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"It didn't happen like that"
Hugh Pyper
'It didn't happen like that!' was an exclamation that burst across an otherwise attentive Level 1 class on the Intrdouction to the Hebrew Scriptures as I was discussing the story of Abraham and Isaac in Genesis 22. Rather startled, I turned to see who had asked the question. It was a Somali student, studying the Hebrew Scriptures for the first time. When I asked her to explain what she meant, she explained that the story I was telling was not the one she knew from the Holy Quran. In the middle of a lecture to a first year class, this was rather a poser. My response was to explain to her that all I was doing was explaining what the text of Genesis said, without claiming that it was the only true account. I then turned to the rather bemused class, who represented a broad range of Christian, Jewish, Muslim and agnostic/humanist students, with a sprinkling of pagans, and said, 'Now don't expect me to answer the question whether it happened like that or not, but don't you forget that the question was sincerely asked. How would you answer it?' before moving on.
I am not sure my answer was the best one or even very satisfactory to all the parties concerned. The incident stuck in my mind, however, as an instance of an experience that teachers of theology and religious studies commonly meet. In an increasingly diverse student body, how do we ensure that the religious commitments of students are respected without engaging in undue self censorship over raising the issues of evidence and coherence that are the business of academic study? How do we ensure that the student body themselves are trained in the critical empathy to respect and understand the position of their classmates while still being challenged to consider questions of truth? How far, indeed is that our business? Conversely, if it is not the business of teachers in this subject area, whose business is it?
I remember warmly another incident where in a small way the kind of interaction I am envisaging took place. It was in an introductory class on Hebrew texts, a class which in relatively small numbers contained a variety of Christian students, agnostics, three Jews of rather different persuasions and a Muslim. It was one of the more orthodox Jewish students who posed a question to the class out of genuine puzzlement. Should he have his head covered in class when we read passages from Torah? In this context, was it sacred scripture, or a language exercise? The class were at first puzzled and then intrigued. Hebrew was abandoned for a while as this varied group discussed what it meant for a text to be sacred, and how one should respond to that within the various traditions. It was a non-Jewish student who suggested that he ask his Rabbi. I learned a lot in that session about how a group of students, realising that this was a serious question that was troubling a classmate's conscience, could work together to educate each other in exploring a culturally appropriate solution.
Such interactions do not always go so well, of course. I remember a very different class in another institution where in the middle of a fairly inoffensive lecture on 2 Corinthians, a student rose in the middle of the front row and, pointing his finger, bellowed 'You, Professor, are the Antichrist!' before stalking dramatically from the room. I do not think he returned. Was that a failure of the university to be universal enough? Could his discourse have been respected? Or was his loss from higher education the price that has to be paid for the academic integrity need to call religious texts and practices to account?
Do Theology and Religious Studies departments, who make a living out of the diversity of human religious practice, reflect that diversity, and the diversity of modern British society in their student profiles? If not, is this a problem? After all, widening access is something that the educational and political establishments constantly exhort us to do. Are the members of religious communities which feel marginalized in British society generally and often excluded from higher education more or less likely to be found in theology and religious studies departments than in other departments of our universities and colleges? Does the way in which the teaching of religion is presented mean that sectors of the population turn their back on this possibility for higher education ultimately for reasons to do with differning expectations of pedagogy? Do we as teachers of religion, in the broad sense, have any responsibility for this? Who but us has the tools to analyse and, if possible and desirable, change that situation?
I am sure these questions are familiar to most of us who work in the field. It seems an area that has a directly subject specific aspect, but one also where the subject has particular expertise which could be brought to the service of the wider community in higher education. It would be good to hear if anyone has any experience of successful teaching in this area and how this relates to the problem of access and recruitment from religious and ethnic groups.
This page was originally on the website of The Subject Centre for Philosophical and Religious Studies. It was transfered here following the closure of the Subject Centre at the end of 2011.
