Martin Kevorkian,
English,
University of Texas
[April 2, 2009] —My grandfather counseled me before I went away to college: “There will be those who will try to take away your faith. But they don’t have anything better to offer.” That advice, taken in the generous spirit that he always intended, did much to establish what remains my relation to the university.
I attended a student fellowship during my graduate years at UCLA. One professor cautioned us, albeit in semi-serious hyperbole: Don’t let them know you are Christians – they’ll have you martyred on the Janss Steps on campus.
For guidance, our fellowship turned to the book of Daniel, but not out of worries over a fiery furnace or lion’s den. What we sought was some model for a proper relation to the institution of higher learning.
King Nebuchadnezzer gave the young Israelites new names, and had them learn a new language. They complied. But when the king has also allotted them a portion from the royal table, they asked for an alternative. “But Daniel chose not to defile himself with the royal food and wine, and he asked the chief official for permission not defile himself this way” (1:8).
Where Daniel Drew the Line
Here, in the matter of diet, lies the sticking point. Just as significantly, the issue of defilement does not arise elsewhere. The Israelites will receive full immersion in Babylonian culture. But the knowledge they stand to acquire will not defile them. Even the new names – names derived from the gods of that culture – do not appear to present a problem. Daniel and his companions draw the line only on the matter of faithful worship as indexed by material religious practice.
We drew great encouragement from these words. What we would learn need not harm us. People might refer to us differently, with words corresponding to this culture of knowledge: Medievalist, Americanist, or Molecular Biologist. We could accept this.
And, a further codicil of comfort from Daniel: “Now God had caused the official to show favor and sympathy to Daniel”; we could find allies and advisors among those who did not share our faith. All obvious points, but necessary to our survival.
A Place of Gleaming Wonder
The fullness of what my grandfather told me years ago came clearest to me through the example of my mother. My grandfather worked as a night janitor at the University of Michigan. When my mother was a little girl, he would sometimes take her to see the long, shining hallways that he had scrubbed. He was proud of his work, and found honor in making this public place clean. But I think he also wanted to impress upon my mother his sense of the university as a place of gleaming wonder. When she graduated from her country high school, class of thirty students, she went on to attend that great university.
When he said of the professors that they didn’t have anything better to offer, he did not say that they possessed nothing of value. I think even the word “better” bears qualification – nothing better on the order of faith, nothing in a category to replace it. But he clearly saw the university as a source of much that is precious, of knowledge that could be gained without posing a threat to faith. He took joy in seeing my mother go to college, and likewise cheered me onward. But he wanted me to keep steady. And I have always taken that as one meaning of the truth that makes me free.