Briefly Noted: On Luc Ferry and the Religious Nature of Philosophy

Luc Ferry’s A Brief History of Thought (2011) is a very pretty piece of humanism in which he notes that philosophy is a search for salvation. The author surveys five major eras, or “great moments,” of thought: early Greek dominance, the Christian middle ages, the Enlightenment that birthed modern philosophy, postmodernity, and the present stage “after deconstruction.” He argues that in each major era, philosophy has been, essentially, a search for human salvation.

This search is the response of each era to three questions, which correlate with the three dimensions of philosophy: “What is the nature of the world?” (theory); “How are we to act in it?” (ethics); and “What should my ultimate goal be?” (salvation). He further gives two reasons why everybody should study philosophy. First, “without it [philosophy] we can make no sense of the world in which we live” (p. xii). Second, “beyond coming to an understanding of oneself and others through acquaintance with the key texts of philosophy, we come to realize that these texts are able, quite simply, to help us live in a better and freer way” (p. xiv).

Ferry’s approach to intellectual history is unique. Jonah Haddad’s review of A Brief History puts it this way: “The uniqueness of Ferry’s response to the problem stems from his high view of philosophy and from his love for the discipline which has inclined him to offer philosophical reflection as the best possibility for living well and overcoming the fear of death.” In fact, the original French title of Ferry’s book was To Learn to Live.

In his chapter on “the Greek miracle,” Ferry makes his way quickly to Stoicism. As he sees it, the Stoic system of philosophy, and so living, demonstrates a “spirit remarkably close to that of Buddhism, [and] appeals for an attitude of ‘non-attachment’ towards the things of this world” (p. 47). Hence the Stoic doctrine of salvation “is resolutely anonymous and impersonal” (p. 52). On the ultimate question of salvation, then, Stoicism fails to deliver. It is to this question that Christianity brought out “the big guns” as Ferry puts it (p. 53).

In his treatment of Christianity, Ferry depends upon the apostles John and Paul, along with a healthy dose of Augustine and a sprinkling of Pascal. In Ferry’s view, Christianity is the philosophy of salvation through love. Although he is himself no believer, Ferry is fair-minded and even sympathetic toward Christianity. In fact, Ferry once wrote a book entitled The Temptation of Christianity (never translated from the French, La tentation du christianisme).[1] Yet Ferry cannot commit to the philosophy that depends upon faith in the God who created the world and gave impetus for human inquiry. As Haddad comments, “With near lament in his tone, Ferry admits that if only God truly existed he would be tempted to accept the viability of the Christian worldview (p. 263).” And Royal adds, “Ultimately, he believes, modern philosophy and the impact of modern science exploded the supposedly naive metaphysics on which Christianity is based.”

As for the Renaissance–Enlightenment period, Ferry notes that it was marked by revolutions (notably, the French and American revolutions) which spawned modern philosophy and, in turn, birthed republics. He seeks to demonstrate how “the modern world arose out of the collapse of ancient cosmology and a new questioning of religious authority, and eventually a scientific revolution unprecedented in the history of humanity” (p. 94). Thus Ferry begins with Copernicus (1453), Newton (1687), Descartes (1644), and Galileo (1632) and their most influential works (published in the dates given) to demonstrate this sea change. He then surveys the work of Kant, Rousseau, Jean-Paul Sartre, and Descartes, who together established the modern world of the two World Wars and television (to state it colloquially). Yet the modern center did not hold.

The modern center gave way to (or was overthrown by) postmodernity. Ferry defines this for us when he writes, “we call ‘postmodern’ those ideas which, from the mid-nineteenth century, were to set about dismantling the humanist creed of modernity, in particular the philosophy of the Enlightenment” (p. 143). Post-modernity, as Ferry shows, is in large part the intellectual father and child of Nietzsche. It serves as Nietzsche’s father because it is the ideas just referenced that Nietzsche took on, and yet it also is his child because “with Nietzsche…postmodernity arrived at its zenith” (p. 143). So the postmodern ethos of power politics, relativism, and living for the moment stems from Nietzsche. Ferry does not, however, uphold Nietzsche as the answer to philosophy’s three great questions (p. 193). For the answer to these questions we ought to look to ourselves, to humanity.

In the present era, as Ferry sees it, we must search for salvation in our humanity. The history of thought has moved us inexorably to this point and in so doing points us toward salvation. Haddad summarizes well: “This is so, because according to Ferry, our ‘salvation’ lies in the evolution of the human person and their ever-increasing knowledge of themselves and their world. When we embrace this knowledge we will be able to embrace the reality of death, to love well, and to live for wisdom.” Ferry is a humanist in the idealist sense that we will be saved when we become truly human, and to become truly human means to truly discover ourselves.

In response to Ferry’s book, I first wish to note that I appreciated the book and found it stimulating. Ferry has the unique ability to distill intellectual history into a few pages, and do so without losing as much as most authors would. His prose is elegant. His analysis and evaluation of Christianity is even-handed and as sympathetic as one can expect (unlike other freethinkers, such as Richard Dawkins, whose towering sense of self-approval is matched only by his breathtaking theological ignorance and fundamental inability to represent Christianity in an even-handed manner). Even his thesis that “philosophy searches for salvation” is refreshing because, even though philosophy cannot save, throughout history it has been treated as a functional savior.

Second, although philosophy cannot save, it is, in one sense, a salvific enterprise. The academic enterprise can be compared to a tree.[2] In this analogy, the roots of the tree are “faith” or the direction of the heart. The work of philosophy always is underlain by faith commitments, either to God or to idols. The base of the trunk is biblical studies and biblical theology, which serve as the foundation and trajectory for the growth of the tree. The main body of the trunk is a Christian worldview, which in turn has two main branches, namely, systematic theology and Christian philosophy. Growing from those two main branches are further branches, which represent the special sciences, the various disciplines each of which have their own creational integrity. In this view of things, Christian theology and Christian philosophy stand side-by-side in the search for truth. Neither discipline seeks to build its knowledge independent of God’s revelation. Both disciplines arise from the biblical narrative and its attendant Christian worldview, and therefore find themselves in a healthy and fruitful dialogue and partnership with one another.

Christian philosophy is therefore “salvific” in the sense that it can be part of a Christian person’s sanctification. Philosophy, at its best, is the attempt to describe systematically the structure of God’s creation (the nature of being, of knowledge, of beauty, etc.), drawing upon God’s self-revelation found in the created order and in the Bible, and using the tools of critical thinking and argumentation. It seeks a comprehensive view of the created order as creation (not merely as “nature”), and draws upon Scripture. Although Scripture does not give a comprehensive or detailed analysis of creational realities, it does provide the framework and many clues for understanding them. Bartholomew and Goheen write, “In our experience, sometimes people get so excited about philosophy—believe it or not—that they forget that it is Scripture which is God’s infallible word. Indeed, in our opinion a healthy Christian philosophy, like a healthy Christian theology, will take us back again and again and deeper and deeper into the Bible. We also believe that because the Bible is God’s Word for all of life that philosophy too must bow to its authority.”[3]

So Ferry is close to the truth and yet far away. Philosophy assuredly is a religious exercise. It often has functioned as a search for salvation, and sometimes explicitly has been named as such. In addition, Christian thinkers have practiced the discipline of philosophy in order to discern the structures of God-given reality (metaphysics, ethics, aesthetics) and in order to articulate biblical teaching on difficult topics (e.g. Trinity, Incarnation). Philosophers have provided us with categories that are profoundly helpful for Christian intellectual inquiry and for practical living. Therefore, as long as we practice philosophy as those with “faith seeking understanding”, we will find (Christian) philosophy to be a fruitful exercise. Thus, philosophy will always have an important role to play within the Christian faith.

However, philosophy cannot and does not stand on its own two feet. Or, to revisit the ecological analogy above, the “trunk” of philosophy is fed by the “roots” of faith. Ultimately philosophy is a function of existential and cultural realities, and at the heart of those realities is religion. The direction of one’s heart always is operative in the shaping of one’s philosophy. When we encounter non-Christian philosophies we can always note the idolatries operative in them, but interestingly it is exactly at the point of their idolatry that their most profound insights might be found (e.g. Freud’s insights on sex, Machiavelli’s on power, or Marx’s on money). The complex task of Christian philosophy is to appropriate those insights without at the same time downloading the idolatrous ideological environment in which they were conceived.

So for better or for worse, philosophy is a deeply religious exercise. Apart from Christ, it is an idolatrous exercise. But in the service of Christ’s kingdom, it is a valuable and fruitful discipline.

[1] I owe this point to Robert Royal’s review in First Things (November 1, 2012).

[2] I owe this analogy to Craig Bartholomew and Michael Goheen, Liberating Christian Philosophy (Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, forthcoming 2013), chs. 1-2.

[3] Bartholomew and Goheen, Liberating Christian Philosophy, ch. 1.

A Missiology for the Academy (2): Five Reasons the Universities Matter

1. The Universal Nature of Christ’s Lordship

Jesus Christ is Lord over the academy, just as he is Lord over everything else, and this Lordship is best understood in relation to three great truths. First, God created us as the type of beings who teach and learn. He endowed us with the spiritual, moral, rational, creative, relational, and physical capacities necessary for education. Repeatedly Scripture emphasizes teaching and learning (e.g., Deut. 6:4-6; Rom. 12:1-2; Eph. 4:11-12).

Second, academic activity is marked by a great antithesis. After the fall, humans have lived in the midst of a great struggle between the kingdom of light and the kingdom of darkness, between Christ and Satan, and between truth and error. These invisible realities, represented by certain principalities and powers, are manifested in visible, tangible cultural realities such as relativism in ethics, Darwinism in biology, or Marxism in economics. This great struggle between light and darkness cuts across the entire creation and every human culture. Christians should resist this comprehensive assault on our shared cultural life. We should fight it tooth and nail, not only from the pulpit, but also from the lectern.

Third, academic activity takes place within ordered realms which have their own creational design. Human cultures can be divided into a variety of realms—such as art, science, business, politics, and education—which have their own creational design and God-given integrity. These realms correspond to the various disciplines within the university. Because we live in a fallen world comprised of sinners, these academic disciplines (and their corresponding cultural counterparts) will be to some extent corrupted and directed toward wrong ends. In each academic discipline, we should ask three questions: What is God’s creational design for this realm? In what ways has this realm been corrupted and misdirected toward wrong ends? How can I bring healing to this realm by redirecting it toward God’s creational design in Christ? To the extent we engage our academic disciplines with those questions in mind, we glorify God and provide our neighbors a preview of God’s future rule over a renewed and restored creation.

In other words, academic activity should take place under the absolute Lordship of Christ. Christ is the creator and King over all things, and one day will restore all things. He is not merely the Lord over my quiet times; he is Lord over my work, my leisure, and my civil life. He is not merely sovereign over local church gatherings; he is the Lord over artistic, scientific, political, entrepreneurial, and scholarly endeavors. No piece of our (“secular”) life is to be sealed off from Christ’s lordship. Every square inch of it belongs to Christ and ought to be made to honor him. Missional Christians not only proclaim the gospel with words, they promote it in their academic and cultural lives.

2. The Powerful Influence of the University

In the United States and in many other countries, the university serves as the environment in which many or most of the country’s leaders are shaped. These future scientists, filmmakers, Supreme Court justices, journalists, and billionaire entrepreneurs often receive their most formative “worldview moments” as they are students on a college campus. In many countries, including our own, these 18-year-olds are taught by faculty members who seek consciously, carefully, and consistently to undermine everything that Christians hold true and dear.

3. The Readily Receptive Mind-Set of University Students

The third point overlaps with the second. Universities are full of students in their late teens and early twenties who are waiting to be instructed and inspired. Very likely, the path they choose in college is the path they’ll remain upon for the rest of their lives. Osama bin Laden embraced jihadism largely because he found himself mesmerized by Professor Abdullah Azzam when bin Laden was a young student at King Abdul Aziz University in Saudi Arabia. Friedrich Nietzsche forsook Christ during studies at the University of Bonn. Hundreds of thousands of students continue to reject Christianity, or never encounter the Christian faith, precisely because the professors who capture their imaginations and who shape their worldviews are unbelievers.

4. The Breadth of Christ’s Atonement

Evangelicals sometimes embrace a sort of reverse snobbery directed towards the cultural elite, especially against professors and students in Ivy League schools and top-tier major state institutions. Because we’re not included in their “club,” we say in effect “to hell with ‘em.” But Christ died on behalf of the cultural elite, just as he died for the middle and lower classes. In fact, when we take an anti-elitist mentality—and Baptists often have adopted this mentality—we’re being quintessentially American, but not quintessentially Christian.

5. The Danger of Split-Level Christianity

At the university, young impressionable students study under opinionated and brilliant professors. These professors shape their students’ worldviews in ways the students don’t even notice. Even if these students are believers, or if they later become believers, they may unconsciously hold a non-Christian worldview while at the same time professing Christ as Savior. When talking about “spiritual” matters, they will sound like Christians, but when talking about anything “cultural” they’ll likely sound like their professors. This sort of split-level Christianity is exactly what we must avoid. If Christ is Lord, then he is Lord over everything; he is not just Lord over our prayer time and church attendance, but also our university studies and future mobi