that are built, and the self-knowledge that we gain from learning with others—these positive outcomes strengthen all points of learning, especially learning in diverse contexts.
There are some problems with multiculturalism and religious education. I use “inter-religious education,” as distinct from “religious education” or “multicultural education.” In the latter, differences are named and valued, but religious, faith, or ethical commitments are not necessarily made explicit or leveraged. Often, in multiculturalism, we highlight, share, celebrate, and work to tolerate differences. The differences we choose to highlight are often surface-level differences, and can often make outsiders to various traditions mistakenly believe they are monolithic.
For example, in the month of December, well-meaning teachers and religious leaders often share Christmas and Hanukkah side by side, as key examples from two Abrahamic traditions, and in hopes of being inclusive. And that’s a great start! However, Christmas is one of two major, foundational holidays in Christianity. It represents one of two key beliefs (that God found a way to be born as a human into our world). (The other key belief is that Jesus died and came back to life, celebrated in Easter.) But Hanukkah is a “lesser feast” in Judaism—key holidays in Judaism are Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. It is good to know about Hanukkah, and very good to make space in our inclusive holiday lives to learn about it and celebrate it, but years of seeing Christmas and Hanukkah highlighted side by side has given many Americans the false impression that they are equal in some way. Worse, this false equivalency has given many Americans the sense that they know something important about Judaism, and so they don’t need to learn much else.
In “religious education,” either the educator or material is mono-religious or ecumenical, or the starting place or frameworks come from Christian religious education. In contrast, “inter-religious education” seeks to have multiple voices as “teachers,” a diverse body of learners, and attempts to bring into the educational space—either by material or through facilitation—time and space for learning about religious difference and for learning how to learn or live with religious difference. Religious education is still important—we must know about ourselves, and about our own histories, and the lineage of readings, actions, and communities that precede us and ground our existence. And yet: if we are going to participate in diverse communities and be open to change, we need to grow beyond mere religious education. We need to encourage and enable others to come with us, as well.
In this way, we’re not talking about the kind of theological learning that happens at church or synagogue, or where we learn mostly about our tradition and what other traditions believe. This work is relational. And scary. In traditional coffee hours, adult education programs, lecture series, or book clubs, we explore ideas, but we explore ideas with people who are like us. We might gain new information, or appreciate new viewpoints, but we aren’t often challenged to the point of feeling uncomfortable.
If we never feel uncomfortable, how can we be changed? The central thesis of this book is that uncertainty and disequilibrium have the potential to crack us open and propel us into positive transformation. As C. S. Lewis said, “You cannot go on indefinitely being just an ordinary, decent egg. We must be hatched or go bad.” How do we hatch? And how, as leaders, do we help our communities not fear hatching? It takes grit.
This book is the culmination of formal research with interfaith teachers in higher education, over ten years of experience teaching in and learning from religiously and culturally diverse communities, encounters with curious kindred spirits in countries including Haiti, India, and the Czech Republic, and ongoing engagement with storytelling as a reflective, transformative practice. You will find it useful in understanding why we humans resist difference, and how (paradoxically!) exposure to difference—and embrace of the other—can gild our lives with meaning and richness.
1. Not her real name.
The Problem
Our World Just Won’t Stay Still
Babies and toddlers are used to their worlds being upended. Depth perception, object permanence, new textures and foods—reality shifts, is added to and changed; new information transforms what they thought they knew, all day long.
Dissonance is uncomfortable. We are literally experiencing a shakiness which can feel like a threat to the world, and how we fit in it. And yet, disequilibrium precedes all real learning. It’s a necessary ingredient to learning. If we hope to learn, if we seek to mature, we must take the risk of being changed.
How do we cope with change? How do we cope with difference? Some of us avoid. Some flee. Some bargain, and some try to debate. Some experience a crisis of faith or become paralyzed by moral relativism. Some fear outsiders as a perceived threat. Some become energized by travel, new foods, new customs, and difference. Some meet great friends, roommates, coworkers, or fall in love with someone different. Some feel their own religious or ethical traditions illuminated or strengthened by exposure to and relationship with difference.
What divides these two groups of people? Or rather, what keeps us from being more open to difference? Are some of us more naturally inclined be okay with this dissonance? Are there practices or things we can learn to help us deal with disequilibrium? Can we teach those in our communities to encounter difference with a positive posture of openness?
This book operates on the idea that we can become more comfortable with difference. Further, if we are a teacher, parent, religious leader, or manager in a workplace or organization, it is our responsibility to help others grow in their ability to withstand dissonance. It takes a little courage, it takes a willingness to be occasionally uncomfortable—it takes interfaith grit.
Recently, there has been a bit of a backlash against the idea of “grit,” especially as applied to urban youth—the concept has been much in public discussion. But misconceptions about grit and resilience characterize those traits as somehow innate. In fact, resilience is a transferable skill. It is a practice, and leaders can help teach and foster strategies that lead to great resilience and, in turn, to more effective learning and lasting positive relationships.2
What do we know about resiliency, psychology, and the human brain? The work of Norman Garmezy has been instrumental in the development of the study of human resiliency as a field. The literature begins in child psychology and psychiatry in the 1960s and 1970s on “vulnerable children,” “social effectiveness,” “protective factors,” “temperament,” and “social competence,” including the work of Norman Garmezy, Edward Zigler, Ann Masten, Michael Rutter, and Leslie Phillips. Moving into the 1980s and 1990s, research covered such concepts as “stress resistant,” “risk,” “vulnerability,” “coping,” and “adjustment,” with the work of the authors mentioned above, as well as J. K. Felsman, Eric Dubow, A. L. Rabin, and J. Aronoff. Resiliency emerged as a concept that could be studied and applied in education.
As early as the 1970s, Garmezy and Masten were identifying examples of “at risk” children who succeeded despite their circumstances. Garmezy in particular sought to lead a shift in researching moving from how to protect children in troubled circumstances to trying to understand how children who thrived anyway did so. By 2006, developmental psychologists and educators had made that transition; the new perspective is exemplified with Steven J. Condly (summing the work of Garmezy, Masten, and their peers in “Resilience in Children: A Review of Literature with Implications for Education”) writes,
There is a clear class of children who defy the conventional wisdom and not only survive hostile environments but also actually thrive; these are the resilient . . . resilience is . . . perceived as a label that defines the interaction of a child with trauma or a toxic environment in which success . . . is achieved by virtue of the child’s abilities, motivations, and support systems.3
Over
