HOW TO INHABIT TIME:
Understanding the past, facing the future, living
faithfully now
By James K. A. Smith
Brazos Press. 208 pages. £14.99
ISBN 978 1 587 435 911
James K. A. Smith is, in many respects, a rare voice among philosophers. His books are often aimed not at the ivory tower of academic discourse, but at men and women in local churches.
No stranger to incorporating personal anecdotes into his writing, in How to Inhabit Time Smith dig deep into the pain of his own past, bringing readers into a place of vulnerability with him. This is by no means a dusty volume of philosophical musings. Rather, in Smith’s own words, ‘the hope of this book is to occasion an awakening, a dawning of awareness of what it means to be the sorts of creatures who dwell in the flux of time’s flow, who swim in the river of history.’
Smith goes about his task by inviting readers to explore how to think about the past, in order that we might embrace life in the present as informed (and transformed) participants. His chapters, set out in pairs, are mixed in with short meditations on several passages from Ecclesiastes, which provides a thematic home for the book. Smith is not setting out to provide a prescriptive checklist for contemporary Christians, rather, he argues that we can begin ‘to understand our place and calling in the spiritual adventure of history only if we find a way to hit the pause button on our frenetic absorption in the everyday and resist the tyranny of the urgent.’
As a historian, the reflections on how and why Christianity must explore its past were sermons preached to an engaged chorister, however his engagement with a wide range of figures, including the expected voices like St Augustine and Charles Taylor are seasoned with the perspectives of revolutionary voices from James Baldwin and Gustavo Gutiérrez. His argument with regard to history is not necessarily new, but it is nevertheless a clear, concise, and resounding cry for historical engagement that will almost certainly inform and reshape my introductory lessons to undergraduates. In just one example, he issues a stern warning for Christians who confuse historical witness with uncritical nostalgia, writing that ‘there are lots of religious people for whom their faith amounts to a leap into a nostalgic past or an escapist future, but the present bedevils them: awkward and unsettled, they stumble and waver. They know how to be faithful anywhere but now.’
As a Christian living in the contemporary West, I found Smith’s challenge to embrace the present in recognition of its ‘seasonality’ to be particularly convicting. Christians, particularly those of us from less liturgical backgrounds, would do well to step into the rhythm of history. Referencing Ecclesiastes 3, Smith suggests that ‘A life lived “under the sun” should expect birth and death, mourning and dancing, war and peace the same way we expect spring and fall, summer, and winter.’ Thus, embracing life’s seasons is neither an exercise of despair nor is it a fear of the future, but a recognition of the ups and downs of life. As a new parent, I particularly resonated with his observation that the early years of parenthood, a ‘focal calling’, are a season ‘of terror and joy, weariness, and fulfilment. It often overlaps with other crucial times in the life of parents – the early era of a marriage when we’re still merging and negotiating our own family histories; times of professional aspiration; sometimes the experience of parental loss.’
Though the book is often pastoral in tone, it is fundamentally a work of philosophy and readers who are new to (or rusty in) the discipline may need to read it slowly. But whatever speed with which one digests the message, this book is a call for Christians to exchange unrealistic nostalgia for honest assessment of our past, which will afford us a more realistic engagement with the present. For those already familiar with Smith’s work, there is much to love here, and for those who have not yet explored his offerings, it is a great place to start.
