Completing Goldman's The Search for God at Harvard

I finished Ari Goldman's The Search for God at Harvard.

Did Ari Goldman find God at Harvard Divinity School?  At the end of the book, he says that maybe he did.  I'm not sure how, though.  Goldman learned a lot about comparative religion, and he says that he tried to approach the subject in a manner other than passive and detached observation, but, by writing about it, he somewhat was a passive observer----on the outside looking in.  Goldman also talked with people at HDS who were on spiritual journeys, and he told fascinating stories about where they ended up after HDS----stories that gave some hope to a humanities student like myself that perhaps even I can find some line of work, however difficult the searching process might be.  One student, who before was leery about regarding God as someone who pulled strings, began to fall back on the notion that God might have a plan.  And Ari Goldman concluded that his own ministry was journalism rather than more academic work in religious studies, or the clergy.  Was this Ari Goldman's discovery of God at Harvard: reaffirming his own life's purpose?

In my latest reading, there was one point where Ari Goldman felt that Harvard Divinity School's academic treatment of the New Testament ran in the opposite direction from what he wanted: to learn about what made Christians tick.  Consequently, Goldman took a class that was a joint venture between the Episcopal Divinity School and Weston Jesuit School of Theology.  Goldman (a religious Jew) did not care for one professor's supersessionist beliefs, but another professor for the class had a more philo-Judaic approach.  Goldman still enjoyed the class, however, because of its passionate engagement with the text.  Perhaps this class had more spiritual content than the one at Harvard Divinity School, which may have focused on such topics as authorship. (Goldman says that he learned in the HDS one that Matthew was a Jewish Gospel.)

In reading Goldman's discussion of his interaction with New Testament studies, I was reminded of the situation when I was at Harvard Divinity School.  Some people took Karen King's class at HDS, but others took Daniel Harrington's class at Weston Jesuit.  I did not take either, but my impression (based on what I have heard) is that Karen King went into the diversity of early Christianity and Gnosticism, whereas Harrington delved more into the theology and spirituality within the New Testament.  An African-American student called Harrington's class a "shouting class", the sort of class where you want to shout "Amen!" at the preacher.  Contrary to what one might think, there wasn't entirely a liberal-conservative divide in which liberals took King's class and conservatives took Harrington's.  There were liberal HDS students who loved Harrington's class.  And one conservative Christian HDS student was drawn to Karen King's class because she was looking for something different.

Goldman's discussion about the future of Harvard Divinity School was intriguing.  He talked about Ronald Thiemann becoming dean of HDS and enacting reforms, such as putting HDS on a better financial footing, filling vacant posts, integrating HDS more into the broader Harvard community, and encouraging Christian spirituality at HDS by bringing Krister Stendahl back to the campus.  Goldman said that mainline Protestantism was on the rise while evangelicalism was on the decline, with the religious scandals of the late 1980's and the end of Moral Majority, and Goldman forecasted that this would help HDS.  As someone who attended HDS in 1999-2002, what can I say about this?  When I arrived at Harvard, Thiemann was no longer the dean.  But there were a lot of classes to take that were taught by excellent faculty, more people at Harvard seemed to know about the Div School and even took classes there, and there was more Christian spirituality on the campus.  While there were a lot of mainline Protestants at HDS, there was also a growing number of evangelicals when I was there----and they had their own group, plus there were evangelicals who were teaching classes at HDS. 

In terms of my overall impression of Goldman's book, I think that he should have focused more on how he found God at Harvard, since that's what the book was supposed to be about.  But he spent a lot of space talking about his family, his background in Orthodox Judaism, and his career as a journalist, much of which took place before he went to Harvard.  There's nothing wrong with this----I, as one who used to keep the seventh-day Sabbath----could identify with his story about how he sought to reconcile Sabbath observance with having a career.  Moreover, it's important to remember that Goldman came to Harvard with a back-story, as does everyone who attends Harvard or goes anywhere.  But I think that he could have done a better job in terms of integrating his back-story into his story about searching for God at Harvard.  I also believe that he should have gone into more detail about whether or not he found God at Harvard.

Ari Goldman on Annemarie Schimmel

In my latest reading of The Search for God at Harvard, I enjoyed Ari Goldman's discussion of Annemarie Schimmel, who taught a class that he took called "Muslim Religious Life".  According to Goldman, Annemarie Schimmel closed her eyes and lectured for the next fifty minutes, only opening her eyes occasionally.  Even when the lights in the classroom went off and a student had to fix the light switch's timer to bring the lights back on, Annemarie Schimmel didn't miss a beat: she kept on lecturing through all of that!  And she interspersed her lectures with some anecdotes and humor.

I like it when academia (or any other institution) gives people the leeway to be eccentric, as long as they get the job done.  Life would be boring without that!

Animal Sacrifice and Substitutionary Atonement

I read the chapter entitled "African Religions" in Ari Goldman's The Search for God at Harvard.  I'd like to quote what Goldman says on page 223 about how reading and learning about the Nuer tribe (which is located in the Sudan) helped him to "better...understand [animal] sacrifice in the Jewish tradition" (page 223):

"The Nuer helped me understand.  By learning about their sacrificial rites, I was better able to understand sacrifice in the Jewish tradition.  For the Nuer, sacrifice is a way of substituting one life for another----the life of the animal for the life of a man who is in danger of death because of either illness or mortal sin.  In the ritual, the animal is killed, the blood is poured and some prime portions of meat are given to the priest.  Then the family that brought the offering sits down for a festive meal...In ancient Israel and among the Nuer, they kill for forgiveness----and then they eat."

According to Goldman, the Nuer regard animal sacrifices to be substitutionary, in that the animal dies in place of the person bringing the offering.  As a result, the person is forgiven.  That's essentially the concept of sacrifice with which I was raised: that the animal died in place of the sinner.  I one time heard preacher Ron Dart say in a sermon that animal sacrifices graphically got their point across, for, when a person saw the neck of the animal get sliced, he realized that he should have been the one who died, not the animal.

But there are other ideas that I have heard about animal sacrifices: that animal sacrifices were not substitutionary, but rather the life that was in the blood (Leviticus 17:11) put life into the cosmos (resulting in fertility), or that blood was a decontaminant that cleansed the defiled altar with life.  On a similar note, the belief that Jesus atoned for our sins in a substitutionary manner is only one Christian view on the atonement, for there is also the model that believers die with Jesus and rise again as righteous people, and other models, such as Christus Victor.

Who is right?  I don't know.  Could the Nuer have been influenced in their conception of sacrifice by a substitutionary Christian model of the atonement?  On page 220, Goldman talks about how African religion has been influenced by Christian missionaries.  In Malawi, people adored an ancestor named Mbona.  When European Christian missionaries came there in the 1800's, Goldman narrates, people in Malawi altered their conception of Mbona, saying that he was born of a virgin, and portraying him as a man on a cross rather than as a warrior.  Goldman's professor, Lamin Sanneh, said that "Missionaries did not disrupt [African religions, but t]hey added another layer" (Sanneh's words, except for what I add in the brackets).

But, according to Goldman, the Nuer were different, for they were "an isolated tribe of the southern Sudan" and did not come under Christianity's influence, "Despite the broad swath that Christianity cut across Africa" (page 222).  And yet, while I am far from being an expert on African religions, I'm uncomfortable with saying that Christianity could have had no influence at all on the Nuer.

But I wouldn't be surprised if the Nuer arrived at the conception that animal sacrifice was substitutionary on their own.  It's not that much of a stretch to arrive at that conception of animal sacrifice: the Nuer (like others) could have believed that sin resulted in death, and that the way for them to be forgiven was through an animal dying in their place.

Harvard Libraries and Reading

There was a lot of ground covered in my latest reading of Ari Goldman's The Search for God at Harvard: Ari's search for a library at Harvard where he felt comfortable studying; Ari's happiness that being a student gave him a chance to read more books than he could when he was a reporter, caught up in the hustle and bustle of his responsibilities; how writing a paper for a class was different from writing a news story (he got a "B" on a paper); how he felt bad when he was violating Shabbat, not because he feared divine retribution, but because keeping the Sabbath allowed him to be himself; how he was not allowed to help a tired woman carry her groceries on the Sabbath, and he felt bad on account of that; how a Catholic church in the 1980's rejected a request by a man dying of AIDS and his wife to renew their vows at the church, and the arch-conservative John J. O'Connor stepped in, reversed that decision, and attended the wedding; Goldman's interview with the controversial John Shelby Spong; and how attending a synagogue provided male Orthodox Jews with a conversation-starter for women attending the synagogue, namely, "Shabbat Shalom, what did you think of the sermon?"

What I'll comment on in this post will be where I mostly studied when I was at Harvard, and also the question of whether or not being a student gave me more time to read for pleasure.

I started out studying at the Divinity School library.  The thing is, before it got refurbished, it was not particularly the most comfortable place to study, for it largely had desks with hard chairs (but there were a few couches).  Goldman mentions the distraction of the congenial people there, but I tended to avoid the library because it reminded me of how I did not fit in with people: I preferred a place where I did not know as many people, rather than to be at the Div School, where I was reminded that I did not fit in.  (I'm trying to get over this avoidant personality trait.)  I tried Widener, but Widener had a lot of desks with hard chairs, and I found the study carrels where the books were to be dark, lonely, and depressing.  I studied at Lamont for a while.  The big room on the first floor had comfortable chairs, but there were a lot of people there, so it was distracting.  Like Ari, I sometimes studied at the Farnsworth library at Lamont, and it was a nice place of solitude, but it was rather dark, and the leather chairs were not always the most comfortable for me.  I often went to the law school library, but the place that had the comfortable chairs had a lot of people circulating around.

And then I found Hilles, which Ari does not mention.  I learned of Hilles when I was looking for a video, and the online catalog said that it was at Hilles.  I used to enjoy watching movies at DePauw University, and I wondered if Hilles, too, had a place where I could watch movies.  And it did: it had a video collection, and also a room with televisions.  Moreover, even though it was a rather big library and had lots of books on a variety of subjects (and I could often find what I needed there for papers), not many people were there.  And there was a nice comfortable sofa, where I could lay down and do my reading.  Plus, during my second and third years as a student at Harvard Divinity School, Hilles was the closest library to where I lived.  I enjoyed taking walks at Hilles when hardly anybody was there, as I prayed and looked at books.  But I can't say that I was entirely isolated socially, for there were a few Div School students who also hanged out there, either to study, or because they worked there for their work-study, or both.  So I got to have some small-talk with other students, but I found Hilles to be calmer on my nerves than the other libraries at Harvard.

And I wonder if the layout of Hilles had something to do with it being calmer on my nerves.  I said that it was a big library, and it was, somewhat.  But the ceiling was rather low on each floor.  And Hilles struck me and others as a rather Spartan place, which was why others I knew thought that it was a depressing place to study (someone told me that it needed new carpeting), whereas I liked it.  At other libraries, the ceiling was usually really high, which intimidated me, and there was also a lot of color at them (i.e., a lot of blue at the law school).  One characteristic that I've heard that people with Asperger's have is that they like monochromatic settings.  I'm not sure if that is universally true, but that may be another reason why I enjoyed studying at Hilles: it was simple and Spartan.

Now for my question about reading: Did I have more opportunities to read for pleasure as a student?  Goldman on page 184 says: "My year at Harvard was a little like fulfilling a legion of New York intellectual fantasies.  It was like reading The New York Review of Books and knowing that you would have time to read each new book reviewed."

I found my time at DePauw University and at Harvard to be a lot like that, and the reason was that, when researching for papers, I had an opportunity to read quite a few books.  At Harvard, I decided to do a paper on Paul Tillich for a class, and so I got to read Tillich's huge systematic theology, which my Mom gave me.  I was thinking about writing a paper on Karl Barth's view on revelation, and so I read the volumes of his Church Dogmatics about the Bible as the Word of God.  I was taking a class on Jonathan Edwards, and so I read Freedom of the Will, Original Sin, and Religious Affections in researching for my paper.  I considered that to be reading for pleasure: it was the academic passion that I used to have, the desire to dive into books that I wanted to read but ordinarily did not have the time or the discipline to read.

At Jewish Theological Seminary, I somewhat got away from that, and the same was true at Hebrew Union College.  Why?  I still did reading to research for papers, but it was usually articles, or the pieces of the books that I needed rather than the entire books.  Plus, I was taking so many language classes that took up a lot of my time (though, as I think back to my Harvard days, I wonder how I found the time to plow through all of those books that I read, while taking a full course-load of classes and also working at my work-study job).  But I did get that old feeling of excitement when a professor of mine at Hebrew Union College gave me a list of books to read for my comp on the Hebrew Bible.  And, as I prepared for my comps, I availed myself of the opportunity to read other books that I long wanted to read, but did not have the time to read, such as Julius Wellhausen's Prolegomena.

Nowadays, I read a lot.  I'd say that blogging has encouraged me to read, the same way that writing papers and preparing for comps were an impetus for me to read books in the past, for I can blog about what I read, and that can spice up my reading, as I look for interesting things to blog about.  But there are times when I prefer simply to enjoy the book, without offering my two-cents worth on it.

Does the Bible Have a Place in the Academic Discussion of Theology?

For my write-up today on Ari Goldman's The Search for God at Harvard, my focus will be on the role of the Bible in theology, or the authority of the Bible, or bringing the Bible into academic theological discussions.  Something along those lines.

I'll start this post with a story that Goldman tells on pages 175-176.  Goldman is talking about a Christian Scientist named Fran who attended Harvard Divinity School the same time that he did.  Fran came to the Div School because she thought that it was a tolerant, friendly place when she visited as a Brandeis student doing research.  But, as Goldman narrates, in a class called "Contemporary Theology", "she found that there was little tolerance for one way of thinking" (page 175).  There was a debate in the class about whether or not there is life after death.  Fran said, "There is proof from John, Chapter 11, where Jesus raises Lazarus from the dead."  There were snickers in the class in response to her comment, and the discussion proceeded as if Fran's point had not even been made.  On page 176, Goldman says that "In certain academic circles, especially at Harvard Divinity School, the Bible can be picked apart, examined, debated and condemned but never, never accepted at face value as historic fact."

One might be tempted to think that the reaction to Fran's comment stemmed from a village atheist notion that we cannot appeal to the Bible as an authority on such issues as life after death, for there is no proof that the Bible is true.  And maybe some of the students who snickered at her comment did so out of that kind of sentiment.  But, in my experience, it's not exactly the case that, in places such as Harvard Divinity School, the Bible is considered to be completely off the table in discussions of such issues as life after death, ethics, politics, or other issues.  It's just that Fran appealed to the Bible in the wrong way (in the eyes of many of her classmates), in a proof-texting, fundamentalist sort of manner. 

If we were to dismiss a source that has no proof for its authority (such as the Bible) from a discussion about whether or not there is life after death, what would be an acceptable source that could guide people in such a discussion?  I mean, as far as I know, there is not exactly any solid evidence that there is life after death.  I wonder this when it comes to the academic study of theology in general: what is the evidence for theological scenarios or claims about God?  If we can't appeal to the Bible because there's no proof for it, then how can we claim anything about God, since there's no solid proof that God even exists, let alone that God is a certain way or has specific intentions? 

I can speculate about what would have been acceptable comments in that classroom discussion on life after death: sophisticated analyses of the mind-body problem (i.e., do we have a soul that can exist apart from the body, or do our thoughts and consciousness stem solely from our physical brains?), and looking at how world religions handle life after death.  I can picture people nodding contemplatively as a soft-spoken lady talks about Native American belief in life after death.  I can also envision people nodding as a student discusses Elisabeth Kubler-Ross' experiences with the beyond, even though they'd probably snicker if someone mentioned the cable TV documentaries on ghosts!

As far as the Bible is concerned, perhaps it could be mentioned in a Harvard Divinity School classroom without being snickered at, but one would have to manifest consciousness of the Bible's diversity and interaction with the historical times in which its writings were composed.  Could the Bible have authority, even in a Harvard Divinity School classroom?  I think so, but it wouldn't be the same sort of authority that fundamentalists believe in: the Bible is true because God spoke or inspired all of it.  Rather, the authority would be rooted in community acceptance of and grappling with the biblical writings or the ideas within them, or personal experience of the transcendent, or the Bible containing thought-provoking ideas.  On pages 134-135, Goldman talks about how his Jewish professor, Louis Jacobs, was observant even though he accepted scholarly constructions that dismissed the divine revelation of the Torah on Mount Sinai.  According to Goldman, Jacobs rooted the authority of Jewish law, not in Sinai, but in "'the historical experiences of the Jewish people,' which in itself, he writes, is a type of revelation."  Jacobs wrote that "There has to be a different concept of revelation from that which obtained before the rise of critical scholarship".

Would an HDS discussion on life after death actually go anywhere in terms of answering questions?  I doubt that it would in the same way that such would occur in a discussion in a small group fundamentalist Bible study: a person cites a proof-text, and everyone is satisfied (though, in conservative Christian Bible study groups where there are seminarians, you'd probably get more nuance and more issues getting unresolved by the end of the study).  But, in an HDS discussion, you'd hear a variety of opinions, and you'd probably walk out with a broad perspective about how people have addressed the topic of life after death.

I have to say, though, that I rarely heard any discussions about life after death when I was at Harvard Divinity School, but I am speculating, based on my impression of how the Bible and theology were treated by students and professors when I was there.

John Courtney Murray and Reflections on Religion in the Public Square

For my write-up today on The Search for God at Harvard, I'll use as my starting-point something that Ari Goldman says on pages 117-118 about the Catholic thinker John Courtney Murray's stance on church and state:

"On writing on church-state issues, Murray said that the church should not try to impose its will on society through legislation that would outlaw for all citizens those practices forbidden to Catholics, such as divorce.  (Today, Murray followers might add such practices as birth control and homosexuality, maybe even abortion, all issues unthought of in the context of church teaching in Murray's day).  Rather than try to impose the Catholic will on others, Murray said, the church should present its positions on the basis of moral values and reason and thereby try to influence both its own members and society at large.  Such a position, Murray admitted, did 'not promise to transform society into the City of God' but only to prescribe 'the minimum of morality which must be observed by the members of society if a social environment is to be human and inhabitable."

I've wrestled with the issue of religion and the public square on this blog before: see, for example, here and here.  I suppose that, if I have a position on whether religion should influence public policy, I'd tentatively say sure, so long as the religionists make their arguments in the public square, not on the basis of divine revelation, but rather on the basis of what is good for society.  Does that overlap with Murray's position?  I don't know.  As I look at Goldman's characterization of Murray's position, it does appear to maintain that the church should seek to influence society through an appeal to moral values and reason, and that is essentially what I'm saying.  On the other hand, Goldman also quotes Murray as saying that society should prescribe a "minimum of morality" that is necessary for society to be "human and inhabitable", which (to me) implies that society should ban things like obvious murder and theft, but not things like divorce and birth control.  I'm just guessing here, for I have not read Murray.

The thing is, one can argue that a more expansive role for government----more expansive than John Locke's view that government should limit itself to protecting people's life, liberty, and property----is essential for society to be "human and inhabitable".  From a left-wing perspective, one can argue that having a social safety-net that makes sure that people don't fall through the cracks when they become poor and sick is essential for society to be "human and inhabitable".  From a right-wing Catholic perspective, one can argue that society should discourage divorce because marriage is better for the stable upbringing of children (whether that's true or not has been debated).

But, even if conservative Catholics can advance secular arguments (if you will) for why their religious preferences should be made into law, it should be remembered that there are limits to what the law can accomplish.  Abortion will not vanish just because there's a law against it, for example, for there are reasons that women have abortion, and in some cases those reasons are understandable (the costs of raising a child), even if you don't want to go so far as to say that abortion is justifiable.  A blanket prohibition on divorce will not necessarily bring about family stability because keeping together two people who hate each other and constantly bicker will not help the children or provide them with a stable environment. 

Whether or not I agree that accepting the evangelical version of the Gospel will necessarily change people's hearts and minds, I do believe that societal change is contingent on people's hearts and minds being changed----on them becoming more compassionate, or tolerant, or reflective.  I wouldn't say that there should be no laws until people's hearts and minds are changed, however.  While I believe that laws against divorce and birth control would be unrealistic, I think that there should be a social safety net because, if the government does not provide that, nobody else will, at least not on an adequate level.  And, in the case of civil rights, the government was right to step in and to ban discrimination against African-Americans, for, while white racists did need for their hearts to be changed in order for discrimination to come to an end, waiting for that to happen would have been futile, in my opinion: the government needed to provide that push.

That said, I enjoyed Ari Goldman's discussion in his chapter on Catholicism and his complex relationship with the controversial conservative Catholic Archbishop of New York (from 1984-2000), John Joseph O'Connor!  The way Goldman narrates, O'Connor liked Goldman and his family and also respected their Jewish practices when they all ate together.  But O'Connor did not always like how Goldman (a reporter) covered O'Connor's controversial stances in the public square.

Goldman's Chapter on Hinduism

For my write-up today on Ari Goldman's The Search for God at Harvard, I'll talk some about Goldman's chapter on Hinduism.

Goldman opens this chapter with a conversation between a Hindu teacher and his pupil.  The pupil repeatedly asks how many gods there are, and the teacher first responds with 3,306, then 33, then 1 and 1/2, and finally one.  Goldman did not then do what I expected him to do----to say that Hinduism believes that the millions of gods are manifestations of one god (which I have heard, but I do not know if that's true or not).  Rather, Goldman proceeds to contrast Hindu pluralism ("the question of God...can be seen from different valid angles", Goldman on page 80) with the Western preoccupation with finding one truth, and to say that Hinduism believes that "Reality...far exceeds what we can ever imagine or express" (page 80).  Goldman then characterizes Hinduism as henotheistic, which means worshiping one god at a time.  According to henotheism, there is more than one god out there, but you pick one to worship, and you then treat that one as the only god (or goddess).  Goldman tells the story of Vishnu and Brahma arguing over who was the "ultimate Creator" (page 81).  Each then enters the body of the other to understand the other's point-of-view, they gain a new perspective and honor each other as creator, and the fiery god Shiva consumes them.  Goldman says that many Hindu tales don't make much sense to him, and I'd say the same thing in describing my own reaction, as a Westerner----for, after all, how can both gods be the ultimate creator?  But, like Goldman, I still find the tale to be intriguing.

Later in the chapter, Goldman talks about two Harvard Divinity School students who were interested in Hinduism.  One was a Jew named Gary, who was interested in parallels and "theological and historic links" between Hinduism and post-biblical, pre-Christian Judaism.  Goldman does not go into much detail on this, but he does say that Gary showed him that Krishna is mentioned in the Book of Esther.  The text is probably Esther 1:14, which mentions Carshena as one of the seven princes who advised King Ahasuerus of Persia.  (So was Krishna a human being before he was divinized, according to this view?)  The other was a lady with a United Church of Christ background, Diane.  Goldman did not talk much about her interaction with Hinduism, but rather her spiritual journey and her wrestling with whether or not she should become a minister.

Gary and Diane are gay, and, according to Goldman, they liked Harvard Divinity School because that was one of the few seminaries where being gay was considered all right.  As Goldman says on page 85: "At most seminaries, being homosexual is a cardinal sin; at the Div School, the cardinal sin is being homophobic----that is, discriminating in any way against homosexuals."  I found that to be true when I was there.  On the one hand, I still see (in retrospect) the atmosphere of Harvard Divinity School on that issue to have been rather intolerant towards those who regarded homosexual conduct as a sin.  On the other hand, I can somewhat understand the desire of the homosexual students there to be at a place where they could be who they are and not be judged.  Could there be an atmosphere that draws from the best of both worlds: people just being tolerant of those who choose to believe and live differently from them?

Faith and Scholarship; News or Religious Book?

I have two items for my write-up today on Ari Goldman's The Search for God at Harvard.

1.  On page 70, Goldman states:

"Another noteworthy development in the academic study of religion has been the ability of scholars of religion to admit that they too----on occasion----are men and women of faith.  The distinction between believers and scholars was fast coming apart in a reaction to the objective study of religion that had been prevalent at the university for decades.  Suddenly, faith was seen as an edge in the study of religion.  As a result, ministers and priests, long valued at seminaries, were finding greater acceptance at Harvard----and not just at the Divinity School."

As I look back at my educational experience, I'd say that many of my professors in religious studies have been religious.  This was the case at DePauw University and also (to many people's surprise) at Harvard Divinity School.  They were still critical scholars, in that they acknowledged that diversity and historical errors existed within the Bible, but they still adhered to a religious tradition, and they took that tradition seriously.  Why they did so, I'm not entirely sure.  Perhaps they thought that there were profound points that religious traditions or theologians made, points that helped them to make sense of life.  In short, their religious tradition contained things that inspired them, even if they regarded it as flawed, in a sense.  And maybe experience played a role in their faith.

It does seem to me, though, that the Jewish institutions that I attended were less religious.  Or maybe they were differently religious----their religion was not as focused on theology.  When I think of religion, what comes to my mind is inspiring lessons that make us feel whole or encourage us to serve others.  I didn't get that as much at the Jewish institutions that I attended.  There were a few professors who treated the Bible and Jewish tradition in such a religious manner, but, often, the focus was on critical scholarship (highlighting biblical diversity and history without trying to incorporate the Bible into an inspiring theology), language, and eccentricities or interesting points in the stories.  There wasn't as much of an attempt to speculate on how the tradition speaks to larger human questions.  I'm just speaking from my experience, and others may have different impressions.

I guess that I'm the sort of person who would like to combine critical scholarship with theology.  I'd like to be honest about the text, but I'd also like to feel fed.  What's ironic is that I know some people from conservative Christian institutions who prefer the opposite: they want to focus on the academic dimension of studying the text, rather than straining to come up with application points that strike them as a stretch.

2.  Goldman tells stories about his experiences at an Orthodox Jewish school when he was a boy.  Ari enjoyed reading the newspaper on the subway each morning on the way to school, but his teacher thought that he should read a religious book instead to draw closer to God and to make a positive impact on the world.

I've heard similar advice from Christians.  Joel Osteen said a couple of times that, instead of listening to the news each morning (which is depressing) on the way to work, one should listen to one of his tapes, or a Joyce Meyer CD.  In one sermon, he mentioned a guy who listened to a particular sermon of Joel's each morning on the way to work, and this guy eventually had Joel's sermon memorized!

I can sympathize with this, somewhat.  Others may choose not to listen to religious tapes, but rather to motivational speakers.  They're hoping to have a positive attitude each day, and maybe even to advance.  But, like Ari Goldman, I like keeping updated on the news each morning.  The news has a certain amount of drama that I like to read.  And it helps me to be informed when I go to school or to work, for then I can participate in discussions about current events.

Enjoying the Tree

In The Search for God at Harvard, Ari Goldman talks about a conversation that he had with Louis Jacobs, a Jew who was teaching Jewish studies at Harvard Divinity School when Goldman was a student there.  Goldman had just heard Jacobs explain the Documentary Hypothesis, the scholarly belief that the Pentateuch consists of four sources: the Yahwist (J), the Elohist (E), the Priest (P), and D, who wrote Deuteronomy.  The Documentary Hypothesis rests (in part) on the existence of contradictions and different ideologies within the Pentateuch, and it challenges the traditional Jewish belief that God gave the Torah to Moses on Mount Sinai.

Goldman wondered what would happen to one's faith and religious practice if he (or she) were to see the Torah as flawed and composed by humans rather than God.  When Goldman asked Jacobs about this, Jacobs pointed to an oak tree whose leaves had fall colors.  Jacobs said: "Do you know how that tree began?  Just because you don't know how it began doesn't mean you cannot enjoy the tree."

As Goldman reflects on his own life, he sees value in some of the Jewish rituals that he has long observed.  For example, he says that the routine and the beauty of Sabbath observance helped him during a particularly unstable time, namely, his parents' divorce.  Wherever Ari was, life would "come to a halt" on the Sabbath, and he could use that day "for attending a synagogue, reading a novel, taking a leisurely walk to the park or reflecting on the week past" (page 58).

The Sabbath was long a special time for me.  Wherever I was----whether I was attending school, or working at a job----I appreciated not having to work on the Sabbath.  Not only is it good to have a day of rest, but it's also good to have a day on which I don't have to prove my worth to others----I can just be.  Nowadays, I've somewhat gotten away from that.  I write a blog post everyday, and blogging can easily contaminate the Sabbath (or any day, for that matter) because I become obsessed with proving my worth, as I try to write good posts and check to see if people like them, feeling affirmed when they click "like" and resentful when they don't.  Moreover, I do research for my dissertation on Saturdays.  But I wouldn't say that I have entirely abandoned the principles of Sabbath.  There are times when I find that it's conducive to my peace of mind to simply turn off the computer.  On Friday, I don't research for my dissertation, but I study a Psalm, and that is usually followed by a nice long nap.  So, in a sense, I follow principles of the Sabbath, even if I don't rest on Saturday and Sunday.  The thing is, though, that I play by ear when I decide to follow these principles, rather than adhering to rigid rules (i.e., I must turn off my computer right now).  I think that approach has its positives and negatives.

Do I agree with Louis Jacobs that I can enjoy the Bible and religious life, even if I'm not sure that they come from God?  I believe that I can, on some level.  I can benefit from the Sabbath and fellowship with others, for example.  I can read the Bible and identify with its characters.  And yet, for me, I need assurance that what is in the Bible is true and from God for me to believe parts of it.  I suppose that I can see some principles in the Bible as true, whether there's a God or not----one who wants friends should be friendly (Proverbs 18:24), for instance.  But, when it comes to statements that God will provide for my needs or that I should live well because of a reward in the afterlife, I need to see those statements as much more than human opinion, for why should I trust human opinions about these issues?  I suppose, though, that, even here, I can have opinions without having to see the entire Bible as God-given and inerrant.  I can hear people's stories about God providing for their needs (even though I wonder about those who die because their needs were not met), or about having some experience with the afterlife.

I guess my problem with what Jacobs is saying is that, in order for me to know what God thinks, what God wants, and what God is doing, I need for God to reveal that.  Human beings writing down their opinions in writings that became Scripture is not enough.  Or is it?  Perhaps they were experiencing God, or getting to know God better, and they were recording their thoughts on that.  Their thoughts may not be perfect, but they offer us some insight.  Besides, even having a Bible and regarding it as divinely-inspired have not removed all ambiguity, for even religious people who are committed to inerrancy arrive at different conclusions.

Christian Spirituality at Harvard Divinity School

In my latest reading of The Search for God at Harvard (copyright 1991), Ari Goldman talks about the dearth of Christian spirituality at Harvard Divinity School, as people sought to avoid offending those from non-Christian religions.  He says that the chapel at HDS focused largely on left-wing political causes.  Goldman also discusses the spirituality of people he knew at the divinity school, who believed that they found spirituality in relationships with others, in language, and in life.  While I did not identify much with the students' spirituality, I did identify with their stories, particularly because they were searching for community and meaning in life.

So why did I have a hard time identifying with the students' spirituality?  Well, I mentioned finding spirituality in relationships with others, in language, and in life.  Regarding relationships, I have a hard time connecting with people.  On language, maybe I identify with that a little bit more, since I interact with God by seeking to understand the words of the Bible.  Regarding life, I struggle to believe in God despite life being tough; only occasionally do I feel that I'm having a spiritual experience in the course of day-to-day life.

What do I think about the state of Christian spirituality at Harvard Divinity School?  Was my experience at Harvard Divinity School like that of Ari Goldman?  There was still a desire to avoid offending people, but there were also more evangelical students attending than was probably the case when Goldman went there, plus there were some evangelical professors.  And I'd say that, in classes, there was much discussion about Christian biblical interpretation, beliefs, and spirituality, but I wouldn't be surprised if that was also the case (on some level) when Goldman went to HDS.

Regarding the chapel, I went a few times and did not care for it.  I don't remember much talk about leftist political ideology at the chapel services, as Goldman narrates, but rather New Agey-like sermons.  I remember one speaker paraphrasing Romans 8:38-39 by saying that nothing will separate us from the love of the earth.  When I attended chapel about a year later, I liked it much more.  Students who won a preaching contest were preaching, and I thought that their sermons were really down-to-earth and God-centric.  I especially enjoyed one sermon by a Jewish lady about her thoughts on Jesus and his message of inclusion.

Finding God at Harvard, and It's Never Too Late to Learn

I started Ari Goldman's 1991 book, The Search for God at Harvard.   Goldman was a New York Times reporter who had an Orthodox Jewish upbringing, and he attended Harvard Divinity School for a year as part of a paid sabbatical, so that he could learn about world religions.

This book often came up when I was at Harvard Divinity School as a student, especially within evangelical circles, which had issues with Harvard Divinity School's theological and cultural liberalism.  (As far as politics went, there were evangelicals who were politically liberal, and evangelicals who were politically conservative.)  We wondered if God could be found at Harvard!  When the number of evangelicals who were attending Harvard Divinity School was increasing, there were evangelicals who became more optimistic.

As far as Goldman's book is concerned, what I heard at HDS overlapped with this Book Description of Kelly Monroe's book, Finding God at Harvard: "Ari Goldman's best-selling book, The Search for God at Harvard, chronicled his search for signs of genuine religious faith at Harvard Divinity School. The New York Times reporter concluded that God was not very evident at the prestigious Ivy League campus."  I'll be reading the book to see if this characterization of it is true.  I doubt that Goldman would define finding God at Harvard as people becoming evangelicals, or as more evangelicals attending Harvard Divinity School, for he narrates that he looked at a variety of religious traditions when he was there.  But perhaps he believes that he found God at Harvard Divinity School in some other way.

For a long time, I was reluctant to read this book, largely on account of my own insecurities.  I was afraid that I would become bitter when I read Goldman's book because I thought that he probably had a better experience at Harvard Divinity School than I did----because he was more adept at getting to know people (students and professors) and took more fulfilling classes.  (I took fulfilling classes, but, I also took a lot of language courses, which prevented me from taking other classes, plus I was somewhat afraid of wading into certain classes.)

But, in my reading so far, I saw that Goldman had his own struggles.  For one, he wasn't much of a student, and one reason was that his parents divorced when he was in elementary school, and that deprived him of a supportive environment for learning during that time.  But Goldman resolved to be a better student at Harvard Divinity School.  Second, Goldman relates that a number of prominent faculty members were away from Harvard during his time there: Henri Nouwen, Harvey Cox, Krister Stendahl, and others.  Third, Goldman testifies to how difficult it was for him to get to know some of the faculty, since they tended to hide in their offices throughout the year, plus one professor who was an excellent lecturer was reportedly stand-offish in interactions with students.  And, fourth, Goldman mentions some of his social flub-ups, as when he was pressing his fellow Jewish students about what exactly they were planning to do with their MTS (Master of Theological Studies) degree, and they weren't comfortable trying to answer that question!

I'll close this post by saying that, while I look back at my time at various schools and reflect on how I could have done things better (i.e., in terms of interacting with students and professors or taking certain classes), I am glad that, for some things, it's not too late.  I can still read about theology, biblical studies, world religions, etc., etc.  It's never too late for me to learn!