Introducing a Christian Social Imaginary
Our personal and social identity is being shaped primarily within the complex and yet definite vision of the “modern social imaginary.”1 Most of this formative process occurs at the subconscious level, beneath our cognitive and rational thinking. Our social and cultural context is not something we look at objectively, like a painting, but is more like an atmosphere that we exist within and cannot exist without. To paraphrase C. S. Lewis, a fish does not “feel” wet; likewise, we swim in the world rather than stand outside it as detached observers. We are involved in our surroundings in a complex and holistic way, and our context shapes every aspect of our lives, including how we see our sexuality, our relationships, and ourselves.
Despite the all-encompassing nature and palpably significant influence of the modern social imaginary, much Christian discipleship in recent times has continued to follow the narrow, cognitive model of spiritual-moral formation. This model basically says, “Knowing and believing the right things about God will determine who we become and what we do.” It is therefore natural that the emphasis of Christian discipleship has been on correct biblical teaching and doctrine.
There is, of course, much that we should affirm about this approach. In a world of relativistic reasoning, the authoritative guidance of Scripture is an anchor to which we can fasten our identities and lives. The problem is that this sort of knowledge does not get to the heart of the human condition. It may point us toward the truth, but can it form the truth within us? The cognitive model of discipleship lacks the power to counterform people within the rhythms of the gospel in the face of the more holistic cultural formation that occurs within the modern social imaginary. We may, then, be giving people the conceit of knowledge rather than genuine practical wisdom.
The differences between these contrasting visions of knowledge formation are best explored through an analogy. Imagine for a moment an area of a city that is of historical interest. There are two very different ways of getting to know that area. The first is the sort of knowledge that a new tour guide possesses, which he passes on to other outsiders. He gathers this information from maps, books, and other external sources, which give him important functional information that enables him to navigate the area. The map, for instance, shows him how the streets connect, where important landmarks are located, and so on. He may also pick up another level of detail that goes beyond purely functional information, such as interesting history, famous former residents, and notorious events. Yet as vast as the guide’s knowledge may become, there still is a yawning gap in the amount of information as well as the depth of knowledge he acquires as compared with someone who grew up in that area.
Rather than the flat, functional knowledge of the tour guide, the “local” possesses a deep and complex intuitive understanding. This knowledge, accumulated over years of discovery and practice, has largely passed from cognitive thinking into the unconscious parts of his being. It has become part of his essential identity, and he will always be “from there.” Without thinking, he knows a hundred different ways to get from one part of town to another, depending on the weather or time of day. What’s more, he knows journeys and histories that don’t appear on a map or in a book—such as the shortcuts across the backyards of friends and neighbors. He knows the story of the family in each house, which girls he liked when he was a boy, the different fruit trees, and when the picking is at its best. The tour guide knows a lot of helpful facts about the area, and yet her knowledge and what she passes on to her fellow travelers is fundamentally different from what and how the local knows.2
This example shows the deeply contrasting visions of knowledge formation at play today. Some Christian leaders and pastors are tempted to become spiritual “tour guides.” At one level, this is a satisfying role. Our knowledge is clean, clear-cut, and well presented. Our responsibilities are clearly defined and fit within scheduled time frames—our Sunday tours! Yet, at the more fundamental level, tour guides create tourists rather than residents—consumers of knowledge rather than participants in actual communities. We may introduce people to the basic contours and city limits of the gospel—“map knowledge”—but how do we fundamentally reorient them within the new neighborhood of the gospel? Given the significant influence of the modern social imaginary, discipleship must be embedded within a Christian social imaginary in order to be an effective journey of counterformation. This will require a new vision of life, a new story to live within, a new community to be part of, and new practices to live by. Indeed, to live well as “resident aliens” in this world, we must know our true home.3
The second part of this book is an attempt to paint a picture of a Christian social imaginary. What does it look like, and how can Christian leaders encourage people on the journey of discipleship to live deeply within the gospel story?
More specifically, how does this vision take shape in relation to our sexuality and relationships?
1. See Taylor, Modern Social Imaginaries, 23–30.
2. I am indebted to the twentieth-century philosopher Martin Heidegger for this image from his book Being and Time, trans. John Macquarrie and Edward Robinson (New York: Harper & Row, 1966), 41–42.
3. Stanley Hauerwas and William H. Willimon, Resident Aliens: Life in the Christian Colony, expanded 25th anniversary ed. (Nashville: Abingdon, 2014).