FiSch blog

Guest blogger Audrey Southgate reflects on lessons drawn from studying a morally problematic figure. 

Some view the past as a shackle from which the present must free itself. By contrast, I grew up delighted by the stories that linked the present with the past. At church, at home, and at school, stories of admirable figures from history served as a source of inspiration. There was no question that we had much to learn from the subjects of these stories, whether Christian martyrs, great-grandparents, inventors, or other heroes. Surrounded by such stories, I came to look to authors from the past for timeless insights that would clarify my perspective in the present.

This became somewhat more difficult, however, when I found myself writing my undergraduate dissertation on Ezra Pound. Far from an exemplary figure, Pound is perhaps as infamous for the anti-Semitic slander and fascist sympathies he endorsed in broadcasts during World War II as he is famous for his contributions to modernism in poetry. Like his public views, Pound’s private life was hardly something a Christian would want to emulate: he kept a mistress for most of his marriage and even lived in a ménage à trois for a couple of years. Moreover, his publications and personal correspondence display an arrogance that is corroborated by the recollections of those who knew him throughout his life.

Since I could not admire Pound in several important respects, could I learn anything from him? I had chosen the project because I wanted to learn from how this key modernist had engaged with tradition and ‘made it new’ in his own time. But his appreciation for the poetic heritage was accompanied by scorn for those who didn’t share it or appreciate it as he did. More troubling still, it was accompanied by adherence to one of the most vicious ideologies of the twentieth century. If looking to the past involved the evils Pound espoused, I could not learn from Pound – nor did I expect to learn from the past at all.

In the process, I realized that my expectations were inconsistent with my faith. If I believed that all are fallen, I should not be surprised to find serious faults in any person’s thinking and life. If I believed that God is the author of truth, I should strive to recognize his truths wherever they appear. And if I believed that God showers the earth with common grace, I should expect his truths to appear even in the mouths of faulty people. Rather than asking whether I could learn from Pound, I needed to ask what truths I could learn from Pound, and what faults I could learn to avoid from his example.

As it happens, I discovered Pound does have much to offer. Not only is he a representative of an era whose effects we still feel today; he also models a search for the meaning that transcends particular eras. Comparing art to a river, he described artists as concerned, not with the features of its banks at certain points, but with its ‘quality of motion’, or ‘that which flows’. Pound’s own overarching concern, expressed here, was with the essence of art that transcends the historical and geographical circumstances defining its reception.

Here and elsewhere, Pound suggests his utter commitment to the transcendent – but confines the transcendent to the human artistic tradition. Perhaps the widely-deplored problem with Pound lay, not in his appreciation of the past, nor in his appreciation of this artistic tradition across history, but in what he failed to appreciate from revealed history. He failed to see the source of beauty who transcends all history, and who gives meaning to it: the transcendent God who is also immanent, the Word who became flesh and came to dwell among us. And because of this, Pound failed, too, to practice the virtues of faith, hope, and above all love for God and man which are beautiful in all ages.

Pound thus serves as a warning not to let our appreciation of human traditions keep us from loving God or other people. At the same time, Pound serves as an encouragement to dedicate ourselves to pursuing what is truly timeless. In a way, the very magnitude of his failures makes him all the better as an example of the importance of seeking the Truth – and as an example of the importance of discerning the timeless truths a person expressed from the failings that invariably accompany these insights.

Audrey Southgate is working towards a DPhil at Merton College, University of Oxford, researching Lollards and the Psalms.

It’s a rainy day outside and my mind has wandered to puddles. Puddles are commonplace (in England especially!) without much beauty or substance, but they can do one great thing: they can reflect what’s above them.

I’ve been pondering distinctiveness in academia lately, asking: how does being a Christian affect how I navigate the academy? This has been a convicting exercise but a very helpful one. Below, I’ve jotted down a few ways I think I can reflect God better in academia, and I hope my own thoughts might inspire similar personal reflections in others.

Support students

I teach a lot of tutorials. I’m not the best teacher and I’m not the most knowledgeable. This is unlikely to change, but I can choose to care about my students. Like everyone else, I'm quite busy, but finding time to run a quick review session or meeting up to discuss an essay is a great way to support and care for my students. Time taken to serve others is a sacrifice, but it is certainly not wasted!

Invest in friendships

This is the one I’m the worst at—with so much going on, I find it hard to find time to invest in friendships at all, and I often end up ‘ghosting’ around my faculty because I’m too tired or lazy to invest there properly. But He’s placed me there for a reason. Friendship provides a chance to be in others’ lives, to let them into mine, to share my hope, and to build community.

Encourage each other’s growth

I happen to be at a very supportive faculty with a group of really nice researchers in my cohort, but below the surface somewhere, there lurks the truth that we are potential competitors for future jobs. Everything can seem to be a competition, but I must remember that I don’t need to enter the race. I want to congratulate others on their work, be humble and honest about my own, especially if I’m struggling a bit, because this demonstrates that no, research isn’t a matter of life and death to me. I want to make friends, support them, cheer for them. Maintaining a generosity of spirit can’t take anything from me that I need—I have all I need in Christ.

Be honest

This is a simple one, but one worth adding to the list. Truthfulness shows in one’s character in little and big ways, but maintaining truthfulness requires commitment. I find it can be easy to compromise honesty in the little things if I become lazy or lose sight of who am I and what I've been called to be! My word should be my bond.

Be dependable

We don’t usually describe Christ as ‘dependable’… the word seems far too dim for his glorious grace! But in fact, He is ultimately dependable. We screw up; He comes through. Over and over and over again. He can be relied upon to be there, to care, to help, to comfort. Do I demonstrate dependability in my own finite way at my faculty? Do I show up to meetings and tutorials on time? Can I be relied upon?

Express difficulties… but with hope!

When grad students get together, we tend to complain about difficulties in our work. Difficulties in research, in writing, with deadlines. Anything. Everything. I think it’s important to share where we’re actually at with people… that’s honest. But I’m as guilty of ‘grumbling’ as my non-Christian colleagues. By presenting my difficulties without any allusion—implicit or explicit—to the hope that I enjoy, I’m misleading them to ‘fit in’, rejecting an opportunity to talk about what really matters. I know whatever I am currently doing is not an ultimate, so why pretend that it is? I have every reason to be joyful, regardless of how my doctorate is going.

Don't speak badly about supervisors behind their backs

This relates to the one above. As a Christian, I should not be speaking about anyone behind their backs, but somehow it feels easy to make exceptions for advisors or supervisors because they are in authority over us and it would seem that not all of them are really good at supporting their students (though I’ve been very blessed with a great supervisor). It’s tempting to join in on supervisor-bashing as it allows us to connect with colleagues sharing a knowing smile and a roll of the eyes. But this is not how we are told to treat people—or those in authority. If I have a problem with a faculty member, I should speak to them directly before involving anyone else. This is hard… but we have Christ for a model!

Skip faculty events for church if you have to

There is an optional research colloquium that I have to skip every week because I lead a Bible study. I wish I could make it, but the time conflict has actually been a blessing in disguise. When faculty friends ask why I don’t make it to colloquium more, I have an opportunity to show that my faith takes priority in my life—even over professional growth or advancement.  

Be committed to work

Being a research student—at least in the humanities—can be very lonely and quite directionless. Nobody really knows how we should be using our time and therefore nobody really knows how we really do use our time. Without accountability, it can be really hard to commit to productivity—procrastination comes with the grad school territory! Diligence in work requires motivation, but when everyone is struggling to find theirs, I have a deep, unending source of it—if I dare to draw upon it. I am not working for myself or for man but for my Saviour and Redeemer!

I am a puddle: a bit grubby and dreary, finite and fleeting, but there is a sun above me and reflecting His beauty should be my chief delight and purpose!

For the last 18 months I've been a research fellow on a project about financial stability that's run by a small consultancy firm.  Since I was trained as a biologist and have done nearly all my academic work so far in ecology, and in universities, this has been both a steep learning curve and a great adventure.  The story of how I came to make this transition, moving from university into a business environment, will be for another time. Here I want to share some reflections firstly on my move into a new discipline and secondly, briefly, on financial economics itself.

My qualification for this new post was being a quantitative ecologist, which, as I used to say, often feels more like being an applied statistician.  I could also point out that ecology is an economics-rich branch of the biological sciences, and I'd already been taking some interest in economic arguments for nature conservation (the ecosystem services approach), and the ensuing policy debates.  But in practice the mathematical background was the most relevant qualification - together, of course, with a fascination for knowing about other disciplines.  This, I believe, has been fostered by my faith and Christian philosophical framework.

Mutual enrichment?

Moving into a new discipline has been an upheaval in some ways.  There's a whole literature to get to grips with, of course, and I'm attempting to immerse myself in it sufficiently to see where our project outputs fit.  The project was initially motivated by the 2008 financial crisis and by developments in the world of finance, with which my boss is well acquainted, rather than by outstanding questions in the literature - so that adds both excitement and some headaches to the challenge.  One the one hand, the volume of literature in any discipline is so great nowadays that even devoted scholars can barely keep up with more than a narrow specialism.  Added to that, the more one reads the more one may suspect that everything worthwhile has been done already - so perhaps there's something to be said for coming fresh to a new discipline and trying to work out a strategic, limited course of reading.  On the other hand, there's clearly no substitute for an authoritative induction into a discipline such as comes through degree courses.  At this point, helpful colleagues can be a lifeline, if they see some mutual benefit emerging from the collaboration.  The fundamental question about moving to a new discipline is whether one's freshness of perspective can complement the depth of understanding held by established colleagues. And that calls for a great deal of trust and humility on all sides - 'fellowship' might be a good word.

Faithful scholarship

So what am I doing? The aim of our project is to suggest improvements to financial regulation for the benefit of market participants and society at large.  There's a clear ethical concern, which attracted me in the first place, and then there's an expectation of drawing inspiration from mathematical ecology.  In practice it turns out to be far from trivial to find cross-disciplinary insights that go beyond metaphors (e.g. the "ecosystem of investors"), and there are obvious reasons why ecosystems don't provide complete models for finance (no analogue of money, for example).  But fruitful metrics and models can certainly cross disciplinary boundaries from time to time.

Perhaps the thing that strikes me most from this foray into finance concerns the reality of institutional sin.  The financial system we inhabit is so complex and powerful that no-one really knows how to model it, let alone manage it.  That's true of ecosystems too, but in the case of finance the agents driving the system are either highly intelligent humans or their algorithmic creations (so-called artificial intelligence), which adapt to, anticipate and exploit each other and the regulatory framework with zeal and, too often, impunity.  I believe there is much goodness in the financial system and its agents, but egregious injustices arising from it seem to confront me daily.  The Apostle Paul's comments on "principalities and powers"[1] have been interpreted by some to refer to institutional structures where sin is manifested beyond the level of individual persons, and I'm convinced that some aspects of our financial system are profoundly contrary to Christ's kingdom.  This is the unsettling side of this field of research, for me.

It will take a future post (and more wisdom than I currently have) to look at specific ideas about finance in God's purposes, and the redemption of economic systems.  Meanwhile, I maintain my passion for ecology alongside my intrigue about financial economics and hope, in God's grace, to find further fruitful insights between the two.

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[1] This phrase occurs (in the King James Version and some others) in Rom 8:37-39, Col 1:16; 2:15, Eph 3:10-11, 6:12 and Titus 3:1.  Tom Wright has written about this theme, but I can particularly recommend Colossians Remixed by Walsh & Keesmaat.

Inspired by this post from the archives of The Well (InterVarsity’s ministry to women in academia and the professions), I recently took a mini-‘retreat’ in the midst of my current summer season of being at home, preparing for a family wedding and working on my thesis in the midst of planning and errands.

As the article suggests, I got some ‘geographic space’ – simply by going to a different part of town and settling myself in a coffee shop for the morning. I took with me the novel I was reading (C. S. Lewis’s Perelandra), my Bible and notebook, and another resource from InterVarsity called ‘Taking Time Apart: Spiritual Disciplines and the Academic Life’. It’s a short booklet, which you can download for free here; it introduces the idea of spiritual discipline as integrated and intertwined with intellectual discipline, and provides several short readings, Bible studies, and guided reflection exercises.

I spent a peaceful morning alternating between reading my novel, and taking the opportunity to reflect and pray over the last year with the help of this resource. I went through a Bible study based on Luke 5:1-11, the miraculous catch of fish:

When Jesus finished speaking he said to Simon, ‘Put out into the deep water, and let the nets down for a catch.’ Simon answered, ‘Master, we’ve worked hard all night and haven’t caught anything. But because you say so, I will let down the nets.’ When they had done so, they caught such a large number of fish that their nets began to break.

Peter’s obedience to Jesus – listening to him, letting down the nets – is necessary for the blessing of fish, and later for Jesus’ call into his service: ‘Don’t be afraid: from now on you will catch men.’ This was a particular challenge to me as I reflected on the past academic year.

It’s easy to keep the effort and discipline I put into my academic work, and the effort and discipline I put into my spiritual life, in completely separate boxes in my mind. This is the case even as I study prayer and devotion themselves: I can spend my time writing and thinking about a central part of Christian practice, analysing and theorising how it worked in the lives of historical people, and making exciting theological connections and applications – and yet lack the discipline to pray with any regularity or fervour myself.

The story of the miraculous catch reminded me that God gives us the results of our work, and calls us to new work in his service. So it’s part of good scholarly practice to listen first, and to practice obedience first, in faith that all the world is God’s and that he works through us as much in our academic lives as in church or mission. Spiritual discipline and academic work are not separate, but integrated parts of life. 

Have you had the opportunity this summer to take some time apart in intentional reflection? Consider using the resource I’ve mentioned, or another guide, to help you pray over the last year or term and hear from God in this quieter time.