy, Satan (the serpent, the devil) across the redemptive history of Scripture. Chapter four examines the slaughter of the lamb as accomplishing redemption. Chapter five discusses the tree of life and the redemption of people from every nation. Chapter seven summarizes the whole under the discussion of the two opposing cities; that of God, and that of Babylon.

Alexander’s book is riveting for all of its interesting connections and possibilities, but it is of best value in the classroom as a supplemental text to use in portions of a course on Redemptive History or Biblical Theology where the teacher wants to highlight some of the same things that Alexander discusses. It is a bit more technical and scholarly than the typical high school student would be prepared for, but not out of bounds for the limited use indicated above.

Book Review: Far as the Curse is Found

Far as the Curse is Found, by Michael Williams, is, as its subtitle indicates, an introduction to the "covenant story of redemption." One of the best features of the book is how it begins with the most important aspect of the story, the Resurrection. There are two reasons why I like this approach. First, as Williams argues, the whole story is about the triumph of Jesus Christ, the Incarnate Son of God, and therefore to introduce Him at the beginning seems a fitting way to highlight His prominence in the story. Second, I am glad that Williams chooses the Resurrection rather than the Crucifixion as his starting point, for that is both the emphasis of the New Testament writers, and it is the point at which Jesus' triumph is made manifest to the onlooking Creation--God's raising Christ from the dead was a vindication of His Covenantal status and favor; His righteousness before God and man.

There is another curious feature about Williams' organization of the book. After beginning with the high point of the story, he does not retreat back to the beginning of the Bible, but rather to the beginning of what he calls the "pattern of redemption," which is found in the Exodus of Israel out of Egypt. Again, this makes good sense insofar as Williams is telling the story of redemption. We have the principle actor, Jesus, in the opening chapter following by the principle pattern of the story in chapter two. He argues that we need to know God as redeemer prior to knowing Him as Creator, and that this is evident in the original context of the Scriptures themselves, since the first audience of Moses' accounts in the Pentateuch was a freshly delivered-from-bondage Israel. The remaining chapters follow redemptive history from the Fall through the Eschaton, or renewal of all things.

There are many things that are familiar in Williams' account, such as the federal headship of Adam and Christ, the covenantal community (Church) as the principle object of salvation (i.e. securing a Bride for the Christ), the cosmological import of salvation, promise-fulfillment, and so on.

There are two refreshing aspects in Williams' book that have not always been emphasized in the modern Reformed tradition. The first is the emphasis upon the graciousness of God's covenant with Adam in the Garden of Eden--the so-called covenant of works. Williams comes out strongly in his emphasis upon Adam total reliance upon God's grace, though he is given a command that promises a reward for obedience. The second is Williams' emphasis upon the graciousness of the Law at Sinai, or Calvin's famous third use of the Law as a guide to believers. He provides a robust and positive treatment of the relevance of the Law for contemporary Christians, which is welcome.

Overall this book is a great resource for a brief, bite-sized introduction to redemptive history and to biblical theology. I'm enthusiastic about the opportunity to use the book as our primary text in the eighth grade theology class for next year.

Book Review: On Secular Education

On Secular Education, by R.L. Dabney has been a staple text within the Classical and Christian Education movement since its resurgence during the early eighties. Dabney wrote his essay in the 19th century, but much of what he foresaw and forewarned against has since come to pass.

He begins with two questions: who should control education and what is a proper education. Historically, the first question has been answered as either the State or the Church (specifically, the Roman Catholic Church), but Dabney sees each of these institutions as largely unsuccessful. Dabney blames Roman Catholicism for confusing Church education with Christian education, the latter being found only in the Scriptures adjudicated by the rule of truth, guided by (rather than lorded over by) ordained ministers. Ultimately, then, Dabney answers the first question by acknowledging parents as those who should control education, under the guidance of the Church, according to the authority of the Scriptures.

On the State side of the question, Dabney is skeptical of the altruism posed by humanism because it denies the Biblical doctrine of human depravity. Clergymen and secular humanists alike are capable and often tempted to usurp power for selfish ends, and to abandon truth for irrational coercive power. In a State led education, Dabney recognizes that there can be no place for religious authority or instruction, for to give one religion or several sway would pose a power struggle for the others. The State is supreme in its authority and is therefore the institution that must determine all matters of philosophy and theology, to whatever extent it pleases. Moreover, the State cannot function atheistically, and therefore theology cannot be avoided entirely, but will be grounded in the natural theology of the current regime. Dabney gives four possible solutions to the struggle for religious representation, none of which favor Christianity in any Biblically sound fashion.

As for what is a proper education, Dabney recognizes the general requirement that the whole person must be in view and some end or purpose toward which the education drives, as well. The State does not simply claim to provide a skill, but to educate, which touches upon the souls of men, resulting in what Dabney claims is "a general revolt from the Christian faith, even though the country is full of churches, preachers, and a redundant Christian literature" (13). Those words are far reaching and can be confirmed by the most recent Barna polling data to the effect of a majority of children abandoning their faith in college and ceasing church attendance. Because education teaches the soul, it is fundamentally moral. Since God is the only Lord of the conscience, argues Dabney, it is the Lord's obligations that the soul must be taught to know and obey--theology is inseparable from education. Whatever education that denies God and His commands must replace Him with an alternative authority and alternative moral requirements. A contemporary example would be the exaltation of man as the final authority, and the moral requirement to accept every man as autonomous--a law unto himself--free to be whatever he pleases, while being answerable to no other standard. Blasphemy is no longer speaking against God's name, but speaking against those things God abominates, like the murder of infants or the porneia of fornication both heterosexual and homosexual (and perhaps soon to be added, pedophilial and bestial).

Dabney is unwilling to accept that there can be content in education that is taught neither for nor against Christianity. He asks, "Why can't a teacher just present secular subject matter, without maiming either his subject or Christianity?" and answers, "If his teaching is more than dabbling in some corner of education, it will be found to be tacitly anti-Christian. Overt assaults are not made [though many assaults are, in our own day, overt], but there is a studied avoidance which is in effect hostile. There can be no neutral position between these two extremes, which have a 'great gulf fixed' between them." Nor is the supposedly positive moral instruction given in secular education innocuous. Moral obligation requires some justification for the authority by which it is commanded, and the sole justification for moral obligations is the will of God. Any other appeal is teaching the student to ground his motives in some other source, be it his own self-interest, or fear of governmental power, or something else.

Dabney goes on to address several objections to his thesis, but concludes that the present spirit of the age is such that the complete removal of prayers, catechisms, and Bible from schools is but a logical implication of secularized education. Dabney concludes his essay by defending parental authority as that primary earthly authority over the education of children and does his best to distinguish how the powers of Church and State honor the power of the family to accomplish their God-given responsibility.

On the whole Dabney's essay is a trenchant defense of the historic Protestant position and provides a good deal of intellectual fodder for contemporary families who find themselves having to defend their decision to home school or seek our Christian schools rather than choose the cheaper and more socially accepted path of public education. It is also a great book for those who are largely ignorant of the problems of public education in principle, and are willing to have a look.

Book Log - July 2012

Books Read:

30. A Christian View of Men and Things - Gordon Clark. A reread for me. Clark is brilliant, lucid, and completely demolishes opposition to Biblical epistemology from unbelievers and inconsistent Christian thinkers. The book is arranged topically, but Clark proceeds through each topic to accumulate the case for Scriptural foundations for knowledge and its justification.

31. 2 Kings - Dale Ralph Davis. I've been reading this in conjunction with teaching through 1 and 2 Kings in Sunday School. DRD is my favorite "lay-level" expositor. He engages with enough scholarship to provide helpful insights, but retains some well-placed applications. He isn't comprehensive, but he's pithy and he doesn't mince words or make mealy-mouthed suppositions.

32. Full Metal Alchemist 4

33. Full Metal Alchemist 5

34. Full Metal Alchemist 6

All of the above are continuations of my "junk food" reading. I have no good justification other than it interests me in several superficial ways.

35. The Anatomy of Prose - Marjorie Boulton. I got this one to help stimulate some writing pedagogy for the upcoming year. It is an older book (1954 I think), but has some helpful discussions. Particularly helpful was the chapter on prose rhythm.

36. Feed My Lambs - Tim Gallant. This book gives the best exegetical case (in terms of comprehensiveness) for paedocommunion. I don't find all of Gallant's arguments demonstrative (like many others, he tends to rely too much upon what he thinks are shared assumptions), but many of them are compelling when given some further thought. The opponent claims he addresses seem pretty weak, but he's gathering them from credible sources. I was convinced of paedocommunion before reading this book, and Gallant's fine work only solidifies my convictions. If you are on the fence, or haven't even considered the doctrine, you should start here. If you aren't covenantal or reformed, you won't be ready for this book, yet.

Books Bought:

40. The Creation of the American Republic,1776-1787 - Gordon S. Wood.

41. The Enlightenment in America - Henry F. May.

42. Rhetoric and History in Revolutionary New England - Donald Weber

43. The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution - Bernard Bailyn

44. Scottish Enlightenment and the American College Ideal - Douglas Sloan

45. Revolution & Religion: American Revolutionary War and the Reformed Clergy - Keith L. Griffin

46. Things, Thoughts, Words, and Actions - H. Lewis Ulman

47. Classical Rhetoric and Its Christian and Secular Tradition from Ancient to Modern Times - George A. Kennedy

48. John Witherspoon Comes to America - L. H. Butterfield

49. John Witherspoon: Parson, politician, patriot - Martha Lou Lemmon Stohlman

50. History of Speech Education in America - Karl Wallace

All of the books I bought this month are resources for my dissertation, with the exception of the George Kennedy volume, which, sadly, seems to have been lost in the mail, since I've not yet received it.

Book Review: The Explicit Gospel, by Matt Chandler

Chandler, Matt. The Explicit Gospel. Wheaton: Crossway, 2012. 240 pp.

Introduction

The Explicit Gospel is the first book by The Village Church pastor Matt Chandler. Chandler has been a pastor since 2002 and gained some recent notoriety for battling and overcoming cancer, much like a kindred and similarly passionate preacher, John Piper. Chandler is notable for his animated, sporadic, and outgoing speaking style, some of which comes through in the pages of his book, most notably in his use of colloquialisms and descriptive examples from his own experience or from popular culture.

Theme

The theme of the book is evident in the title, but is “explicitly” stated in the introduction. Chandler is fighting against “Christian Moralistic Therapeutic Deism,” a phrase he borrows from author Christian Smith. The new name is for Christianity’s oldest enemy-from-within, self-righteousness, or, more specifically, seeking to earn God’s favor by virtue of our own behavior. The explicit gospel is the antidote to this tendency toward behaviorism.

Division

The book is organized into eleven chapters under two general headings: “the gospel on the ground,” and “the gospel in the air.” The former is the individual, humanistic (in the good sense of the word) way in which the gospel may be understood. The latter is the corporate, cosmic way in which the gospel may be understood. The gospel on the ground is subdivided into chapters on God, Man, Christ, and Response. The gospel in the air is subdivided into chapters on Creation, Fall, Reconciliation, and Consummation. There is a third major heading, but it handles “implications and applications” of the two general categories. The chapters subdividing this third section include a chapter each on the dangers of focusing too much on the “ground” or too much on the “air,” and a third chapter that seeks to provide practical help in living an “explicit” gospel.

Strengths

The most obvious strength of Chandler’s book is his ability to speak about important aspects of the gospel in ways that the majority of “casually churched” individuals can understand and find familiar to their experience. The sorts of people who have some familiarity with Christianity, but may have done very little theological study seem to be the target audience of Chandler’s book. He won’t miss them for being to academic, nor play to any ignorance by being to vapid. Another strength is the book’s organization. The overall arrangement is easy to follow and the chapters are divided into small chunks, usually with remarks organized into several numerically indicated points.

Strengths within the content include Chandler’s ability to make good use of Scriptural exposition for most of the chapters in the book. He does not make much use of any confessions, creeds, or “old dead guys,” however, which I’ll get to below. I think Chandler’s does a fair job of using a few good texts and coming back to them several times, rather than the approach of culling many snippets from all over the Bible, which helps to show the unity of Scripture, but loses something in the depth of exposition.

Weaknesses

As it often happens in books that seek a broad lay audience, Chandler’s attention to theological detail, historical documents and theologians of the past, and even sound logic suffer. This is particularly the case in the third section of the book, where he gets into implications. Most of the examples come from contemporary experience or recent history, losing much of the richness of biblical exposition that came in the earlier chapters. The lack of appeals to the historical language of the church, while perhaps understandable given his audience, underscores Chandler’s own limitations. He relies heavily upon contemporary authors, and where he does make use of older lights in the Church, it is usually for a catchy quote, and not for a developed theological argument.

Considering argument, another weakness of Chandler’s is his imprecision with logical implication. In his chapters on the dangers of the gospel and on the ground and in the air, all of his claims are based upon what sort of things he surmises to have occurred as result of either, but none of his examples follow necessarily upon a too-acute focus upon individual aspect of the Gospel or cosmic aspects of the Gospel. In fact, one might ask the question, “how can focusing on any portion of truth lead to error?” The real point is not that one or another aspect of the truth has been consider too closely, or emphasized too much, but rather, they have been misunderstood or incompletely developed. Perhaps this seems a overbearing criticism, but there is a danger in treating truths as anything other than glorious. Chandler unwittingly drags down the things he seeks to lift up by failing to make the proper distinctions between truth, which never misleads, and errors that masquerade as truths.

Recommendation

There were a few times when I found Chandler very refreshing to read, and other times I was bogged down by the wealth of personal anecdotes, pathos-driven examples, and popular jargon. Other will, I am sure, find those to be the best portions of Chandler’s book. If you are interested in doing theological heavy lifting, this book won’t present a challenge. If are someone, or you want to help someone, who has never really understood the basics of the gospel get a good overview of the gospel, then Chandler’s book is a worthy choice.