St. Michael's College, U of T

Most reverend Chancellor, President Anderson, Vice-Provost Hillan, representatives of sister colleges, Dean D’Souza, members of the faculty, Sisters of Loretto, Sisters of St. Joseph, fellow granduands, my colleague Prof. John Esposito, friends and family. We are gathered together this afternoon to celebrate the graduation of some remarkable students and to affirm our support for the great work undertaken by the University of St. Michael’s College. We are gathered together not only because we want to bring you, graduates, joy on the occasion of your graduation, but because you, as newly born scholars and teachers of religion, bring us the excitement of a new generation of scholars, with new ideas and perspectives.

This graduation is a day of celebration; as religious people, we ask, how do we give our rejoicing a religious meaning? God gives us gifts – the seventh day – but commands us to sanctify the day: Remember the Sabbath and make it holy. We make the day holy. Let us sanctify this passing moment by bringing it into our memory, implanting it in our souls. The memory we create of this day, may it be a source of inspiration for us in the future, may it be a wellspring we can draw on to remind ourselves of who we are and of the kind of people we aspire to become.

What I want to talk about today is the meaning and purpose of scholarship.

There is a Jewish story of a student who comes before a rabbi and announces with great pride that he has gone through the whole Talmud three times. But, the rabbi asks him, what of the Talmud has gone through you? With all that we study and master at the university, how much goes through us, transforms us? Do we emerge solely as masters of a discipline, or are we also gaining respect and delight for the wonder and marvel of the world, for the diversity of creation and its gifts? You have gone through graduate education at St Michael’s; what of your education at St Michael’s has gone through you? In what ways have you been transformed as a person?

The work of a scholar and teacher is not simply that of a job or a profession; it is a vocation requiring utter dedication of one’s time and mind. No scholar is ever satisfied, there are always too many books to be read, too many ideas to be absorbed, too much to learn, to write, to rewrite, to analyze, to teach. We have information to convey, but a teacher must also respect “the delicate sacred interiority of each student,” in the words of the great Frank O’Malley, professor of English at the University of Notre Dame. Teaching is a sacred trust.

There is a debate in the Talmud between two rabbis, Rav and Shmuel, as to whether the world was created for the sake of Moses, so that he might receive the Torah, or for the sake of David, so that he might sing hymns and psalms in praise of God.

The answer, of course, is that the world was created for the sake of both Scripture and psalms, as Moses says in Deuteronomy 32:1: “Give ear, O heavens, let me speak; let the earth hear the words I utter.” (HT 342) The rabbis explain that at that moment, Moses stood in heaven and spoke to both heaven and earth.
We might ask a similar question about why scholarship was created: do we become scholars in order to receive and transmit Scripture, that is, our research findings, or do we become scholars in order sing psalms, that is, to inspire ourselves and others to become attuned to the wonder that is the beginning of wisdom?

Are not both necessary?

We are trained as scholars to acquire and transmit knowledge, to teach and to undertake research – certainly important endeavors – but we also become scholars in order to become aware of the mystery inherent in nature and history, to inspire others, to speak out against injustice, for scholarship at its heart is an endeavor that is profoundly rooted in moral values. There are bitter problems which scholars of religion have to address: agony, sin, despair. There is wickedness in the world, horror in the soul. What can we offer?

I’ve worked hard as a researcher yet I never feel I have worked hard enough. There is always so much more to know, exciting new books to read, so many details to study that often reconfigure the larger picture. I’ve worked in dozens and dozens of German archives for years, work that was laborious, often tedious and always depressing. Based on those archives, I reconstructed the history of an anti-Semitic propaganda institute run by Protestant theologians during the Third Reich. I discovered all sorts of incriminating evidence about theologians prominent and obscure. While there is a great satisfaction in gathering, analyzing, interpreting, and publishing the data I discovered, I have to stop myself to ask, What is the ultimate significance of this scholarship? Have I simply exposed and brought condemnation to a group of wicked theologians? How does this ugly topic fit into my life theologically? How can the data of my scholarship also inspire as psalms? Even more, how in the face of such a horrific story do I retain my humanity?

For me, my study of the horrific ways religion can be exploited for ugly political purposes, such as the effort to create a synthesis of Christianity and Nazism, is analogous to the experience of doubt that many religious people undergo at times. Doubt can plunge us into deep despair, disorient us from our own lives. I felt that way about my research on the Nazi theologians: in despair, disoriented, as though all of religion had become tainted for me. But we also know that doubt can be a gift from God that can lead us in new directions. For Franz Kafka, “the door is closed, the key is lost.” Yet religious people believe there is purpose in facing the abyss. The Zohar is more optimistic than Kafka; it says a person is only whole when his heart is broken. The sadness of our soul may open a crevice in the wall that often seems to stand in front of us. I emerged from writing my book with greater clarity about wickedness, but also with longing for religion, and with a far greater appreciation for the extraordinary goodness, creativity, and inspiration that religion offers us. Only in religion, I believe, can the depths of all dimensions of our souls, from despair to joy, be experienced, given voice, and become tools for redeeming our world.

We as scholars stand in a great tradition: our universities have given us brilliant, learned teachers who have produced works of enormous erudition and insight. But they must also be works of hope and vision. In my own work, I learned that scholarship can be dangerous if it is not tied to moral commitments and redemptive goals. I have left the Nazi era and I am now writing a book on the Jewish fascination with Islam that blossomed in the nineteenth century; indeed, Jews shaped the field of Islamic Studies in nineteenth-century Europe. So much of what I hear today is a vicious denunciation by Jews and Muslims of each other’s religions, but I see that such attitudes are an aberration and, I hope, can be halted by recovering a lost history. I want to make it known that in very recent times Jewish scholars admired Islam, placed it on a pedestal, and forged an alliance between Judaism and Islam. In their view, both religions uphold monotheism, reject anthropomorphism, and shaped themselves through strict religious law.

We scholars of religion have an exceptionally important role to play in our world today. We are in difficult days, politically and economically, a period in which the humanities,  in particular, are needed above all. Many of us will have to rely on our inner resources, feeling unprotected or even betrayed by the caprices of the current economic crisis. We need philosophy, art, history, and religion; these are precious assets. We need to explore our inner lives, learn more deeply who we are, what we believe, how we can dream and reflect, not in isolation but with our community of fellow explorers. Our lives are grown difficult; how might we attend to our souls? The artist Sister Mary Corita used to say, this day is given to us; from it we make life. Interpreting Genesis 2:7: “And man became a living soul,” Rav says, this means “the soul that God gave you, keep it alive.”

Religion is  a word that is thrown around too cavalierly these days. We, as scholars in the field, know to be careful and measured in our judgments, and we must also be precise. For too many people, that devotion to religion is measured by their political interests, their nationalism, or their willingness to be martyred for their beliefs. Clergy seeking wealth and power proclaim a theocracy, when in fact the regime is an oligarchy in clerical masquerade. All of this is fraud. Let us call it by its name. Those Protestants who sought a nazification of Christianity were frauds. Those seeking martyrdom or the murder of others in the supposed name of religion are frauds committing the greatest of sins. May you go forth and speak loudly and with clarity about religion, may you always remember the words of the Hadith: the learned man’s ink is as precious as the martyr’s blood. Always remember that your ink is powerful.

What is the ultimate significance of education? God calls upon us to cultivate our awareness of the greatness and mystery of life, to remember that each person is an image of God. Let us seek in our work moments of holiness, and make our own lives instruments for perfecting the world. "Stand still and consider the wondrous works of the Lord," says Job. We human beings will not perish for lack of information, but we may perish for lack of appreciation. Intellectual truth is not sufficient, and the love taught by religion cannot stand alone; God is in need of us. Scholars need many things: integrity; wisdom in choosing the right topic to study; and a certainty in the heart that our work is important. Appreciate your work, be aware that it bears ultimate significance.

May this day be a source of blessing, for the graduating students, their families, friends, and teachers, from this day unto eternity. May this world of ours be blessed and perfected by the great tasks as scholars and teachers you will now take up. Amen.

Prof. Susannah Heschel, Dartmouth College