Against Worldview
Myth, Consensus, and Sight
To examine the concept of “worldview” is to interrogate the intellectual scaffolding of modernity itself. What passes for clarity and coherence under this term often veils a deeper malaise—a flattening of human vision, wherein the transcendent truths of philosophy and theology are traded for mere systems of perception.
As Leo Strauss warns in Natural Right and History, modernity’s turn to historicism and relativism hollows out universal meaning, leaving us with a litany of frameworks but no foundation. This critique is particularly urgent when applied to the myths underpinning the so-called post-war consensus, a political and cultural project whose load-bearing narratives reflect the weaknesses inherent in “worldview.”
Modernity, in its relentless abstraction, bequeaths to us a crisis of vision. The concept of “worldview” exemplifies this crisis: a system of perception that promises coherence but delivers alienation. “Worldview” is impersonal by its very nature, a structured lens that flattens reality into ideology. It is no accident that ideology has come to dominate modern political theology, substituting systemic frameworks for personal rule and loyalty. The post-war consensus, built on myths that sought to engineer harmony, reflects the insufficiency of these impersonal constructs.
Yet the human soul was not made to serve an abstraction. As Plato reminds us, the just city must be ruled not by impersonal systems but by the philosopher-king, whose love of wisdom orders his governance. True rule is personal, rooted in the alignment of the ruler’s soul with the Good. This Platonic insight finds its fulfillment in the Biblical promise of the New Covenant, which calls humanity to align loyally and faithfully—pistis—with God’s law written on the heart. Joel’s prophecy of “new eyes” offers a vision of governance that transcends impersonal frameworks, restoring the personal nature of rule under the King who loves wisdom.
Yet the collapse of modern myths, and of the consensus they once sustained, points beyond itself. As Joel 2:28–29 prophesies, “your young men shall see visions.” These words herald a horizon that transcends the brittle construct of “worldview,” offering instead the transformative clarity of the New Covenant. If the post-war myths falter under their own weight, it is because they are merely human attempts to scaffold reality. Only the divine can restore true sight.
The concept of Weltanschauung, or “worldview,” is a distinctly modern construct, born from the Enlightenment’s turn to human understanding as the ultimate arbiter of reality. Emerging in the wake of Kant’s critique of reason, worldview promised a systematic lens through which fragmented impressions of the world could be unified into coherent meaning. Nietzsche radicalized this idea, transforming worldview into the battleground of competing interpretations, untethered from any metaphysical anchor. In doing so, he exposed its fatal flaw: a worldview is not truth but a shadow of it, a simulacrum that cannot provide ultimate meaning. What began as an attempt to impose order on modernity’s fragmentation ultimately relativized truth, reducing it to the preferences of historical or ideological systems—a phenomenon Strauss identifies as the “tyranny of relativism.”
This impersonal nature of worldview finds its ideological counterpart in the abstraction of political theology. As Carl Schmitt observes, ideology transforms governance into sterile frameworks, devoid of the existential seriousness and personal sovereignty that define true rule. Unlike a king, who governs as a person in relation to his people, ideology enforces bureaucratic systems that demand compliance without loyalty. In this sense, worldview and ideology share a common defect: both depersonalize human relations and reduce the pursuit of truth to cold calculation, eroding the relational essence of governance and society.
Christians who embraced the “worldview” framework often sought to articulate a comprehensive and coherent lens for engaging culture, politics, and society from a theological perspective. These proponents of a “Christian worldview” aimed to unify biblical teaching with philosophical and cultural analysis, advocating for an overarching narrative that shaped how Christians interpreted and interacted with every aspect of life. They sought to ground this framework in biblical principles, emphasizing that faith was not merely personal or private but had implications for every sphere of human activity.
Where their understanding often diverged was in their approach to the relationship between worldview and truth. Some proponents leaned heavily on worldview as a structured system for interpreting reality, borrowing from Enlightenment ideals of coherence and rationality. This emphasis risked reducing faith to an intellectual framework, where Christianity was treated as one comprehensive “system” among competing worldviews. Critics within the Christian tradition argue that this approach can flatten the dynamic, relational aspects of faith, turning it into an ideology rather than a lived relationship with Christ.
Others, however, maintained a more relational understanding, seeing worldview not as an ultimate end but as a means of aligning human perception with divine truth. For them, the goal was not merely to adopt a system but to cultivate a faithful, Spirit-led engagement with culture that acknowledged the limitations of human constructs. This relational approach resonates more closely with the biblical emphasis on pistis. These Christians emphasized the transformative power of the gospel, prioritizing the New Covenant’s promise of a renewed heart and mind over the static constructs of human systems.
Thus, the key difference among Christians promoting a worldview framework lies in whether they treated worldview as a tool for understanding reality under God or as an ultimate, systematic construct. This distinction shaped their emphasis on either a relationally rooted, Spirit-led faith or a more rigidly impersonal approach to engaging the world.
Plato’s critique of impersonal rule offers a striking contrast. In The Republic, the philosopher-king governs not through abstraction but through his alignment with the Good, which is the source of both his wisdom and his loving care for the polis. For Plato, the shadows of ideology belong to the realm of doxa (opinion), always subordinate to aletheia (truth). In the allegory of the cave, prisoners mistake the flickering shadows on the wall for reality until one can escape to behold the light of the Good. Similarly, the modern obsession with worldview traps us in ideological shadows, mistaking human constructs for ultimate truths. Strauss, in his critique of historicism, and Schmitt, in his warning against abstracted political theology, echo this Platonic insight: ideology reduces existential decisions to lifeless systems, alienating humanity from its transcendent purpose.
Aristotle complements this critique by offering a corrective: the goal of any interpretive framework must be its alignment with telos—the ultimate purpose. A worldview untethered from the pursuit of truth becomes not a lens for clarity but a cage that confines perception to finite horizons. True frameworks, whether philosophical or political, must point beyond themselves, directing human understanding toward its higher purpose. Governance, too, must reflect this alignment, prioritizing personal virtue and relations over impersonal systems.
Thus, the modern fixation on worldview, while promising coherence, leads to fragmentation when divorced from metaphysical truth. It depersonalizes human existence and governance, leaving individuals trapped in ideological shadows. Only by transcending worldview through alignment with the Good—whether understood philosophically as the telos or theologically as the divine—can we escape this impasse and recover the personal, relational foundations of truth and rule.
The post-war consensus exemplifies the limitations of worldview and the fragility of myths rooted in impersonal ideology. Emerging from the devastation of World War II, this consensus relied on a series of cultural myths that framed democracy, capitalism, and global stability as universally applicable and morally triumphant. These narratives, while pragmatically effective in the short term, conflated material prosperity with moral purpose, substituting economic growth for the cultivation of character. As a result, the consensus prioritized utilitarian ends over deeper virtues, constructing a civic religion of democracy that masked a growing disenchantment with traditional cultural forms, now subordinated to technocratic systems.
Aristotle’s critique of myth offers a compelling lens through which to view this failure. For Aristotle, myths should orient society toward its telos, fostering virtue and directing individuals toward the common good. The myths of the post-war consensus failed this test, reducing governance to a utilitarian project that emphasized economic efficiency and global systems at the expense of relational and communal bonds. Rather than fostering shared virtue, these myths enshrined impersonal ideals that lacked the existential depth necessary to sustain a cohesive society.
Carl Schmitt’s critique of ideology as sterile political theology resonates here. The myths of the post-war consensus, though framed as moral imperatives, were in fact ideological constructs that demanded allegiance to abstractions such as “freedom,” “progress,” and “global stability.” This impersonal political theology, severed from relational governance, lacked the ability to bind people together meaningfully. Without a metaphysical grounding, these myths were brittle, unable to withstand the fractures introduced by disillusionments like Vietnam, economic crises, and the cultural fragmentation of the late 20th century.
The civic religion of democracy, celebrated as a moral triumph, encapsulated the broader failure of the post-war consensus. Its rituals and narratives demanded allegiance not to persons but to abstract systems of governance. This depersonalized structure eroded the communal and relational foundations of society, leaving its adherents disillusioned when the promised progress faltered. Myths that lack personal and metaphysical grounding, as Aristotle and Schmitt both suggest, cannot endure; they crumble under the weight of their own insufficiency.
Ultimately, the post-war consensus reveals the inherent fragility of worldview when severed from deeper metaphysical truths and personal relationality. Its reliance on impersonal myths reflected a broader failure to cultivate virtue or align governance with telos. As the consensus unraveled, it exposed the inadequacy of ideology and the need for governance rooted in the personal, the relational, and the transcendent. Only such governance can bind a people together and sustain them through the trials of history.
Against the failure of human constructs stands the promise of the New Covenant. Joel’s prophecy offers a striking alternative to the concept of worldview: “And it shall come to pass afterward, that I will pour out my Spirit on all flesh; your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, your old men shall dream dreams, and your young men shall see visions” (Joel 2:28). This is no abstract framework or ideological construct but a divine reordering of human perception. The Spirit does not impose systems but renews sight, aligning humanity with the reality of God’s truth.
The New Covenant fulfills this promise by writing the law on the heart, as Jeremiah 31:33 and Hebrews 8:10 proclaim. Where the post-war consensus relied on external myths and impersonal constructs to enforce unity, the Spirit brings an internal transformation that empowers true sight. Romans 12:2 underscores this radical shift: “Do not be conformed to this world, but be transformed by the renewal of your mind.” The New Covenant replaces the shadows of ideology with the light of divine truth, transcending human constructs to offer a transformative relational reality.
This vision answers Aristotle’s concern for telos. The New Covenant aligns human life with its ultimate purpose: communion with God. Unlike the provisional myths and utilitarian aims of the post-war consensus, it does not offer another system of perception but the reality itself. It reorients humanity not toward ideology or abstraction but toward relational fulfillment in the divine. In doing so, it transcends even the modern obsession with worldview, offering not a framework but the truth of God’s sovereign reign.
At the heart of this transformation is pistis. The New Covenant does not call humanity to adhere to impersonal rules but to align faithfully with the person of Christ, the King who embodies wisdom and love. This eschatological vision reveals governance not as the imposition of systems but as a relational reign rooted in care, wisdom, and personal transformation.
This personal rule contrasts profoundly with the ideological constructs of modernity. Where ideology demands compliance with abstractions, the New Covenant invites relational loyalty. Where worldview imposes impersonal structures, the Spirit renews and transforms. It is not a governance of frameworks but the loving rule of the King who sees and restores His people. Here, humanity is not conformed to the shadows of ideology but brought into the light of divine truth, fully aligned with its ultimate purpose.
To see with new eyes is to transcend the limitations of “worldview.” Plato’s philosopher-king must ascend from the cave to behold the Good, just as the Christian must leave behind the shadows of ideology to embrace the truth of the New Covenant. This does not imply a rejection of all frameworks; human understanding, bound by its finitude, relies on lenses to perceive reality. Yet no framework, no matter how intricate, suffices as an ultimate ground. True sight requires a reordering of perception, a movement from human constructs to the divine reality that undergirds all existence.
The failure of the post-war consensus offers a vivid cautionary tale. Built on myths of democracy, progress, and economic stability, the consensus aspired to unify fractured societies but lacked the existential depth to bear the weight of history. Noble as its aspirations may have been, these myths proved too fragile to endure the crises of the late 20th century. They rested on the shifting sands of ideology rather than the bedrock of truth. The Biblical vision provides a corrective: rather than constructing new myths to sustain cultural or political projects, we are called to live in light of the reality revealed in Christ. This is not a vision of perpetual reinvention, but of restoration—a return to the source of all meaning.
To transcend the limitations of “worldview” and ideology is to recover the personal nature of rule. Plato’s philosopher-king, whose governance flows from alignment with the Good, offers an image of relational governance that avoids the sterility of abstraction. Yet even Plato’s ideal points beyond itself, finding its ultimate fulfillment in the New Covenant. Here, the King who loves wisdom governs not through external systems or impersonal laws but through hearts transformed by faith–a governance marked by care, wisdom, and personal transformation.
The implications of this vision are profound, extending beyond the individual to encompass politics and culture. The failure of the post-war consensus reveals the insufficiency of ideological myths to bind a people together. A truly just society cannot rest on impersonal abstractions or technocratic systems but must be rooted in relational loyalty and personal governance. This begins with the King who embodies wisdom and love and radiates outward, cultivating communities aligned not by coercion but by shared fidelity to truth and virtue.
Such a society, oriented toward the personal and the transcendent, restores what ideology has eroded: the bonds of relational governance and the grounding of culture in ultimate truth. To see with new eyes is to abandon the shadows of human constructs for the light of divine reality. It is to live not by myths that crumble under the weight of history, but by the truth that endures, renewing individuals and communities alike. This is the restoration promised in the New Covenant, where human life is reordered to its proper end—communion with the Good, the True, and the Beautiful.
The collapse of the post-war consensus reveals the fragility of “worldview” as a construct. Once celebrated as a moral and political triumph, the consensus was exposed as a brittle framework of myths, incapable of withstanding the trials of history. Yet this failure, rather than being an endpoint, points toward something greater: the promise of Joel, fulfilled in the New Covenant. It is a call to renewed sight, where divine truth is written not on systems or ideologies but on the human heart.
To see with new eyes is to transcend the shadows of ideology and enter the light of the Good. This is the journey from the finite frameworks of worldview to the enduring wisdom of divine reality, from the brittle myths of human striving to the grace of divine truth. Such a vision does not reject human frameworks outright but reorders them under the primacy of ultimate meaning, restoring them to their rightful place as tools rather than ultimate grounds. Only in this restoration can humanity bear the weight of truth.
The failure of worldview and ideology lies in their impersonal nature, their inability to sustain the relational bonds that define authentic governance and community. As the post-war consensus unraveled, it exposed the insufficiency of abstract systems to bind people together. Yet in this collapse emerges a greater vision: the personal rule of the King who loves wisdom. Unlike ideology, which governs through impersonal demands, the New Covenant embodies governance rooted in relational care and personal transformation.
Through the New Covenant, humanity is called into alignment with divine truth through pistis—relational fidelity to Christ. This governance is not built on abstraction but on love, not on impersonal systems but on the renewal of the heart. To see with new eyes is to step beyond the limitations of worldview into the light of truth, where rule is personal, care is relational, and sight is fully restored.
In this vision, the failures of ideology and worldview are redeemed, pointing not to despair but to hope. The journey from myth to reality, from abstraction to love, is the path of restoration offered in the New Covenant. Here, individuals and communities find their ultimate grounding—not in brittle constructs, but in the eternal truth of the Good, the True, and the Beautiful, written on hearts and revealed in the loving reign of the King who sees and restores all.
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