Jerry Gill's Enduring Questions

Finding Faith Followed by Thought: A Pilgrimage

PREFACE

         After nearly eighty years of involvement in this, it’s time to bring together the two main themes of my intellectual life: faith and thinking. This essay is highly autobiographical, but I focus more on issues than on the personal side of my journey. I have discussed many aspects of this spiritual path in previous articles and books, but now I feel I have a new perspective on how my journey developed, and I hope to share that view in what follows.

Some readers of these pages may already be familiar with much of what follows, but I hope it will be viewed from a new and helpful perspective. As people age, they often see what they’ve already done from a different, more enlightening angle. That is my hope for the upcoming pages. I trust that those who read them will agree. Please be patient and thoughtful. This personal approach has its risks, but it also offers rewards. I am still on the journey, but after all these years, there should be fewer changes needed. 

1. FINDING FAITH. I grew up completely without any exposure to the Christian faith. No one in my family or among my school friends ever showed any interest in religion. I met a girl whose family had been Catholic but had recently become Evangelical Christians. She shared her faith with me, and partly because of what I saw for the first time in her, her family, and friends, I decided to look into the matter more seriously. Over the next few months, I read some Christian books and attended church with the family. One evening, while sitting alone in my room and after thinking about what was involved as much as I could at that time, I said out loud: “I’ll do it.” I had ‘found faith,’ and I never looked back throughout all the following years.

         After my senior year of high school, I went to a university to run on the track team and only partly to learn things. Before deciding to transfer to a Christian college the following year to study for the ministry, I took a course in the Philosophy of Religion. I remember almost nothing from the course, except that it included a reading from John Dewey’s The Quest for Certainty, in which Dewey jettisoned the “quest for certainty” in favor of a more pragmatic approach. A few years later, this suggestion of Dewey’s influenced me to replace my fundamentalist faith with something more substantial.

              I transferred to a Christian college in California called Westmont to study to become a minister, as well as to play basketball and run track. There, I found myself surrounded by upbeat and very friendly fundamentalist believers who knew much more about their faith than I knew about mine. Unfortunately, the college’s version of faith was very fundamentalist in nature. It took me several years to see the issues with this approach to the Christian faith, but along the way, I made many good friends and played lots of basketball. Gradually, I realized that this type of Christianity was not for me.

             The turning point in my understanding of the relationship between faith and rationality occurred when several of us attended a large discussion group of conservative Christian ministers. The group was called to discuss a new book by Bernard Ramm, a thoughtful evangelical from Baylor University, titled “The Christian View of Science and Scripture.” About 500 conservative pastors gathered, most of whom were upset with the book because it seemed to compromise too much with modern science. The discussion took place at Fuller Theological Seminary, a new institution trying to find a balance between Fundamentalist and Modernist thought. The atmosphere was tense and charged.

              The discussion moderator was a Fuller Old Testament professor named LaSore, who began the meeting by reading from the Book of Joshua, Chapter 10, verses 13 and the following, where it says that “the sun stood still.” After reading these words, the professor looked up and said, “There is not a person in this room who believes that.” Of course, the audience erupted, but after things settled down, the professor pointed out that we all went to high school and know that the sun does not revolve around the earth. The debate continued, but that was a turning point for me. The Fundamentalist view of the Bible makes no sense. I had to find a more reasonable way to study the Scripture.

               Fortunately, I heard from one of my Westmont professors about a Biblical Theological Seminary in New York City that offered the possibility of studying the Bible with an “inductive” method, which aimed to let the “Bible speak for itself” before drawing theological conclusions. I became determined to pursue a college teaching ministry at that school. However, first it seemed wise to gain a more thorough understanding of the history of philosophy, so I enrolled at the University of Washington for the fall semester. While this decision made some sense, it also exposed me to the challenges posed by philosophical thought against the Christian religion. Nonetheless, I was committed to teaching both philosophy and religious studies. The seminary would have to wait a year after earning a Master’s in philosophy.

         Although I had become a good student by the time I graduated from college, my background in philosophy was limited. Philosophy professors at Westmont were rare, even though I had taken nearly every course offered there. My faith had expanded to a much broader view during my four years there, so I was no longer a Fundamentalist but more of a “liberal” Conservative. I joined a mainline Presbyterian church and tried to read more widely in the library. At Westmont, I had one very open-minded professor, and we had helpful conversations. I was looking forward to gaining a basic understanding of philosophical thought.

          Things went reasonably well during the first term, and I earned an “A” in Philosophy of Religion, along with the required “Bs” in three courses: the History of Philosophy, Logic, Philosophy of Science, and Ethics. Initially, I struggled quite a bit with writing papers for these courses, but my skills improved as I went along. I found Kant, Whitehead, Kierkegaard, and Hume particularly challenging. By the end of the year, I decided to write a Master’s Thesis on Reinhold Niebuhr’s perspective on the relationship between faith and reason. I came to greatly appreciate his ideas, even though I had been warned about him at Westmont. This kind of extended, in-depth writing was very tough for me, but I was able to overcome this final hurdle.        

     Throughout the year, I struggled to connect my philosophical studies with my Christian beliefs honestly. Many great thinkers offered deep insights on religion and its relation to philosophical issues, and I was eager to do justice to their ideas as well. I needed more time to digest and unify philosophical and religious themes. Eventually, I concluded that Kierkegaard’s “Faith Alone” posture was not conducive to a healthy faith, and Reinhold Niebuhr’s views on these issues seemed to fluctuate quite a bit. Kant’s strict division between faith and reason seemed to be a dead end, and after years of further study, I found Whitehead’s perspectives most conducive to integrating faith and reason. I revisited his themes later on after many more years of study. 

            The Theological Seminary was a three-year commitment, but the summers allowed me to focus on integrating my new theological knowledge with my earlier philosophical studies. I was especially eager to learn more about the “inductive study” of the Bible from Professor Robert Traina. Of course, during those years I also studied Greek, Hebrew, historical theology, archaeology, and most of Church history. However, it was the courses with Dr. Traina that revolutionized my view of the Bible and how to study it. He shared with us a very detailed method of hermeneutical analysis, which involves systematically asking key questions about the Biblical text and finding answers to them. First, we made observations, then asked concrete interpretive questions, and worked toward sound, scholarly answers.

             Over the course of three years, we systematically studied most of the Scripture, primarily focusing on the Gospels and Paul’s major letters. During my final year, Dr. Traina asked me to help review students’ papers in his other courses, which taught me a lot. The process of making careful observations and asking important interpretive questions greatly increased my understanding of the Scripture. I felt confident that I knew how to approach and interpret Biblical passages on my own.

I have continued teaching Biblical studies throughout my career, both at colleges and adult church schools.

       Dr. Traina also demonstrated and taught the importance of careful follow-up on passages and drawing sound conclusions from them. In fact, this inductive approach has also helped me understand various philosophical texts. I have never regretted attending the Biblical Seminary to learn how to study a text, whether it is biblical or philosophical. This systematic approach to analyzing a text easily translates from biblical to philosophical writings, where following a line of thought is crucial. Along the way, I also had the chance to hear and meet both Reinhold Niebuhr and Paul Tillich at nearby Union Theological Seminary. 

              As the years passed, I taught biblical studies less and less and a broader range of philosophical subjects more and more. Nevertheless, the systematic, analytical techniques used in Dr. Traina’s approach continued to influence my thinking, both then and now. To start with, key observations and asking interpretive questions before moving on to interpretation remain fundamental methods for understanding any text. Studying with Dr. Traina at the Biblical Seminary was a crucial step in developing my thinking and writing skills, even when engaging with philosophical texts.

2. LEARNING TO LEARN. Up to this point, I was still, as it were, “finding my faith.” Learning to follow this step in becoming a true scholar-teacher with “real and deep thought” was the next stage in my own education. I began to take this step when I became a college professor in 1960 at Seattle Pacific College. I spent four years at Seattle Pacific as the only philosophy professor, primarily teaching a small group of brilliant students the full spectrum of Western philosophy: the history of philosophy, introduction to philosophy, ethics, logic, and philosophy of religion. It was time to combine faith with knowledge, and I loved it. Now was the time to follow my faith with “real solid thought.”

                  Fortunately for me, I arrived at Seattle Pacific College at the same time as a special group of half a dozen intellectually driven young men who soon became my best friends and my best students. It was time for me to fulfill my commitment to becoming a first-rate educator. Several of these exceptional students double-majored in philosophy and English, physics, or religion. They each earned straight A’s in all their courses throughout the four years. It was the greatest gift a new teacher could hope for. Each term, I had to develop new courses and teach them professionally. We literally explored the entire scope of philosophy together over four years. Each of these young scholars received scholarships to top graduate schools, and all but two, who faced health and family issues, earned Ph.D. degrees. Teaching them provided me with a valuable education.         

     Because these fellows pushed me so hard to stay ahead of them, I was awarded a Danforth Teacher grant in 1964 to pursue my Ph.D. at Duke University. At this point in my life, my faith and my learning were coming together nicely. I completed my doctorate in two years and loved every minute of it. Duke was, and still is, a very special university, and I learned a great deal studying there. My major professor was Wm. H. Poteat, a fine person and an inspiring teacher. I even managed to spend a term at Oxford University studying with Ian Ramsey, whom I had written my doctoral dissertation about, and Gilbert Ryle. My teaching career continued smoothly when I joined Eckerd College in 1970. 

         The main addition to my ongoing education at Eckerd was a newfound appreciation for the aesthetic side of life and thought. I was surrounded by colleagues working in various Art fields, and I learned a great deal from them. I had always felt the need to explore and develop this part of my experience, so I spent my first Sabbatical year studying the arts at Seattle Pacific College to learn more. During that year, I took a wide range of art courses, but my focus turned out to be sculpture. While I tried several other media, sculpture captured my interest, and I still don’t know why. It turned out I had some talent for stone sculpting and created several pieces that surprised both my teacher and me. I was still “learning to learn” and continued sculpting until a few years ago when I no longer had the hand strength.

               After returning to teaching, I was offered a position at Eastern University just outside Philadelphia to introduce an interdisciplinary program that combined Christian thought with various other fields. This opportunity challenged me greatly, allowing me to develop several connections between Christian faith and multiple media, such as film, popular music, and philosophy, for my coursework. I found this experience both challenging and enlightening. I should also mention that during these years, I began a writing career aimed at better understanding and sharing the ideas of prominent philosophical thinkers like Ludwig Wittgenstein, Maurice Merleau-Ponty, and Michael Polanyi. I actually wrote quite a few books on these thinkers, constantly striving to “learn to learn” more broadly.

3. INTERNATIONAL EDUCATION    

While teaching at Eckerd College, I discovered the exciting world of international education opportunities and began taking students on short academic trips to London and Scandinavia. Eventually, I expanded these interests to include brief educational visits to Greece. During these trips, students were exposed to and studied the ideas, histories, and cultures of the countries visited.         

      A few years afterward, I moved to the College of St. Rose in Albany, New York, to teach both philosophy and religion. During that time, my wife and I created a Semester Abroad Program in Crete, a Greek island. This was the highlight of our academic careers. We spent three fall semesters on Crete with about 12 students each semester. We taught art, which is my wife’s specialty, philosophy, and hired a local Greek teacher to introduce students to the Greek language. We also visited Olympia, Delphi, and Athens, and studied the Minoan Civilization that thrived on Crete. We rented a villa and took turns cooking there or dining at a local restaurant. The program was a massive success with both faculty and students, and we offered it at the exact cost as on-campus courses.

            During my current retirement, I have been teaching part-time at the local Community College here in Tucson, Arizona, for over ten years. I now also have two ZOOM classes a week with former students from all around the country who enjoy continuing their learning. I feel blessed! Throughout all of this academic activity, I have maintained my dedication to deepening both my Christian faith and my passion for learning. I have been incredibly fortunate to combine these two commitments at every stage of my career.          

4. FINAL REFLECTIONS

         Although my decision to adopt a diverse, interdisciplinary approach to both learning and teaching allowed me to explore many thinkers and ideas, it also had the drawback of preventing me from delving deeply into any one field. This “jack of all trades and master of none” approach probably kept me from reaching the level of advancement I might have achieved with a more specialized academic path. Nonetheless, after further reflection, I must admit that I am satisfied with the results and, therefore, pleased with my choices. I believe I am a richer person for having made them. “Fame and fortune” do not, in my view, outweigh human enrichment.

           Ultimately, my interactions with students have been the most fulfilling and rewarding part of my life. Staying in close contact with many of them over the years has meant a great deal to me. Such deep involvement in others’ lives is the most meaningful reward one can find in everyday human interaction. I wouldn’t trade my relationships with my students over the past sixty years for anything I can imagine. It is truly an end in itself and a reward all its own. I even had the honor of performing marriage ceremonies for many of them. They are, in truth, like my own children.

               Another aspect of my teaching experience has been the chance to travel to and live in many foreign countries. I have visited numerous European nations and lived in a few, such as England and Greece. I have also taught briefly in Mexico, China, and even Finland, thanks to the generosity of my wife Mari’s family. Our year teaching in China felt like traveling to a distant planet. The deep friendships we formed with people in these countries speak for themselves, as do the many small pieces of statuary and furniture we managed to bring home. Neither space nor memories can replace the many friendships we built in each of these places.

              When I look at the bookcase here in my office, I see about two dozen books that I somehow managed to publish. I am almost embarrassed to admit that when I started as a beginner teacher trying to write about an idea or an important thinker, I barely knew what I was doing. Even my spelling was often noticeably poor. About one of my very first graduate school papers, my teacher said: “Frankly, Mr. Gill, I do not have the foggiest idea what you are trying to say here.” With help from my college teacher friends, I managed to get a few papers published in top journals and even put together a couple of books in my field. Around the time I retired from teaching at age 63, I somehow began to write and publish “real” books—quite a few of them. I love writing. But I am still at a loss to explain how I came to be able to do it.

This story wouldn’t be complete without mentioning some challenges I faced along the way. During my first job at Seattle Pacific College, a few colleagues who were close friends of the President complained about me to him, and he faced pressure to dismiss me. I was never quite sure what the exact issue was, though I suspect my ongoing verbal sparring with the head of the English Department—who was also a good friend of the President—had a lot to do with it. The President then proposed nominating me for a Danforth Teacher Grant, which, if awarded, would fund my return to graduate school to complete my Ph.D. This plan allowed everyone to save face and go their separate ways. Ultimately, I got the grant and headed off to Duke University, leaving everyone feeling satisfied. 

              Several years later, while teaching at Eastern College, my marriage to a student, Mari Sorri, upset some favored members of the administration, probably because they assumed the worst about the situation. The then Dean, who later admitted he held a grudge against me because of my liberal theological views, fired me. However, when a new president was appointed, the Dean—who was a friend of mine—reinstated me. Still, circumstances at the college became complicated, and I decided it was time to move on. While searching for a new professorship, I was offered a part-time position and also secured a part-time role at nearby Villanova University.

I found an interim position at a small college in Rhode Island while continuing my search for a full-time role. Even there, my “reputation” for having married a student followed me. When that school closed and merged with a nearby institution with similar values, its administration refused to include me because of this. Finally, and ironically, I was hired by a Catholic college in Albany, N.Y. as an entry-level professor. Things went very well at this school, and I was quickly promoted to a Full Professorship in Philosophy and Religion. It turned out that the Catholic school was much more open-minded than my previous schools had been. I am very grateful for how things worked out, even though it was a somewhat rocky journey.  

      Along the way, Mari earned two master’s degrees—one from The College of St. Rose in Ceramics and another from The University of Rhode Island in Philosophy. In addition, she received the well-known A.B.D. (All But Dissertation) degree from Boston University in Philosophy. She taught both ceramics and philosophy at St. Rose for several years, as well as here in Tucson at Pima Community College. Later, she earned an official certification in Yoga from the Yoga Institute here in Tucson. She truly deserves a degree for all she did to support my career.    

Finally, I am happy to admit that without my wife Mari’s insight and clerical help, I would never have been able to accomplish all this scholarly publishing. She reviews, contributes to, and rewrites much of what I write, especially lately. I also have to say that I have really grown to love writing itself, for its own sake. Struggling to find the right words and grammatical structure provides great mental exercise for my brain, which needs all the help it can get. I’ll keep doing it as long as I can still read it.