The End of Education (19 page)

I am aware (who isn’t?) that the words
religion
and
public schools
do not go together. Not in America. They are like magnets that, upon getting too close, repel each other. There are good reasons for this, among them the First Amendment, which, even before it mentions freedom of speech, prohibits Congress from establishing a national religion. This has been wisely interpreted to mean that public institutions may not show any preference for one religion over another. It has also been taken to mean, not so wisely, that public institutions should show no interest in religion at all. One consequence of this latter meaning is that public schools are barely able to refer to religion in almost any context.

It was not always so. I vividly recall singing Christmas carols in assembly when I was in public elementary school. About 60 percent of the students were Jewish, but this did not prevent them from singing enthusiastically, and in tune. I do not remember anyone’s protesting, although Harold Posner and I took pleasure in amending some of the words (“Deck the halls with rows of challah”). We were trying to be cute, not defiant. I believe we thought “Silent Night,” “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” (naturally, we sang, “Hark! All Harold’s Angels Sing”), and “Joy to the World” were merely American songs without religious significance. And I even suspect that most of the Catholic students thought the same. I do not speak of Protestants, since in my neighborhood they were too
few in number to draw conclusions about, although I do remember that Henrietta Gutmann, a Lutheran, always had a mysterious, faraway look in her eyes when we sang “Silent Night.” This worried me a little, as it hinted that there might be something there that I was missing.

The situation appears to be different these days. Jews, Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, and atheists do not want Christian rituals, including songs, to be imposed on them—that is, to be given preference over their own rituals. I feel quite sure Thomas Paine and Thomas Jefferson would agree with them on this point, and so do I. But it does not follow from this that the public schools should ignore religion altogether.

There are several reasons for this, all of them obvious. One is that so much of our painting, music, architecture, literature,
and
science are intertwined with religion. It is, therefore, quite impossible (impossible by definition) for anyone to claim to be educated who has no knowledge of the role played by religion in the formation of culture. Another reason is that the great religions are, after all, the stories of how different people of different times and places have tried to achieve a sense of transcendence. Although many religious narratives provide answers to the questions of how and when we came to be, they are all largely concerned to answer the question, Why? Is it possible to be an educated person without having considered questions of why we are here and what is expected of us? And is it possible to consider these questions by ignoring the answers provided by religion? I think not, since religion may be defined as our attempt to give a total, integrated response to questions about the meaning of existence.

A third reason, related to the second and especially relevant to understanding the principle of diversity, is that by studying religion, our students can become acquainted with, first, the variety of ways people have offered to explain themselves
and, second, the astonishing unity of their explanations. I therefore propose that beginning sometime in late elementary school and proceeding with focused detail in high school and beyond, we provide our young with opportunities to study comparative religion. Such studies would promote no particular religion but would aim at illuminating the metaphors, literature, art, and ritual of religious expression itself.

Can such a thing be done? Only, I imagine, very delicately. We would certainly need to be more tactful than teachers are inclined to be toward “Greek mythology.” If you will allow still one more reference to my own school days, I recall being aware, in the eighth grade, that something was not quite right about our teacher’s attitude toward the gods of the ancient Greeks, who were able to do miraculous things, including racing across the sky in a chariot. I knew that Jews believed their God had parted the Red Sea, and Christians believed their Savior died and came back to life. I was puzzled about why our teacher called the story of Greek gods “myth” but, I felt sure, would not so designate our own stories. I asked a Greek classmate named Nicholas (I’ve forgotten his family name) about this. He shrugged, told me his family was Greek Orthodox, and led me to believe he didn’t care one way or the other. But those in charge of the education of our youth cannot be as cavalier as Nicholas. Of course, in proceeding, we would do away with the words
myth
and
mythology
. Perhaps in college the words can be restored in the sense that Joseph Campbell and Rollo May use them. But they are too laden with connotations of something that is false or mere superstition to use with younger students. What we must aim for is to provide every group’s narrative with dignity; with a sense that it is a creative means of expressing mysteries of life; that its “truths” are different from those of science and journalism;
indeed, that it addresses questions science and journalism are not equipped to answer.

To say that something must be done delicately does not mean it cannot be done. Of course it can, if we do it with mature preparation. We must proceed, for example, with the knowledge that many students and their parents believe
their
story is the literal truth. There is no need to dispute them. Nothing could be further from my mind than that comparative religion studies should aim at “narrative busting” or even, for that matter, a superficial cynicism. The idea is to show that different people have told different stories; that they have, at various times, borrowed elements from one another’s narratives; that it is appropriate to treat the narratives of others with respect; and that, ultimately, all such narratives have a similar purpose. Is it insulting to reveal that the Jews borrowed from the Egyptians? The Christians from the Jews? The Muslims from the Christians and the Jews? Is there any cynicism in revealing that American Indian deities have a special relationship to the earth and sky, not found in Western religions but similar in many ways to ancient Greek deities? Is there anything threatening in learning about the religions of African tribes? Do we endanger anyone by showing that Gandhi’s religious beliefs were influenced by those of Thoreau, and that Martin Luther King, Jr.’s ideas were influenced by Gandhi?

If the answer to these questions is a continuous yes, then I am disarmed and must drop the subject. But I think many will answer no, and agree that there is an obligation for us to take the world into account on such important matters, and that there are few better ways to inculcate a sense of tolerance and even affection for difference than to teach about the varieties of religious experience.

My proposal here should not be taken to mean that I fail to
appreciate the difficulties confronting teachers who wish students to learn something about the diversity of religion. For example, there will be students who believe not only that
their
narrative is “true,” but that all others are false. How does one cope with that? I am not sure, but one might proceed, first, by making students aware of those religions that do not insist on an exclusive truth—for example, Bahai, which takes the view that the prophets of all religions spoke the truth, although in different words, with meanings suitable to the times in which they spoke. One may also avoid certain difficulties by taking an historical approach, which inevitably reveals the dynamic nature of religious belief. Even a cursory review of Roman Catholicism will show that its ideas have changed—for example, on celibacy, on abortion, on dietary rules, even on the Inquisition and on the treatment of poor Galileo. Neither is it difficult to show how Protestant sects have changed their views and how they differ from one another. Or that, because of irreconcilable differences about the proper manner of religious observance, Jews have divided themselves into many groups—Orthodox, Modern Orthodox, Very Orthodox, Almost Orthodox, Conservative, Very Conservative, Nearly Conservative, Reform, Not Quite Reform. (One is permitted, I believe, to make fun of one’s own group.) The point is that there is nothing disrespectful, and everything honest, in showing students that even within religions that insist on an exclusive “truth,” truths change. But, of course, this does not adequately address the fact that certain fundamental truths of each particular religion do not change. The Christians believe the Messiah came. The Jews believe the Messiah is yet to come. The Buddhists don’t believe in a Messiah at all. The Hindus believe in reincarnation. The Muslims do not. What then? The answer to any student who believes that other religions are simply wrong (or, as the Christian apologist C. S.
Lewis put it, are more primitive) is that he or she may be right. But, as the First Amendment implies, we cannot be sure, and, therefore, while everyone is permitted to be sure in his or her own mind, no one is permitted to prevent anyone from disagreeing.

In this connection, it may be valuable for students to know, certainly upper high school students, that many of the Founding Fathers were deists—for example, Jefferson and Paine, both of whom believed deeply in an “Almighty God” but who were skeptical about (in Paine’s case, vigorously opposed to) organized religion, especially the Christian, Jewish, and, as it was called in their day, Turkish (Muslim). Jefferson wrote a version of the Four Gospels in which he removed all of the “fanciful” and “superstitious” elements, retaining only the ethical components. It is said that when he was elected President, some Christians hid their Bibles, fearing that government policy would be directed against “God-fearing Christians.” They knew little about Jefferson, and even less about the First Amendment. Thomas Paine was vilified for his
The Age of Reason
, in which he tried to show that many things in the Bible could not possibly be true, and that the differences among religious systems show that they must all be wrong. His views on the purposes of religious systems were, it seems to me, shallow, and yet
The Age of Reason
is one of the most religious books I have ever read.

The point here is that tolerance is irrelevant when there is universal agreement. When there is diversity of opinion, tolerance becomes, if you will, a god to serve. But there are several meanings to the word. I do not have in mind the sort of tolerance characterized by a silent superiority. That is surely better than a Pat Buchanan-like vocal and aggressive superiority. But in the education of our young, we are obliged to do
much better. I mean to help promote a variety of tolerance that says, “If I had been raised as you have, if I had been in your situation, if I had been led to respect the symbols you do, then it is very likely I would believe as you do.” This kind of tolerance does not require students to abandon their beliefs, or even to think they are wrong. It requires only that they understand that there are more things about heaven than are dreamt of in their religion.

Were we to make the subject of comparative religion part of the education of our youth, there would arise many questions and difficulties to which I have no answers, and, I feel sure, to which other teachers have no answers either. But our ignorance does not rule the subject out. I said earlier we must proceed with mature preparation. This implies that there need to be national, regional, and local teacher conferences and institutes devoted to the ways in which comparative religion might be taught, so that teachers can learn from one another what the difficulties might be and how to overcome them. Does this seem too much to ask? Why is it that nothing is easier to organize, is more well funded, and more well attended than a conference on how to teach computers, or even one on media literacy? Is it certain that teacher interest can be aroused only about technical or technological matters? Are we too stupid or fearful to discuss the opportunities offered by religious diversity? I don’t think so.

To teach about the diversity of religion would seem laden with difficulties, especially because we have so little experience in doing it. By comparison, to teach about the diversity
of national or ethnic customs seems easy and familiar. There is probably no elementary school in the United States, and few high schools, that have not had some celebration of diverse customs, often a day in which native dress, food, and music are displayed, eaten, and heard. No one can complain about this—at least not much. Such efforts do suggest to our students certain kinds of differences among peoples of the world; and, always, there is the vague implication that such differences are worthy of respect.

But there is also the smell of quaintness about these events, even a sense of superiority, as if while acknowledging difference, we should keep in mind that these clothes, this food, and this music are not quite real, merely examples of exotica.

I hope I am wrong about this. But I do not think I am wrong about the superficiality of such approaches. They rarely, if ever, penetrate to the more robust expressions of cultural difference. It is one thing to reveal that not all teenagers around the world think it adorable to wear baseball caps backward; it is another thing to reveal differences in beliefs about kinship, about the legitimate sources of authority, about gender roles, about the meaning of politics, of history, of the future.

To get seriously into the subject of the diversity of custom is, therefore, to forgo the pleasures of superficial charm and to study aspects of culture that, in truth, are likely to make students uncomfortable. Yet, I would urge it on the grounds of necessity. Do educators command our attention by their warnings that the twenty-first century is hard on our heels, that our technology has created not only a global economy but a global village? Then it is essential, I would think, that our youth learn something of the ways of others who occupy the village.