One section of James K. A. Smith's book, The Devil Reads Derrida, is a collection of essays on the university, entitled "Schools of Faith." The title underscores Smith's recognition of the fact that any educational institution communicates a worldview and is shaped by a certain religious orientation.

The modern American university, Smith says, is every bit as religious as those institutions which intentionally declare themselves as such. These other institutions operate on the false principle that they are educating objectively, with the assumption that the secular is neutral and non-religious. This, of course, is impossible; "indeed, one could suggest that much that goes under the banner of 'secular' education is, in fact, a kind of religious formation where students are initiated into a particular worldview" (56). In the case of the secular institution, this means education reflects the secular commitments of the market and political liberalism, among others.

What this fosters is the mindset that students are consumers. As a defining characteristic of Western culture, Smith argues, this consumerist mentality filters its way into every part of our life such that even our educational institutions become agents in the process of consuming "goods" and "skills," which are intended solely for the benefit of the individual and his or her happiness.

There is another way, however, that does not focus on consuming goods and skills, but acquiring them, a distinction Smith employs to emphasize that acquisition of these things is ultimately for the sake of others—to be used in service to God and for the good of our neighbors. Here is where a liberal arts education is so important.

The scandal of the liberal arts education is that it's not about giving people what they want. It's about challenging the wants themselves, and ultimately to form and direct those wants and desires otherwise. My task is to invite students to radically reconsider their wants. The professor's task is not to politely and meekly ask, 'Can I help you find what you're looking for?' Rather, I want to challenge students by asking: 'Why would you be looking for that?' A liberal arts education—and especially a Christian liberal arts education—should come as a shock to those whose habits have been shaped by a culture of consumerism. This is because the liberal arts are about the formation of students, and the central task of formation runs deeply counter to the egocentric stance fostered by consumerism. The very notion of 'formation' calls into question the autonomy at the heart of consumerism (42).

Referencing the modal theory of Dutch philosopher Herman Dooyeweerd, Smith goes on to make the point that the university needs to operate according to its leading function or aspect, and raises the question of whether or not "the paradigm of student-as-consumer indicate[s] that the college is unwittingly letting a secondary, economic aspect trump our leading aspect of education, formation, and research" (44). The answer, of course, is quite clear. And so, Smith concludes,

while students are here to acquire habits, skills, and wisdom, this does not make them 'consumers' or customers. As an institution focused on the task of education, we are not providing a 'commodity.' And having a unique identity does not just translate into being a 'brand.' In fact, the task of a distinctively Christian liberal arts education is to create a community of people formed to resist and challenge the reductionism of a market-driven culture. To the extent that we do that, we will be faithful to our calling (45).

Any thoughts on this?

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There are echoes of such thinkers as Van Til and Dooyeweerd in this:

The implicit narrative of covenant always presupposed that something had gone drastically wrong within creation. But it isn't just that if God is proposing a solution there must have been something wrong. The particular solution God proposes—that of beginning a family and promising them a land—shows that what is wrong concerns, in a central way, the fracturing of human relationships and the fracturing of the relationship between humans and the non-human creation. And the particular faith for which God calls indicates, as Romans 4 draws out, that at the core of the problem is the failure of humans to trust God, to give him praise and honour as the all-powerful creator. All of this is strikingly reemphasised in the gift of Torah, which holds out an extraordinary blueprint of what a genuinely human life is like, a blueprint which called forth the delighted acclaim we noted in Psalm 19, and of course plenty of other places.

The failure of human beings to be the truly image-bearing creatures God intended results, therefore, in corruption and death. When we begin with creation, and with God as creator, we can see clearly that the frequently repeated warnings about sin and death, referred to as axiomatic by Paul, are not arbitrary, as though God were simply a tyrant inventing odd laws and losing his temper with those who flouted them, but structural: humans were made to function in particular ways, with worship of the creator as the central feature, and those who turn away from that worship—that is, the whole human race, with a single exception—are thereby opting to seek life where it is not to be found, which is another way of saying that they are courting their own decay and death. This is to say, with the entire Jewish tradition, that the basic sin is idolatry, the worship of that which is not in fact the living creator God.
— N. T. Wright, Paul: In Fresh Perspective, 34-35.

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The Dutch philosopher, Herman Dooyeweerd, makes the observation in his Roots of Western Culture, that the underlying foundation of all of life is religious. Christianity, he notes, establishes an antithesis that "pertains to the relation between the creature and his creator, and thus touches the religious root of all temporal life." His subsequent thoughts on this bring to light the profound tension that exists between our faith and this world, between belief and unbelief. Dooyeweerd says,

The religious antithesis does not allow a higher synthesis. It does not, for example, permit Christian and non-Christian starting points to be theoretically synthesized. Where can one find in theory a higher point that might embrace two religious, antithetically opposed stances, when precisely because these stances are religious they rise above the sphere of the relative? Can one find such a point in philosophy? Philosophy is theoretical, and in its constitution it remains bound to the relativity of all human thought. As such, philosophy itself needs an absolute point of departure. It derives this exclusively from religion. Religion grants stability and anchorage even to theoretical thought. Those who think they find an absolute starting point in theoretical thought itself come to this belief through an essentially religious drive, but because of a lack of true self-knowledge they remain oblivious to their own religious motivation.

The absolute has a right to exist in religion only. Accordingly, a truly religious starting point either claims absoluteness of abolishes itself. It is never merely theoretical, for theory is always relative. The religious starting point penetrates behind theory to the sure, absolute ground of all temporal, and therefore relative, existence. Likewise, the antithesis it poses is absolute.

Therefore, says Dooyeweerd,

to arrive at the true and decisive meaning of this antithesis and, at the same time, to penetrate to the real source of the differences of opinion concerning its significance, it is necessary to take into account the religious ground motives (religieuze grondmotieven) of Western civilization. They have been the deepest driving forces behind the entire cultural and spiritual development of the West.

One can point to such a ground motive in every religion. It is a spiritual force that acts as the absolutely central mainspring of human society. It governs all of life's temporal expressions from the religious centre of life, directing them to the true or supposed origin of existence. It thus not only places an indelible stamp on the culture, science, and social structure of a given period but determines profoundly one's whole world view. If one cannot point to this kind of leading cultural power in society, a power that lends a clear direction to historical development, then a real crisis looms at the foundations of culture. Such a crisis is always accompanied by spiritual uprootedness.

A spirit is directly operative in the religious ground motive. It is either the spirit of God or that of an idol. Man looks to it for the origin and unshakable ground of his existence, and he places himself in its service. He does not control the spirit, but the spirit controls him. Therefore specifically religion reveals to us our complete dependence upon a higher power. We confront this power as servants, not as rulers.

I have long disliked the way in which the word religion is thrown around and trampled on. What is worse, I think, is the way evangelicals have grabbed onto this culture's use of the word and adopted for itself the false distinction between Christianity and religion. Dooyeweerd here begins to offer a helpful corrective to the lines of demarcation we have unwittingly drawn.

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Here is something to consider:

There are many Christians who have a lot of trouble with [the religious aspect of life]. One of the most common expressions of this in our time are those who bristle at any notion that Christianity should be 'religious.' They will say of themselves in no uncertain terms, 'We're not religious,' or that they like their church because 'it's not religious.' We, the authors, can appreciate what is behind this attitude, which is a kind of prophetic statement against worship and devotion that has become static, ritualistic, legalistic, hypocritical, and so on. It is therefore not uncommon to hear Christians arguing for non-religious Christianity. And we can appreciate what is behind that too, a seeking after ways to become dynamic, spontaneous, grace-filled fellowships serving each other. The way ahead, however, is not to hammer the religious aspect to pieces. What people are thoroughly frustrated about is the abuse and distortion of the features that constitute overtly religious life: worship, devotion, confession, prayer, witness, the preaching and teaching, and so on. The way to address this is not to wipe out the religious dimension of life (can't do that anyway, because it's ordained by God) but to work within it to renew what's gone wrong. The irony is that many of the 'non-religious' Christians are doing this; they just don't recognize their work of renewal as life within the religious aspect.

[From John Peck and Charles Strohmer's, Uncommon Sense: God's Wisdom for our Complex and Changing World (307), reflecting on the religious aspect in Herman Dooyeweerd's modal theory.]

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8 March 2010 note: I struggled with Dooyeweerd a lot early on, not because I didn't appreciate him, but because I had a very difficult time understanding him. I remember writing this post because I had felt that there was something in Dooyeweerd I finally understood. I've come to understand a lot more now, and as a result appreciate him a great deal more.

Redeemer's favorite philosopher authored an article I read just a little over a week ago for Social Philosophy class, entitled, "The Criteria of Progressive and Reactionary Tendencies in History". In it, among other things, he discusses his view of history and progress, and suggests that formative power is the core principle of the historical aspect of reality.

What I found most interesting was Big D's discussion on the comparison of primitive and highly differentiated cultures, and how faith relates to it all. Toward the end of the article, Big D says this:

"When finally the question is asked what is the deepest cause of disharmony in the opening-up process of history we come face to face with the problem concerning the relationship between faith and culture and with the religious basic motives which operate in the central sphere of human life. The disharmony in question belongs, alas, to the progressive line of cultural development, since it can only reveal itself in the historical opening-up process of cultural differentiation. In a primitive closed culture the conflicts and tensions which are in particular to be observed in modern Western civilization cannot occur. As a consequence of the fact that any expansion of the formative power of mankind gives rise to an increasing manifestation of human sin, the historical opening-up process is marked by blood and tears, and it does not lead to an earthly paradise."

There doesn't appear like there's much we can do with this except to nod our heads and hum and haw. In all reality, we can't revert back to ancient backwoods tribal culture. That's impossible, though it does kind of seem like it would be ideal. But I think Big D is right on the money with this one.

It provoked me to think about something else. Last semester, I read a book simply called A History of Denmark by Knud J. V. Jespersen, in which he suggests that the Danes are still very much a tribal culture due to how their situation has evolved throughout history. Jespersen argues that what history has put them through has caused them to band together in a such a manner that they don't resemble a nation, but a tribe. In this case I wonder how Big D's philosophy would apply to Denmark. Could they still be classified as a primitive closed culture? They are most definitely part of modern Western society in the sense of being totally engrossed, and arguable at the forefront, of postmodernity. But they lack differentiation, being one of the homogeneous societies in the West, if not in the world.

So should everyone move to Denmark? No! It's only got 42,394 sq. km. of land. We won't all fit there. But can we learn from their model of society? I'm not sure, but it's something to think about. Is the primitive closed culture ideal? How would the world have evolved differently if things had stayed that way longer? Whatever the answers, we obviously haven't found them yet. Perhaps if we had, history wouldn't be so marked by blood and tears.

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