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A funny thing happened during the first few decades of the 20th century.
Christians began to think it was a good idea not to think.
This was a stunning development, especially since it’s easy to demonstrate that the edifice of Western civilization could never have been built apart from the rigorous scientific research and deep theological reflection that was done for centuries in God’s name.
But three radical thinkers from the 19th century put church leaders back on their heels: Karl Marx, Sigmund Freud, and Charles Darwin.
Marx declared that history has never been the story of a good and gracious God working out his plans for humanity. Instead, it’s a never-ending economic struggle between the Have’s and Have-Not’s – those who run the factories vs. those who work in them. Religion, he said, was just a way to pacify those who were losing the battle.
Freud announced that “God” was all in our minds. People who felt guilty and fearful about life had invented a Father in Heaven who would hear their prayers and dry their tears. Religion was for children. Grown-ups should bravely face their own problems.
Darwin proposed that you don’t need God to explain living things. Although he was initially open to the idea of a Creator, he ultimately concluded that chance, time, and molecules are the only ingredients required to produce giraffes, maple trees, and praying mantises.
It was a one-two-three punch.
Christians reeled. In surprisingly large numbers, they retreated from the public square.
Fearful that their children would drown in the ungodly tidal wave of Marxism, psychotherapy, and evolution, it became fashionable for conservative pastors and evangelists, especially after the 1925 Scopes “monkey trial” in Tennessee, to denounce science and higher education and hunker down in churches that began to feel like spiritual echo chambers.
If dependence on reason had led people to conclude that God is a failed hypothesis, then reason would have to take a back seat. It became cool not to think.
In the 1970’s, when a Christian group on a public university campus advertised an upcoming program, the poster said, Cost of Admission: Free. A detractor crossed out the word Free and wrote instead, Your Intellectual Integrity. In less than a century, “anti-intellectual” had become the same thing as “believing in God.”
Then another funny thing happened.
Two of those larger-than-life figures from the 19th century were widely discredited.
The disastrous Communist experiments in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe sent people running away from Karl Marx. And Freud’s favorite disciples (to his personal horror) abandoned many of his key ideas. Some of them openly embraced spirituality.
When it comes to Darwinism, followers of Jesus have finally begun to embrace the growing evidence that the discoveries of modern science and the truths of ancient Scripture are not at odds. The Book of Nature and Book of God are telling the same story.
The recovery of valuing intellectual integrity in the Christian West was led by two brilliant thinkers.
The British theologian C.S. Lewis, who at first identified himself as “the most reluctant convert in all of England,” opened minds and hearts by revealing the power of “mere” or ordinary Christianity. Francis Schaeffer, an American pastor, helped spiritual seekers find honest answers for honest questions.
Schaeffer, his wife Edith, and ultimately their three children accepted an unusual missionary assignment. They launched a one-of-a-kind Christian community in the Swiss Alps. L’Abri (which is French for “the shelter”) was comprised simply of their family home and a few neighboring chalets.
One by one, disillusioned students, skeptics, and intellectuals of the 1960s and 70s journeyed from Europe, America, and other parts of the world to the picturesque Alpine village of Huemoz.
There they found open hearts, generous hospitality, and a pastor who listened patiently to their questions and concerns.
Schaeffer – through his books, lectures, and countless hours of conversation – helped thousands of searchers discover that the foundations of Christianity were intellectually sound.
I was one of them.
By my third year of college, I felt desperately lost. During my teenage years I had embraced Darwinism. My dream was to become a writer like Isaac Asimov or Carl Sagan or Neil deGrasse Tyson – someone who would popularize the “good news” of modern science with the general public.
Then I met Christ. I had no idea how to meld my Darwinist worldview with the notion that an infinite-personal God actually ruled the cosmos.
The process of revising my assumptions about reality did not go smoothly. I was blessed to be part of a Christian campus ministry which significantly deepened my love of Scripture. But members of the group tended to dodge intellectual obstacles. “What you need, Glenn, is to have a more consistent quiet time with the Lord.”
There’s no doubt a more consistent quiet time was a need in my life. But it didn’t provide the answers to the questions that were driving me crazy.
When in the presence of other Christians, I clammed up. I hid my doubts. An entry level philosophy course made things worse. The professor casually pointed out that there’s really no way of knowing for sure that anything exists. Maybe reality is an illusion. Maybe I was sound asleep, merely dreaming that I was sitting in a classroom. I lost the joy of eating my favorite foods and spending time with friends and family.
I wondered if I was losing my mind. Mostly I wondered if I would ever feel happy again.
When I admitted my struggles to a trusted friend, he suggested I read a book by Francis Schaeffer. Ten pages in, I knew there was at least one other person in the world who knew what it was like to be a mixed-up college kid, and who wouldn’t judge me.
Just after my junior year, in the spring of 1974, I managed to secure a roundtrip ticket to Europe with a charter airline. The company actually went under while I was overseas, leaving thousands of ticket holders wondering how we would ever get back to the States. But that’s another story for another time.
Traveling alone, I figured out which trains and buses would take me to Huemoz, Switzerland. I arrived at one of the L’Abri chalets on a Sunday afternoon in the midst of fog and drizzle. No one knew I was coming. L’Abri always trusted that at the right time God would send the people who needed help the most.
I knocked on the door. One of Dr. Schaeffer’s associates smiled warmly at me. “You look as if you could use a good meal and a chance to rest,” he said. I’ll never forget the warmth of that welcome.
The following day, the fog cleared. Seemingly out of the blue, the Swiss Alps appeared.
In a much quieter fashion, the fog began to clear in my mind. What appeared was hope.
More than a half century later, I remain overwhelmingly grateful for the 100 days I got to be a student at L’Abri. Their honest answers for my honest questions laid the foundation for my ongoing life with God.
For many Bible readers, Proverbs 3:5 is a favorite verse: “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and don’t lean on your own understanding.” Is that the Bible’s way of saying, “Don’t think too much”?
Philosopher Dallas Willard wisely observed, “We have to get beyond those knee-jerk reactions that we’ve been saddled with by our history, and begin to understand that we can use understanding without leaning on it.
“[Proverbs 3:5] doesn’t say, ‘Don’t use your head.’ It doesn’t say, ‘Don’t think,’ or, ‘Reasoning is sinful.’ It says, “Don’t trust reason by itself.’ Trust God and use your head… We are to use everything we’ve got – our legs, our brains, everything – and present it all to God as a living sacrifice, and ask him to inhabit it and use it.”
It’s time to see those ancient partners, faith and reason, as the allies they have been for so many centuries.
At the very least, it’s time for us to think about it.