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On a summer's Saturday morning in Pasadena, more than ten years ago, my ten-year-old son Andrew and I, as was our custom, walked downtown, where our first stop was Stottlemyre's: ice cream for Andrew, coffee for me, cookies for us both. Then a half-block down Colorado Boulevard to Bungalow News, where we checked the comics to see if there was a new installment of Donald Duck or Uncle Scrooge. Next across the street to Vroman's Bookstore, a Pasadena institution, for a quick look: had anything of interest arrived since our last visit? And finally, just down the street from Vroman's, to the House of Fiction, where our friend Bill Tunilla presided.

Here we stayed for a while: I in a battered easy chair, talking books and baseball with Bill; Andrew roving among the boxes draped with dirty blankets, woolen sweaters, and old sweatshirts, the teetering stacks of books waiting to be priced. After an hour or so, we set off for home, stopping at Rick's for a bag of french fries to share as we walked and talked. I mentioned to Andrew that I'd noticed a couple of books in Vroman's with "soul" in the title—not in the religion section (where we rarely looked anyway; here Vroman's was no match for the riches of the Fuller Seminary Bookstore) but on the table of new nonfiction. That was surprising: that "soul" suddenly had a certain cachet.

Andrew said he had wondered a good deal about the soul: what was it? His question shouldn't have taken me by surprise—by the time they are ten, children have started to wrestle with most of the essential metaphysical questions—but it did. I don't remember what I said then, and Andrew may well have forgotten the conversation altogether, but afterward I was dissatisfied.

* * *

In the years since that walk, spanning the last decade of the twentieth century and taking us into the twenty-first, the nature of the soul hasn't changed a whit, but the context for talk about the soul has altered considerably. First, we are by now awash in such talk. If, a decade ago, it was surprising to see the company "soul" was keeping, the novelty has long since worn off, and we greet Thomas Moore's latest production, The Soul of Sex, with a shrug. Still, the books with "soul" in the title keep on coming: Questions for the Soul,Games for the Soul,Soul Work: A Guide for Spiritual Seekers,Finding Your Way Home: A Soul Survival Kit (the last by Melody Beattie, who made codependence a household word), and so on, ad nauseum.

The same period has seen an explosion of scholarly interest in "consciousness." There is a vast and steadily growing literature in the field of consciousness studies, ranging from specialized work in neuroscience to boldly ambitious overviews such as Daniel Dennett's modestly titled bestseller, Consciousness Explained. Sometimes implicitly but often explicitly, the literature of consciousness impinges on our understanding of the soul. Indeed, many scholars confidently assert that we have learned enough about the brain to dispense with the notion of the soul once and for all.

Oddly, while all of this has been going on, the church hasn't paid much attention. Sometimes it seems as if everyone but the church is talking about the soul. In the last ten years I have heard more than 500 sermons. They've covered an enormously wide range of subjects, and they've been full of good teaching, but not a single one of them has attempted to define the soul in biblical terms. Christian scholarship has a better record. Some valuable books have probed the concept of the soul from perspectives informed by biblical studies, theology, philosophy, and neuroscience. But welcome as these books are, their existence chiefly signifies how much more needs to be done.

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December (Web-only) 2001, Vol. 45