From GED to PhD . . . Sort of

Some people already know the following story I am going to tell; others do not. I share in the interest of transparency, the hope that someone may proactively learn a lesson, and the prayer that someone who was or is in a similar situation may be encouraged and exhorted.

I never finished high school. That is, not in terms of graduation. In my senior year of high school, in the late winter-early spring, I finally realized that there was no way I was going to graduate without coming back another year. That was not something I was willing to do. I had gotten myself in that situation mostly by being lazy and disorganized; I had developed bad habits that were not going to be easy to break. So I left. I took the GED test, passed it, and figured I’d go on to college, where all my problems would be solved.

Some of you likely smirked, because you can see where this is going. The habits I had developed were not helpful, and not easy to get rid of—not that I tried very hard. I skipped classes, didn’t do homework, and generally did not study for tests or quizzes. It was a minor miracle I managed to pass my classes that first semester. But I didn’t pass all my classes that second semester, and each semester seemed to be just as bad as the one before it.

Finally, I came to the place where I realized I had to either get serious about school or simply quit. I realized I had spent too much time and too much money to walk away with nothing. So, while the road from there was hardly smooth, I determined to finish. And eventually, I managed to turn four academic years into six (seven and a half years of actual time), but I finally graduated. The habits I developed beforehand were laziness, procrastination, self-serving behaviors, and quitting. These habits are not easy to break, and I still deal with repercussions from these attitudes even now. The point of the story is this: yes, you can go from high-school dropout to PhD student. But the only reason I got there is God’s work in my life, and even then only after a lot of pain. I still have to learn most, if not nearly all, of my lessons the hard way. Don’t be the same (and I pray I won’t be going forward, as well!).

Advice about the PhD

This post will both talk about what I am doing now and what lessons I learned (positive and negative) in applying to PhD programs. First, I have been accepted into (and in turn I have accepted) the PhD philosophy program at the University of Birmingham (UK). It’s an excellent program in which I will be in the UK for two weeks at a time, once per year. The British model of the PhD is one in which you do not take courses (this is due to particulars of the British education system going back to their high school curriculum), but rather write up a dissertation. I am beginning this program under the supervision of Yujin Nagasawa, starting this September, and I am very excited! My purpose in getting this PhD is to be able to work within the professoriate, where I will try to be a professor on mission, engaging the culture around me and attempting to shape its future for Christ. If you are interested in supporting me in prayer or financially, please follow this link.

What follows is a hodgepodge of lessons I’ve learned, in no particular order; please don’t use only me as a resource in applying for PhD programs.

1.     Apply early

This almost cannot be overemphasized. Because I was quite busy during application season, I honestly didn’t really begin applying at most programs until the week after Christmas. This was a mistake, for two reasons: a) several programs either had their deadlines quickly approaching (by Jan. 1), or else already passed (ahem, Indiana); and b) some schools had financial aid opportunities or partnerships that had deadlines pass, some as early as the end of September! My failure to move quickly may have cost me a place at one of these schools, or financial aid.

2.     Don’t swing for the fences too much

Here’s what I mean by that. I applied to eleven programs, eight of which rejected me. However, these were programs such as FSU, Virginia, Texas A&M, Baylor, and Oklahoma. These kinds of programs often receive record numbers of applications (sometimes over 250!), and often have anywhere from 4-8 spaces available. I’ve often heard that virtually nothing separates the top 20 or so applicants in these situations; it’s a virtual lottery. Perhaps I should have played the lottery a little less often, and went for an “easier” fully funded program. It’s not all luck, however…

3.     Be sure the program is a good fit

By this I mean a couple of different things. First, be sure the program is known for your preferred area of specialization (AOS) within philosophy. If you are really into the philosophy of art, but the school doesn’t talk about that being one of their strengths, that may be a sign the school isn’t a good fit for you. Second, you’ll want to peruse the faculty page to see if there are any professors whose AOS matches yours. If you haven’t already, try to read and become familiar with these professors and their work. Then, politely contact them via their preferred method (often email), referencing their work and your interest in it. Further, in a few succinct sentences, describe the direction of your research (in terms of dissertation, if you have it) or the specific questions you are currently interested in, and ask the professor if he thinks this might be interesting, or if you should apply, etc. Be sure to thank him for even reading your email. Preserve all email etiquette! This all assumes you find a prof with a match. When you do not contact a professor (which I did not do for some schools, since I had so little time), you really don’t know if you’re a match for the school. The hard truth is that if there is not a prof willing to work with you on your questions/project, then you will be rejected. This is especially true in British programs, where your entire application rises and falls, more or less, on whether there is a prof willing to work with you. It is telling that of the three acceptances I received, I had contacted and received some form of feedback from three professors.

4.     Be sure you’re OK with the location

This is a bigger deal than you might think. This is where you’re going to be spending 3-7 years of your life, depending on your situation and school. That’s a long time to be in a miserable location you hate. Your home (both town and place in which you live) needs to be a somewhat safe space for you to relax. If you’re bored to death or stressed out, that’s not going to help you complete your program and be healthy. One school to which I applied, had I been accepted (I wasn’t, so there’s that), would have required a significant adjustment in what I was used to. In some cases, that can be easy to accept; in others, it can be intolerable. With one of my other acceptances, I would have needed to move to the UK full-time. While I would love to do that, I have a family, and I would have needed to be sure they could handle the situation (they probably could). For two concrete examples, being in the middle of Manhattan for some people could be stress-torture, while living in a tiny college town with nothing for miles can give people a cabin fever. The key is to know your location, know yourself (and any family), and be honest about these prospects. If possible, visit the campus and check out area activities. I myself went to the UK this time last summer, and took a train to Birmingham one of those days (that part of the trip didn’t go well for a variety of interesting reasons, but at least I went!).

5.     Know your end goal

Part of what can help you make your decision is knowing what you want to do with your PhD. Overwhelmingly, people who get PhDs in the humanities want to teach. There’s nothing wrong with that; I certainly do! However, it does not always have to be that. You could be in a thinktank, or a consultant, or work for an academic publishing house, or any number of things! Although you cannot guarantee the future, it’s wise to work toward your end goal. For instance, I decided I wanted to be able to work in either a secular or a Christian collegiate environment. Unfortunately, I cannot do that with a PhD from a Christian school or seminary. Further, there are some American schools that don’t like to hire from British schools, either. Nonetheless, I would be comfortable at either type of school with respect to teaching, so I followed Birmingham’s offer. Just know what you’re getting into. There is not much worse in this area than getting a degree only to find out it’s worthless with respect to what you want to do!

6.     Count the cost

This cost-counting is in terms of time, money, and job prospects. We’ve already spoken a little about job prospects, but I should be honest here: if the sole or overwhelming reason you’re considering a PhD is a full-time, tenure-track position at a major research university, you should not do a PhD. Much like getting into the “best” PhD programs, these positions are a lottery amongst even the top candidates. I myself had to disabuse myself of this notion. I am pursuing a PhD because I believe that is what God would have me to do; I want a full-time position, but even if I do get one, it likely will not be tenured, may not be permanent, or may be in a context I didn’t envision. You may have to be willing to go international (I am, at least in principle!), or be willing to look outside of the university (other academic jobs, like publishing, for example). The point here is know that job prospects in the humanities for the dream job are dim. Be sure you understand that and can live with it.

I mentioned time as well earlier. You will likely lose 3-7 years’ worth of job experience (you likely will not have a career-style full-time job during this time) and earnings. Beyond that, you will be making a major investment whose final emotional payout won’t occur for years. Think about that for a minute. Can you go years in delayed gratification for this? Or are you likely to become very frustrated and mentally exhausted, in an unhealthy place? Don’t gloss over this question.

Finally, count the cost in terms of money. Most reputable American programs in the humanities offer full tuition remission and a stipend in exchange for TA-ing and eventually teaching undergraduate intro courses. With few exceptions, if it is an American program that doesn’t offer this, watch out.[1] However, many stipends are very low—some as low as $12,000. If you get involved with this, you need to do a thorough inventory of what this school is going to cost you and for how long. How much will you need to live there? How much will you take home? Are there fees to pay? If single, will finding roommates be easy? How much am I willing to take out in loans? This final question is huge. Student loan debt does not go away, and it’s worth it to evaluate carefully how much total debt of all kinds you have currently before answering that question.

I myself am trying a combination of my own personal funds (jobs), student loans, and fundraising to finance my PhD. We had to set a limit on what we wanted to take out in loans total. Most of all, in this area, be honest with yourself: you’re not going to buy dollar meals in boxes for five years. Having realistic numbers helps paint a picture to help you decide what to do.

7.     Speak to current students

I only did this a few times, and I wish I had done more. Why? First, because if you get in, these are the students who will become your colleagues. What are they like? Are they interested in the same AOS as you? Are they believers also? Second, because current students rarely put on a show. They’re not trying to sell you on the school. They’ll let you know the good, the bad, and the ugly. How long it really takes to get through, whether or not you can work an outside job, how accessible the profs are as supervisors, any nightmare stories, and any positive stories as well. If a student wants to warn me against going to a school for some reason, I am very likely to take it seriously. On the other hand, if a student goes out of her way to tell me her supervisor is excellent and should be considered, I am very likely to respond favorably to that as well.

8.     Know there are biases, Part 1 (Academic Background)

Unfortunately, there are definitely biases that admissions committees have. Your school could have the best accreditation and be well known in your subfield of philosophy. If the admissions committee doesn’t like it, though, it won’t matter. Here’s what I mean: there are some schools that, if you attended any school with the word “seminary” in its name, will not give you the time of day. This is not necessarily an unfounded bias, and isn’t necessarily malicious. I finally asked one school to which I was going to apply if having a philosophy degree from a seminary ruled me out of the PhD program: short story was, yes, it did. I appreciated their candor, and it saved me some time. It did make me wonder, however, if I should have found a tactful way to ask each school before I applied, and see which ones responded that there was such a bias. Bottom line: if you went to a seminary for your qualifying degree, and you want to apply to a secular school, it’s worth asking. You may receive a response ranging from “it doesn’t matter” to “you won’t be admitted here” to “you would need to do a secular master’s first.” Again, it’s just worth knowing before you dive in.

9.     Know there are biases, Part 2 (AOS)

Another mistake I made concerns the AOS. I went into it believing it should be philosophy of religion. I applied the advice given in (3), and searched. If a school had neither the strength of philosophy of religion nor a philosophy of religion professor, I just didn’t apply. Now, what I didn’t quite realize was that philosophy of religion, as an AOS, is extremely minor. That is, it doesn’t tend to get you admitted or to get you jobs. It’s best to pick one of the four major branches of philosophy (metaphysics, epistemology, logic, ethics), or a popular or major area of focus that the school is involved in (such as philosophy of science or philosophy of math). I may have unwittingly eliminated myself from schools I should not have, either by listing philosophy of religion as my AOS or by not applying because I assumed that would be. I have an MA in that area. Thus, I believe I have the strength to have that be a second AOS, while focusing on metaphysics as my primary AOS.

10.  Follow up, but don’t be annoying

Often, schools will tell you around the time you should be receiving notification (but not always). I was fortunate, in that most schools informed us around the timeframe they said they would. Do not contact the school to check on your status before the time they have given you. They are extremely busy, and it’s the academic equivalent of “Are we there yet?” However, if the school has not given you either a date or a timeframe, it’s completely acceptable to call (trust me, email can take days or even a week to be returned) and speak with someone about it. If you’re polite, and thank them for taking the time to help you, they will usually be happy to give you something.

However, some schools just keep telling you that it will be a few more weeks, and when that happens, there is still no decision. I had two such situations out of eleven, and my only advice is to be polite, patient, and persistent. Don’t be annoying, but an occasional email mentioning that you’re “just checking in to see if there has been any decision) is OK—when the timeframe the school has given you has passed. It is OK to let them know that you have other decisions riding on theirs; if they tell you, however, that it will be another week, then give them another week.

Have any other questions about my experience? Have any comments or stories you’d like to share? Do so in the comments below!

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[1] I give an exception for my own Southeastern Baptist Theological Seminary and others like it. This is because their programs are designed to allow you to remain in your context, and thus you can work a full-time job to support your family.

Passing on Our Implicit Principles to the Next Generation

The birth of my son grows closer each and every day, and we are growing more excited. Despite all of the excitement, however, I do have genuine concerns. Among them is the concern that I will not be able to teach my son the appropriate principles and reasoning skills he will undoubtedly need in the ever-changing world. What I mean by that is this: it is very easy to teach someone what you believe, but very hard to prevent them from taking that and running off in a completely unintended direction. Sometimes that unintended direction is great: it provides new insights and fresh thinking. Other times, that direction is horrible, and results in apostasy, or immorality, or cruelty, or shameful acts.

What makes the difference? I have heard it often said that a teacher’s students will take writings and teachings much farther than they were ever meant to go. But how does such a thing happen? It seems to me that what is often simply assumed, instead of taught and argued for, are the background assumptions and principles. We may think we are teaching some particular principle, when in fact our children and students hear something completely different.

Here is a concrete example: Christian young people often see homosexual actions and marriage in at least a permissible light (if not a promotional one!), and many adults are absolutely baffled as to where they have gone wrong. Many have called for stronger doctrinal teaching, stronger hermeneutics, stronger ethics, and more. And to a certain degree, all of this would be quite helpful. But I can’t help but notice particular background assumptions that they either have absorbed from the current culture or else derived on their own from the Christian teachings they have heard. “Love one another!” they will say. “Doesn’t this mean that love is good? Who are we to judge? Let them love one another!” They often thus see prohibitions against homosexual behavior as prejudiced as efforts to subjugate black people in America.

And yet I wonder where they would be if the background assumptions never made explicit were taught to them. Namely, some of these principles are: marriage has a particular essence, and is not a “nothing-but” legal contract; God created the biological sexes to function in particular ways; that love, justice, and moral values are all intertwined, not at odds, and thus following God’s moral laws are inherently loving, while violating them is inherently unloving. Many more could be stated.

These background assumptions are strongly tied to worldview. Worldview studies strongly suggest that worldviews, at least initially, are absorbed, and they are done so through culture and immediate influences. This is why parents cannot simply sit back and not teach their children anything. It is not simply that it should not be done; it is that it cannot be avoided. Our children will learn something from us; what will it be?

I suspect one of the main reasons these presuppositions were taken for granted is that they themselves were often inherited by the parents. They assumed it would pass on; but when culture changes, many of the old assumptions do not transfer to the next generation. That can be good or bad. The good news is that worldviews can be changed; assumptions can be challenged. Nonetheless, we are now in a culture that has their own largely unexamined worldview assumptions, and sadly, many times they are not up for debate (e.g., approximately 99% of abortion debates talk past each other. I mean, seriously: if you know a pro-life person opposes abortion because they think it is murder, why in the world would you counter with, “A woman has the right over her own body!”? Unless they have a background assumption that murder is permissible in these cases, they should instead focus on arguments that address the belief that abortion is murder.).

This is where we need good apologetics, theology, and philosophy. And above all that, we need godly wisdom.

A Critique of "Why I Reject Molinism"

When I want to view a critique of Molinism and give it a critique itself, it’s often very difficult for me not to analyze and critique the entire piece, bit-by-bit. However, for this particular piece about rejecting Molinism, I will try to restrain myself. I hope this critique comes off as loving a fellow brother, and not too adversarial.

While there are a couple of questionable statements/claims made in the first paragraph, I will move on to his actual discussion on Molinism. He lays out the three logical moments, but I can’t help but notice his discussion on natural knowledge is incorrect. He writes of the content of natural knowledge: “facts that are simply true, like 2+2=4.” But this is not quite right. They’re not “simply” true: they’re necessarily true. It’s also vitally important to note that two of the three logical moments are utilized by every scholarly faction from the Aquinas-era onward (natural and free) and are largely non-controversial. It was only middle knowledge that served a controversy. Thus, in rejecting natural knowledge (if that crops up again) one is only rejecting Molinism insofar as one is rejecting, well, virtually everyone but William of Ockham.

Another potential issue—and this is one that many lay-Molinists have not done a good job on—is that there isn’t, at this juncture, any discussion on why it is called “natural knowledge.” It’s called natural knowledge because it relates to what is known in God’s nature itself. Many theologians and most Molinists take this to mean that God’s nature is the ground of or is the content of these truths (which include truths of objective moral values, mathematical truths, and other necessary truths, including all possibilities, since whatever is possible is necessarily possible). This may become vitally important later on.

He then lists middle knowledge and says a discussion shall be had on it later, and does not offer anything on free knowledge at this point. While giving a slightly malformed first definition of middle knowledge, he does get the second one right by discussing God’s knowledge of what anyone would do if they were placed into a set of circumstances. There is, however, a bit of ambiguity in his initial summary statement. “And God didn’t get to decide these things.” Which things? The truth-values of counterfactuals of creaturely freedom (hereafter CCFs)? The Molinist will agree. Whether or not a world obtains where some specific CCFs come into play? The Molinist will disagree. It is up to God which world is actual.

In his first passing critique of Molinism, he overstates his case a bit. I think this is plausibly more due to careless wording than an actual implication he was trying to make. He said that if one gives forth “enough mental effort,” then one will see Molinism is self-contradictory. But that’s plainly false: plenty of people have put in vast amounts of mental effort, and they’re not lacking in intellectual ability. So the best of what he could mean is that some people believe Molinism is self-contradictory, and he offers no reasons why.

It turns out that the natural knowledge critique comes back after all, when the author insists that there are facts that are “simply true” and God has nothing to do with them. But we’ve already seen that’s just a misunderstanding of Molinism, probably due to unfamiliarity with more academic sources. However, another problem that plagues this critique is that it seems to import notions into theological terms that many Christians may not agree with. For example, by “coming from God,” and “sovereignty,” he seems to mean something like “God’s will.” Thus, if there are things that are not up to God’s will, then it is outside of his sovereignty, and thus is denying God’s sovereignty. If this is not what is meant, it’s just not clear what the critique is supposed to be.

However, this is a misunderstanding of his own tradition (assuming he is either Calvinist or otherwise Reformed), as well as most Christian thought. Christians have not generally supposed, nor argued, that God should do the logically impossible; that is, logical “limits” have not traditionally actually been considered limits. In fact, as was mentioned, if God’s nature is identified with logic, it’s just consistent with the Biblical witness: it explains why God cannot lie, why he cannot deny himself, etc. If one wants to say God could create his own nature, we’ll be talking gibberish before the end of the first paragraph (since in order to create his own nature, he must first have the ability to create his own nature, which property will itself be part of his own nature). So it is, I take it, almost obvious that logical “limits” are really just God being who he is, and none other.

Now let’s apply this to discussions on CCFs. Who actually gives man libertarian freedom, on Molinism? God did. He sovereignly chose to give man his freedom. Why can God not do that, again? Next, we must consider the truths of CCFs. Consider worlds W and W-1, where Randy exists in a particular set of circumstances in both. Now it is either true or false that, if Randy were in those circumstances, then he would either freely do X or not do X. Suppose that Randy would not freely do X in W-1, and further suppose God wants Randy to do X in precisely those exact same set of circumstances. Well, God could force Randy to do X in exactly those circumstances. Or he could allow Randy to act freely, and Randy won’t do it (or he could alter the circumstances if relevant CCFs are true such that he could accomplish the goal of Randy doing X, but that’s not germane to this particular point). But notice what logic tells us cannot be the case: God cannot both bring about that exact set of circumstances and have Randy act freely and get world W. What he will get is—again, by logic—world W-1. This is huge, for it is clear there is no non-logical limit, and thus is just an expression of who God is, not a factor against him.

His next critique is that Molinism’s discussion of soteriology (which is really just William Lane Craig appropriating Molinism, but whatever) is impossible to reconcile with Isaiah 46:9-10, which states that God is declaring the end from the beginning. But why does he say this? He says the Bible does not portray God as knowing things. Surely he is mistaken here. However, I think we can be more charitable on a second glance: he probably means God is not portrayed as merely knowing, or being completely passive in the events of the world. And a Molinist can easily agree. Remember free knowledge? It’s knowledge of how God has ordered the world, based on his free choice (hence the name). Truths of natural and middle knowledge help inform what worlds are feasibly instantiated, and God freely chooses the world. But what is this world? Well, it’s a maximal set of circumstances: or, in other words, it declares, from the beginning to the end, precisely what will be the case. It is God’s purposing that every proposition in such a world be true, and will come to pass. And the Molinist can easily say “this is what Molinism teaches.” So what’s supposed to be the problem? He doesn’t say, and while I have my speculations on what philosophical ideas he has likely imported into his hermeneutic, I figure I’ll remain silent for now.

Another critique I have, and I hope he takes this well, is that he uses rhetoric that is not claimed by the Molinist. For example, he suggests Molinists believe God is “not up to snuff,” but no Molinist thinks that. Now an anti-Molinist may think that, because it denies God’s sovereignty, but this is precisely the point they are supposed to be proving by making this statement. Thus, it serves as a piece of rhetoric only.

In his second major critique, he claims Molinism views God and man as “autonomous” (able to make unconstrained choices). This, however, is wholly inconsistent with his earlier discussion that Molinism teaches that God is constrained. So which one is it? Will he abandon his earlier critique, or this one? Surely, if Molinists think that God is constrained, then so much the more for man. What he might mean, however, is “uncaused” choices. He then claims, however, that salvation is thereby “reduced” to a person’s response. But this conclusion doesn’t follow from any of the premises; there’s just no reduction. Why would it follow from libertarian freedom that salvation doesn’t entail Christ’s atoning work on the cross, or prevenient grace, or corporate or individual election, etc.? He doesn’t say.

However, there is another interpretation: he just meant that the idea of man having faith unto salvation is actually God having faith for them. He cites Ephesians 2:8, but he has an implicit understanding of that verse that is highly controversial, to say the least. Essentially, when it says “this is not of yourselves,” he is taking it to mean the faith of the person is not of yourselves. Many see “this” as referring to “saved;” this being saved is not of yourselves. Interestingly, he did not quote verse 9, which says “not of works, lest any man should boast.” This is interesting because everywhere, when the New Testament refers to justifying, converting faith, it contrasts it with works (James is not an exception—see how he is understanding “justified”). Thus, it is the issue of salvation and grace that fits the context. Thus, if faith is not a work, and we are exhorted to have justifying faith (numerous examples abound), then it is a purely theological import into the text to argue that faith must be from God.

His remark about God’s success with respect to those he wants to have saved is truly odd in light of the verse he chose. Philippians 1:6 only refers to believers, not unbelievers, and so has no application to God’s “success” rate with respect to those for whom Christ died. It’s an interesting term, “success.” He doesn’t really delve much into it; I suspect the term has more rhetorical use than substance.

The final prooftext is of the true fallacious variety. That is, it just quotes the verse and runs away. Without delving into it, since he didn’t, it’s worth noting that there are several exegeses of Romans 9 that do not agree with whatever conclusion he’s offering. It’s also worth noting one can say that the idea that people do not choose Hell contradicts Romans 9 itself: verses 31-32, which do say someone is condemned due to their rejection of faith.

The last critique is both rehashed and misguided. First, it is rehashed because it goes back to the discussion on God doing all he pleases. The idea is that if Molinists say God would like all to be saved, but can’t, then this contradicts Scripture. But this tends to treat words like “purpose, will, desire, please” as all perfectly synonymous, and that’s biblically dubious and philosophically flatly false. Take “God does all he pleases.” Why is this inconsistent with Molinism? By definition, God chose to instantiate this world over others, and other none at all. By definition, he is doing what he has pleased to do. It by no means follows that God is pleased by every event: that is biblically false (see where God is angry with sinners many, many times—he’s not pleased by their acts). So what’s supposed to be the problem?

Next, the critique is misguided, because he claims Molinists think there’s no purpose behind evil. Why he says this is mind-boggling. The only thing I can think of is that he thinks God has no control over whatever world comes to pass or something. But a simple reading of William Lane Craig and most Molinists will show that they do think God has purposes for allowing evil. So, why think that Molinists think God has no purpose in allowing evil?

I know this was a long critique, but the examples of the confusion surrounding Molinism abound. My personal belief is that it stems from a lack of theological and philosophical education, and is borne on the wings of the Internet. May God have mercy on us all! ;)