likely to encounter is an introduction to world religions, whichrnin various forms is a fixture of many large universities. Thernproblems here can be summarized in the cynical description ofrnthis class, as “If it’s Tuesday, it must be Buddhism.” A sessionrnon Hinduism will generally lead to one on Buddhism, and onernon “other Indian traditions,” before moving on to the religionsrnof China and Japan. Ultimately we progress through thernmonotheist traditions, with an inevitable if unintentional messagernof evolutionary sequence, until we reach the New Age andrnpost-Christian views which, logically, would appear to be thernendpoint of spiritual evolution. Furthermore, the structure ofrnthis comparative religion approach offers an uncanny if ironicrnecho of the old courses of scientific atheism that used to gracernuniversity curricula in the Soviet Union. The first weeks alwaysrnbegan with a description of the common patterns of world religions,rnwith the aim of showing that they offered nothing distinctive,rnand were thus all equally human creations.rnTextbooks for this vast and profitable market vary greatly inrnquality, but most make quite depressing reading. Very muchrn”written by committee,” they bend over backward to avoid givingrnthe slightest offense, which in practice means avoiding anyrnform of evaluation, criticism, or controversy. To give an absurdrnexample, one of the best-selling textbooks nationwide praisesrnMuhammad to the point of asserting that his words could notrnhave been produced by human wisdom alone, an explicit Muslimrndeclaration of faith which is then immediately contradictedrnby equally fulsome praise for the founders of other religions.rnI would probably have preferred a positive Muslim bias to thernanodyne desire to avoid insulting anyone.rnIn this situation, Christianity is considerably less than primusrninter pares. While this religious tradition is depicted as onernamong several, it also suffers the drawback of being the spiritualrnhome (however remote) of a majority of students and faculty.rnThis causes a painful paradox: many students come to classesrnwith a definite sense of conviction, quite possibly believingrnthat the area under discussion is the most important thing inrnthe world, literally a matter of life and death. Meanwhile,rnthough at least some of the instructors can reflect this perspectivernin their personal lives, they are by definition forbidden fromrnexpounding their beliefs in detail.rnWithin the current ethos of higher education, a departmentrnis theoretically free to appoint someone who will make outrageousrnclaims about the historical atrocities committed byrnChristianity, and generally be violently antireligious, as that canrnbe defended on the grounds of academic freedom. The instructorrncan more or less get away with murder for any periodrnafter about A.D. 150, and can freely parade any sort of derogatoryrntale about the Church Fathers—and of course, some of themrnwell deserve it. He can tell the worst and most discredited legendsrnabout early Christian crimes, and draw heavily on the anticlericalismrnof a Gibbon or a Voltaire. He can tell how Christianrnmonks murdered the noble pagan philosopher Hypatia.rnBut conversely, one has to be very careful about a positive faithrncommitment, for fear that it may spill over into advocacy, therneighth deadly sin.rnAt its worst, this suspicion about the religious believer canrnlead to a tacit demand that the teacher will exercise discretionrnverging on subterfuge. The dilemma is illustrated byrnthe situation of departments which license instructors to teachrnoccasional courses at a campus. Their resumes often describernyears of theological training and ministry, and it is up to thernacademic unit or a committee to assess whether these peoplernknow the proper lines that exist between religious studies educationrnand religious advocacy, and whether they will respectrnthat. Does the person recognize the distinction between devotionalrnand critical scholarship? Crudely put, do they knowrnwhen to hold their tongues? The task is unpleasant in manyrnways, but an error can potentially open the way to complaintrnand scandal.rnThis issue of advocacy is ironic, as it is founded upon a notionrnof objective and dispassionate teaching that is diametricallyrnopposed to much contemporary pedagogical theory, whichrnsimply denies that one can escape from one’s ideologicalrnbiases. Overt commitment is inevitable, and desirable. Thisrntheme is especially represented in feminist pedagogy, whichrnseeks from the student a degree of personal involvement andrn”consciousness-raising” that would be utterly unacceptable in arnreligious context. Courses in Women’s Studies commonly demandrnthat students write a paper “from a feminist perspective,”rnand pupils are graded on journals reflecting their intensifiedrnawareness of their gender roles and experiences of discrimination.rnFar from apologizing for such advocacy, feminist teachersrnassert that these experiential methods are the only means ofrnteaching in this area. Obviously, no public university would toleraternan instructor who demanded that a term paper be writtenrnfrom a Christian or Jewish or Muslim perspective, with the implicationrnthat doctrinal error would lead to a lesser grade, andrnstill less a course which demanded the presentation of an intimaternspiritual diary. And how on earth would one grade such arnthing? There are also classes which discourage male participation:rnWould anyone care to imagine what would happen to arncollege instructor whose “Christianity 101” course excludedrnnon-Christians?rnThe approach to religious “advocacy” also runs contrary tornideas of cultural identity and authenticity. In the study of Islamrnor Hinduism, for example, it is now considered quite suspect forrnan academic unit to draw its teachers from Westerners who observernthe tradition from outside. These tend to be seen as “Orientalists”rninterpreting an exotic world for the instruction andrnamusement of a First World American audience. What wernneed, we are told, is people who can overcome this colonialistrnperspective, to teach the traditional from within, so that here atrnleast, it is not just legitimate but essential for a religion to be describedrnby an adherent of the faith, if not actually a partisan.rnA similar debate has recently erupted within American Judaism,rnand specifically in those universities in which JewishrnStudies programs of great intellectual quality have proliferated.rnIn July 1996, Queens College in New York City announced thernappointment of a non-Jewish professor to chair its Jewish Studiesrnprogram, a man of strong academic credentials in the studyrnof Yiddish culture, though lacking the doctorate necessary forrnadmission to the academic circus. The response was a furorrnfrom Jewish newspapers, on the grounds of ethnicity ratherrnthan lack of formal qualifications: one asked why Queens couldrnnot have found “a nice Jewish boy to do the job.” The resultingrncontroversy soon led to the resignation of the appointee amidrncharges of racial bigotry. Admittedly, the Queens College caserninvolved the head of a program rather than merely the instructorrnof a course or courses, but the case raised questions aboutrnthe relationship between teaching and commitment. If it is becomingrndifficult to imagine courses on Islam taught by a non-rnMuslim, Hinduism by a non-Hindu, and even Judaism by arnnon-Jew, then why is active Christianity not a strong recom-rnDECEMBER 1996/25rnrnrn