Creating a Socratic Lecture Space in Religious Studies

This chapter will make two main points regarding lectures in religious studies (RS) courses at non-confessional universities and colleges. First, it will reimagine the lecture space and defend a type of oral engagement modelled on the Socratic approach.[1] This is a student-centred pedagogy, a form of active learning, where students are engaged participants in truth-seeking dialogue, rather than being passive receptors of professorial monologue. Second, the Socratic Lecture Space, as I will call it, should have a prominent place within RS, particularly in undergraduate courses studying comparative religion. This will help to bridge what has been called “the great divide” between lecturers and students in RS courses. However, the Socratic emphasis on critical dialogue increases the possibility of disagreement and confrontation, which needs to be both welcomed and directed by the professor.

The Great Divide

In 2008, Barbara Walvoord published findings that identified what she called the “great divide” in RS classrooms.[2] Walvoord’s study involved 533 instructors and 12,463 students in introductory religion and theology courses at 109 universities and colleges throughout the United States.[3] Both instructors and students were asked about their goals for learning. The most frequently chosen goal cited by professors was “critical thinking,” which Walvoord claims takes three main forms: (1) “analyzing the historical, cultural, linguistic, literary, political and social contexts of religious beliefs and practices”; (2) “critically evaluating arguments and points of view”; and (3) “constructing one’s own arguments about theological and religious issues, relying on reason, evidence, and logic.”[4] The first type of critical thinking, concerned broadly with historical context, has been of particular interest to RS scholars over the past few decades. Often falling under the broad category of “Critical Theory,” it explores how the contingencies of historical context shape both religion and the academic discipline of RS. In other words, it examines both religion and RS as subjective constructs – constructs that privilege certain discourses, practices, and peoples over others – not as universal accounts of truth.[5] Critical thinking, in this sense, is drawing students’ attention to the linguistic, historical, and cultural contexts of religious beliefs and practices, and deconstructing the unreflective assumptions within the academic discourse of RS itself. Essentially, the goal is to get students to consider in whose interest a discourse serves, and the power dynamics established when a discourse becomes authoritative. This means that there is no such thing as a neutral approach to the study of religion. Even the term “religion” itself is problematic, since it emerged within a Western cultural context, with its own assumptions about what constitutes “religious” phenomena.[6] The goal of many RS professors is to draw attention to such implicit biases and encourage self-reflexivity in the study of so-called religion.

In Walvoord’s study, student goals in RS courses were somewhat different. First, students wanted to learn basic factual information about various religions, including their own; but also, and more noteworthy, they hoped to “develop their own spiritual and religious lives.”[7] According to Walvoord, students understand “spiritual development” to be connected to “big questions” such as: “Who am I? Why am I here? What is the good life and how do I achieve it? What is truth?”[8] Students in the study were expecting that their RS courses would engage such questions. Some students said they welcomed a challenge to their own beliefs, whereas others hoped that the course would strengthen their existing faith. Whatever the reasons, students were seeking some type of spiritual guidance from their RS courses.[9]

The Critical Theory approach to RS would seem to be at odds with the “big questions” approach desired by students. Since religious and academic discourses are reducible to constructions that create subjective knowledge/power hierarchies, then any answers to such questions are hopelessly biased; indeed just asking the questions themselves comes with a host of unexamined assumptions that privilege certain categories, norms, and individuals over others. Thus, the critical thinking espoused by most professors at post-secondary institutions is ostensibly in tension with, or antithetical to, the spiritual concerns of students. Nowhere is this more apparent than in RS lectures, where professors deliver academic soliloquies behind the podium, focused on their own self-reflexive critical analyses, while alienating students, who may be left wondering how any of this addresses their deepest questions.  In general, faculty in Walvoord’s study expressed reluctance to address students’ spiritual needs, either out of conviction that professors must stick strictly to academic research, or out of fear that spiritual discussions could lead to uncomfortable moments in the classroom. Some professors suggested that “spiritual development” was an unstated “sub rosa” goal, or a happy-but-unintended consequence of the course, but nothing that could be stated as an official learning outcome.[10]

In response to the study’s findings, Walvoord investigates ways to bridge the great divide.  For some, this effort is misguided. Christopher Cotter and David Robertson, proponents of the Critical Theory approach, write that Walvoord “problematically assumes that students’ spiritual development is within the purview of RS.”[11] This implies that RS professors should simply stick to academic critical analysis and exclude students’ spiritual concerns, while, ironically, lecturing on subject matter that deals expressly with these very concerns. This irony forces RS professors to confront questions about the goals of higher education, particularly in the liberal arts. The liberal arts were traditionally conceived as studies that transform students into free (i.e., “liberal”) citizens by cultivating the virtues necessary for free choice – the abilities to think critically, speak rationally, and engage civilly. In other words, the liberal arts immersed students in the examined life, through which they could flourish as thoughtful citizens. Critically examining religious beliefs and practices would seem to be a crucial aspect of the examined life. The RS class, therefore, has the potential to affect students at the deepest level, since it may touch upon their deepest religious – or anti-religious – commitments. To address students’ spiritual concerns is not synonymous with “strengthening their faith,” but rather encouraging students to assess their opinions and practices, and consider other ways of understanding and living in the world. In this sense, critical thinking is not only a consideration of historical context but, in accord with Walvoord’s three-part definition, also evaluates opinions, and constructs new arguments based on reason, evidence and logic.

In her study, Walvoord compiles the pedagogical strategies of those she calls “Highly Effective Faculty” who cultivate critical thinking while “making space for students’ religious and spiritual development.” Such faculty create spaces that are safe from: (1) “teacher and classmate ridicule or denigration”; (2) the “pressure to commit to a particular religious tradition”; and (3) the “fear that it is wrong or dangerous to question religious beliefs.” At the same time, such faculty create “voices” in a classroom where students are expected to articulate their own beliefs at certain moments, and to suspend them at others. One of these voices is the “committed critical thinker: stating one’s own beliefs as arguments, and defending them.”[12] The figure of Socrates stands as the ultimate example of such a critical thinker. But to truly adopt a Socratic approach would mean transforming the lecture from a space that is primarily monologic to one that is primarily dialogic.

The Socratic Lecture Space

Norm Friesen provides an analysis of how the university “lecture” has survived in some form or other for nearly a millennium, notwithstanding changes in culture and technology that seem to threaten its relevance. Its stubborn persistence is due to its irreducible quality as a live meeting point or “interface,” where the lecturer is essentially a medium or guide who connects novice students to advanced realms of knowledge – something that cannot be easily replaced by impersonal technology. Friesen identifies three types of lecture spaces over the course of Western history: (1) the medieval lecture as a “reading,” where the lecturer recites an authoritative text to be taken down word for word by students; (2) the Romantic modern lecture as “sage from the stage,” where the lecturer speaks without a prepared authoritative text but is himself the  authority – the “Authorial Spirit” – who inspires students to create knowledge; and (3) the postmodern lecture as technologically enhanced  performance, where the lecturer both uses, and accommodates herself to, electronic and digital media for effect.[13] Whatever the type of lecture, the lecturer in all three cases is delivering an authoritative monologue. There have been criticisms in recent years about the monologic qualities of the lecture, which put the lecturer front and center, and increasing efforts to make lectures more student-centred. As part of efforts to reimagine the lecture space, there has been a renewed interest in the “Socratic Method” as a classroom pedagogy.[14]

The Socratic Lecture Space (SLS) envisions the lecturer as, what I will call, a Daemonic Interlocutor, rather than as a reader, authorial spirit, or performer. The word daemon is important in Plato’s dialogues, where Socratic pedagogy was first presented. In Plato’s Symposium, daemon denotes a “spirit” between the imperfections of mortal life and the perfections of immortality.[15] Socrates practices philosophy – the “love of wisdom” – which is daemonic, caught between ignorance and wisdom, but desiring the latter; thus, the philosopher, like the lecture space, is an interface. But the philosopher, unlike the Romantic “authorial spirit” does not possess wisdom, and hence is not a sage full of wisdom who gives it to others; she is an erotic soul in pursuit of wisdom, and who tries to entice others to accompany her on this journey. Socrates’ daemonic activity, for the most part, is not practiced through monologue; rather, it usually occurs through dialogue. In Plato’s dialogues, Socrates practices elenchus: he asks his interlocutors questions, eliciting them to state their opinions on a range of topics, and then proceeds to cross examine these opinions through a series of further questions, to see if they are true, partially true, or false. Usually, an opinion will be shown to contain shortcomings or contradictions, leading to perplexity, and Socrates will ask the interlocutor to refine his understanding. This is what most people understand by the “Socratic Method.” But Socrates does not just practice elenchus. Occasionally he uses myths and images to approach truth in other ways, suggesting elenchus alone is not enough – that it needs to be supplemented by narrative and the imagination. In Plato’s dialogues, Socrates’ mythmaking is the closest he gets to monologue, though it is always integrated within a larger discussion with others.[16]

If the lecture is to be reimagined as a SLS, then it is a space characterized primarily by dialogue. As with Socrates in Plato’s dialogues, the lecturer remains central as a Daemonic Interlocutor. Though she must organize the topics of discussion for each class, the direction a class could take is open-ended. This means she will be usually working without a script, thinking on her feet as the dialogue takes unexpected twists and turns. The professor no longer exists at the front on a stage, hiding behind her monologue, fortified by a lectern, and taking the occasional question. The onus is on students to carry the discussion, prompted by the professor. As such, this breaks down the traditional division between “seminars” and “lectures,” as the “lecture” would now also be a site of greater student involvement.

The Socratic Lecture Space and Religious Studies

The SLS, particularly in a RS class, is less an environment of reverence than a place of critical questioning, which potentially leads to disagreement and conflict. This ostensibly goes against a prevailing orthodoxy in RS pedagogy: professors are to encourage not merely tolerance of all traditions, but respect and empathy as well, thereby creating a space of inter-religious dialogue and mutual understanding. On the surface at least, it would appear that the SLS is not conducive to such a goal, with its emphasis on argument. Socratic pedagogy would seem to encourage potential confrontation – for example, if a professor or student were to point out how specific religious positions are untenable, or how different beliefs are irreconcilable, or how certain things done in the name of religion are unethical.  Such arguments might appear disrespectful and offense may be taken.

Stephen Prothero, Professor of Religion at Boston University, states: “My students are good with ‘respectful,’ but they are allergic to ‘argument.’ They see arguing as ill-mannered, and even among friends they avoid it at almost any cost.”[17] Often, attempts are made by either students or professors to diminish religious disagreements by saying “all religions are one,” or different paths to the same goal, to which Prothero responds: “[T]his sentiment, however well-intentioned, is neither accurate nor ethically responsible. . . .  Faith in the unity of religions is just that – faith (perhaps even a kind of fundamentalism).”[18] According to Alan Levinovitz, most comparative religious studies classrooms are dominated by either relativism or silence: relativism, because everything said or done in the name of religion is “respected”; silence, because students and professors are afraid to articulate their disagreements out of fear of being labeled racist, xenophobic, or culturally insensitive.[19]

Levinovitz, Associate Professor of Religion at James Madison University, writes “the essential purpose and unique objective of higher education requires a space where religiously intolerant confrontations can take place,” confrontations that cause “existential challenges” to students’ “innermost being and deepest commitments.”[20] Against demands that lecture halls be intellectual “safe-spaces,” where students should not encounter ideas they find offensive or personally challenging, Levinovitz argues that lecture halls should be unsettled spaces where confrontations are not only allowed but encouraged.[21] In other words, RS lectures should be reimagined as SLSs. As Levinovitz puts it: “Modern liberal education is supposed to combine the Socratic ideal of the examined life with a Millian marketplace of ideas. The product, ideally, is individuals who have cultivated intellectual virtues and ideas that have emerged victorious from communal debate.”[22] To say that lectures are protected spaces where “intolerant confrontations” take place is not to say that lectures should descend into threats and violence. On the contrary, students learn the virtue of civil debate: how to withhold respect and intellectual assent for another person’s beliefs and practices, while at the same time respecting the dignity of the person who defends these beliefs and practices. Students will not “agree to disagree”; they will disagree, but they will agree to basic civility. In the midst of disagreement, students must provide reasons for their assertions, not simply shout at each other with their unexamined biases. As such, genuine debate demands, in Levinovitz’s words, “patience, open-mindedness, empathy, the courage to question oneself and the attempt to see things as others do.”[23]

In the SLS, students are encouraged to debate the merits of various beliefs and practices.  Are these beliefs and practices “true” in some sense (not necessarily literally) or are they outright false?  Do they promote human flourishing or are they harmful? The discussion, of course, needs more nuance than simply dividing everything into “true or false,” “good or bad.” For example, a Socratic discussion could divide things up as follows: which beliefs and practices done in the name of religion can be endorsed by most people (the Golden Rule? charity for the poor?); which can be socially accepted but not practiced by most (dietary requirements? specific pilgrimages?); which can be socially tolerated but not accepted by most (biblical literalism? face veils?); and which are socially intolerable to most (mass suicide? terrorism?). Such divisions are by no means simple; what might be acceptable to some might be barely tolerable to others.  But this is precisely the reason for such discussions: to see where a disagreement emerges and press the issue.

If a student claims a belief or practice is demonstrably false or harmful, then she must defend her epistemological or moral intolerance with reasons. For example, a student cannot simply assert that wearing a niqab is wrong but must give reasons why it is detrimental to female flourishing; conversely, another student can argue that people opposed to the niqab are Islamophobic, but such a student should be encouraged to go further, articulating the reasons why wearing the niqab contributes to female flourishing. Of course, the lecturer must be sensitive to religious minorities in the class; for example, if only one student wears a niqab in class, this student should not feel centred out, bullied, or coerced by her non-Muslim classmates, nor should she be forced to defend herself. At the same time, if that student participates in class discussions of her own volition, and if she is willing to discuss the reasons behind the niqab, then this, and any emerging debate, should be welcomed. In the ethos of the SLS, defusing a debate by saying “different strokes for different folks” is an act of intellectual cowardice.

Criticism and Responses

The Socratic approach, similar to Critical Theory, wants people to examine their own presuppositions. This would also mean examining the assumptions of RS itself as a Western academic discourse. But there is a problem approaching all discourses (religious, academic) as simply subjective “constructs” that reinforce oppressive power hierarchies. All too often, such an approach descends into relativism, and enhances the great divide between students and lecturers. If the purpose of such deconstruction is to draw attention to the marginalized or oppressed who have suffered at the hands of these knowledge/power discourses, then that suggests that these discourses are measured by an ethical standard. Unquestionably all knowledge and practices are “constructs” shaped by language, culture, and historical context; but – and here is where the Socratic approach departs from Critical Theory – some constructs may be “truer” and more conducive to flourishing than others. For example, a self-reflexive discourse or practice that is conscious of its own hidden presumptions has greater epistemological and moral integrity than one that is not. Thus, the Socratic lecturer knows she is not wise, that is, she cannot provide a complete account of reality; at most, she can construct hypotheses or “likely constructs,” some of which may be better than others.

That said, some might object to Socratic pedagogy insofar as it compels people to defend their beliefs or practices using words, and in this way is logocentric – focusing on texts, doctrines, and beliefs rather than practices and “lived religion.” Over the past few decades, RS scholars have criticized this approach by deconstructing traditional categories used in the study of religion. Chief among these is the discourse associated with the “World Religions Paradigm” – a paradigm presupposed in most world religions courses. Cotter and Robertson argue that a “world religion” has traditionally been characterized as having a core “textual tradition,” along with “a stress on orthodoxy rather than orthopraxy, and some degree of universal ambition.” This discourse became hegemonic in RS, proclaiming itself as scientific (objective, universal, neutral), whereas in fact the entire discourse was shaped by Christian particularism in the nineteenth century. As such, it “prioritized ‘belief’ and ‘doctrine’ as preserved in texts as the sine qua non of ‘religion’” rather than practices.[24] This means that scholars have traditionally either minimized or distorted those traditions that do not fit within this definition of religion – which is to say, most traditions outside of Christianity.[25]

Though the Socratic approach predates Christianity, the accusation could be made that it too privileges words, doctrines, and texts over practices and living religion. In response, it must be pointed out that Socrates himself is depicted by Plato as critical of written texts.[26] Socrates did not write books and was suspicious of their pedagogical value; his chosen mode of teaching was dialogue. In other words, the Socratic Method is not so much a textually based “methodology” in the modern sense, as a type of practice rooted in face-to-face oral engagement. And it is not only concerned with texts and doctrines, but also – and perhaps especially – with how people live their lives.

Nevertheless, the claim might still be made that the Socratic approach, with its emphasis on criticism, logic, and argument, has a “universal ambition” like a so-called “world religion,” and is thus “culturally imperialistic.” This criticism is considered at length by Rebecca LeMoine. As she argues, the Socratic approach values “critical thinking and the input of students,” thereby devaluing the “norm of respect for tradition and authority figures found in other cultures’ educational approaches, such as the Confucian tradition.”[27] Thus, Socratic pedagogy may commit imperialistic violence against traditions that do not value its approach. LeMoine, however, defends Socrates against this charge. First, as she points out, any teaching method will privilege certain normative values over others. For example, Confucian pedagogy favours authority, respect, and tradition; a teacher who practices ritual dance in class favours non-verbal discourse. No teaching method is neutral; all are constructs.[28] The Socratic approach favours questioning, discourse, and individual thinking; but it also is self-reflexive, aware of its own limitations, and can be subjected to critical assessment as well. This self-reflexivity may give it a preferred edge over other pedagogical norms, as it is less likely to be blindly imperialistic. Second, Socrates, when stating his own opinion, articulated provisional “hypotheses” that he favored while submitting them to critical assessment, but he did not impose “doctrinal truths” on his interlocutors. On the contrary, Socrates works within an interlocutors’ “framework of thinking” to see where the thinking leads.[29] In a RS class, this means beginning with the premises accepted by a representative voice from a religious tradition and working from those premises. It does not impose foreign categories on the framework, but attempts to work within the framework itself. Furthermore, the Socratic approach cannot lead to proclamations such as “This religion (i.e. Buddhism) is better than this other religion (i.e. Christianity).” In accord with Plato’s dialogues, Socrates considers specific opinions; no single voice or argument from within a religion – no matter how authoritative – can claim to represent everyone who identifies with that religion.

The problems identified with the “World Religions Paradigm” can be mitigated through what has been called “interactive interpretation.”[30] Rather than organizing sections of a comparative religion course by “religion,” it can be divided into themes, such as “pilgrimage,” “sacrifice,” “gender,” and “war.” The course designer must carefully choose materials from different traditions within each theme. Which themes and materials are privileged is a painstaking task, and professors need to be clear with students about what has been excluded. Nevertheless, the materials should be chosen from a wide range of sources and voices – orthodox and heterodox, powerful and disempowered, doctrinal and practical, textual and (as much as possible) oral. Some materials can focus on texts, beliefs, and doctrines, others might concentrate on practices, as well as the reasons practitioners give for those practices.

The effort to find the “reasons behind” certain practices and critically assess them may be objectionable for some, who might claim it violates the practices themselves. For example, it may not be possible to “critically assess” the reasons for the Hajj in Islam or the Kumbh Mela in Indian traditions; there is something nebulous about a phenomenon like “pilgrimage” that cannot be fully illuminated by the strong light of Socratic elenchus. But it is because of such intangibles that Socrates often resorts to narrative and myth in Plato’s dialogues, to illuminate something that argument alone cannot quite capture. The widespread human need for pilgrimage might be better explained through storytelling and symbols, which can be done by the lecturer. However, to simply say that certain practices are beyond critical consideration, or that such considerations are inappropriate, is to renounce the examined life.

Conclusion

The point of this essay is not to say that all RS lectures should be conducted Socratically. RS, as a field, encompasses numerous disciplinary approaches – sociological, anthropological, psychological, historical, biblical – and the Socratic approach is not always suitable given the academic demands of a specific discipline. Rather, the point is that the SLS should exist alongside other approaches in RS classrooms. There are, of course, other issues around how to accommodate the SLS, especially within large first year classes that may not be easily conducive to dialogue. When RS departments design their curricula, a recommendation might be that the critical questioning of religion receives greater emphasis after first year, and that large introductory courses are more “Confucian” in approach, insofar as students are taught to understand and respect the religions they are studying. Given that most students’ knowledge of religion, even their own traditions, is often sketchy, it may be prudent to hold back before freeing students to criticize. That said, there still needs to be some room for critical reflection, even in large introductory classes, lest the great divide between professors and students be widened. These are issues with which all RS programs need to contend. But higher education in general, and RS in particular, needs the presence of Socrates in the lecture hall. If not, then we execute Socrates all over again.

 

Notes

[1] This essay builds on many of the themes discussed in my earlier essay “The Socratic Method in Today’s University,” in Lee Trepanier, ed., The Socratic Method Today: Student Centered and Transformative Teaching in Political Science (New York: Routledge, 2018).

[2] Walvoord, Teaching and Learning in College Introductory Religion Courses (Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2008).

[3] Ibid., 2.

[4] Ibid., 6.

[5] See Christopher R. Cotter, David G. Robertson, eds., After World Religions: Reconstructing World Religions (New York: Routledge, 2016); Mark C. Taylor, ed., Critical Terms for Religious Studies (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1998).

[6] See Jonathan Z Smith, “Religion, Religions, Religious,” in Taylor, Critical Terms, 269-284.

[7] Walvoord, Teaching and Learning, 6.

[8] Ibid., 5.

[9] Ibid., 25-7.

[10] Ibid., 35-7.

[11] Cotter and Robertson, “Introduction: The World Religions Paradigm in Contemporary Religious Studies,” After World Religions, 11.

[12] Walvoord, Teaching and Learning, 8-9.

[13] Friesen, The Textbook and the Lecture: Education in the Age of New Media (Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 2017), 110-138.

[14] For contemporary considerations of the Socratic Method in higher education, see Trepanier, ed., Socratic Method Today.

[15] Plato, Symposium, 201d-207a.  Also see Plato, Apology, 31d, 40a-c, where Socrates says that his daemon stops him from saying or doing things that are wrong.

[16] For some examples of Socratic myths, see Plato, Republic, 614b-621d; Gorgias, 523a-527e; Phaedrus, 244a-257b; Phaedo 107c-115a.

[17] Stephen Prothero, God is Not One: The Eight Rival Religions that Run the World. (New York: HarperOne, 2010), 4.

[18] Ibid., 3.

[19] Levinovitz, The Limits of Religious Tolerance (Amherst, MA: Amherst College Press, 2016), 35.

[20] Ibid., 26-7.

[21] Cornell West speaks of the classroom as a space where “you thoroughly unsettle people.”  See Mark Bernstein, “In Defense of UnSafe Spaces,” Princeton Alumni Weekly, December 7, 2016.  Available at https://paw.princeton.edu/article/conversation-speaking-their-minds.

[22] Levinovitz, Limits, 31.

[23] Ibid., 32.

[24] Cotter and Robertson, “Introduction,” 6.

[25] See Tomoko Masuzawa, The Invention of World Religions, Or, How European Universalism Was Preserved in the Language of Pluralism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005).

[26] Plato, Phaedrus, 274b-277a.

[27] Lemoine, “Is Socrates Culturally Imperialistic,” in Trepanier, Socratic Method Today, 126.

[28] Ibid., 131.

[29] Ibid., 128-9, 132.

[30] Laurie L. Patton and Vernon K. Robbins, with Gordon D. Newby, “Comparative Sacred Texts and Interactive Interpretation: Another Alternative to the ‘World Religions’ Class.” Teaching Theology and Religion, 12;1 (2009): 37-49.

 

This excerpt is from The College Lecture Today: An Interdisciplinary Defense of the Contemporary University (Lexington Books, 2019).