Hevel.org: A Chasing after Wind

I have been thinking about a question recently that is so fundamental to what college professors do that we often lose track of it. The question is, do my courses “challenge” students, and why? A deeper question might be, what is the purpose of a college class, particularly in the Religion department? There are at least three answers to that question, and my sense is that professors and students will disagree about which ones, if any, are correct.

The first place to start thinking about a “challenging” course is in the content itself. What are students asked to read, to write, and to comprehend? There are a few senior professors here who have indisputably “hard” classes and yet are among the most popular teachers on campus. If you listen to candid student comments, or (Heaven forfend) check ratemyprofessors.com, you hear students say that although a class’s work was heavy, the tests difficult, and the professor demanding, it was one of “the best classes I have taken,” etc. I believe that in their most secret place, students long for a rousing academic challenge, properly constructed. I have sometimes made the mistake of putting something difficult on students’ plates without building in the support they might need. However, when arranged properly, students respond to a challenge by working harder, mastering the material, and getting more fulfillment out of the work they do. I don’t really know how to define “learning,” but that is as good a definition as any I know.

The next common answer to the question is that courses must challenge students to become more critical thinkers. This is increasingly taking the place of the previous answer in much of higher education. We are instituting a new program of “Freshman Seminars” next year in which Freshmen will take two small seminars (12-15 students) on narrowly defined topics. There are two rationales: first, that students will get excited about learning when they take a class right out of the orientation chute that is interesting and reflective of their professor’s “passion;” and second, that the process of thinking critically (and creatively) about a topic is more important, or at least foundational, than mastering subject matter. The idea is that they should be able to apply those analytical skills to any topic they encounter, which is more effective than mastering a particular body of knowledge.

The Freshman Seminar program has displaced our traditional premier offering for freshman, the Humanities sequence, which takes the opposite approach. In a large lecture class with 4 professors, students read a whole slate of primary texts and hopefully master particular texts (Homer’s Odyssey, Milton’s’ Paradise Lost, etc.) as well as get a sense of the sweeping whole of the Western tradition. Some professors are involved in creating a Sophomore sequence to keep that content-heavy approach alive, but frankly the whole idea of a “survey course” is growing passé. Furman is probably behind the academic trend, in fact, but gaining fast.

A third answer is implicit in many departments but has been explicit in the Religion department for a long time: a college class should lead students to critically examine themselves, particularly their religious background and beliefs. This is the part of the “academic study of religion” that has created the perception (an urban myth in some places, and sadly a fact in others) that religion professors are “trying to undermine students’ faith” or that they are hostile toward religiously conservative students.

The antagonism between academic religion specialists and religious practitioners goes way back, and might be a good topic for a series of posts. For now, suffice to say that as theologians and biblical scholars in 18th-19th century Europe began to apply humanistic methods to the church, to the Bible, and to religion in general, it became clear that this Enlightenment approach would undermine the old claims of authority for the Bible and church tradition. The first “critical academic scholars” of the Bible were clergymen, but there has been tension between the academy and the church from the start.

Furman is part of a unique thread in that history, the attempt by American liberal Protestants in the 20th century to bridge the gap between academics and faith by developing a de-mythologized and public theology. In many schools like Furman, where almost all of the students were Christian and most were Southern Baptists, the study of the Bible was oriented around 1) using historical criticism to deconstruct the traditional, often literalist, view of scripture by students, and 2) well, often there was no 2). The presumption was that it is not the professor’s job to be pastor or theologian for students and that church-going students will adapt their faith to this new critical perspective in the same way that their professor’s had. Professor’s firmly believed that such integration is possible, but many saw the process as largely the students’ own responsibility.

There have been two important changes that have changed this situation dramatically. First, as the academic study of religion has become increasingly dominated by cultural studies and anthropology, professors are less trained (or interested) in theology or the truth claims of religion itself. Stanley Hauerwas is noted for his contention that “The only requirement for being a member of a religious study department is that you not believe in God.” [See Stanley Fish on this.] So, professors generally no longer see their teaching of religion as a critical purification in service of liberal Protestant theology. Their research and teaching is closer to a wholesale deconstruction of the idea of religious belief and a discrediting (via “contextualization”) of religious practice.

Second, students at traditionally religious colleges are no longer a homogeneous group, and in some ways (like all students?) they are deeply conflicted on the subject of religion. I can only speak anecdotally of my own experience, but my classes seem to be divided among students who are not religious (or not very) and those who are doctrinally conservative (as opposed to temperamental conservatism of the previous generation). Those who are not religious are not deeply “challenged” (or even engaged) by the critical biblical studies that so captured my attention as a student. The doctrinally conservative students are often part of student religious groups with very effective theological formation. My conservative students have always been exceedingly polite and cooperative, but they are more prepared than in the past to fend off the “faith implications” of the historical-critical study of Bible.

I would argue that the standard model of 20th century liberal Protestantism is simply not as effective or relevant as it was. I am still committed to part 1 of the equation, that is, providing a thoroughly critical orientation to the Bible and its history. Aside from being true, the insights of historical-criticism are helpful (in my opinion) for demystifying (not de-mythologizing) the stranger parts of the Bible, and for seeing how the whole things fits together within early Jewish and Christian histories.

What we need to do, however, is find something for part 2. I am still thinking about this, but here are two of the things that I have been working toward in my classes. First, I emphasize the authentic connection between ancient Israel’s experience their developing theology. Certainly there are points where we might criticize them (I cannot seem to work up any sympathy for Ezra 9-10, for instance), but a historical perspective helps us appreciate the beauty and enduring contribution of Israelite theology and religion even more.

Second, I have begun to find ways to include more “history of interpretation” in my courses. It is time consuming and difficult to reframe courses with a more interpretive, hermeneutical focus. However, these discussions help engage students who feel threatened by the critical perspective of the course, and makes the material more “relevant” to students, especially when contemporary film and music are part of the history of interpretation.

Even with our uneven success at it, I am convinced that critical self-reflection and questioning of others has an important place in the classroom. Each of us is a bundle of unexamined assumptions, nascent influences, and self-interest. Also, consider how much our culture, particularly youth culture, gives us the permission to cut intellectual corners under the benevolent dictatorship of “MTV relativism,” where we all see things differently, so there’s no need to examine ourselves or each other, so just pop open another cold one and turn up the volume, ok dude? Students sometimes need a bit of a jolt to break out of this mental mushiness, and a well-crafted religion (or philosophy, or science) course can provide just such a catalyst for independent, critical thinking. But they also need something constructive, some help with integrating their own heritage and beliefs with the new insights and experiences they are gaining. Different students will need different things, and this is an intensive, often one-on-one process. It is necessary, however, if we want our courses to be truly “challenging.”