Baptized Presbyterian at eight years old, I have a few hazy memories of going to church as a child in Huntington Beach, California, where I grew up. My family stopped attending shortly after my parents’ divorce. This all changed the summer before my freshman year in high school. I reconnected with my best friend from second grade who had recently become a Christian. He shared the Gospel with me, and I started going with him to a Calvary Chapel youth group. During this time, I began playing bass guitar and joined a rock band with some church friends, performing at youth group events and Friday outreaches. When I was a sophomore, a close reading of Romans 12:1 made a strong impression on me: “I appeal to you therefore brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” I was moved to take my faith more seriously. I decided to stop playing in rock bands so I could dedicate myself to playing bass in worship bands for Friday night outreaches and Sunday morning services.
The First Philosophical Turn
During my senior year of high school, some of my friends left Calvary Chapel to attend various Reformed churches. They thought that our church didn’t teach the Gospel and that we had an inadequate understanding of theology. I was exposed to questions of free will, foreordination, predestination, the five points of Calvinism, and the like. My Reformed friends had a systematic understanding of theology, but I wasn’t sure what to make of such things. I decided to take a step back and address some philosophical questions first. I started reading apologetics, philosophy, and theology, starting with C.S. Lewis and Francis Schaffer, then moving on to the likes of Augustine, Plato, Pascal, and such.
Seeds of Doubt and Despair
It was also during my senior year of high school that I fell in love with my girlfriend, but we eventually broke up. After graduation, I still wasn’t over her. I thought she was “the one,” and I was upset about how things had ended. I failed to understand why it didn’t work out between us. I attended a local community college but dropped out after a year. I started another alternative band with some friends. We didn’t get far, but we wrote some good songs, played a few shows, and had a lot of good times. Like many bands, we imploded trying to record a demo tape. After some time meandering about, I tried to work things out with my high school girlfriend. We got back together and were soon engaged, and things were good for a time. But I was plagued by various doubts about what to believe and why, which were compounded by a series of scandals involving my pastor. The worship band I was in with two of my roommates played a final gig, and we left that church.
In search of an explanation for how things could have gone so wrong, and accepting the critiques of Nietzsche, Marx, and Freud, I came to think that Christians were deluding themselves and refusing to face reality. Leaving church and God behind, I leaned on my fiancée instead of God. She couldn’t handle my state of mind, and our relationship broke apart once again. I fell into despair. I no longer trusted God, but I couldn’t fully overcome Him or put Him out of my mind, though not for lack of trying.
Early Formation
Not sure what else to do with myself, I went back to college. I took an Introduction to Philosophy course that focused on philosophical and religious world views. Among other options, we read Thomas Aquinas. From Aquinas, I came to see that faith and reason could be fully compatible, that both reason and revelation were different means by which one can come to have knowledge of God. Now, determined to rise from the ashes, in a fit of confidence, I decided to do the most difficult thing possible for a Gen-X slacker such as myself: I would get a PhD in Philosophy. Academically, I was a late bloomer. With my grades and background, I couldn’t get accepted to a good graduate school without first getting a master’s degree. I transferred to California State University – Long Beach, a college near me with both BA and MA philosophy programs.
While studying, I went to various churches intermittently. Having read Martin Luther, John Calvin, Cornelius Van Til, Charles Hodge, and Francis Turretin, I reluctantly accepted broadly reformed views. I attended an Orthodox Presbyterian Church and enrolled in membership classes. I learned a lot, but I had serious reservations. I found certain passages of The Westminster Confession of Faith troubling. Calvinists maintain that God’s decree determines the occurrence of all events by establishing secondary, or proximate, causes in a way that doesn’t take away human liberty but rather establishes it; our actions are necessitated by God’s decree; God ordains them immutably and infallibly. I thought that if our actions are thus necessitated, how could they be both free and contingent? How, on this view, could I be justly held responsible for my sins? Not finding satisfactory answers to my questions, I couldn’t join the church. But it still seemed to me that the Bible probably taught Reformed doctrines. That made being Christian extremely difficult.
Around this time, I carefully studied Aquinas’s views on free will and foreknowledge. Aquinas maintained that God providentially orders all things in a way that provides the conditions for human freedom, including its abuse. We are naturally drawn to our ultimate Good, for God draws all things to himself (Colossians 1:20). God, gracefully and in accord with His providence, removes obstacles and puts in place lures that draw us to Himself, but not in a way that obliterates free choice. Free will is a function of the mind’s judgment; considering various objects of choice, we are made aware of a range of possible actions. However, our sinful nature leads us away from God, our highest good, and so we are unable to choose God on our own. Without God’s grace, we would reject him. Contrary to Reformed teachings, Aquinas held that God does not decree or determine that some are reprobate. Rather, those who fail to respond to God do so due to a deficiency in their wills. God, as first cause, enables us to cause what we bring about, and what we bring about is ultimately governed by God’s providence. But we must be careful to avoid equivocation here. God’s causal activity — His causing us to be able to cause things — is of another order altogether, and as such, His characteristic mode of causation is not in conflict with ours. At last, I saw a philosophical alternative to Reformed Theology. However, I was deeply conflicted and continued to wrestle with this solution to the problem of free will and whether it was consistent with Scripture. I remained persuaded that, probably, Calvinism was true, in which case my actions weren’t free in the sense Aquinas proposed.
Continuing my studies, I took classes on Daoism, Buddhism, and Hinduism. I reckoned things would have been much different for me had I been born in ancient Athens, medieval China, or modern Iran. I viewed my younger high-school self as a naive kid who fell into Christianity mostly because his friends did. It seemed to me that my religious beliefs were by and large products of circumstance. Contingent and arbitrary facts about my upbringing had primed me to accept Theism — and Christianity — in particular. What grounds did I have for thinking that my beliefs were epistemically better off than those I would have held in alternative circumstances? How was I to go about framing and answering philosophical questions? I figured the best I could do here was to take up alternative perspectives and see if they were any better than the one I had started out with. I read widely and interpreted everything as charitably as possible, as though I were a member of the tradition in question. Then I’d expose these views to radical internal and external critique, doing my best to conclusively refute them with fatal objections and counterexamples. By this time, I was skeptical about discovering significant metaphysical truths but kept looking for them.
As I continued my studies, I was exposed to many and diverse philosophical and religious views. My department was divided between Analytic and Continental Philosophers. To overly simplify, analytic philosophers, following the likes of Bertrand Russell, G.E. Moore, and Willard V.O. Quine, tend to prioritize sensory experience and use logical conceptual analysis to frame and answer questions in accord with the methods of science and formal logic. In contrast, Continental philosophers, such as Hegel, Nietzsche, and Heidegger, engage more freely in metaphysical speculation about matters of ultimate concern and reason more broadly. They use reason, too, naturally, but tend to think that our best thinking is poetic, steeped in imagery and ineliminable metaphor. I found myself drawn to analytical methods, but I thought that the Continentals were asking important questions and making good points, too. Influenced by existentialism, I came to hold that objective proof was impossible. I reasoned that since it’s impossible to overcome our first-person orientation or achieve complete objectivity, knowing the truth was less important than being rightly related to it.
Influenced by Karl Barth and other Neo-Orthodox scholars, I accepted that Jesus was the word of God and the Bible was a record of God’s word. Unless one is inspired by the Holy Spirit, the Bible won’t speak to you or have any authority. In principle, the Spirit could speak through various other texts. And it seemed that God was speaking to me through reading Buddhist and Daoist texts, particularly The Dao de Ching and stories about Chan / Zen masters. Han Shan’s Cold Mountain was particularly influential. I had similar experiences reading The Upanishads, The Bhagavad Gita, and Epictetus’ Handbook. It was confusing to relate to Ultimate Reality seemingly equally well through non-Christian categories. Eventually, I thought that many of my philosophical and theological problems arose because I was being overly discriminatory. I was relying too much on my rational nature to make practical and theoretical decisions. I adopted the Daoist notion of wu-wei, or non-action, according to which developing human-heartedness (roughly, happiness or human flourishing) is a matter of acting spontaneously and in accord with one’s own nature. I stopped trying so hard and held things loosely. I remained broadly Christian, but I also considered myself something of a Buddhist / Daoist.
Writing my Master’s Thesis and Making Music
A few years into my program, I met Charles Hughes, a Christian philosopher who’d earned his doctorate in philosophy under Richard Swinburne at Oxford. I took his Philosophy of Religion course and completed many directed studies classes with him in metaphysics and epistemology. I took a graduate seminar from him that focused on Alvin Plantinga’s Warranted Christian Belief, on which I wrote my MA thesis with Dr. Hughes as my chair. His mentorship and friendship over the years has been invaluable.
While working on my master’s degree, my roommate — who had been my high school worship band leader — decided to start a Christian record company and asked me to help out. I was committed to philosophy, but still wanted to do music. I was in. I helped him record bands and handled all the computer work, including designing CD layouts and artwork. I was a roadie, assistant tour manager, and helped work the merch tables. We recorded demos for several bands, including PAX 217, Project 86, and a few others. We released East West’s debut on our own label, Back Bone Records. Our goal was to become an imprint label and then go on and develop our talent and become an independent label. I recorded a few official demos of my own and played in a few bands.
During this time, I attended a Korean church for about a year. I started going because a friend of mine had a crush on a girl who attended the church. When that relationship didn’t work out, he left, but I stayed. I played bass and sometimes electric guitar in the praise band there. The pastor had a PhD in Sociology. After church, he taught classes on Church Doctrine, Church History, and the like. The church was small, more akin to a college and young adult group than a full congregation. Eventually, the pastor was led to other things and stepped down, which resulted in the dissolution of the church.
Long story short, while all of this was going on, I was drifting farther away from my Christian roots. Christianity seemed like one life option among many. Soon after the Korean church dissolved, I started dating a Muslim woman I had met at school. I stopped going to Church entirely.
While neither of us was serious about our respective faiths, each of us had certain lines we were unwilling to cross. I thought that I had let go of my Christianity, but being around another child of Abraham from a different branch was unsettling, and our points of difference became quite problematic. Yet, even though our relationship was a veritable roller coaster, it was difficult to let it go. I didn’t want to leave and go on to graduate school, but I knew I was being called elsewhere. Like Jonah going to Nineveh, I reluctantly moved to Lincoln, Nebraska.
University of Nebraska – Lincoln
Once I was accepted to The University of Nebraska – Lincoln, I set my musical career ambitions aside. All things considered, I reckoned the world didn’t need another Christian bass player. It would do more good for there to be a greater number of Christian philosophers.
Moving to Nebraska from Southern California, I was seriously homesick. It seemed like I was stuck on a small island surrounded by corn. Despite the distance, and all advice to the contrary, I tried to make things work with my girlfriend. I held on as long as I could, while deep down knowing it couldn’t last. Things ended poorly. I was in a bad place. I actively resisted the things of God but still identified as a Christian. When anti-theistic philosophers would rant against God, I’d defend Theism. I’d go to Church occasionally. I saw myself somewhat like Peter, following Christ from a distance, not having anywhere else to go, but unable to fully commit to either. Deeply unhappy, I started going out to bars with colleagues and drinking heavily.
As I was finishing my course work and was putting together my dissertation committee, my advisor, Robert Audi, took a position at the University of Notre Dame. I no longer wanted to stay in Lincoln — Dr. Audi was the only reason I went to study there. With his help, I transferred to Purdue University, but that meant I had to start all over. Again.
Purdue University
By this time, having completed the equivalent of two master’s degrees, I could coast for a bit. For the most part, I enjoyed my classes and didn’t stress out about them. All this time, I had wanted to focus on epistemology, but I became disillusioned with the field and lost interest in many of the current debates. I developed a growing interest in ethics. Reading Alasdair MacIntyre’s After Virtue fundamentally changed my way of framing and answering philosophical questions. I came to see that ideas have histories, and that we don’t — and can’t — think in a vacuum. We depend on the resources of others, including the resources of tradition, when we go about asking and framing questions about what to do and what to believe and why. Thinking I had left epistemology behind, inspired by Macintyre, I ended up returning to it in a more holistic and classical manner.
A few years into my program, I started playing music at open-mic nights at The Lafayette Brewing Company. One thing led to another, and I ended up forming an old school punk band with a friend from the Philosophy Department and some local musicians. I was sick of being a graduate student and missed playing music. I began drinking much more heavily and took my studies less seriously. We played many local gigs and recorded a very rough demo we’d give away at shows. We were basically a gang of hooligans. We were intense, on and off the stage. The band imploded in 2007. Bottoming out, with the help of an intervention from my uncle, I stopped drinking. With new clarity, I was too tired to be angry at God or blame him for my bad choices. I found Aquinas’ views on human free will and God’s providence much more compelling. God was drawing me; I was resisting him. I still struggled, but I was no longer double minded or deeply convicted about my faith.
Dissertations and Notre Dame
Completing my coursework in the 2008–2009 academic year, I was awarded a research fellowship to write my dissertation. I didn’t need to take or teach classes, and it didn’t matter where I worked. So I decided to visit the Philippines to spend time with my then girlfriend. Long story short, in April 2010, I married Melanie, one of the best decisions of my life.
I was a visiting graduate student at the University of Notre Dame Center for Philosophy of Religion the 2009–2010 academic year. We went to a Presbyterian USA Church that some of my colleagues at Notre Dame attended. Unlike the Orthodox Presbyterian Church, they didn’t affirm double predestination, and affirming Aquinas’ views was permissible. After my fellowship ended, I stayed at the Center for Philosophy as a visitor. I began teaching for Indiana University, Northwest in 2010, where I am still employed. From 2012 to 2017, I also taught at the University of Notre Dame as a contingent Philosophy faculty member, teaching between four and six classes each year.
I wrote my dissertation on the epistemology of disagreement in relation to Alasdair MacIntyre’s rationality of traditions. In the process, I came to hold that, when doing philosophy, one can’t help but be part of a conversation over time about shared matters of concern. Doing philosophy well essentially involves being aware of and carefully studying the history of ideas. This applies to theological thinking as well. We can’t accurately interpret Sacred Scripture apart from tradition-based resources, including texts, methods of interpretation, and institutions. We must rely on extra-Biblical texts and methods of interpretation, for no text can self-referentially interpret its own meaning. Looking back on the history of Christianity, I thought that while Luther and other Reformers made some good points, the Counter-Reformation had dealt satisfactorily with their major theological criticisms. For quite some time, I had affirmed Luther’s principle of private interpretation, according to which each person, before God and in accord with their conscience, becomes their own interpretive authority of the Scriptures. However, from that theological starting point, there’s not much to prevent one from making the turn towards Kierkegaardian subjectivity, as I had done years early in following Neo-Orthodox scholars. No longer leaning on my own understanding, I gave much more weight to Church councils and to the Unanimous Consent of the Church Fathers (unanimem consensum patrum). I was no longer thinking like a Protestant, but I wasn’t yet thinking like a Catholic.
Becoming Catholic
I had gotten into philosophy to settle deeply vexing theological questions and concerns. My long journey was finally coming to an end. My major turn towards Catholicism came in 2018, as I was writing my contribution to Debating Christian Religious Epistemology: An Introduction to Five Views on the Knowledge of God. Working on my chapter, I found myself giving Aquinas’ substantive views a measure of authority I hadn’t before. Without realizing it, I was thinking like a Catholic, so much so that one of my Protestant interlocuters assumed I was Catholic, and a Catholic contributor told me that my chapter was more Catholic than his. I was becoming more attracted to Catholicism, but there were obstacles and difficulties to overcome, mostly ones related to Marian dogmas. On a friend’s recommendation, I read Tim Staples’s Behold Your Mother and was convinced that Marian dogmas were coherent and fitting. It became reasonable for me to accept them as part of Sacred Tradition. Classical Theism was another obstacle for me. For years I had explicitly rejected it in favor of views commonly held by contemporary analytic Christian philosophers: God-talk is univocal; God has a nature, with both essential and accidental properties; God is a temporal being; that in order to account for creaturely freedom, the future is open and God essentially lacks or voluntarily empties himself of knowledge of (at least some) human choices, and the like. Over the years, I saw that there were strong philosophical objections to these views and became more open to Classical Theism, but I remained unconvinced. Eventually, my study of Aquinas and his interpreters — ranging from Gilson, to Maritain, to Feser — I was convinced that a core thesis of Classical Theism was true: there is no distinction between God’s existence and his essence; God doesn’t “have existence,” but rather God IS his being. In other words, God is subsistent being itself — Ipsum Esse Subsistens. It was a short step from there to the acceptance of Divine Simplicity and the rest of the views associated with Classical Theism.
I was finally ready to become Catholic. I knew there were still many points I needed to work through, but I realized that I would rather work through them from within the Church. I entered RCIA in 2018, and at Easter of 2019, I received the Sacrament of Confirmation, bringing me fully into the Catholic Church. Although Aquinas had more of an influence on my intellectual development, in my struggle to find faith, I related more to Augustine, whom I chose as my patron saint. Becoming Catholic hasn’t settled all my questions and concerns. But I am no longer like a reed in the wind. I’m no longer floundering about in my faith. Coming into full communion with the Church, I now have a secure standpoint and a firm foundation from which to ask questions and evaluate answers.
