Yale Divinity School

On February 21-23, 2024, Rowan Williams, a former archbishop of Canterbury, delivered a series of lectures on the topic of solidarity in moral theology. In my own research, I relate that field to ethics and historical economic thought. Williams’ theory of solidarity goes beyond what he calls “the vague feeling of empathy” that is emphasized in the moral writings of David Hume and Adam Smith. Williams has solidarity, unlike mere "fellow-feeling," reach a person’s identity and even one’s soul through a shared experience of existential fragility. Solidary pertains to interpersonal relations and is thus relevant to neighbor-love, which includes being willing to attend to the human needs even of one’s detractors and enemies, as well as just plain rude people. I contend that the upper echelon at Yale Divinity School is at two-degrees of separation from this sort of solidarity, especially as it is wholistic rather than partisan in nature. It is no accident, by the way, that the self-love that characterizes the school's culture has manifested in some courses being almost entirely oriented to advocating very narrow ideological partisan positions, politically, economically, and on social issues at the expense of sheer fairness to students, wholeness, theology, and academic standards. At the time, the school was accepting 50% of studen applicants. I leave these ideological and academic matters to the side here so I can focus on the astonishing distance between the school's dean and the sort of solidarity that he heard of in the lectures and that could lead to Christian leadership for Yale's Christian divinity school, which includes two seminaries. 

Decades after having studied at Yale in its divinity school and Yale College, I returned to do research because I could finally intellectually integrate two very different areas of my formal studies at Yale and elsewhere. I was stunned upon my return to find so much meanness by employees, who insisted that alumni in residence are not “members of the Yale community,” by a security guard who profiled me with intimidation, by faculty who rudely dismissed Yale’s policy that alumni can audit courses, and by faculty administrators whose skill in passive aggression surpasses all understanding. In such an organizational culture, a Christian divinity school may seem like an oxymoron. A Christian school within a university that is known “inside the beltway” for having a nasty organizational culture is likely to display hypocrisy.

Christian hypocrisy (and downright meanness) applies to even the highest level of Yale’s divinity school. For example, I walked up to the former archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams, at the reception just after his final lecture at Yale's divinity school. The dean didn't want me talking with him. In fact, the dean had refused to speak to me since I had returned on the preceding Labor Day. I had introduced myself, but he just walked away. At the reception, the dean of a "Christian" divinity school was perpetually stationed near the archbishop, watching him like a hawk. As soon as the dean, Greg Sterling, saw me beginning to talk to Rowan Williams, I knew it was only a matter of time—that I would not be talking long to the archbishop, who, by the way, was very interested in my biological relation to a previous archbishop of Canterbury. Unfortunately, the paranoid, controlling dean who does not tolerate criticism of Yale quickly turned the archbishop around as I was midway through my second sentence in order to prevent me from talking further with the archbishop.  Nice, huh? Very Christian.

Ironically, Williams had just given the last of three lectures on solidarity with one's neighbors. In even deeper irony, the dean had publicly praised the lecture and the topic during the Q&A session, which the dean, rather than the archbishop controlled (although the latter tried twice). Just a FYI to the "Christian" upper echelon at Yale's de facto seminary: Holding a grudge is antipodal to empathy, solidarity, and helping even one's detractors. To be sure, as I had been marginalized at that divinity school even while I was a student (for raising theological questions), and again during the 2023-2024 academic year, when I was back to do research, even by the school’s director of Alumni Engagement, I had written short essays critical of the sheer meanness at Yale (https://lnkd.in/gpRptb6A and https://lnkd.in/enej8PEa). Even so, to intentionally prevent me from talking with another scholar of moral theology and philosophy at a reception really says something about vengeance and abject hypocrisy.

In The Godfather III, a cardinal in the Vatican tells Michael Corleone that even though Christianity had been in Europe for centuries, little of the religion has seeped in. The cardinal takes and cracks open a small rock from a fountain in a beautiful courtyard, and likens the dry inside as akin to Europe immersed in Christianity, yet little has penetrated. Caring for one’s detractors, and even enemies, is not something in the Godfather’s playbook. Neither, I submit, is it in that of Greg Sterling, dean of Yale’s “Christian” divinity school and even a pastor in the United Church of Christ denomination, or sect, of Christianity. Perhaps, as he appeared during my stay to be desiccated inside in spite of the baptismal waters of Christianity, he might benefit from my booklet on Christianized leadership. Although the booklet is geared to business leaders, presumably Christian leadership can also be applied at Yale’s divinity school.

Williams’ three lectures over three evenings were on solidarity, which in turn can lead to communion. Although this includes with the non-human world, the archbishop’s focus was on going beyond a “vague feeling” of empathy to share in one another’s fragile and dependent nature as living creatures. To recognize another person’s dignity and depravity, and thus one’s need to be recognized in discourse and caring is the essence of William’s theory of solidarity. Communion goes on to a greater unity and in explicit relation of all as finite creatures to God. Solidarity takes work; as it extends to a person’s detractors and enemies, that work is not always easy, but it is mandatory. I would add that religious experience, whether in prayer or meditation, or inner, concentrated yearning for communion with that which transcends the limits of human cognition, perception, and emotion (sorry, Augustine), can heighten a person’s sensitivity to other people once one is back in the world. By analogy, it is like walking outside of a theatre during the day after watching a movie for several hours in the dark. Existential sensitivity is on a physiological, emotional, and spiritual level, and is inherently oriented to William’s conception of solidarity. Put another way, regular religious or spiritual experience can heighten a person’s instinctual urge to connect with the dignity and radical dependence of other people as well as oneself. Being more aware of another’s inner pain or existential hardship is another way of putting this. The sharing of this condition, which naturally occasions fear that can be detected outwardly, is the foundation of solidarity, and from this foundation the actual work in caring even for one’s enemies can begin. It is in valuing such work that a person is religious; it transcends creed and even cognition or belief, as if religion were mostly cognitive rather than of the human heart.

It is from that perspective that I want to shed translucent light on the shadows and proffer my advice even to a detractor on Christian leadership, for it is self-less rather than vengeful, caring rather than mean, and thus of a power distinct from that of the world. In talking truth to power in the upper echelons of the Danish Church, Kierkegaard emphasized subjectivity over empty shells in Christianity. Unlike Husserl, Heidegger, and Sartre in the decadent twentieth century, I think it is foolish and unnecessary to base everything on subjectivity. Although Nietzsche’s dictum that God is dead was meant to address a logical contradiction in a conception of the deity by humans, and the philosopher proffered good insight on the will of the priests (and pastors) to power as controlling others, he missed the power that lies in helping even one’s detractors, or at least not acting on a vengeful instinctual urge. Such an urge Nietzsche claims runs wild in the weak, even and especially in a Christian priest (and dean) from whom hypocrisy condenses and drips from a dry core. False humility as a means to invisibly extract vengeance is the hallmark of self-love and is antipodal to neighbor-love seu benevolentia universalis rather than just as amicitia.

Judging from how self-identifying Christians typically treat their respective detractors, and even people who are simply downright rude, I submit that the kingdom of which Jesus speaks in the New Testament is still woefully not of this world even though it could be. All it takes is some hard work in being caring rather than retaliatory where it is least convenient. I know I have work to do, but I’ve also made the difficult choices to help my detractors and the spiritual dynamic between the two people when that takes place can indeed by said to turn the world on its head in a spirit of wonder—even expanding human nature. It is very difficult, but possible, and it has been done.

For example, at the reception for Rowan Williams, I put a retired chaplain of Battel Chapel, which is on Yale’s main campus, in touch with Jerry Street, who had been Yale’s main chaplain and was still working in some capacity at the divinity school at the time of the reception. When I had been a student, I interviewed him for my radio show on WYBC at Yale; he had been furious after the interview, declaring, “I will not be edited!” The station’s chief explained to him that it was dreadfully unfair to demand no editing. In spite of Street’s anger and unfairness to me, I greeted him warmly at the fall convocation in 2023, and I gave him and the retired chaplain of Battel a gift, as she put it later, in reuniting the two of them at the reception. I wish I was not so distracted that I could have felt the joy of giving to a former detractor; I really wanted to speak on research with Williams. Had the dean fallen or dropped something at the reception, I would have helped him up or picked something up for him. It gets easier if you have put in work in establishing a habit even if it falters from time to time when the emotions are too strong. The spiritual dynamic of peace that is felt between former detractors as one helps the other on a human level is that which Jesus describes in the New Testament as the peace in God’s kingdom. Such peace is possible in this world. Maybe the dean will become a Christian leader as a result of reading my booklet. 

Rockford University: Paranoid on the Periphery

A young library supervisor of student workers at Rockford University insisted that Christmas is only a private holiday because it is exclusively religious after I had said that I wanted to finish the book by Christmas. When I pointed out that in this country (the USA) Christmas is recognized as a national holiday, the library employee said that it is only a holiday for the federal government (not the rest of us) and demanded that I define "country." Then, presumably out of ideological spite, while I was taking an hour walk break outside, he intentionally took the book from its proper place on a bookshelf and demanded that each time I want to use the book, I had to ask him for it. It was neither a reference nor a rare book. Surely he had not spied on every patron, or taken books from the shelves so any patron wanting to use a book again would have to ask him at the front desk; and yet, his boss, the provost of the small college whose office was off to the side of the library's entry hallway, rebutted my complaint about his subordinate and instead angrily threatened me that I had to respect library policies, or of course I could go to another library. No wonder that college was in financial trouble and could not keep its CEO. 

The case of the missing book. 

A psychological thriller surpassing those of the Hardy 
Boys and Nancy Drew!

Imagine my surprise, upon returning from an hour break after having put the book I had been using in it's proper place in the shelving area, for I could not check out the book and use it at home: I saw that the book was missing! The library employee seems to have had me under surveillance and so had known when to go to the shelving area to remove the book so I would have to ask him for it, even after just taking a break. This could not possibly be done in the case of everyone who reads a book in that library. I returned to the provost, who angrily said, "You need to respect the library." I pointed out that the employee had disrespected me. Did I need to point out that a library employee was being disrespectful to a senior scholar? "There are other libraries," the provost retorted. There would be no collegial courtesy from that "colleague." I then went to the college president's office. The new interim president would not even pick up the phone to call the provost or the library employee so I could return to my research without having to bow before the rude employee. Adding insult to injury, the interim president, who had come from a largely online university, said, with a grin, "Have a nice holiday." I had told her what the library employee had said about Christmas, though her little stab was as primitive as it was petty.

On the next day, I returned to the library to verify my gut feeling that the library employee had not returned the book to its rightful place in the shelving area. I was betting that there would be no accountability. Sure enough, the place on the shelf where the book should have been was empty. The employee's ideological vindictiveness and stubbornness evinced his stupidity, for what if someone else had come to use the book? Who would come to study at a college of such idiocy? 

Before leaving the campus, I stopped by the Institutional Advancement office in another building. While I was suggesting that treating a scholar visiting his hometown so badly would not do the advancement of the institution any good, a security guard bounded in and interrupted me, demanding, "Is there something I can help you with?" I said no. The Advancement person was as surprised as me, so the security guard said, "I got a call." I have no doubt it was either someone in the provost's office or the library employee. Really I think the latter was being vindictive as I had claimed that Christmas is a national holiday and had complained about him.

The "shoot from the hip" security guard thought nothing of interrupting me as an administrator and I were talking. "Can I help you with something!?!" he rudely demanded in a hostile tone. His question was of course a lie. Nietzsche would rightly point to the "helpful question" actually being an attempt by a weak person (who is not strong enough to master his instinctual urges) to feel the pleasure of power. Such a new bird of prey can only be cruel or morally beguiling, according to Nietzsche. So the answer to the guard's question is obviously, "No, of course not. How could you possibly think you are relevant and thus even potentially of help?" 

Nine or so years earlier, I had used the library while visiting. Ironically, I was writing about ethics (conflicts of interest). In spite of the fact that I had academic journals on a table and was working from them, a security guard felt the need to push open the stall door in the bathroom while I was using the toilette. The employee at the front desk said that he probably thought I was using drugs. I asked where the guard was. "He just now ran out the front door there," a student employee said. "He lives in a (fleabag) motel just off campus." The sheer creepiness of such a weirdo having a look at me on a toilette sunk in. I since spoke to relatives of two former instructors. "The administrators and security are paranoid there," one relative said. I should say so, and they are also intolerant and vindictive. That is definitely the organizational culture at that college. No wonder they are in financial trouble. Interestingly, they rely to some extent on the tuition money of the Saudi government. This is why they changed in name only from being a college to being a university. What if the man sitting on the toilette had been a Saudi with connections to the Saudi royal family? Surely such a man would not be treated like a scholar. A friend suggested that someone actually doing academic research in that library may have been so unusual that to a small mind the activity would be suspicious.