Intellectuelle   Laura

Very early in my academic life, I had to come to terms with the hard fact that I, unlike many of my outgoing peers, had not been blessed with the gift of persuasion. I would watch the laziest of my classmates be called on in class, utter total you-know-what, and have the teachers beaming. Then, of course, I’d be called on out of my daydreaming, and the following silence would make it inescapably obvious that I had no clue how John Smith founded Jamestown. I have always thought it probable that God comically used those experiences to traumatize me into using my brain.

Yet my first years of being a professed Christian were ones of culpably slow and minor growth. My introduction to theology came when I was 15 or so, and I began dabbling in the Reformed doctrines. I had influences on both sides of the great Calvinist/Arminian divide, and in a very amateur-ish way I would take the unanswerable objections from one side over to the other, and so it would go, back and forth. I had a lot of unanswerable objections, I found, because I was hardly even trying to answer them myself. And this sort of half-hearted pursuit of theological truth went on, I am sorry to say, for quite a long time.

But here I am three years later, introducing myself in a blog that imputes some degree of intellectual maturity to my name – God must not have given up on me. Having come from this sort of outlook on intellectual activity myself, I wouldn’t be surprised if there were still some challenging voices out there insisting that a group of Christians – especially women – should be put to more practical work. Look at the need in this world!, they say. How can you justify sitting around and thinking while people are dying of starvation? Unfortunately, this hyper-pragmatism is characteristic of a great number of people in evangelical America who actually look down on the pursuit of intellectual growth, as if we could have any sort of culturally influential ministry with no biblically-based theory. From my perspective as a recent high school graduate, it seems that consequently, the Church is dangerously close to letting this postmodernizing world mark Christianity off the list of plausible worldviews. But we have been told that we have a reason for this hope. It is imperative that we learn to communicate that reason to a world that has come to see Christianity as so-called “intellectual suicide.” Au contraire, we must say - to hold to any other worldview is literal suicide. I pray that this will be a forum where such bold proclamation of the superiority of our God can take place.

I am hardly coming to this group with an abundant store of knowledge that I’m just aching to share. On most days, I have more immediate questions than answers, and as Calvin did, I count myself among “those who write as they learn and learn as they write.” I hope you’ll bear with me and join us in the process of “iron sharpening iron” that I’m certain will happen here.

Freedom is a possession of inestimable value.
- Cicero

One of the best ways to estimate the value of something is to consider what life would be like without it. Today, it has been 229 years since the U.S. officially declared itself free from England, establishing a government that ensured - at times wisely, and other times not so wisely - certain unalienable rights to citizens that had been denied the same by their former ruler. So the early Americans were painfully aware of what the absence of such basic rights meant, and over 200 years later, we still benefit from this.

But for another spin on the subject, consider a sharp bit of common sense from G.K. Chesterton: "To have a right to do a thing is not at all the same as to be right in doing it." While we should be duly grateful for how blessed we Americans are to live under a government that grants us rights, the fact that such an obvious point should have to be made - even decades before Roe v. Wade and "the right to choose" - is indicative of how highly this country has exalted the idol of individual rights. The principle behind "Let freedom reign!" has been extolled to the fatal disregard of whether or not our free choices have inherent moral value. In other words, America needs to be reminded that at the end of freedom, there are reins - held by a God whose absolute moral standard will, quite frankly, trump individual rights as the majority of modern-day America knows them.

On that lighthearted note, have a happy (and safe) Fourth of July, everyone. (And just for kicks, a quick poll: do you call them "fireworks," "firecrackers," or something else? I want to know if it is a regional thing, or what.)

"While we shun as poison the idea of the really contradictory, we embrace with passion the idea of the apparently contradictory." - Cornelius Van Til

"If embracing with passion the apparent contradictions of Scripture is the height of Christian humility, it follows that attempting to harmonize these apparent contradictions, that is, doing systematic theology, must be the apex of sinful arrogance and pride." - Sean Gerety, "The Evisceration of the Christian Faith," The Trinity Review, July/August 2005

I would be curious to see any VanTillian reactions to this article. As a highly interested observer of the Clark-CVT controversy who is not yet committed to either side (but is leaning, as you can probably tell, toward one), I'd prefer not to debate it directly right now. But if you know of anyone who has blogged about or written a response to Gerety's provocative article, please let me know. And feel free to make your own comments on it here; I'm just making the disclaimer so nobody thinks I'm game for an all-out VanTillian v. Clarkian battle. ;)

(...but can anyone tell me how to pronounce his name?)

False ideas are the greatest obstacles to the reception of the gospel. We may preach with all the fervor of a reformer and yet succeed only in winning a straggler here and there, if we permit the whole collective thought of the nation or of the world to be controlled by ideas which, by the resistless force of logic, prevent Christianity from being regarded as anything more than a harmless delusion. Under such circumstances, what God desires us to do is to destroy the obstacle at its root. Many would have the seminaries combat error by attacking it as it is taught by its popular exponents. Instead of that they confuse their students with a lot of German names unknown outside the walls of the universities. That method of procedure is based simply upon a profound belief in the pervasiveness of ideas. What is today matter of academic speculation begins tomorrow to move armies and pull down empires. In that second stage, it has gone too far to be combatted; the time to stop it was when it was still a matter of impassionate debate. So as Christians we should try to mold the thought of the world in such a way as to make the acceptance of Christianity something more than a logical absurdity ... Under such circumstances, what more pressing duty than for those who have received the mighty experience of regeneration, who, therefore, do not, like the world, neglect that whole series of vitally relevant facts which is embraced in Christian experience - what more pressing duty than for these men to make themselves masters of the thought of the world in order to make it an instrument of truth instead of error? The Church has no right to be so absorbed in helping the individual that she forgets the world.

- J. Gresham Machen, in an address to Princeton Theological Seminary ("Christianity and Culture"), September 1912
(Read the whole speech here)

Name: Laura
Birthday: 25 January 1987
Birthplace: Shawnee, OK
Current Residence: Waco, TX
Ancestry: Welsh and German
Languages: English and Spanish (fluent), Koine Greek (novice); Welsh, French, Italian, Catalan and recently German (dabbled in); can recite poetry in Elvish (Quenya) and Middle English

Perhaps one basis of the alleged incongruity between righteousness and intellectual activity is the notion that righteousness consists of a number of observable actions. That is to say, righteousness is supposed to consist in good works. Before the fall Adam was obligated to tend the garden. Had Adam and the race continued in the estate in which they were created, there would no doubt have been public worship on the Sabbath, and even the discharge of economic duties as the population and civilization increased. But these external actions, even before the fall, would not have exhausted righteousness. Righteousness also requires right thinking about God. The point is more clearly seen when we consider man's estate after the fall. His duties, in addition to public worship, now include ministering to the sick and unfortunate, restraining sin and crime, and to this end establishing civil government. But none of these external actions is righteous or pleases God, unless motivated by righteous thinking. It is the intellectual activity that makes the external action pleasing to God.

In an attempt to show the biblical relation between man and logic, Clark is addressing the pietistic objection to identifying God's image in man as largely consisting of rationality.

For some time I've been reflecting on the evolution of my faith by examining my view of Scripture during three periods: the years before I made my profession of faith in a Baptist church at age 12, then in the three more or less unchanged years following that, and finally in the past three years. Taking into consideration my apathy toward Scripture during those first two periods, I've judged that what I considered to be my "conversion experience" could not have been when it "happened," if we can speak in those terms at all. (R.C. Sproul, Jr., by the way, has recently written a thoughtful piece at his Squiblog that relates to this.) It took me a while to swallow the realization myself, so what I want to offer for consideration is my reasoning and the implications of such a conclusion.

A friend posted a link to this short but scathing letter to the editor by Donald Macleod to the Glasgow-based Herald. It's called "Always something more basic than evolution," and I bet you can guess what it is about. I'm not well-versed in evolutionary dialectics, but I do know some sweet presuppositional action when I see it. Those of a similar mind will laugh (or grimace) upon comparing it with the editorial letter that follows, as well: according to its author, evolution passes the test hands down while ID fails it miserably. What's the test, you ask? Apparently infallible scientific verifiability, whose verifiability is verified by...?

I'll likely be scarce around here for a few days, as I'm moving into college next week to start my freshman year. So I'll see you guys later - for now I've got to run and take my third trip in three days to Bed, Bath & Beyond...

D. Martyn Lloyd-Jones once observed that the biggest problems in life are due to the fact that we listen to ourselves far more than we talk to ourselves. Since I heard that insight, I've practiced his suggestion with increasing conviction of its truth. Doubtless it is something that we need to advocate in place of the rubbish about "listening to your heart," which most commonly means, "Pay close attention to how x makes you feel, and from there decide what is right/what you should do." Perhaps especially for women, emotions are far more unstable and unintelligible than our thoughts are - so what gives? What is it about emotions that makes people treat them as reliable for making decisions and discerning motives?

Marcus Aurelius (121-180 A.D.) was among the most famous Stoics of the Roman era, as well as one of the fiercest persecutors of the Roman Christians during his reign as emperor (161-180). For background reading for a class on Constantine, last week I was reading his Meditations, a sort of self-interactive reflection on his education from childhood to manhood. Ironically, they resemble another great work of the period: Augustine's Confessions. The likeness does not end there, though - the striking surface similarities of the Stoic and Christian philosophies warrant a closer analytical look. Here my purpose is only to give an introduction (hopefully one that might spark debate or encourage more knowledgeable philosophers to comment) to Stoicism in comparison to and in contrast with Christianity; you can find a whole lot more by doing a Wikipedia search. (I feel like I'm cheating by saying that...)

Informatium magnum habet Marcus Olsonus de Pseudo-Polymath.
That is, Mark Olson at Pseudo-Polymath has a great idea for those of you who could read the first line, assuming it means you are into classics. (I don't mean to discriminate against Hellenists, but I think three weeks of accelerated college Latin have made me realize how little Greek I actually know.) Ancient literature buffs could certainly get in on the project as well, which Mike describes thus:

The idea is to compare and contrast two heroic stories from almost the same eras but from very different cultures. The two stories I had in mind were the Hebrew heroic story … that is the story of King David in Samuel I & II … and the Greek heroic poems from the same era by Homer … that is the Iliad (and perhaps the Odyssey). I had in mind perhaps posting once weekly (say Thursdays) on the similarities and differences - to contrast and compare the stories of David and Achilles. We could write on the same subtopic on this theme each week. For example, for next week I was thinking we could write on the openings. To compare and contrast the Iliad’s immortal opening cadences to the more subtle (tender?) vignette of Hannah giving up of Samuel, her firstborn, to the Temple.

Tomorrow he'll start off with his own essay on that topic, but in the Thursdays to come, Mark would like other interested bloggers to take him up on suggesting topics and contributing their own for discussion.

Some seek knowledge for the sake of knowledge:
That is curiosity;
Others seek knowledge so that they themselves may be known:
That is vanity;
But there are still others who seek knowledge in order to serve and edify others;
And that is charity.

- Bernard of Clairvaux

Pete is my RUF minister with an explosive laugh and contagious enthusiasm for "arguing," which is really his pet way of framing anything he's going to say: "This is what I'm arguing for." For an hour on Monday evenings, Pete "argues" with a perfectly obliging group of freshmen that the Bible is not a moral lesson, but a progressive revelation centering on Christ; with Christ thus established as the whole Word, he sounds out the syllables to us - all familiar sounds, but combining to form an incomprehensibly richer word than the one I have heard all my blessed Baptist life.

And I cannot help but wonder how life would have been different if sweet Miss Mary had been able to show me this in Sunday School ten years ago. It's not that I hold any true resentment against her or any of my teachers, though I joked about it last night. How could I? They weren't taught themselves that Genesis 22 isn't about making our own sacrifices for God. They weren't given a clue what those dastardly lists of unpronounceable names are doing in the Gospels, which are otherwise good and safe fodder for last-minute lessons. So with whom does the blame rest? Wrong question. The responsibility for repairing the damage certainly lies with me and the rest of the Church who are concerned with theological education, which shouldn't have to be a qualifier.

I'd hate to come off as the type of person who is always going on about "my passions" and "my burdens" as if they are the all-important goals that crowd out all others, even if I'm polite enough to pretend to hear out your ideas. But "what I'm arguing for" is simply that it should be our passion, our burden to educate the Church, and then we can begin to make up for the failure of the past, and then we can begin to deal with the relativistic mess we find ourselves in because of that failure.

One important thing I've learned in my first weeks at college is the distinct advantage of having a professor who will forward you articles of interest that provide the ever-welcome opportunity for productive procrastination. So when an article called "Developing a Discipline: The Recent Study of Western Church History in the People's Republic of China" pops up in my inbox, you'd better believe that a textbook reading about Archaic Era ceramics techniques is going to be demoted in priority.

The article, from the July edition of the Journal of Ecclesiastical History, explores the development of academic preoccupation with church history in post-Marxist China. Following the Cultural Revolution (1966-76), during which the privilege of practicing and studying traditional forms of culture (such as religion) was taken away, Deng Xiaoping stepped in with his policy of "reform and opening" in 1978. Several factors contributed to the revival of Christianity as a topic for scholarly study and the gradual departure from the Marxist theory of religion as the "opium of the masses." The prohibition on unregulated spiritual activities was lifted; Buddhism and Protestantism, interesting bedfellows, led in the subsequent revival of religious practice; intellectuals took notice, and the Chinese interest in western church history was born.

Working on (read: blissfully devouring) my Latin vocabulary yesterday, I got to diligere, a verb that Wheelock defines as "to love, esteem highly; to choose." Well, that's a bit different than the derivative word in English, I thought, and the wheels started turning.

Paraphrased from Etymonline, the source that is to amateur linguists what Monergism is to amateur theologians (okay, or what the The Evangelical Outpost is to aspiring front-runners of the blogosphere):

diligence: from O.Fr. diligence "attention, care," from L. diligentia "attentiveness, carefulness," from diligentem (nom. diligens) "attentive, assiduous, careful," originally prp. of diligere "value highly, love, choose," from dis- "apart" + legere "choose, gather." Sense evolved from "love" through "attentiveness" to "carefulness" to "steady effort."

I'm going to take a risk and infer some things about human nature from the evolution of a word. (At least you can know that if my logic is flawed, the basic principles still hold true.) The word begins with yet another denotation of "love" and travels through "attentiveness" and "carefulness." This makes perfect sense connotatively, if you will: we know that all men have some ultimate goal in mind that commands their worship and directs their will. Whatever his highest end is, a man values anything that can get him there. Even a lazy man will pay close attention to the means by which he can attain his goal; some of the most evil men in history were obsessively detail-oriented.

It should be convicting to consider the ultimate end of a Christian's work. Within the context of an exhortation to servants in Colossians 3, Paul identifies it: "Whatever you do, work heartily, as for the Lord and not for men, knowing that from the Lord you will receive the inheritance as your reward. You are serving the Lord Christ." If the attentiveness and effort we put into our work is in accordance with the measure of our love for Christ, how can laziness, time-wasting and any form of slacking off be things to joke about? The place to begin in cultivating diligence, then, is not in driven attempts at self-discipline, but in cultivating a love for God and for his law. Unless we learn to "delight in [his] testimonies as much as in all riches," we cannot consistently uphold a work ethic that differentiates us from the world. In this way we enjoy the logical progression from loving and highly esteeming our Master to keeping up steady, careful effort in every work that he has prepared for us to do.

Being a List of Questions compiled by the Work of divers Postmodern Divines and edited by Christopher Alexion.

Q1: What is the chief end of humankind?
A: Humankind's chief end is to promote world peace and enjoy it forever.

Q2: What rule do we have to direct us how we may accomplish this peace?
A: We have but one rule, and that is that we have none.

Q3: What is God?
A: God is a Spirit, infinite, eternal, and unchangeable in His design to Bless America.

Q4: Are there more gods than one?
A: There is but one only, though the term includes all religions.

Q5: How many persons are there in the Godhead?
A: As many as we want there to be.

Q6: What are the decrees of God?
A: The decrees of God are the contingent purpose according to the counsel of our will, whereby, for our benefit, He will make all our favorite sports teams win.

Q7: How doth God execute His decrees?
A: God executeth His decrees in the work of watching us exercise our free will.

Yes, it's an official holiday - at least for the Lutheran church - but even those of us without a church calendar should have an interest in the historical significance of October 31. Four hundred and eighty-eight years ago, Martin Luther nailed his 95 Theses onto the doors of the Wittenburg Cathedral; the sonnet below, written by a friend who excels in all things word-related (and whose name I'll withhold until she gives me permission to publish it), is good for telling the story from a more abstract Protestant perspective.

The pen that moves the centuries is done,
the paper dries that bears the age's sword--
a few small sentences, an iron word,
the thoughts a restless man is moved to own.
Then Truth and Justice pound the oaken door,
arousing men to come and take and read
a summons saints of old had often plead--
then whispered, shouted now as ne'er before.
The cries resound throughout the tomb-like hall,
shake ancient pillars, burst the colored glass,
drown out the dreary drone of Latin mass,
awaking the cathedral of man's soul.
Thus five and ninety words make darkness flee
and echo through the vaults of history.

Elusive, mysterious, and almost dubiously brilliant as portrayed in Plato's dialogues, Socrates (470-399 B.C.) lived during the classical age of Athenian democracy. He was thought to hold unconventional ideas about the traditional Greek gods - an especially dangerous move in light of the unfavorable events of the Peloponnesian War, which suspiciously came at a time when the gods were increasingly neglected or defamed - and this made him, standing out in the heavily communalistic Athens, a prime candidate for one of Aristophanes' pointed comedies. In The Clouds, "Socrates" is the head of a sort of gnostic (note the lowercase 'g') institution where he has done away with the gods and replaced them with natural phenomena (e.g. clouds). In reality, he denied being any kind of natural philosopher, and his "services" were free and open to the public, but his dexterous dialectic method tended to reveal mere pretense of knowledge in those who were thought the wisest, thus making it an "ask at your own risk" venture for interested philosophizers. Eventually the risk became much higher for Socrates himself.

The victors over Athens in the Peloponnesian War, the Spartans, had a strictly oligarchic government; ideologically, this also set the two cities at odds. Spartans thought (read: did family planning) in terms of definite, inborn characteristics and abilities that were to be developed according to the way the individual could best be employed for the good of the state. Athenians prided themselves on their good faith in the natural ability of any man to run a government - they counted all male citizens qualified for public office. But Socrates was thought to have oligarchic sympathies - strike two against him.

Now, since I'm no good at history lessons, let's get to the meat of this. The Sophists were traveling non-Athenian intellectuals who boasted in their rhetorical abilities and graciously condescended to educate any willing buffoon who could satisfy them financially. They liked to do their business in Attica most of all because Athens (home to the agora, the marketplace for fish, fruit, and...philosophy), was a place where it was perhaps normal to sit a child on your lap, look into his eyes, and say, "When you grow up, you can be whatever you want, dear." This isn't lying, of course - it is charitable, democratic parenting in action!

(This is in no way an indirect jab at any of Hannah's sources of humor in the preceding post. I came across the quote while reading today, and it is along the lines of my own recently developing philosophy of humor, upon which I may expound...someday.)

One who tries to raise a laugh at any spectacle save that of baseness and folly will also, in his serious moments, set before himself some other standard than goodness of what deserves to be held in honor.

I've got a song* stuck in my head this afternoon that is only aggravating the mental train wreck occurring therein. In chapel (mandatory for all Baylor freshman; joyful obligation it is not) I heard this song, and it brought back not-so-fond memories of youth group church camps. That was only the sentimental reaction. Then I started listening to the words.

Big. Mistake.

Many men will drink the rain
And turn to thank the clouds
Many men will hear You speak
But they will never turn around

Well, true enough. This is a verdict realized all over Scripture. I'm curious, though, as to why we're singing so happily about the reprobate...

I will not forget You are my God, my King
And with a thankful heart I bring my offering
And my sacrifice is not what You can give
But what I alone can give to you

First of all, I know my memory too well to sing this first line with a clear conscience. But I know my weak stomach too well to think too hard about what follows - at this point, I am in serious danger of retching. What on earth (or perhaps under the earth) could we offer as an original gift to God? Does evil count as a gift?

A grateful heart I give, A thankful prayer I pray,
A wild dance I dance before you
A loud song I sing, A huge bell I ring,
A life of praise I live before You

Yes. Thank you, Jesus, for giving me the choice to choose you and live sinlessly forever after. And thank you for legs to dance so wildly. And this bell. Wow, what a great...bell. ?

Many men will pour their gold
And serve a thing that shines
Many men will read your Word
But they will never change their minds

Now I'm just confused. Again, why are we singing about people headed on the wide road to destruction? I thought semi-Pelagianism was all about love and acceptance and self-empowerment!

(chorus repeat)

Ohh, I see. The idea is contrast. Us = sharp, ever obedient, um, wild dancers. Them = pathetic, hopeless idolaters.

...now what, after all, is idolatry?

*(the song is "I Will Not Forget You," copyright Ben and Robin Pasley, 1999)

Temples have their sacred images; and we see what influence they have always had over a great part of mankind; but, in truth, the ideas and images in men's minds are the invisible powers that constantly govern them; and to these they all pay universally a ready submission.

By sheer providential goodness, I've gotten a job as a sort of editorial apprentice in my school's academic press. The job is turning out to be even better than I had expected, and when you are constantly battling a neurotically idealistic Anne Shirley within, that's nothing less than a miracle. A couple of weeks ago I got to claim the first outstanding employee benefit: free access to the boss's library. Among all the hippest new works in higher criticism, an ugly duckling of a book stood out like a A New Kind of Christian on the bookshelf of yours truly (and so it stood for a time, but that's a long story): across a tattered, once-blue cover my widening eyes beheld A Reformation Debate: John Calvin & Jacobo Sadoleto.

Score.

To descend to the actual point of this essay-ette, the book consists of two letters, both written in 1539, after the fight between the civil authorities and the reformers (foremost at this point were Guillaume Farel and John Calvin) had erupted in Geneva, where many had adopted the Protestant reforms under the leadership of these two men. An Italian bishop ministering in southern France appealed on behalf of the Catholic church to his Genevan neighbors, pleading with them to return to the faith and lambasting the schismatic Frenchmen who had led them away from the Church. Calvin's letter is a defense of his ministry and his former parishioners (he had gone to Strasbourg to work with Martin Bucer by then) in three parts: first, an address to Sadoleto himself, and then two speeches he constructed--for himself and for his average parishioner--that he imagined being given before the tribunal of God on Judgment Day.

As you're about to be introduced to a couple of new additions to the team, I thought it would be an apt occasion for my exit--hopefully a graceful one. Since I have a blog whose content and goals have evolved to be quite similar to Intellectuelle's, and since I need to be managing my time (within and without the blogosphere) a little more closely than I've been doing this semester, I've got to say farewell. I've thoroughly enjoyed this community with thoughtful women, and I pray that all of you come to know greater fellowship and greater thoughts. To Marla, Samantha, Sarah, Lexie, Bonnie, Hannah, Ashley, and the 'Elles to come: thanks, God bless, and an unequivocal Merry Christmas. ;)