Search me, God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.
Psalm 139:23
I am anxious and am worried about many things. I am worried
about my adequacy as a teacher and scholar. I am worried about my adequacy as a
husband and father. I am worried about my adequacy as a child of God.
Yet the solution proposed in the Psalm is not intense
self-analysis or reflection. Instead, the Psalmist asks God to search him and,
through testing, to know my anxious thoughts.
This, indeed, is a radical kind of pedagogy!
If I am the student, the one who endures the test, then how
am I learning if it is God who knows my heart and my anxious thoughts? Wouldn’t it best for me to know them so as to,
you know, give them over to God?
The root of a God-centered education might very well be
letting go of that need to know our own hearts first.
This week when I feel anxiety, I want my first impulse to be
prayer: that God would know my heart and my anxious thoughts and that the Holy
Spirit would intercede for me in my ignorance. This semester when I feel
anxiety, I want my first impulse to be prayer too so that this semester when my
students are afflicted by anxieties, I can with confidence encourage them to turn
to God and pray this Psalm as well.
A novelist is a circus impresario, someone who puts on a grand performance for the reader. The chapters are tents, the characters the circus performers and the narrator a kind of ringmaster. How can you measure one circus against another? For that matter, how can you measure one circus performer against another? What matters is that the audience keeps wanting more, keeps wanting to come back because they sense, albeit dimly, that what they’re witnessing is truly fantastic, something spiritual not just material.
Erin Morgenstern pursues this metaphor throughout her novel The Night Circus. Why night? Probably because the circus is a waking dream, and fiction, Morgenstern’s analogue for the circus, is the mirror image of the daytime and “real life.” In 1870s Victorian England, two magicians challenge one another to a contest via their students. They’ve done this before. The man in gray, Alexander, seems to have won the past few. But now his opponent, who goes by the name Prospero, has his daughter as a student. Alexander claims Marcos from an orphanage as his pupil. Prospero and Alexander set to work training their respective students, and the novel recounts the outcome of their battle.
In his opinion editorial titled “Aspirational parents condemn their children to a desperate, joyless life,” George Monbiot argues that our culture’s quest for success is actually guaranteeing its opposite. Children are told they can improve their lives, but they are looking at a world that is worse than the one their parents grew up in. Childhood is being stripped from young people as they must begin training for success immediately. Everything from internships in college to getting into the right elementary show how success rather than happiness is culture’s ultimate goal. What makes it worse, Monbiot argues, is that the British government doesn’t seem to care about the mental toll this is taking on the country’s youths. Recent survey results show there is cause for concern. Children are hurting themselves and getting eating disorders more frequently. They feel less secure about their future and have less of a desire to go to school. Monbiot concludes that the very ambition that motivates these children to endure these hardships will rob them of the joy that their material success is supposed to bring.
I continue to deliberate on fascinating problems to present my students with rather than a series of facts with which to stuff them.
My next series of questions come from the first real chapter of Literature Through the Eyes of Faith. I’ve put together question with examples from scripture, everyday life, and literature as possible test case answers. You can find the questions and answers after the jump.
In this chapter, Alan Jacobs uses a David Foster Wallace book review to tout the two most significant traits of good thinking: rigor and humility.
Wallace’s review demonstrates a person thinking well as
review that he is good precisely because it upholds the Democratic Spirit (yes,
with capital letters as a kind of tongue in cheek joke). The book Wallace
examines is about language usage, and Wallace finds it refreshing that the book’s
author, Bryan Garner, is able to offer expert advice without being preachy. In
short, Garner manages to write with the authority of a lawyer or doctor rather
than a dictator or preacher. This means that Garner meshes rigor (clear answers
with solid reasons on all sort of usage questions) with humility (clear
explanations that resist the urge to demean, belittle, or assume his position is
automatically the correct one).
Once again, Jacobs preaches temperance. We cannot possibly maintain a constant Democratic Spirit about us at every conceivable moment. Instead, we must make a concerted effort to admit where we’ve erred, show a willingness to learn from mistakes, and demonstrate a willingness to believe our opponents might benefit from the extension of that Spirit. This is easier said than done. It’s when reading books like Garner’s, or reviews like Wallace’s, or books like Jacobs’s that we can best see this kind of rigorous and humble thinking in action.
In this chapter, Jacobs explains that neither an open nor a shut mind is preferable: the two should work in tandem. Someone who has no set beliefs cannot be trusted. Someone whose every belief is unshakeable cannot be reasoned with.
Jacobs offers two metaphors to help us understand the proper
relationship open and shut minds. The first is our appetite. We shouldn’t open
our mind unless we intend to close it. If we’re going to think about something,
we should be ready to digest it. The second concerns solidity. We should aim
for firmness in our beliefs, neither rigidity nor flimsiness.
Sunk costs pose the greatest danger for the person prone to
rigidity. Sunk costs refer to unrecoverable resources that one invested cannot
be reclaimed. For instance, if you’ve been supporting a cause for 30 years, it
will be difficult to renounce your position without putting your identity in
jeopardy.
One of the things I’ll insist on my students considering is
that college is a time for them to take advantage of their minimal sunk costs
which can encourage their flexibility. At the same time, they’ll need to be
responsibility not to mistake flexibility for flimsiness under the mistaken impression
that changing your mind has no cost or that lacking firm beliefs is a virtue.
Alan Jacobs uses this chapter to distinguish two different dispositions: lumping and splitting. The first leads people to aggregate, to lump individuals or concepts together into larger groups or categories. A splitter does the opposite, uncovering dissimilarities and points of difference.
A quick thought experiment will show you how important such categories are. A prompt: which of these groups most determines your intellectual commitments?
Religious beliefs
Nationality
Political beliefs
Gende
Ethnicity
Education
Socio-economic background
Sexual orientation
We choose to belong to some of these categories. Some are not ours to choose. Others tend to overlap. Again, the problem is not lumping or splitting in themselves but relying on one or the other as an answer to every problem: in short, as an alternative to thinking. Jacobs in particular warns against lumping which can lead us too easily into dehumanizing our neighbors and letting them disappear into the crowd so it’s easier not to have to think about them.
In class, we’ll use the prompt above and see what kind of explanations students have for their lumping and splitting habits.
In this chapter, Jacobs observes that words can only accentuate our disposition. They are not a replacement for wisdom. Used as currency, they only hasten our intellectual bankruptcy.
Jacobs discusses the general role words have in building community and dismissing opponents. We use keywords to help unite us to like-minded people, letting short words do a lot of heavy-lifting either in support of our position or dismissing the positions of others. Those keywords are often bound together by metaphors, analogies that we use to help explain difficult ideas by framing them in terms of something we understand better. Thus, it matters if we connect argumentation and war: winning, destroying, shooting down, etc. Finally, these metaphors get woven into myths or narratives (stories about our tribe or about the tribes we define ourselves against). Now our language is way too weight bearing for what we ask it to do.
Again none of this is necessarily bad. What is harmful is
when we use keywords in place of thought, metaphors as though they are natural,
and stories that predict ahead of time how we will interpret any new evidence
we receive.
Jacobs admits that it really appears at times as though it is impossible to ever change someone’s mind. But we do know that people change their minds, and this can provide hope when we grow despondent.
One thing we can do when confronted with a position that differs from our own is attempt to summarize that position in such a way as to demonstrate to ourselves and the person who hold that position that we actually understand what we’re disagreeing with.
If we want to think well, we must distinguish good
preconceptions and bad biases, between recognizing that words can be a way of
intensifying our thoughts just as they can be a way of avoiding thought
altogether.
If our beliefs are often shaped by who we want to be in
community with, our communities are often strengthened by who they refuse to have community with, those
people who are no are longer neighbors but “others.”
Jacobs’s examples and analysis in this chapter are only more poignant now as we enter a new presidential election cycle. He begins by talking about how people negatively reacted to a blogger who expressed his happiness that Osama Bin Laden was dead and how those same people then gleefully celebrated the death of Margaret Thatcher. He ends by quoting the vulgar exchanges Sir Thomas More and Martin Luther had during the Reformation. Scorched earth.
Jacobs offers two pieces of advice to help temper our
repulsions.
Find people who you trust who do not hold your
same views. This act of intellectual humility will force you to consider that
you don’t have everything figured out and that someone who doesn’t share your
view on X issue is still your neighbor.
Emotions are not the problem. Making rationality
and emotions mutually exclusive is much more dangerous.
In an effort to help students acclimate to this advice, I will
have them pick a third-tier belief of theirs (e.g NASCAR is the best sport in
the world; that Chick-Fil-A has the best chicken sandwiches on the fast food
market; that Star Trek is better than Star Wars), something that they feel
passionately about but where the stakes are not too high. Then, I will ask them
to find someone who articulates the opposite view (e.g. that NASCAR blows, that
Zaxby wipes the floor with Chick-Fil-A, or that Star Wars eats Star Trek’s
lunch every day of the week). We’ll do our same summary/analysis exercise with
the articles/write-ups they find and pray that with some engagement, our
opponent remains, despite being an adversary, our neighbor.
In the second chapter of How To Think, Jacobs further develops his insight that thinking is social. Because we want to belong, we must be aware of the extent to which that desire for membership influences our beliefs. We can often sacrifice our willingness to scrutinize our beliefs because doing so may cause us to lose membership in a group that has come to define our identity.
When evaluating our memberships, we should start by looking at the ends our group prefers, so that even if we disagree about means, we can find enough solidarity to help sustain us in those disagreements. Prudence allows us to evaluate when it is time to hold our most cherished beliefs up to the light and when it is time to hold firm to our commitments. As Jacobs points out, the people most likely to resist coercion by true evil are those who are part of a group with deeply held beliefs.
Assigning my freshmen students the book How to Think appears to make my ends for the course quite clear. I
am subtly arguing that research and writing are means by which one can think
better, and I would prefer if students left the course better able to think,
which as I’ve discussed in the two previous posts is not so much about specific
beliefs as it is the process by which
we reach those beliefs.
Here’s the problem. If someone asked me what my goal for
every class was, I would say that in an overarching sense, I’m trying to
glorify God and enjoy Him forever and that my particular courses were attempts
to foster a desire for those same things in my students (which I could call “discipleship”
as shorthand). Here, my means would be the same (reading and writing) my goal
for the course would be a kind of thinking, a Christ-honoring form of thinking
which would necessarily lead to certain ends and not others.
I build my class around one kind of assignment: summary and
analysis. Students get handed an opinion editorial and are asked first to
summarize the argument then evaluate whether or not the author has made the
argument effectively. This assignment is a means to get them to be able first
to clearly state what someone else is arguing and before thinking critically
about the way that argument was presented. In the abstract, I would say that it’s
possible to have an argument you agree with while still maintaining that the
argument is made poorly while it is possible to have an argument that you
disagree with while admitting that it’s one made well. But what end does that
kind of observation serve?
Beliefs are not enough. The means by which we reach those
beliefs and the way we live out those beliefs matter. These are fundamentally
spiritual insights. I have to think more rigorously about how to foster
discipleship through the process of thinking.