What Can We Learn From Francis Schaeffer?
By Ranald Macaulay
At the risk of oversimplification, Francis Schaeffer’s vision can be expressed in two fundamental concerns:
• True Truth
• True Spirituality
As a young man he came in contact with the Christian faith in an almost unique way. During his late teens he happened to be reading classical philosophy. This showed him (a) that he had found the field of interest in which he felt most at home, ideas; and (b) that philosophy had no answers despite the fact that it dealt with what he called later “the basic philosophic questions.” Plenty of questions, but no answers!
Then he found the Bible, or rather the Bible found him. He read alternately from the classical philosophers and from the Old Testament, with the latter steadily displacing the former as he went along. “Before I left Genesis 3,” he once told me, “I knew that this book had the answers to what the philosophers were asking.” Simply through his reading of Scripture, he was born again. No one on the outside was helping. “Before I reached the New Testament I was virtually a believer in Christ,” he said. It was a somewhat lonely experience, but it marked him forever: The Bible was sufficient in and of itself. Not surprisingly, his life began to move in an entirely different direction.
A Mind for Truth
From the very beginning, then, Schaeffer had a mind for what he called “True Truth.” He loved the Bible and its message of salvation first and foremost because it is “true.” It accurately reflects the reality within which all human beings find themselves and against which, ultimately, they cannot revolt -- try as they may.
The corollary of this was a sense of inescapable responsibility to unmask and challenge falsehood. Other religious and philosophical worldviews, he realized, are basically “lies” and/or distortions of the truth, as much in relation to the created order as in relation to God’s acts of salvation through history. So Schaeffer’s approach to “apologetics” was already “presuppositional” from the start. Begin with the Christian worldview and everything makes sense: Start elsewhere and nothing does.
Without recourse to Van Til or Kuyper or Dooyeweerd, Schaeffer had discovered the ground-motif of Scripture they shared, namely, the reformed perspective. He also agreed with their critique of “evidentialism” but carefully distinguished himself from them -- with Van Til certainly -- over the practical implications of this.
Human beings could be reasoned with and challenged intellectually, Schaeffer argued, not because they share a common presupposition with the Bible, because evidently they don't, but because they are unavoidably creatures of the one true God. Surrounded by evidences of God's creation and actions in the real world -- what he called the mannishness of man and the form of the universe -– they inevitably stand, therefore, simply through their ordinary experience as human beings (though inconsistently within their alternative intellectual frameworks) on common ground with the Bible.
Schaeffer’s experiences after moving to Europe in 1948 merely reinforced these passionately held convictions about the truthfulness of the Christian faith. The hollowness of life based on modernist presuppositions had already been expressed in the existentialist philosophy of men like Sartre and Camus, and their intellectual capitulation was quickly echoed and enlarged by the hippie revolution. Europe was never the same again.
In such a context, what Schaeffer found he could do, always with great sympathy and gentleness but penetratingly because of his acute intellectual gifts, was to apply these theological convictions to the “pulling down of strongholds” (2 Cor. 10:4). He relentlessly exposed the inadequacies of all non-biblical thinking and tried to lead men and women to Christ. Hence the only authentic description he ever used of himself -– not “philosopher” or “theologian” or “intellectual,” etc. -- but simply “evangelist”!
This was already strikingly different from the run-of-the-mill evangelicalism then current. But what made it truly outstanding was the fact that Schaeffer carried on this ministry within the context of a highly personal and non-exploitative environment -- the existence of L’Abri, a French word meaning “The Shelter.” At great personal cost to himself and his wife, and needless to say therefore to his family, a constant though limited stream of individuals made their way to their home in the Swiss Alps. This slowly developed into a larger community and study centre, the first of eight such L'Abris now scattered around the globe. (See www.labri.org.)
Hello Reality,
Goodbye Gimmicks
The reality behind this brings us to the second of Schaeffer’s prime convictions -- True Spirituality. For, in a sense, what happened to the Schaeffers in the second part of their life involved a type of “burial” along the lines of what Jesus said about the seed. If it is to bear real fruit it must fall into the ground and die (John 12). Something like this happened to them in their willingness to branch out into a completely different lifestyle under God’s supernatural leading. They deliberately turned from the organizational razzmatazz they had been accustomed to in the States and began to “live by faith,” making prayer the center of L’Abri’s “methodology,” not programs or advertising or gimmicks. Edith Schaeffer’s The L’Abri Story describes what happened, and certainly it too merits attention half a century later and stands for all time alongside the classics of missionary biography.
In hindsight, of course, one is able to see the extraordinary providence in all this. For what looked at the time bizarre and inefficient turned out to be just the sort of environment in which the pointlessness and inauthenticity of post-modern experience could best be challenged -- a family, a small community in which the individual is supremely valued. This dual thrust of Schaeffer’s work was necessary then and is all the more necessary now: Modernism needs to be challenged intellectually, and post-modernism needs to be shown something “real.” Schaeffer was able to combine both within L'Abri.
Hence the relevance of Schaeffer’s second abiding concern.
It was a theme he never tired of, and one could say it was the very air he breathed. God has called us, he would say, not to programs but to personal experience, not to the imitation of the mechanical, but to the imitation of Christ. Whatever sphere of life one is called to Christianity has to be a moment-by-moment experience of the Living Christ. Hence the importance for him of prayer, of being led by the Spirit, of knowing weakness because of sacrifice and frustration because of the severities of the battle.
Hailing the Prophet,
Ignoring the Lesson
What remains to be asked of course is how much this or any of Schaeffer's many concerns actually got across to the wider church? The answer to that question is complicated.
Many individuals were deeply affected by his message about True Spirituality, and their lives changed as a result. But in the United States at least, what attracted the majority were his ventures into the apologetic arena not his teaching on the Christian life. Undoubtedly he helped to strengthen the intellectual convictions of many throughout the variety of evangelical constituencies across the States. This in turn enabled a new level of engagement academically and politically, for all of which he deserves our thanks and respect to this day.
But the church at large, even as it eulogized him for these new contributions, even going so far as to hail him at times as a prophet, in fact ignored his emphasis on spirituality. So radical was it that it remained practically invisible and unintelligible.
In large measure this helps to explain why Schaeffer's later and much misunderstood emphasis on social concerns, particularly his passionate loathing of abortion, were less carefully applied and nuanced than he himself would have wanted. For example, he repeatedly warned against the dangers of “wrapping Christianity in the American flag” as he was wont to call it. But his warnings went unheeded and the result was that the larger community quickly identified him with what evangelicalism at large was doing and saying politically, dismissing him along with the rest as a right-wing fundamentalist, which he most certainly wasn't.
What he was doing, in fact, was applying another of his familiar dicta; “the Lordship of Christ over the whole of life.” Christianity, in other words, is not “churchianity” - worship, evangelism, prayer meetings, etc., good as these are -- but reality, hence requiring engagement within all arenas of public life, business, culture, education, philanthropy, sport, etc.
Schaeffer's acceptance in American evangelicalism was widespread and influential, though complicated, as we've said. When he insisted on the development and application of the Christian mind, he was well received and the church inestimably strengthened as a result. But things would have been better had his spiritual challenge been more widely understood.
Virus of Technique
Instead what I call “the virus of technique” continued to be the church's default mode across the board. Megachurches proliferated, marketing techniques were enthusiastically applied -- neither to the church's advantage as writers like David Wells, Os Guinness, and Craig Gay have well documented.
British evangelicalism, by contrast, managed to marginalize Schaeffer as quickly as possible. His biblical challenge to the idiosyncratic traditions of its varied constituencies was too threatening. Rather than let him prevail, they chose to ignore him: The scientists found fault with his insistence on a real Adam & Eve and an actual literal “fall”; the preachers didn't like his emphasis on discussion and persuasion -- it was too intellectual, not sufficiently spiritual; the medics took umbrage at his “hardline” position on abortion and infanticide; the pietists wondered what good could come out of “culture”; and the Anglicans, of course, disliked talk of “pure” and “impure” churches.
As a result Schaeffer is still a household name in Evangelical circles in the States while being almost unknown in the U.K. Despite this, his influence remains, much like C.S. Lewis’s. Schaeffer's books continue to sell widely, as do the documentaries he made on history and ethics, as do the writings of his wife, Edith, who is still alive.
Younger leaders in South America and Asia are discovering his prophetic insights and finding them just what they need at the start of the 21st century. In addition, L'Abri continues to exist and to flourish, though never, given its unusual calling, without difficulty and a certain “hiddenness.” That, too, testifies to what he achieved.
No greater testimony exists, however, concerning the reliability of his fundamental concerns, than his continuing relevance. This is the more remarkable given the phenomenal rate of change over the past half-century. The continuing “fragmentation,” as he called it, of western society in fact increases our respect. Did he not predict just this almost fifty years ago?
Like any biblical prophet, his message came in the starkest terms yet with profound sympathy and sincerity. Now we find ourselves living in the midst of what he portrayed. The more reason, then, to attend to what he said in the first place, especially in the area of his deepest concern, the actual moment-by-moment relationship with the Living Christ.
Would that he were still with us!
Related
“Francis Schaeffer: A Student’s Appreciation of a Distinct Approach,” by Rick Pearcey
The Complete Works of Francis A. Schaeffer, by Francis A. Schaeffer
How Should We Then Live? -- DVD
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Ranald Macaulay is coauthor of Being Human and now works with Christian Heritage Cambridge. For many years he was codirector of English L’Abri. This article is adapted from a talk given at the European Leadership Forum 2007 in Eger, Hungary, and published at the website of Christian Heritage Cambridge. Reprinted with permission. Copyright Ranald Macaulay.
