My Experience in the Negative World

In Aaron Renn’s book, Life in the Negative World, he gives three headings of advice for living in a country that’s—for the first time in its history—actively against Christian moral norms and values. To live personally in this new “negative world,” he advises Christians to Become Obedient, Become Excellent, and Become Resilient. I recently graduated college, and when I read his book and reflected on my life over the past few years, I couldn’t help but see some events that belonged under the same headings. I’d like to share these narratives because—well, why does anyone share a story? I hope you’ll find something helpful or gain a new insight or feel affirmed.

1. Become Obedient

My freshman year of college was the same year Covid hit. With social upheaval and moral chaos going on in the world, I needed help making sense of it all. A CNN reporter was filmed standing in front of a pile of burning rubble with a headline rolling across the screen reading “Fiery but Mostly Peaceful Protest.” Black Lives Matter wanted to defund the police. In 2022, Supreme Court nominee Katanji Jackson responded with “I’m not a biologist” when asked to define a woman. We had lost a shared cultural foundation for basic reality.

People like Jordan Peterson stood up to reporters and interviewers and told simple truths, like what a woman was. Peterson was writing books and sending a message: responsibility was the key to a meaningful life. He told people to “stand up straight, with your shoulders back” and “be precise in your speech.” Jordan Peterson was a help, but he wasn’t perfect—he wasn’t even a Christian. So, who should I follow? What was real? What was good?

In a church my wife and I were visiting, I made a friend who happened to be a professor at the college I attended, in a different department. We were similarly tuned in to what was happening in the culture, but he was much more deeply ingrained in the reformed tradition of Christianity, which I was mostly ignorant of. The school I attended was a small, private, Christian institution. The conversations I had with him opened a world of deep Christian thought and theology, which led me to declare a Bible minor to go with my English major. That friend ended up introducing me to the online content of Doug Wilson, the pastor of Christ Church in Moscow, Idaho, and I enjoyed listening to his sermons and blogs. The cultural commentary in his blogs, along with the “Reformed basics” videos on the Canon Plus app, and other reformed reading and learning I was doing, filled in the gap of how to think and filter the world through scripture; something I’m still working on developing. Wilson was the only pastor I could find who was brave enough to tell the truth about cultural topics—topics Jordan Peterson, for example, was talking about.

Wilson—another guide on my way—was not the authority on truth. So, what was? I was a Christian after all. So, my question became: how did the Bible act as a foundation for morality? How could all those laws about marrying your brother’s wife or stoning adulterers guide me toward acting good?

While being introduced to the Reformed world, I became focused—even mildly obsessed—with how the law of the Old Testament connected to life in the New. After reading books and articles on the subject, Calvin and Luther gave me the straightest answer of which I was the most convinced to be true. Generally, its purposes are, as they say:

1) To make us aware of our imperfections, and therefore our need for a savior,

2) To maintain civil order, by guiding magistrates on how to restrain evil and promote good, and

3) To guide us in sanctification, helping us understand what love looks like in various situations and directing us toward our ultimate perfection.

While laws like marrying your brother’s wife after he died don’t apply in practice today, the principle behind it remains in force. God wants widows to be provided for and protected.

The law, I discovered, wasn’t a part of the Bible to be disregarded or thrown out. The law was something to be obeyed. It wasn’t a way for us to earn our way to heaven, but to be accomplished out of our love for Him. Following the law was also in our own best interest.

The world began to make much more sense after this. The world was on fire because there was a standard for good, and that standard wasn’t the world’s standard. God’s standard is in sharp contrast to the world, sharper than any two-edged sword, and the world flourishes when it acts in relation to it. It was so simple. And, since the law holds no power to condemn those who are in Christ, it was also a light and easy yoke to bear. I knew now—Christ was true, and his word was good, and obeying didn’t feel like a sacrifice. It felt like a relief.

2. Become Resilient

In light of what was going on in the world, I resolved not to become a Christian scrooge, bah-humbugging around about how bad everything was all the time. I would do something about it. But what could I do?

There were things going wrong at the college I was attending. The college, while doing many things right, was a microcosm of what was going wrong in evangelicalism. “Love your neighbor” signs were being used to coerce people to get the vaccine. A DEI officer was hired. Chapel was showcasing a “diversity of voices,” and it was clear, by their choices, that this didn’t mean a diversity of thought and opinion but a diversity of skin color.

So, I blogged. Some of my first posts here were a series of fictional letters to the head of a university, which you can read here. There are 9 of them, but I can’t say that anyone took much notice. However, my college did do a chapel Q&A with the president every year, where anyone from the audience of 2,000 students was free to ask questions, and hardly anyone did. This was a chance to really speak to a college president. Why wouldn’t I take it? After writing the letters, I was at least prepared to craft any questions I would like to ask.

When the day came, I walked into chapel early and sat towards the front, at the very end of my row. As the rest of the school filtered in and took their seats, the questions I had written down on a sheet of paper were burning a hole in my back pocket. I resisted the urge to look at them again. I wiped my sweaty palms on my jeans. My mouth was dry.

When the floor was opened, someone went up and asked a question about LGBTQ rights on campus. That was predictable, but also good—I didn’t want to be the first one up. I did my best to stand up straight with my shoulders back when I walked to the mic stand. I tried to avoid shaking when the president looked over at me, ready to answer my question. I eyed the folded paper in my hand and started to utter the first one I had written down. I said,

“A writer named Aaron Renn recently identified the current moment, in terms of culture’s view of Christianity, as the ‘Negative World’. He writes that ‘Society has come to have a negative view of Christianity. Being known as a Christian is a social negative, particularly in the elite domains of society.’ Do you agree with this diagnosis of our culture, and what do you think that means for Christian higher education?”

I remember him saying something to the effect that he wasn’t worried about it, that the school would keep doing the things it was doing, and that it’d be business as usual. I thanked him and took my seat. It seemed the polite thing to ask one question and take my seat, but I had so many more.

After chapel, people were starting to get up from their seats and filter out. Then, the school’s president said, “If anyone has more questions, or didn’t get to ask one they wanted, feel free to come talk to me after chapel and we’ll make an appointment.” I took my chance, and, rubbing shoulders with the crowd of people attempting to get to class, I made my way to the front. I caught up to the president, and, getting his attention, asked him if there was a time we could meet. He said yes, and to send him an email to set up a time. A few days later, grateful for the opportunity, I had a half an hour time slot to meet again, in his office.

I was, perhaps, even more nervous before our second interaction. But I was prepared with another sheet of paper. He waved aside my honorifics and wanted to get right down to whatever questions I had. Soon, I relaxed. We had some back and forth about DEI, but the half an hour was quickly passed. It was friendly. He walked me out the door, and to my surprise, said, “If you want to ask me more of those questions you had on that paper, we can do this again.”

We ended up meeting many times after that—more than I can remember—where I was free to share my observations and opinions. As you can tell by the story, I am not an especially brave person, but because I was resilient enough to do something, I like to think that some of the things I said caught the president’s ear, and, I hope, influenced the school to draw away from its liberal drift. And it gave me hope for a brighter future because a college president was willing to take the time to listen to a student.

3. Become Excellent

Since I was 15, I wanted to be a writer, and seeking excellence as a writer sometimes looks different than what looks good on the surface. Let me explain.

Out of high school, I decided that if I was going to be a writer I needed “life experience”. To me, that meant 4 years of doing what I wanted before I went to college. I often regret not going to college right after high school, but I know I wouldn’t have appreciated or gained as much from going to college had I not gone when I did. The perspective the time gave me meant I went into college with a specific goal. I wanted to be a writer, and what would going to college do to help me become one? I gave myself an honest look and knew I didn’t know enough to be a writer. The degree, and having the best grades, would not help me become a writer, but knowing more would. It would give me a more informed perspective and something to say, hopefully, that was more intelligent. It would give me better ways to say it too. So, my goal going into college was—not necessarily to be excellent by getting the best grades I possibly could—but to learn the most I possibly could. The funny thing about school is, that sometimes those things are at odds. But, besides passing my classes, my main goal was to know more.

That goal served me well. I kept up with my grades because I was interested in what I was learning. I thought of it as fodder for my future writing or knowledge that would make me a better human. I am no brainiac—both my sisters, for one, are much smarter than I am and got better grades in school—but I ended up with good grades (for me) when good grades weren’t my goal.

Sometimes excellence is on the surface—like being the fastest runner, the greatest painter, or, yes, being the kid in the school with the best grades. But sometimes pursuing excellence means deviating from the norm to pursue the goals important to you.

Conclusion

As we continue to live in the negative world—where being a Christian will most likely make you a social outcast—I’d encourage you to consider where you can, in your own life, become obedient, resilient, and excellent. Most of all, let God lead you (by becoming obedient to Him) because, as Renn says, “…we have not been this way before. And the answers and strategies of the past aren’t guaranteed to work now if they ever did” (204). The social landscape is a different territory than we’ve ever been in. And, like Renn ends his book, I’ll end with this verse:

Trust in the Lord with all your heart

And lean not on your own understanding;

In all your ways acknowledge Him,

And He will make your paths straight.

-Proverbs 3:5-6