Learning The True Faith At Harvard Divinity

SUPPOSE YOU FEEL THE CALLING, and are impelled to pursue a career in Christian ministry. You are ambitious, and want a successful, influential ministry. The local Bible college won't do. Only the very best theological seminary for you, and there are many from which to choose. After a lengthy application process, you and up at Harvard, the original divinity school, satisfied that you have indeed achieved the very best. As a born again, fundamentalist, evangelical Christian, you can't wait to get started. You can scarcely imagine how profoundly the esteemed faculty at one of the world's great universities will edify and nurture your faith, and fully awaken you to the glory of God's faith and the Biblical word of God far beyond your fondest hopes. However, unbeknownst to either of you, there are actually two versions of you, living in parallel universes, both attending seminary at Harvard, both studying hard. You both graduate, and are ordained. In both universes, your experience at Harvard turns out entirely differently than you had expected. In one universe, you pursue a successful ministerial career, all the while ignoring everything you learned in seminary. In the other, you become an agnostic, then an atheist, and pursue an entirely different career, in the financial services industry, having left the faith altogether. What happened at Harvard? Here's what happened: First, you were subjected to a rigorous course of study, as you had expected. You are guided through a comprehensive examination of the Bible, the main focus, becoming an expert on the bible, word by word. Every book, chapter, and verse. Nothing is omitted. Although you learn the scripture by heart and by mind, above and beyond anything you had previously done on your own, you notice that none of your instructors ever mentions that the Holy scripture is perfect, or that it is the Word of God. Apparently, you are left to decide that for yourself. Instead, you are taught history, and languages, and are taught that a thorough understanding of the bible requires fluency in ancient Aramaic, Greek, and Latin, especially Greek, the original language of the New Testament. Ancient Roman history and culture, ancient Hebrew history and culture are essential. At Harvard, they teach everything from the ground up. Then come the church history courses, two thousand years worth, from Jesus to the present. Also, centuries of Christian apologetics and historiography. Biblical research, scholarship, and commentary has proceeded for centuries, particularly the most recent centuries, in which vast amounts of new material have come to light, and you learn it all. Christian historical critical thought has multiplied and improved immensely during the past two centuries, so you are given emphasis on the more modern material. You are taught to understand Christianity, not from a perspective of faith and devotion, but rather, from the standpoint of historical, critical, factual scholarship. All serious institutions do it this way, you find out. You learn that Jesus and his disciples were illiterate, and that nobody knows who wrote the four gospels, but that whoever did never met or knew Jesus, and instead got the story by oral tradition, third or fourth hand at best. You learn that nineteen of the twenty seven books of the New testament are forgeries, including the four gospels, having been written by some unknown author other than the author to whom they are accredited. You learn that dozens of similar texts exist, many other versions of the story of Jesus, but were voted out centuries ago. You find out that Jesus himself never claimed to be of divine nature, but that he became so only in 325 A.D., by vote, at the Council of Nicea. Each of the four gospels tells a different story, you come to realize, through an intense comparative study. In Mathew, for instance, Jesus rarely says more than a few words at a time. In John, he holds forth at great length, delivering what amount to lengthy speeches. In Mark, Jesus is reluctant to validate himself by performing miracles, and seems annoyed at the idea that he should have to prove himself. In John, he seems more than eager to show what he can do. In one gospel he runs out the money changers from the temple early in his ministry, in another, he does it as one of his final acts. You learn that Moses probably never existed, and that ancient Egyptian records never mention him or his people. What you learn in seminary is not faith, but instead scripture, and everything having to do with it. What you learn changes you. But isn't that the purpose of education?