The Love of Learning
A pastor considers how Christians can steward their education, looking to C. S. Lewis and Teddy Roosevelt for guidance.
By Ryan Linkous
During my senior year of college, I had a conversation with a thoughtful friend about the role of expertise. I was studying biblical studies, Greek, and Hebrew; she, intercultural studies. As Helmut Thielicke wrote about in his A Little Exercise for Young Theologians, at the time I was experiencing a bit of frustration with many churches I had attended and how many churchgoers did not have high regard for trained biblical scholars. Whereas I would quickly defer to someone who studied English concerning matters of Shakespeare, few people felt much deference towards those who study the Bible academically and didn’t hesitate to challenge me on points where we disagreed. My years of studying the Bible in the original languages, reading monographs and journal articles, and writing essays did not matter if they had an English Bible and one resource they preferred no matter its rigor.
I acknowledge that unlike Shakespeare, whose work few people engage regularly and fewer have read in full, many people read their Bibles daily and have read the whole book through multiple times. Perhaps my frustration was more about those who don’t read their Bibles regularly yet still refuse to learn from people who do. While I was aware then of the temptation to share my knowledge arrogantly and uncharitably, I massively underestimated my own haughtiness and my propensity to wield my still-developing knowledge of Scripture and theology as a bludgeon against those with less theological education. My education didn’t make me more valuable, but didn’t it at least confer some measure of authority?
This struggle persisted as I attended seminary and had the privilege of teaching a senior adult Sunday school class. Most of my students had not been to college, and some had not even completed high school. But each student had been in that classroom every Sunday morning for three to four times the length of my life. As I taught these older saints outside of a formal academic environment, I continued to wrestle with the place of my education. Was it mere highfalutin knowledge, irrelevant to daily life? Or was there a forum where I might use the gifts God had given me?
The class certainly appreciated my education and were gracious in encouraging me as I ventured forth weekly from the seminary hall to the Sunday school room. Despite the differences in our age, education, and professions, we shared meals, prayers, and Christmas gifts en route to our sanctification. I watched them grow old as they watched me grow up. More than they needed to grow in their understanding of the chronology of 2 Samuel or Ancient Near Eastern geography, perhaps I needed to grow in humility, love, and skill.
Educated Christians should steward their learnedness without being arrogant, prideful, or patronizing.
Beyond the Bible and theology, how should Christians relate to one another in our various areas of academic expertise and specialization? It’s a question that those with and without college degrees need to ask. But those of us who have had the opportunity of pursuing higher education and have experienced the subsequent privilege it confers must examine this question for ourselves. The aim of this deliberation should not be for the sake of wresting more power for the educated, but so that educated Christians should steward their learnedness for love without being arrogant, prideful, or patronizing.
It is a pertinent issue. Even as the “Death of Expertise” has been discussed and bemoaned, the last two years have heightened the importance of this topic. As the COVID pandemic hit, public health professionals became more visible and more derided than ever. Any misjudgments or errors made were not forgiven but viewed by many Americans as evidence that the whole profession was illegitimate. Armchair epidemiologists cast doubts upon the recommendations of these public servants. Politicians and pundits did little to tamp down flames of misinformation and seized upon the chaos to sow division and capitalize upon the ever-widening rifts in our society. This crisis is not merely cultural; it is epistemological. And it’s a crisis to which the church is certainly not immune.
At this point, there are two temptations which the educated Christian must avoid. One is to sever filial connections with those who frustrate us by their unwillingness to learn and trust what we have sacrificed to learn. To view others who disagree with us as irrational and incorrigible. To subtly or not-so-subtly scorn the decisions, educations, and cultural preferences of those who have never wandered through a respected university’s Humanities department. Rather than embrace the challenging aspects of what relationships ask of us, we decide to narrow our interlocutors to those who already agree with and respect us.
The other temptation is to withdraw from the entire public enterprise, to interpret the apostle Paul’s admonition “to aspire to live quietly, and to mind your own affairs” (1 Thess. 4:11) as a justification to take care of only ourselves, hovering independently above the chaos and injustice in the world. Education has become a ticket for us to earn a nice income and a quiet, suburban life. This was one of Martin Luther King Jr.’s frustrations with white moderates in his “Letter from a Birmingham Jail.” So long as negative peace—the absence of tension—pervaded their individual experience, the pursuit of a positive peace—the presence of justice—seemed unnecessary.
Those who indulge these temptations continue to draw themselves into silos, further solidifying the impression and reifying the reality that educated people are disconnected from the public. The absence of communication will be interpreted as an absence of love. This is the danger the apostle Paul warns of when he says, “knowledge puffs up, but love builds up” (1 Cor. 8:1).
God grants the learner the ability to see beyond the horizon of her own experience into history, literature, philosophy, art, statistics, the sciences, or theology. This privilege means she has an obligation to deploy this learning in the service of others.
So how can we use our knowledge to love and build without becoming selfish or arrogant? Beyond avoiding these temptations, we should think of the purpose and teleology of our education. In his lecture “Learning in War-Time,” delivered in October 1939 one month after the United Kingdom declared war on Nazi Germany, C. S. Lewis addresses young Oxford students concerning the importance of their studies even as their nation enters the war. Although it may seem irresponsible, pointless, or unpatriotic, Lewis contends that the pursuit of knowledge and culture has always occurred during precarious circumstances.
Indeed, he argues, the pursuit of education is a vocation unto itself: “If our parents have sent us to Oxford, if our country allows us to remain there, this is prima facie evidence that the life which we, at any rate, can best lead to the glory of God as present is the learned life.” Receiving this gift from God, “[w]e can therefore pursue knowledge as such and beauty as such, in the sure confidence that by so doing we are either advancing to the vision of God ourselves or indirectly helping others to do so.”
Our education ideally will equip us to better fulfill the Great Commandment to love God and love neighbor. A lack of education does not mean one cannot fulfill these tasks, but the possession of education adds obligations to the learned. “To whom much is given, much will be required” (Luke 12:48). By receiving education, God grants the learner the ability to see beyond the horizon of her own experience into history, literature, philosophy, art, statistics, the sciences, or theology. This privilege means she has an obligation to deploy this learning in the service of others.
Lewis states, “We are members of one body, but differentiated members, each with his own vocations.” Whether you end up in medicine, web development, or supply-chain management, you can and should contribute to the flourishing of your community. Stay-at-home parents, baristas, bankers, and teachers all serve integral roles as informational, economic, and relational hubs whose actions during and after paid-working hours enable them to shape the communal life of their locales. They bring their variegated, specialized knowledge to hundreds of conversations, creating as many opportunities to have brief, serendipitous interactions or long-term, strategic discussions about things that matter and use their skills to their neighbors’ advantage.
As pastor, I’m persuaded that the church is also vital for a healthy community. Yet I understand that the church functions as just one thread in the fabric of a community. In addition to this Lewis says, “[A] cultural life will exist outside the Church whether it exists inside or not…Good philosophy must exist, if for no other reason, because bad philosophy needs to be answered.” This includes bad philosophy in our communities. No one comes before us as a blank slate. They have received a message – whether true or false – from somewhere, and we need to address the ideas, especially false ones which lead to harm. As an act of love we can choose to engage and build a culture of human flourishing for God’s glory. But only if we show up.
The educated person must offer intelligent, fearless criticism of public figures, movements, and ideas.
The responsibility of educated citizens is expounded on by eventual United States president Theodore Roosevelt in a 1894 article in The Atlantic entitled, “The College Graduate and Public Life.” Noticing that more educated men are starting to rise up and engage in public life, Roosevelt states, “It is proper to demand more from the man with exceptional advantages than from the man without them.” And yet while he is very certain of this obligation, he wants his audience to steer clear of patronizing attitudes, saying, “Their education gives them no right to feel the least superiority over any of their fellow citizens.”
This moral obligation is laid upon the educated rather than simply those of wealth or means because money does not confer moral authority, and often makes a fool of those who believe it does. Roosevelt is particularly concerned with involvement in politics, although his insights extend beyond this discipline. He asserts,
the man of business and the man of science, the doctor of divinity and the doctor of law, the architect, the engineer, and the writer, all alike owe a positive duty to the community, the neglect of such they cannot excuse on any plea of their private affairs. They are bound to follow the course of public events; they are bound to try to estimate and form judgment upon public men; and they are bound to act intelligently and effectively in support of the principles which they deem to be right and for the best interests of the country.
As one fulfills the obligation to engage in the public, she realizes that she starts with no advantage; someone without any education but with much natural capacity might surpass her, and that’s okay. As Roosevelt notes, “[T]he educated man must realize that he is living in a democracy and under democratic conditions, and that he is entitled to no more respect and consideration than he can win by actual performance.” Mississippi Civil Rights activist Fannie Lou Hamer had to leave school after sixth grade, but she made an impact for voter rights nationally, eventually speaking at the 1964 Democratic National Convention and traveling around to universities such as Harvard to give speeches. Roosevelt’s point isn’t that the Fannie Lou Hamers of the world are out of line, but if someone like Hamer can succeed and lead without the benefit of a formal education, how much more incumbent is it upon those who have received an education to give public engagement the old college try?
While it will never supplant the need for constructive actions, Roosevelt suggests that the educated person must offer intelligent, fearless criticism of public figures, movements, and ideas. This is especially true because “[c]riticism which is ignorant or prejudiced is a source of great harm to the nation.” It was true in 1894 during the heyday of yellow journalism, and it remains true today. In the age of the internet, bombastic voices have endless outlets where they might publish shoddy or unsubstantiated accusations. It takes only one match to light a powder keg and kick up a social media firestorm. To this conundrum, Roosevelt would encourage educated citizens to exercise both restraint and discernment in the face of incessant salacious headlines and clickbait.
In a constantly changing world and media landscape, the educated adult “is particularly bound to keep a high ideal and to be true to it; but he must work in practical ways to try to realize this ideal, and must not refuse to do anything because he cannot get everything.” Politics inevitably means compromise. But we Christians must ensure that we don’t gain the world and lose our souls as we endeavor to follow Jesus in private and in public, with people of all backgrounds. As a discipline, constantly reading and rereading the biblical text helps us to course correct and not to weary as we know that “he who promised is faithful” (1 Thess. 5:24). Jesus himself reminds us what the kingdom of God looks like even though we will never see it fully realized in this lifetime. We press on.
Viewing our education as a privilege and a stewardship from God, we must exercise our knowledge with faith, hope, and love.
Educated Christians should steward their knowledge in society and in the church. Viewing our education as a privilege and a stewardship from God, we must exercise our knowledge with faith, hope, and love. Because we live in hope, we should not sever ourselves from any person or group of people who seem not to care much for our education. We are called to love God with all of our minds and our neighbor as ourselves (Matt. 22:36-39). And even if it seems like many will not respect us or heed our counsel, we render our gifts to God in faith and prayer, trusting that he will accomplish his purposes through his Word and Spirit.
Jesus Christ is the one in whom are hidden all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge (Col 2:3). He who is “the truth” (John 14:6) said, “You will know the truth and the truth shall set you free” (John 8:32). Our faith in Christ compels us to engage our communities even if the subject of our expertise isn’t primarily a theological discipline. We all should model our lives on Jesus’s own divine condescension by humbling himself to the level of those he came to save and even lower. Such humility is not easy, especially the longer and costlier your journey for training. Yet Jesus calls each of us to deny ourselves, to take up our own cross and follow him (Matt. 16:24).
But how do we do this? First, we need to exercise the virtues of love, patience, and humility. Any parent knows that truth shared in anger has a near guarantee to land the wrong way. If those with whom we wish to share our knowledge sense that we do not love them, our words will be like noisy gongs and clanging symbols (1 Cor. 13:1). Even a whiff of condescension in our presentation will certainly lose our audience. We must remember that those without academic training in our fields of expertise are not necessarily incapable of learning; they are usually trained in other things. They may in fact be incredibly gifted people from whom we need to receive instruction.
Second, any good teacher must account for what their students know, not simply what they ought to know. Few things are as infuriating as receiving criticism and rebuke for violating a rule we did not know existed. It takes time and acclimation to understand many things in the world. It took me nearly four years of attending a church which emphasized social and racial justice every week before the importance of personally pursuing justice in my own life started to click for me. Yet then I hoped everyone else I knew would get on board after one ten-minute conversation with me. Figure out the starting point of your student and calculate the route you need to take to bring them along, even if that route is long and winding.
Third, we must promote understanding in a world awash in content. Whenever online content creation delivers an endless supply of vapid information or bad actors proliferate falsehoods, educated Christians should lovingly and patiently speak to other Christians and the world in a way that respects truth. We should be on the hunt for and share resources—blogs, podcasts, articles, etc.—that succinctly and skillfully communicate ideas with nuance and charity.
Finally, we must write popular-level works and appreciate clear communication from popular-level writers who serve the transmission of ideas from the academy to the world. C. S. Lewis is a remarkable model of someone who was embedded in the highest rung of the academy but who also cared about public thought and labored to communicate in understandable yet profound ways to the everyman. These writings didn’t earn him accolades at Oxford, but we’re still reading him decades after his death. My former church secretary—an intelligent woman in her sixties without academic credentials—shared with me how much A Grief Observed helped her after the passing of her mother. The longer one spends in the academy, the more difficult popular communication is likely to become. But rubbing shoulders and conversing with people from all walks of life—at the store, at church, at the car shop—will help us understand the cares and burdens of people beyond the campus library. You’ll come to discover that your neighbor who has never even heard of Walt Whitman also contains multitudes.
As we reflect upon our lives, we must consider which encounters shaped who we became and who we are becoming. How did we get here? We are transformed through people who loved us—teachers, friends, colleagues, family, pastors, and church members who showed us forbearance and grace when we uttered something preposterous or even insulting. There are times for swift rebuke, but also times to redirect others toward higher goods and especially the highest good. As we pursue the more excellent way, let us consider how we can use our knowledge to continue to build up one another in love. Regardless of what credentials you’ve earned, how many books you’ve read, or what letters follow your name, you’ll discover that love alone is credible.
Ryan Linkous pastors a Baptist church in Nashville, Tennessee where he lives with his wife and two sons. He received a Master of Divinity from Beeson Divinity School.