‘A scholars’ project, his or her life’s work and its distinguishing perspective, usually has deep roots in personal background and life experience.’¹ When I reflect on how Cadegan’s observation applies to this book, three memories come to mind. First, how my experiences in the 1970s of teaching Religious Studies to 16–18 year olds in school prompted me to note the close connection there appeared to be between personal commitment to faithful practice on their part and their capacity to grasp religious knowledge. This motivated me to make the connection between commitment and knowledge the focus of my first research degree. This drew upon work carried out in philosophy of science, philosophy of religion and philosophy of education. It seemed to me that very similar qualities were required for academic rigour and religious fidelity. Paradoxically, I studied for this in a university department where the academic ethos was such that the personal religious commitment of faculty members was almost without exception so hidden as to be invisible. I remember thinking at the time: if religion is something that can be viewed in such a neutral, detached manner, how come that so often people are willing either to kill or to die in its name? In the course of developing my thesis I found myself increasingly drawn to and inspired by the thought of Maurice Blondel (1861–1949), a French Catholic philosopher who encountered suspicion and hostility both from the secular academy, for whom he was much too obviously a faithful Catholic, and from his own Church, for whom he was much too sympathetic to secular philosophy. It was evident to me that Blondel combined the highest qualities of academic rigour and independence of thought—as needed for the university—with a profound religious faith that pervaded all his endeavours; and that he deployed these in an effective and fruitful integration that maintained the distinction and avoided any confusion between them.²

Second, during the middle years of the 1980s, I derived great benefit from the gentle but rigorous mentoring of Dom Illtyd Trethowan, the Benedictine monk to whom this book is dedicated in gratitude . At that time he was the only person I knew of in England who was deeply knowledgeable about Blondel and had written about him.³ Trethowan had a formidable intellect; he had a well-deserved reputation as an acute philosopher; yet at the same time, his life was evidently permeated by prayer and religious practice. He kindly provided me with critical readings of drafts for a series of articles I wrote on Blondel over several years; he paid close attention to detail, accuracy, precision, elegance in phrasing and punctuation; nothing was too small to escape his scrutiny; yet the fussiness (or care) he showed over every minor aspect of writing never lost sight of the overall direction and significance of the argument . Once again I had enjoyed and was able to learn from an encounter with an inspiring model of how Christian faith and intellectual investigation could work in harmony—and to the benefit of both.⁴

Third, on taking up a new post as professor in a Christian university in the early years of the twenty-first century, as I submitted for validation from the appropriate academic committee a series of Master’s modules on Christian educational leadership, I encountered a surprising level of concern from some of its members about the nature of my proposal. The gist of their response was as follows. ‘If we have understood what you have presented to us for approval, it seems that these courses speak from a stance of explicit Christian faith ; they are explicitly addressed to those who hold to this faith ; and they are intended to deepen and enhance this faith in the practice of teaching and leadership in Christian schools. Is all this compatible with academic work at this level?’ Some of these committee members were themselves committed Christians but they had internalized the expectation of the secular academy that there should be a separation between religious faith (which is for the home and for the church) and intellectual enquiry, which is somehow detached from worldview commitments. One might be motivated by faith, but it was not to be made so visible in the academic arena. Although it did not take long for me to persuade them that the proposed course was academically respectable despite its explicitly Christian nature, it dawned on me then that there was a job to be done in showing how intellectual rigour and religious commitment might not necessarily be incompatible partners but rather could be mutually enriching. If this potential harmony was contested in the context of a Christian university, it was even more suspect in the academy more generally.

In seeking to bring together Christian faith and academic work in a contemporary university, one needs to avoid two dangers: ‘cheerleading on the one hand or score-settling on the other.’⁵ Partisanship needs to be qualified by prudence. I am only too aware that many Christian academics display a weak understanding of and give poor witness to the faith they claim to espouse and thus that one needs to be careful about making claims for the virtues of a Christian approach to scholarship in the university, claims that do not stand up to scrutiny. At the same time, I am conscious of the exemplary quality of scholarly work and academic citizenship of many colleagues who do not espouse any religious faith.

Three other dangers to avoid in my attempt to show how Christian faith can feed into and enhance the work of university scholars and teachers, it seems to me, are as follows. First, there is the temptation to deploy the religious aspect in the margins of university life and work (even though those margins do matter a great deal)—in campus ministry, in optional group activities, in service outreach projects, and in liturgical practices. This would be to leave the central tasks of a university—the promotion of intellectual learning—untouched by faith . It also allows the expression of religious faith to proceed without being subject to question and challenge by intellectual probing and interrogation. Second, there is the temptation to seek to over-determine academic tasks by strong religious framing. In such efforts, the introduction of a religious perspective into intellectual enquiry seems premature, forced and false; it does not arise naturally and because it appears to be imposed, it understandably invites resistance—and thus becomes counter-productive. Third, and in marked contrast to the second danger, religious faith can be brought into play too late, as an add-on, an afterthought, opening up optional extra questions or topics for study but leaving current norms, assumptions and outlooks and prevailing working practices untouched and unchallenged. I hope to avoid all these dangers, though no doubt some readers may judge that I fall short in one way or another, either by importing religious considerations where they have no place or by failing to develop their implications sufficiently.

There are many ways of envisaging the relationship between Christian faith and the tasks of being an academic in a university. Jay Green offers a helpful analysis of some important distinctions between approaches to Christian scholarship. Although he does so specifically in relation to History, I believe his categories can be applied to scholarship more generally.⁶ Thus, adapting Green, some might see Christian scholarship as study that takes Christianity seriously as a valid field of investigation or as a factor having (at least potentially) a bearing on topics under scrutiny. This approach emphasizes the content of what is studied, with the assumption that Christianity is a legitimate area of enquiry for scholars.

Others put the stress on the lens or perspective through which one examines the object of study, arguing either that it is incumbent on Christian scholars to deploy a Christian worldview as they interrogate a topic, or, alternatively, that is a permissible option for them to do so, especially since no one can avoid importing some background assumptions and privileging some commitments as they engage in investigations. Scholars adopting this approach treat their Christian faith as a resource or as equipment for study.

A third group might take the line that their faith motivates them to deploy their secular learning in service of Christian ethical positions, for example, in medicine, management, politics, social work, education, science or the arts. To the extent that this happens, various practices, they believe, are enhanced in some way through an injection of Christian wisdom. A variation of this use of faith when linked to scholarship might be those who feel moved to deploy the knowledge gained through their respective academic disciplines, in aid of Christian apologetics; that is to offer persuasive arguments for the credibility of Christian faith and to rebut unwarranted criticisms levelled against Christian beliefs and practices. Such use of knowledge in apologetics might be intended either to buttress the faith of believers who might otherwise waver in the face of corrosive doubts, a hostile environment, or scathing intellectual attacks; it might also be intended to disarm critics (perhaps even to convert them).

Green also refers to another category of Christian scholars: those who interpret their academic studies as integral to their search for God; for them, God is to be more deeply encountered and appreciated, though of course never fully known, within the life and practices of being an academic (in some cases even more vividly and profoundly than in practices that appear more explicitly religious). While Christian scholars will differ significantly in where and how they put the emphasis within this range of approaches to linking faith and academic learning, in my view each of the ways outlined here can contribute to some aspect of a Christian’s vocation, so long as they are carried out with the necessary self-awareness that is alert to the need for personal integrity, professional and academic competence, sensitivity to context and relationships, and combined with discernment as to both truth and feasibility.

My own understanding, as a Christian in the Catholic tradition, of the bearing of Christian faith on my academic work has been greatly helped by the insights offered by the Jesuit scholar, John Haughey:

The Catholic faith’s analogue for understanding the union ...