Teaching and Learning > DISCOURSE
Interview with Ursula King
Author: Darlene Bird
Journal Title: Discourse
ISSN: 1741-4164
ISSN-L:
Volume: 5
Number: 2
Start page: 13
End page: 28
Return to vol. 5 no. 2 index page
Continuing our series of interviews with noted academics, Dr. Darlene Bird, Theology and Religious Studies Subject Co-ordinator for the Subject Centre for Philosophical and Religious Studies, talked to Professor Ursula King about her academic career spanning half a century, her views on the current position of TRS and UK higher education, and the importance of supporting female scholars. The interview was conducted in Bristol on 22nd March 2006.
Bird: By way of introduction, would you say a little bit about your teaching career?
King: I started teaching in London. When I first came to Britain in 1963, I taught at a College of Education outside London, where I was Discourse: Learning and Teaching in Philosophical and Religious Studies, a lecturer in Divinity. Then, when I went to India in 1965, I did some part-time teaching in philosophy because I was studying philosophy there. On my return, I taught at the University of Leeds for many years, then at the University of Bristol, and in between I taught at the University at Oslo. I also taught two semesters in the United States in two American universities, a private one in Cincinnati, and a state one in Kentucky.
And could you tell us a bit about your research interests?
Well, that is quite a big story, and difficult to talk about in a few words. I started in German universities with studies in theology, philosophy and German literature, and, by sheer serendipity, came into a class on phenomenology of religion. So I began the comparative study of religions there, but my main studies were in theology and philosophy for many years. Then I went to Paris where I studied more theology than philosophy, though I did study philosophy at the Sorbonne. My research interests were initially in patristics, and my first book was a translation from Latin into German of the anti-Arian treatises of Marius Victorinus, who was a predecessor of St. Augustine. However, I very much wanted to get into the contemporary era, and I eventually ended up doing a PhD on the writings of the French palaeontologist and religious thinker Pierre Teilhard de Chardin. This came about through my stay in Paris.
Then, very early on, I also became interested in women and religion, and I was very active in a Catholic women's association through people I met in Paris. Through that I got into feminist theology, and later into gender studies.
Also, through my stay in India particularly, I became very interested in Indian religions and inter-faith dialogue, and in wider comparative studies in spirituality.
What do you consider to be the highlights of your career?
There are so many, I don't know what to pick out, and I find it difficult to divide my career from my life. I had a meeting with the Dalai Lama in 1966, in Dharamsala, before he had ever come to the West, and that was most interesting, indeed unforgettable. That was certainly one of my highlights. The research on Teilhard de Chardin includes an enormous amount of highlights, particularly staying with his family, going to the chateau where he wrote, and seeing his private papers— his notebooks and diaries—before they were ever published in the archives, so that was really very important for me.
A number of quite well known or distinguished lectures have also been high points. Relatively recently, in 1996, I gave the Bampton Lectures in Oxford, founded over 200 years ago; in 1985 I gave the Lambeth Interfaith Lecture at Lambeth Palace; in 1984 I gave the Hibbert Lecture, the first one to be broadcast on Radio 4, which led to my book on women and spirituality; in 1983 I was invited to lecture in Westminster Abbey on the occasion of a Teilhard de Chardin exhibition that celebrated, somewhat belatedly, his birth centenary; and in 1986, in India, I gave the Teape lectures on Hindu-Christian dialogue. Another highlight has been the international recognition that I have received. Being appointed to the first Chair of Feminist Theology at the University of Oslo, and getting three honorary doctorates, from Edinburgh in 1996, from Oslo in 2000, and from the University of Dayton, Ohio, in 2003, were highlights, as was working on a Research Assessment Exercise, not in Britain, but in Switzerland, and doing European work. I've examined PhDs and MAs in Sweden, Norway, South Africa and other African countries, India and Australia, and I've been a consultant on the Gender and Religion section of the second edition of Macmillan's Encyclopedia of Religion.
What do you consider has given you the most career satisfaction?
The reception of some of my books and lectures—the response from readers and audiences around the world—has probably given me the most satisfaction, and so has the success of some of my students. I came to teaching almost by accident, but that was the only thing I could do after my studies—the opportunity was there to do it, and I have always made use of opportunities. I've loved my subject and I've always loved teaching, I've really always loved it.
I am still in touch with one or two students who I taught more than 40 years ago, so that's very satisfying, and quite a few of my former doctoral students are now in university jobs in the UK and the USA, and some of them have got Chairs, so that's very satisfying as well.
I know that you've discussed this already in your article, 'Feminist Theology: a Personal Journey',1 but would you talk a little bit about which people or experiences were most influential in your decision to take up theological studies at a time when it was almost unheard of for a woman to study theology?
That's a very good question, and it's not easy to unravel, because that's very much a personal journey. Between the ages of 10 and 15, I attended a Catholic girls' school, and I was influenced by one or two of the nuns who taught me, and then I went to a secular state school in Cologne, where a Dominican, who gave us R.E. lessons, as is customary in German schools, first got me interested in reading theological books. Through the Girl Guides, when I was 17 or 18, I went to a camp near a Dominican Academy, close to Cologne, where we met a very enthusiastic young Dominican who was studying theology in Rome, and from then on the study of theology simply became my dream. I read a lot about Thomas Aquinas and I was just very interested in theological questions. I felt it was almost like a calling—it was philosophical and theological questions that really motivated me very greatly, and that's what I wanted to study.
I came up against immense obstacles. I was in a school of almost all boys—there were only four girls in my class—and I had to do an extra year's schooling to get my school certificate, and take private Latin and Greek lessons to have the admissions requirements for a university course in theology. I was determined against all odds that I was going to do it, even though my teachers at school and my mother were very much against it. (My father had died during the war when I was only five years old).
And who or what do you consider to have had the greatest influence in shaping your academic career?
I started at the University of Bonn, where one of my professors was Joseph Ratzinger, the present Pope, who was an extremely good and very liberal teacher at that time. It was his first Chair, and his lectures were very inspiring and really helped to shape my thinking, although later I was disappointed when he developed into a far more conservative and reactionary thinker. Several other well-known professors from Bonn also influenced me, as did some from the University of Munich, where I studied subsequently before going to Paris.
In addition, I had a national scholarship which was quite prestigious in Germany, called the Studienstiftung des Deutschen Volkes, which still exists and which trains students in all subjects for academic careers, and this supported me. I was given a full grant and encouraged to study abroad.
I went to see the Dean at the Institut Catholique in Paris, and said, 'Can I come and study with you?', and he said, 'Well, we have made enquiries from German universities, they allow lay-people, and laypeople include women, so you can come', and that's how I finished up being the only woman amongst 200 men studying Catholic theology in Paris. I got an additional grant from the French government, and I studied for three years and got a Licentiate of Sacred Theology, a Catholic degree validated by the Vatican.
While I was in Paris, I also studied at the École des Hautes Études, which is really for the science of religions and the comparative study of religions, and I read philosophy at the Sorbonne. I was taught by an incredibly engaging and very inspiring professor of dogmatic theology—we would say systematic theology—Paul Henry. He was an expert on Plotinus, and the editor of all the collated manuscripts in Greek of the Enneads of Plotinus. He used to lecture for one semester every year in the States; he was Belgian but he lived in France, and he had this incredible wide-ranging interest in theology and philosophy. He supported me a great deal—he was also instrumental in making me do my first book, the translation of patristic texts from Latin into German. He was always very supportive, and I remained in touch with him until his death in 1984.
Then there were other people. I used to go regularly to seminars at Gabriel Marcel's house with other students, which was great, and I used to attend some of Merleau-Ponty's lectures, and those of several other philosophers, at the Sorbonne. Paul Ricoeur examined me when I did my first oral philosophy exam, and he gave me lots of encouragement to continue with philosophy, so I had many very positive experiences.
When you were in Paris studying theology in the 1960s, and you were the only woman out of 200 or so studying theology, how do you think that experience shaped you as an individual, as a scholar?
Well, it did shape me in the way I've already indicated: it made me certainly very independent, very self-reliant, very determined, and I never took no for an answer. I always did what I wanted to do, and I always found people who somehow gave me the backing or the encouragement to achieve what I wanted.
Sometimes it was a bit lonely. There was no way of becoming friendly with the students in the theology class as it was a very large class, and they were all priests because the Institut Catholique was a seminary, although I did meet people through the philosophy classes. In a way, I've only critically reflected on this unusual experience since I've developed a feminist awareness and consciousness. At the time it was just a question of getting on with my studies and making as much as I could out of the opportunities of studying in Paris—so many new people and ideas—and also going to the theatre, to concerts and exhibitions, visiting museums and attending public events.
What do you think about the distinctive features of UK higher education?
Well, I'm a great supporter of the UK higher education system in many ways. What I like, and what is really helpful when people come out of school when they are young, is the compactness of courses, so that you can get a BA or BSc in a relatively short time, compared with other European countries, and even with the United States, and then you can build on this further with an MA or an MSc.
And then, because it is so well directed, by and large, the dropout rate is lower than in other European countries, and it costs less money, so the effectiveness of the teaching is obviously generally very good.
On the negative side, there is a certain lack of breadth and depth when compared with university courses in other European countries, and that is sometimes quite noticeable with some British students and academics.
Positively, what is also very significant, though perhaps less so now, is the closeness that the students can have to university teachers. I like the democratic style and the accessibility. In the past, I've had German students who have spent a year in our department commenting very favourably on this, and for me, it was the same when I moved to France—I had much closer connections with my teachers there than I had had in German universities.
So it's the encouragement to develop your own critical thinking, that your views are wanted, and also the freedom to choose. It's not boundless—sometimes some departments don't provide enough choice perhaps, but then the external examiner system, I think, is very good for external checks and balances, so I have a great deal of admiration for the British system, which I have worked in for a long time.
I wondered if you could comment on how you think higher education in the UK has evolved over the years?
That is a really difficult question, because, from what I see, it's become certainly more open, less hierarchical, and more democratic, and it's more attainable for all social groups in a way that it was probably not before, so you have a mass education system which in itself provides a lot of opportunities for students.
However, I do think it's too finance driven and perhaps not enough value driven. Nowadays, utilitarian kinds of aims have come to dominate the learning process too much.
Are you talking about the QAA influence?
There are lots of different influences, but the finance-driven model of higher education, and the fact that it has become such a huge industry, doesn't seem to me to lead always to the right results. I feel that it is dangerous, and harmful, even, if students are squeezed too much into the same kind of pattern of learning, because people are very different psychologically. I really feel that the love and the passion for the subjects is most important. I think you need to find a balance. Perhaps now, in the humanities, there is too much stress on information and instrumental knowledge, and not enough on personal knowledge—on a wisdom to live by, so to speak. You see, I think education is important for your job, and you want to learn things that are important for your job, but education is also about a lot more, and, in a way, I see it as a process of growth and development which has ultimately spiritual aspects. If the process of education is done well, I think it is a process that leads to growth, which is personally very rewarding for people. And, if it's not, it can be very destructive.
I also see a problem now, in some cases, with loss of quality, and that not enough is done to cater for excellence. I believe this very strongly, particularly because I was so strongly supported by a selective system of scholarships. I don't believe in segregation, but I think you need something extra for the students who have incredible abilities. You get students who are such high flyers, and our system here doesn't always provide enough opportunities for them.
What do you think of some of the current trends emerging in theological and religious studies?
In one sense, I'm perhaps not the best person to comment on this because I'm not in a current teaching post. I was very unhappy with the later developments in the late 1990s and early part of the 21st century, in terms of trying to specify and spell out in too much detail objectives and attainments for students. I felt it was really trying to push everybody into the same category, that there is a kind of standardisation which doesn't really correspond to life as it is lived, and I feel that students are very different.
Positively, I see that there's a lot of networking going on, and I see this very much in a global sense. Then I think there is, negatively, a danger of over-specialisation and fragmentation, perhaps. Central, I think, to many younger scholars is the importance of ethical questions, perhaps in dealing with contemporary problems in society, whether violence, poverty, human rights or environmental ecological disasters. People are very engaged; quite a few younger scholars are also veering towards being activists. This isn't everybody, but there is this sense that you can't really cut off the academy from society, so that university teaching in theology and religious studies just happens and has no relationship to what else occurs in society. I think we can do this less and less. We have become much more aware of the vulnerability and precariousness of the human position, what it is to be human, and there is a much greater ecological awareness in theology.
Also, there is a greater openness, in some circles, to the science and religion debates. I'm not on the Dawkins route here—as I was saying about ideology, scientists can be just as ideological and dogmatic as theologians.
Richard Dawkins is very ideological, without recognising it.
Yes, and very exclusive—by his own scientific criteria his arguments wouldn't stand up. He has no evidence for many of these statements he makes. I'm really more interested in scientists who see opportunity, possibilities of dialogical kinds of cross-fertilisation, and I think there is quite a lot happening, particularly in the States, but also there's also a European Society of Theology and Science. There are particular groups that foster this dialogue, and I think that's good. Again, at a practical level, inter-faith dialogue comes into some theological reflections, although not perhaps in as many as it should.
Much of your research has been on feminist theology and gender and religion. What contribution, if any, do you think feminist theology has made to the way theology is taught in universities now?
It has made a difference, but not enough of a difference. When I was first interested in these questions, in the 1970s, there was nothing much on them in the universities, but since the late 1980s and 1990s, I think most places try to teach feminist theology. There is greater awareness that feminist theology needs to be studied, but it often still remains too ghettoised.
It has opened up new theological research agendas and theological ways of thinking, which can be quite creative and critical, so there has been a paradigm shift for some people more than others, but at the centre there has been very little movement, and sometimes feminist theology is very marginalised. I would really prefer there to be a wider consideration of gender studies in theology and religious studies, because feminist theology is too often an area that is siphoned off as something that only women teach and take, and I'm very much against this.
I taught a course on religion and gender, and we looked at feminist theology under the wider umbrella of gender and religion, so we looked at other religious traditions too. About a third of the students were men, and that was very important to me and to the students, and the interaction between the women and the men was very lively—lots of debate—so I found that very helpful for everybody. It was very rewarding because students really engaged with the questions. I used to say at the beginning of the course, 'I'll give you a health warning; if you start this course you won't be the same when you finish it, it's dangerous and if you feel frightened, don't do it', because it affects self-reflexivity—it does affect your life. It opens up so many questions which are very fertile for theology, so I think it's a very important aspect, but I don't think it's sufficiently mainstream yet.
It's still an add-on?
Yes, it's too much an add-on. The World Council of Churches and the Lutheran World Federation have held consultations on theological education and educators to look at how feminist theology should really feed into all the different subjects, because it's a theoretical and existential perspective which has a lot of repercussions for the way the whole subject is handled and taught, and the way society is organised. It should permeate all this, whereas people try to keep it tightly in just another box.
Do you think students have changed over the course of your teaching career?
In the last few years I did mostly research supervision—MA teaching and directing doctoral students. I didn't really do undergraduate teaching any more, because I was, to some extent, disillusioned with what appeared to be the indifference and apathy of many undergraduates. In the 1970s undergraduates seemed more adventurous, and more keen, particularly in the study of religions, when they had the whole hippy drive for going to India and so on. The students just loved studying Hinduism, Buddhism, sociology of religion, and the comparative study of religions. They just loved it and they were very engaged. I don't think this is the same now.
The opportunities for travelling are so great, and the students seem so much more blasé, particularly the more privileged students, and I found this really quite puzzling, because some of them had gone to incredible places, but as far as I could see, it hadn't really enlarged their minds or made them more interesting or different people. And then, sometimes, people who come from very poor backgrounds who have really struggled to get to university, or come as mature candidates, make more interesting students than young school leavers because they have had to battle and struggle much more to get there. They are more committed to their studies, whereas some of these 18 or 19 year olds were good at just doing the minimum to get a 2:2 or a 2:1, but they were not really committed to their study as such, and, as a teacher, I found that very disappointing. You can't engage them, really, and they don't really develop any passion for the subject.
I do think it's important to get a good response from students, otherwise you question why you're doing it, if they're not interested.
You've had the unusual experience of studying in four different countries: Germany, France, India and the UK. Do you think that your teaching has benefited from studying in a variety of contexts, or do you think it has influenced your teaching in any way?
Yes, it has made me think particularly about different learning styles of students, which obviously correspond with teaching styles. Students in different cultures differ greatly. I've also taught Indian students and South African students, as well as Japanese students—largely in Leeds, but elsewhere, too.
As far as my own teaching is concerned, it's made me certainly more open, more flexible, more willing to experiment, and more inclined to give people from very different backgrounds and directions a chance.
What would you say is the most important factor in good teaching?
I have always felt that, with good teaching and good guidance, you can make a difference to the outcome of a student's studying and degree result. The big thing is to get a student motivated to desire to learn—it's really about a love for the subject. What I've always been told by my students, and also by audiences when I lecture, is that I convey enthusiasm for the subject, and I think this is very important, and helps students get really motivated.
Also, in all countries I've taught in, although I must say in India particularly, I have seen bad ways of teaching, in terms of rote learning, and it really raises very fundamental questions about the authority of the teacher, the authority of knowledge and the authority of tradition. These questions have to be really fully addressed in order to make the student sufficiently free and enterprising to seek to move on. To get a paradigm shift you need invention, you need to overstep established boundaries.
The important questions to foster through your teaching are: what is learning all about? Why do you want to do it at all? And does it make a difference to your life, not just to your job? These are big questions, but I think it's very important to give more thought and reflection to these issues.
In what ways do you think that your research in gender studies has informed your teaching?
I have always liked to have mixed classes, and to give both women and men the same opportunities and choices, and I think this is very important. I've tried to be scrupulously fair, and sometimes that has been difficult for students and for me. Sometimes the women, particularly in gender studies and feminist theology, thought I should be more there for them than for the men students, and I should give them preferential treatment, but I refused to do that. I just would not be talked into this, so sometimes that led to conflict.
I have always tried to open up debate, and to give men and women the chance to enter into dialogue with each other. Sometimes that can be painful on gender questions, but on the whole I've had very good feedback. Students have said that these seminars were very empowering and non-threatening, because what I don't allow is the kind of adversarial, controversial kind of antagonistic debating style that some academics seem to revel in. I want to have an opening up of the debate which explores every possible intellectual and other aspect, but which is not painful and harmful to people. I don't want to score points. I'm very interested in the history of rhetoric and how this antagonistic debating goes back to the Ancient Greeks, and how it was subsequently developed in the medieval schools. Women were always left out of this, it was a very male attitude towards discussion, like having a fencing match. I don't like this, because I have often found that it hurts people very deeply, so that has influenced my teaching quite a lot.
I know this isn't easy to talk about in a short period of time, but you are a scholar of both theology and religious studies, and some academics would argue that the two are at odds with one another. How do you manage to bridge the gap, if there is a gap, in your teaching of both theology and religious studies?
I don't think there is a real gap. I see it more as different ends of the spectrum, because I look at the study of religions in a very comprehensive and inclusive way, and I don't like sharp disciplinary boundaries. I think more in terms of cross-fertilisation, and many of the skills that the traditional theology courses require—the linguistic skills, hermeneutic skills, historical or social scientific study of church communities and so on—are actually skills that belong to the wider study of religion. It's different if you teach for the nurturing of a faith, rather than academic theology; then of course you take a position which is very strongly informed dogmatically, but I don't think that the right place to do this is at university. I feel that non-dogmatic, open-ended teaching about any subject should follow a dialogical and exploratory model. How the study of religion in a wider sense relates to the study of religion in a more faith-conditioned, if not a faith-dependent, sense, is, however, an important question that should not be shunned but must also be debated. It doesn't only apply to Christianity and Judaism, but also to the study of Hinduism, Buddhism and Islam, for example, and some scholars from these traditions are also wrestling with this, so it's really a wider issue.
Certain dogmatic stances are just as strong among certain religious studies people as they are among certain theologians. I came across a wonderful phrase by a Dutch scholar, Karel von der Toorn, who said in an article on the modern study of religions that, 'freedom from theology is not the same as freedom from ideology'.
Ideology is still there?
Ideology is still there, and the same kind of dogmatic approach occurs, even from an atheistic or agnostic perspective. I'm just as much against the idea that there's only one way to do the study of religion, or the study of science for that matter, and that's because I think such a position closes too many doors. Our studies are really about the quest for knowledge, about going further and further, and seeing connections in a much more organic, process-like way. There are a lot of connections, and one cannot say, 'This position or statement is theological, that one has nothing to do with it'. I remember a theology seminar in Leeds once, where I made various comments and asked particular questions which led one of the participants to say, 'What a shame you are in religious studies and haven't stayed in theology', but I've never seen myself like that.
But other people want to box you into one or the other?
Yes, they want to put a label on me, but I am much more a person of multiple identities, and I believe much more in multiple kinds of connections. It is not exclusive, it is relational, making the bridges and the connections, and I can see the enrichment in that, the way the landscape becomes much more diverse and colourful than when you have only one little garden, and that's what you cultivate exclusively. So that's basically what I would say about theology and religious studies. I favour a dialogical model and a spectrum, and a more inclusive and relational attitude. I don't want to subsume one under the other—they obviously have certain fields of independence and specificity, but the specificity can nonetheless be related to others. Just as a person can't divide herself—you can't cut yourself up into your different roles, as an academic, as a mother, as a wife, as a friend, as a teacher—you know, it's all the same person.
What advice would you have for anyone who was considering an academic career in theology and or religious studies?
Well, I obviously feel very positive about it. I'd say take advantage of every opportunity, be adventurous and exploratory, and be interested in the development and well-being of your students. Make your students flourish and you flourish yourself.
Having said that, it's not so easy to see what theological teaching can lead to for students. You can have a theological or religious studies career, or work in those areas as an academic or as a school teacher, but how does it relate to what is happening in society? Do we really reflect enough, do the philosophers and theologians, the people in humanities, really think deeply about the most urgent questions in society? I some- times ask myself whether I would advise someone to go into an academic career, because it's become so over-burdened with administration and there are so many categories you have to satisfy. One has to have so much approbation to do this or that, and go through so many hoops that it really takes away much of the thrill and adventure that it had 20 or 30 years ago.
Do you think your experience has anything to teach women starting out now on their academic careers?
Sometimes I would like to be 20 or 30 years younger, because there are far more opportunities now than there were in the 1950s and 60s, and I'm just thrilled to learn about so many new openings for women today. But I was fortunate in comparison to many young women today, because I had my family before I really had a full-time academic career; before I did my PhD. I had four children by the age of 32, and I always had to weigh up my teaching and my family. It wasn't always easy—it was sometimes very difficult—but I was just determined. In retrospect, it has worked out very well, but at the time I never knew for certain, when I was tired, exhausted or discouraged, or when a child was ill or there were family problems—all these kind of issues.
You've done a lot of work personally to support female academics, and I wondered if you could say a bit more about that?
I've always been particularly interested in encouraging and supporting women researchers. When I first came to Bristol, and the same was true in Leeds, I organised a day seminar for women in any kind of subject to discuss research, and I got some of the senior women who had done research all their lives to speak to them. Some of the younger post-doc researchers came up afterwards and said, 'This has been really important for us, because we are on contract research and we are really so fed up, and we've thought of giving it all up, but this has encouraged us to battle on'. I think you need support.
There was only one woman professor when I came to Bristol in 1989, out of 160. Bristol University had had one or two women professors before, and a woman registrar very early on, in the 1920s or 30s, but there'd never been an ongoing tradition. In 1988, I was the second woman professor, and now there are over 40 in professorial posts, but then the male professoriate has also grown enormously. So this other woman professor and I organised a kind of meeting once a term for dinner, to develop contact between the women professors, and learn about each other's work and research.
I also belonged to a national organisation to bring together women in higher management positions, including women in universities. We held seminars, and learnt a lot from each other. Mainly that, in whatever subject, we women all had very similar experiences in terms of criticism or being treated in a condescending way, or having obstacles put in our path (by men or women colleagues) or being discouraged by certain male colleagues. I found that very liberating, and helpful, in the sense that you realise you're not the only one that has to struggle.
I've just been asked to join the IAHR, the International Association for the History of Religion, who now have a woman president, to join a panel of women scholars on gender and religion, just to strengthen people around the world, to give encouragement to young female religious scholars around the world, because they can become very discouraged. I think encouragement is very important. The mentoring system is wonderful—it wasn't in place when I was in university, it had just begun to come in during my last university years. To nurture an academic, to get to the level of research and the required competence, to establish yourself, to get a name and get recognised takes at least 10 years, if not more. It takes 10 years for men, but, for women, sometimes this is interrupted by having children and so on, so it is really important to look at this specifically, and a lot could still be done for women. I feel that's very important; that's why I like to go and speak particularly to younger women scholars. They have a particularly difficult task, for personal and professional reasons, because there is still so much hidden sexism, and so many patriarchal attitudes still exist, within society at large and within universities.
Thank you for sharing your thoughts with us.
Thank you for inviting me to speak to you. Of course, there is so much more that could be said on any of these issues.
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