What is religion? What does the domain of religion cover? What is excluded? Does opinion eclipse knowledge in marking the boundaries? Should we allow empirical self-identification claims from self-proclaimed religionists to veto any offending established knowledge of what the religion is? I contend that an atheist who claims he is nonetheless a practitioner of Judaism, Christianity, or Islam does not alter the fact that the three Abrahamic religions are monotheist. Atheist Judaism, for instance, is an oxymoron born of an arrogant subjectivity that offends reason itself and therefore cannot be valid.
An opinion of a religious practitioner as to what core beliefs a religion should include does not mean that the knowledge we have of that religion is obliged to truncate itself or make room as if the opinion counts as much as the knowledge. For one thing, knowledge has more to back it up than does opinion. Knowledge of Christianity as a religion from Christian Scripture, for example, need not make room for a practitioner’s opinion that Christianity includes atheism, for that view is diametrically opposed to the existence of a deity in the scripture. An opinion seeking to remake or turn a religion against itself may insist on being recognized as valid, but this does not mean that the knowledge we have of Christianity (i.e., what it is as a religion) need be altered or contradicted.
Surely knowledge of something is not on par with opinions, for the basis of knowledge is not an aggregation of subjectivities. Rather, knowledge has a basis that is not so flimsy, so knowledge can serve as an anchor by which subjectivities can situate their respective opinions. For example, Christianity is classified as a monotheist religion. This theological classification does not come from subjectivity, but, rather, what the Old and New Testaments state, even if they are not considered to be the inerrant Word of God. That there is one god is a major theme rather than the offspring of an interpretation. Even though an interpretation can be said to be an opinion, even an informed one, the knowledge we have of Christianity is too certain to be a bunch of opinions shared by even many people. It follows that starting from the assumption that every opinion is valid with respect to knowledge is problematic. We are indeed an impious lot with regard to our religious opinions, supposing them to trump that which is known. Such arrogance belies any claim of being a monotheist.
I submit that knowledge in the religious-studies discipline is vulnerable to the presumptuous onslaught of religious ideologues who wrongly view knowledge of a religion to be subordinate to their individual self-identifications, ethnographically. Moreover, the problem is that some practitioners give ethnography a veto over other sources of knowledge of religions. They may even claim that the very term religion is up for grabs even though the fact that a discipline exists is predicated on there being some idea of what religion means (i.e., of what counts as religious).
Also, knowledge of a religion may be transmitted by biased scholars who allow their own respective religious opinions to overrun the duty to teach knowledge unfettered. We may even ask: Does knowledge of religion (and particular religions) exist, or have scholars of religion merely been spouting their own opinions through the lenses of reason? I submit that although scholarly subjectivity has played a role in the accumulated knowledge of religion, this pathogen can be constrained by the academic methodologies on how knowledge can legitimately be acquired.
For example, a scholar who is Christian may want a survey to show that a lot of a city’s residents are Christian, but that same scholar would be obliged to use random sampling and calculate “N,” the sample size using a method that cannot be bent by the scholar’s own preferences. Such a survey could thus be replicated by other scholars. The scholar may be ideologically in favor of the self-identification of a respondent as an atheist Christian, but other scholars could invalidate that data-point because the knowledge we do have of the Christian religion includes that it is monotheist, and therefore a person who self-identifies as an atheist cannot be classified as a Christian.
What about the teaching of religion? At seminaries and even some divinity schools, the study of Christian tends to be skewed in a sectarian direction. At Yale’s school of divinity, for example, an evangelical Christian assistant professor (who did not get tenure) told students who were asking questions that they professor deemed exogenous (i.e., outside the contours of the dogma) that only students with a good character receive the school’s masters of divinity degree. To be sure, that degree is chiefly though not exclusively ministry-oriented, but Yale itself was by that time not a Christian university. It was originally founded in 1703 by Congregational ministers who resented the Unitarian influence in Harvard’s divinity school (that influence has its own biases, often at the expense of religion itself). In fact, when I attended Yale, the president, Rick Levin, was Jewish. At one point, he attempted to move the divinity school closer to the main campus from being located on top of a hill—a city on a hill. One opposing divinity student said in a seminar, “But they are relativists” at the bottom of the hill, and “Hitler was a relativist!” Suffice it to say that the Divinity School was able to remain on the fringes of Yale’s campus. Perhaps this continued to thwart Yale’s administration from being able to act as a check on its divinity school’s academic bias. That the department of religious studies was located at the heart of the main campus meant that academic standards could be protected in the study of religion from non-sectarian standpoints.
Yet scholars in departments of religious studies are hardly objective; we are, after all, subjective beings, and we all have our biases, whether religious or political. Many years after I had graduated from Yale, a retired instructor from Arizona State University’s department of religious studies fraudulently misrepresented himself to me as a scholar even though he did not have a doctorate in the field. I became suspicious because he contended that how people “self-identify” themselves in religious terms trumps how a particular religion is classified theologically. According to the man with a masters in church history, ethnographic surveys decide the content and contours of a given religion even in regard to how it is classified theologically. “The theology doesn’t matter,” he told me. So if someone self-identifies as an agnostic practitioner of Judaism (i.e., a religious Jew), then scholars are obliged to consider agnostic Judaism to be a part of Judaism rather than as Jews with a weak religious faith.
I told the pretend-scholar that Judaism is classified as a monotheistic religion. “That’s just your opinion,” he relied dismissively. Just as he had dismissed the fact that scholars in the liberal arts have doctorates, he dismissed theology even as regards a theological classification! Why, I wondered, would he stoop to misrepresent himself as a scholar how little he respected actual scholars and knowledge itself. He was an ideologue who wanted to defend people who feel oppressed by religion. God forbid that a scholar might reply, “agnosticism is exogenous to Judaism rather than a type of it.” Like Socrates’ interlocutor Euthyphro, the modern-day interloper suddenly decided he no longer wanted to talk to me and said, “I’ve never approached you” in the café where we met. He had also said at the end of one of our conversations, “After the ten minutes I gave you, the rest was charity.” Such must be the arrogance of non-scholars at Arizona State University that even authentic scholars are considered lower.
That a university would allow an ideologue who relegates inconvenient knowledge as subservient to opinion even just to teach caught me by surprise, though admittedly Yale had been allowing Christian scholar-ministers to teach at that university’s divinity school in a way that delimited questions to those that fit within those professors’ own interpretations of Christian scripture. The difference is perhaps that those scholarly priests respected knowledge, for the pretended scholar from Arizona State University so obviously did not. “Some religious Jews self-identify as atheist Jews, so there is a type of Judaism that is not monotheist,” he told me once. He bristled at my reply that such Jews could be wrong. To the pretend scholar, it was the knowledge that would be wrong if confronted with a conflicting self-identification.
The knowledge we have of a religion should not bow to a convenient self-identification by a practitioner because knowledge trumps opinion. That is to say, we can legitimately have more confidence in knowledge within the academic field than in the opinions of non-academic practitioners. Scholars do not throw out knowledge simply because it runs against an ideology, especially if the ideologue is not a scholar in the field. The pretend-scholar I met had no problem misrepresenting himself as a scholar because he had no respect for the knowledge in the field. What mattered to him was that no one could refute a self-identification as incorrect from the standpoint of what we know of the religion based on itself rather than any other religion.
Were self-identifications permitted to set the contours of a religion, it could change beyond all recognition into another religion even as it retains its sacred texts, symbols, and rituals. A religion could be turned on its head. This has in fact occurred. The General Conference of Friends (Quakers), which covers the Northeast of the United States, has declared itself not to be Christian because enough Quakers there do not self-identify as Christians. From my visits at those Meetings while I studied at Yale, I suspect that the ideological opinion that Christianity has historically been dogmatic and oppressive to heretics and other religions was a factor in a significant number of the self-identifications at odds with Quakerism being a Christian denomination/sect. In contrast, Quaker Meetings west of the Mississippi River tend to be evangelical Christian. Friends there doubtlessly do not recognize the faiths of the Friends in the General Conference. Indeed, Quakerism as paganism is not recognizable, for the reason that self-identifications of especially new practitioners have been allowed to be determinative for what Quakerism is.
What if enough religious Jews were to self-identify as atheists? Would there be such a thing as atheist Judaism—Judaism without God? An ideological stance wherein Yahweh is deemed to be oppressive and even cruel to people of other religions could prompt some religious Jews to self-identify as atheist observant Jews (i.e., practitioners of Judaism). Would scholars be obliged to reclassify Judaism from being monotheistic in spite of the Hebrew Scriptures? I submit that the answer is no because ideology, as highly subjective, is not sufficient to trump knowledge, especially if the latter is based on the religion itself rather than being from a comparative classification scheme that ignores the knowledge we have of the religions themselves.
This is not to say that scholars are objective founts of knowledge. Because the knowledge learned by scholars of religion does not reduce to opinions, those of the scholars themselves should not bias the knowledge, just as self-identifications by practitioners of a religion should not. Universities, whether Yale or Arizona State University, are responsible for seeing to it that scholars and especially non-doctoral instructors do not treat knowledge as mere opinion in order to privilege certain opinions that are not in keeping with the knowledge.
It may be that religious practitioners generally are vulnerable to this propensity to disvalue knowledge when it contradicts a religious belief or interpretation. For example, some evangelical Christians claim that Christianity is not a religion, whereas all other religions are. In the academic field of religious studies, Christianity is indeed classified as a religion nevertheless. It would be sad indeed were scholarship to serve the interests of the religious ideologues rather than serve existing knowledge and reason seeking greater understanding.
The man from ASU who misrepresented himself as a scholar (i.e., holding a doctorate in the field) reflected the culture in Arizona wherein "book" knowledge is not respected generally and especially when it runs afoul of ideological opinions. For instance, many riders of the light rail could be seen not wearing a mask as protection against the coronavirus in 2020. Also, the ideological claim that climate change does not really exist so the scientists are wrong has had considerable currency there. Scholarship can be easily dismissed if it is at odds with an ideological stance even when a theology is funneled to serve an ideology or as a defense-mechanism to protect the ego.
Religion (including theology) can indeed be regarded as a credible field in academia, for the constraints in scientific methodology and logic can both be used to resist the encroachments of ideological bias and other exogenous agendas that can admittedly easily warp the pursuit of knowledge. My only degree in the field is the Masters of Divinity, which is really a bachelors degree (just as the MD and JD are actually bachelors) because it is the first degree in a school (e.g., Divinity). So I cannot regard myself as a scholar of religion. Even so, I greatly value knowledge that has not been warped by ideologies or other vested interests even of scholars of religion, and I disvalue the intellectual dishonesty that is involved in claiming as knowledge that which is really an instinctual urge to promote one's own worldview.
Preaching, for instance, should not be done under the explicit auspices of scholarly inquiry. Schools such as Yale's divinity school whose mission includes educating scholarly ministers and priests should take pains to distinguish the two pursuits while holding that both are of value. Professors of divinity who are themselves ministers or priests need to be especially self-aware so as not to yield to the temptations to 1) restrict academic discourse to the ideologically comfortable confines of their preachments, and 2) present those preachments as though they satisfy the criteria for academic knowledge. It is quite common, for example, for Christians to conflate the faith-belief that Jesus of the New Testament was a historical (empirical) person in the ancient Middle East with historical knowledge that comes from historical accounts rather than faith narratives. The latter prioritizes theological points, and thus can ethically adapt (rather than merely adopt) historical events to make such points.
The synoptic gospels differ on which night of Passover the Last Supper was on; putting that event on the second night serves the theological metaphor of Jesus as the lamb to be slaughtered for the forgiveness of sins. The writer would not have been bothered in the least had he known that the event actually taken place on the first night because he would have known that he was not writing a historical account. This is not to say that the field of theology is not as credible as a field of knowledge than is history. It is to say that the two fields have different criteria (and source-types) and thus should not be conflated. A historian would look for historical accounts that are as objective as possible (e.g., not from the disciples) to answer the question of whether the Last Supper actually took place (and, if so, on which night), whereas a theologian would assess the fit of the metaphor to soteriology (i.e., Jesus Christ as Savior).
Lay Christians and even many preachers may be surprised to learn that the only historical reference to Jesus, that which the Jewish historian Josephus made, is suspect as it regards Jesus as having preached the truth. Rather than being written by a Jewish person, the sentence was more likely inserted by a Christian copyist. Historians know to look at the credibility of a source that is presumably a historical account, for slyness is not a small part of human nature.
In conclusion, religious studies as an academic discipline can be distinguished from that of history and the ministerial profession of preaching. Moreover, academic pursuits should not succumb to the lure of ideology or preaching. Given the omnipresent desire that others adopt one's ideology or religious faith, the towers of knowledge that we construct should be subject to critique on a regular basis and by people of different vantage-points.
