Gregory R. Beabout
Originally published in New Oxford Review, April 1998
We've heard about the campaign by students at Georgetown to get crucifixes placed in the classrooms of that Jesuit university as visible signs of the school's Catholic identity. There is another sign of Catholicism in the classroom--an audible sign--that has a long history and whose renewal interests me. I invite you to consider with me whether teachers in Catholic colleges and universities should begin their classes with a prayer.
I have spent the past 20 years in Catholic colleges and universities, as an undergraduate, graduate student, and finally professor, and I must admit to a certain inattentiveness during much of that time to the topic on which I am now writing. I'm not particularly absent-minded as professors go. My plea, I guess, must be that sometimes things are too close to be noticed, or so generally unremarked as to be unremarkable. Prayer in the classroom was like that for me.
When I was an undergraduate, a few of my teachers--fewer than half--began class with a prayer, and I simply accepted that there were those who prayed in class and those who didn't. But not one of my graduate seminars began with a prayer. And when I became a professor myself, I did not even think of beginning my classes with a prayer. I knew no one who did. The practice had simply evaporated.
The whole matter lay dormant for me until one day in the faculty dining room, where a few of us were discussing incredulously the latest news report that some public school graduation had been forbidden to address God in some generic prayer. One of my colleagues spoke vigorously in support of the option to pray in public school, in classrooms and at ceremonies. It occurred to me to ask him if he began his classes with a prayer. He admitted that he did not. Of course, I did not either. In fact, as I asked around the table it turned out that none of us opining on the practices of that distant high school prayed in class here at home. Where prayer was outlawed, we thought it should be allowed; but in our Catholic college, where it is legal, we quietly deprived ourselves of it.
I kept my own counsel about this curious fact. But my interest was aroused, and from that moment dates my decidedly unscientific but diligent personal survey of the practices of teachers in Catholic colleges and universities. I've asked lots of people if they pray in class, and the answer is overwhelmingly negative. The most fascinating--and potent--kind of censorship is always self-censorship, and if my collection of anecdotal evidence adds up to an accurate portrayal of widespread self-censorship in Catholic colleges, what does it mean?
I should begin by noting that in the Catholic, Jesuit university where I teach, the behavior and duties of the faculty are governed by our faculty manual, which contains no directive for or against prayer in class. Students are nowhere required to pray, in class or out. There are no required Masses. As far as academic requirements are concerned, in my college (the College of Arts and Letters) each student must take three courses in philosophy and three in theology, but these are scholarly enterprises, not catechetical or apologetic or liturgical. In short, no public expression of religious faith is demanded of students here. There are many religious resources and opportunities, and many signs of religious life ( the 10 o'clock Mass Sunday nights is crowded), but prayer is nowhere compelled. It certainly is allowable, however. If allowable, is it appropriate? And if appropriate, why have we teachers surrendered it?
One teacher told me he had been forever put off by classroom praying because of the example of a history professor he has as a freshman, who, he said, would begin class whenever an exam was scheduled by uttering the following words as the students waited anxiously with their sharpened pencils: "Father, we pray for your assistance this morning for each student in keeping with his level of preparation. Amen."
Well, from the first moment that God instructed man to pray to Him, we have been warned repeatedly by the prophets to avoid prayer that is disingenuous, ulterior, or coercive. Authenticity is the watchword, from Isaiah to Jesus. No doubt that prof was striving more to warn and unsettle the students than to communicate with the Almighty, and no doubt the students knew it.
I had no such bad memories or prayer in my undergrad days. On the other hand, I had no really good ones. The few profs who had started class with a prayer had been of two types. There were the old and presumably traditional Jesuits--masters of the material and masters in the classroom--who followed an invariable routine of which praying aloud seemed a mechanical part. "Aloud" was hardly the operative word: One teacher bowed his head and recited something that he said was the Lord's prayer. Maybe it was, but no student could have sworn to it. The second type always emitted a seemingly ex tempore prayer, a list of things to be thankful for or a request for help in learning that day's lesson. This type would sometimes call for a student volunteer to lead the class in prayer. Which sort of prayer was proper classroom prayer? The first, a formality that left the students unengaged? Or the second, a spontaneous utterance that made the students and their immediate concerns the focus of attention? Or was neither advisable?
Teachers shared with me various experiences and reflections. One veteran said he had discontinued praying aloud in class sometime in the 1970s but that he still said a silent prayer before each class for the grace to deliver a good lecture. More that a few said they declined to pray in class in recognition of the changed student body. In the old days, they said, most of the students were Catholic and were the product of parochial schools and Catholic high schools. They came from families where prayer before meals and at bedtime was routine. With such students, you could begin class with a prayer and be comfortable with it. But as Catholic colleges and universities in America became more well known for the quality of their academic programs, they began to attract a more diverse student body. Now many of our students come from public high schools and are attracted by our academic quality and not our Catholicism. A sizable proportion of the student body in not Catholic, and a growing number are not Christians. We have numerous students from Islamic and Asian religious traditions. In such a heterogeneous group, it seems to some improper to begin class with a prayer.
Other faculty with whom I spoke said they thought prayer in the classroom would come off as showy and theatrical. Still others waid that it might be a violation of the rights of students who are not religious. A few teachers expressed worry that if their colleagues at trend-setting secular institutions knew that prayer at the beginning of class was a common practice, they would be looked down upon as second-rate.
Some colleagues responded with a challenge: Are there any good reasons why we should pray in the classroom? The more I thought about it, the more this seemed the wrong kind of question. We are a people formed by St. Paul's admonition to "pray constantly." Are we to set up a chart with the reasons "pro" on one side and the reasons "con" on the other side, and do a utilitarian cost-benefit analysis to determine if prayer in the classroom at a Catholic university is appropriate? Is the burden of proof on the side of prayer? It seemed to me that at Catholic schools the burden of proof is on the other side. The very motto of our institution is "everything for the greater glory of God."
As the reader may have guessed, my interest in the topic was not, as they say, academic. I felt drawn to the possibility of opening my classes with a prayer. Nor was this some private, idiosyncratic project. As the number of Jesuit faculty members declines and the frequency of fretting workshops on the Catholic, Jesuit identity of the institutions rises, Catholic lay faculty like me are increasingly asked to concern ourselves with the Catholic identity of the school. I felt some public responsibility in the matter, so I determined, first, to pray over the question of prayer in the classroom, and, second, to examine critically all objections to it.
The objection that prayer is a private, experiential matter or an activity that should be limited to church is not forceful for Catholics. Surely prayer may be private or in church, but it is not limited to either. We begin all graduations and many university functions with a prayer, so this objection didn't seem compelling. With regard to prayer being disingenuous or coercive, I saw the possibility of this. This is most likely when class begins with a "spontaneous" prayer, where the teacher seems to be talking to the students under the cover of prayer rather than communicating with the Divine. But this is an objection to an abuse of prayer in the classroom, not an objection to genuine prayer. The way to avoid such abuse would be to remain self-critical and perhaps not to be too inventive. The crotchety old Jesuit I had who began each class with the Lord's Prayer never slipped in little barbs at the students. His was a simple recitation of the Our Father, and most of us bowed our heads and mumbled respectfully along with him.
With regard to the objection that the student body has become more heterogeneous so that a Christian or Catholic prayer may be offensive to some people, I began noticing who lodged this sort of objection. The objector was almost always a liberalized or secularized Christian. I asked several of my Jewish and Muslim students about it. One devout Jewish student said, "If you were a student at Yeshiva, we would expect you to tolerate our religious practices. By coming here, I understand that I should respect your religious practices as well." He went on to explain that he felt his religion was more respected at our university than it had been when he spent a year at a large state university. For example, he had no difficulty explaining to our faculty that he would miss class for Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur. Several devout Muslim students said they would not find it offensive if a class were to begin with a prayer, though they might feel uncomfortable if they were forced to pray. After all, they are required to take theology classes, and for some of these classes they must visit various churches, synagogues, and mosques to observe religious services. They are capable of watching people of other faiths pray. Several Protestant students said they would be completely comfortable beginning class with the Lord's Prayer, though they wouldn't want "to pray to Mary or anything."
The problem here does not seem to be among devout Catholics, Protestants, Jews, and Muslims. The 22-word prayer that was the center of the 1962 Supreme Court case Engel v. Vitale that made prayer in the public schools illegal did not, after all, invoke a Catholic or even a Christian conception of God. The prayer was: "Almighty God, we acknowledge our dependence upon Thee, and we beg thy blessings upon us, our parents, our teachers, and our country." This is a prayer that might well be uttered by all people of the Book. Those who would find this prayer offensive would primarily be secularists who view human beings as sovereign and appalled at "acknowedging our dependence" upon transcendence.
As James Davison Hunter's Culture Wars asserts, the old religious wars between Catholic and Protestant or Christian and Jew are for the most part passed in American life. The new cultural struggle is between those with a traditionalist-orthodox vision and those with a secular-progressivist vision. As a lay Catholic faculty member at an institution dedicated to pursuing the truth in light of the sovereignty of God, I readily acknowledge that some of our beliefs and practices will be offensive to the secularist-progressivist vision. But why should we cave in to their pressure? Moreover, if devout Jews and Muslims are willing to tolerate Catholic prayers in Catholic classrooms, should not the secularists, whose most sacred dogma is "tolerance," tolerate them too?
I wasn't considering forcing my non-Christian students--or any of my students--to pray at the beginning of class. I was only considering asking them to sit quietly for the Lord's Prayer. This is no violation of anyone's rights.
Concerning the objection that prayer in the classroom is inappropriate because it is showy or theatrical, it seemed to me that class could begin with a prayer that is simple and authentic without being theatrical. Spontaneous prayer in particular can be showy at times, while a prayer like the Lord's Prayer does not fall prey to this criticism. The usual objection to reciting memorized prayers, of course, is that the well-known words can become empty and shallow. But if the words become formulaic, the problem is with the person saying the words, not with the august words themselves. It would be a moment of deep irony--or worse, a moment of senile forgetfulness--if Christians should label the Lord's Prayer an empty formula, for in Matthew's gospel Jesus teaches His disciples His prayer precisely to wean them from empty phrases as the Gentiles do; for they think that they will be heard for their many words" (Mt. 6:7). Then Jesus proceeds to teach His disciples the Lord's Prayer.
Perhaps the most cogent objection to the kind of public prayer I was considering is that of Jesus Himself. He says to the disciples (Mt. 6:1; 6:6):
Beware of practicing your piety before men in order to be seen by them; for then you will have no reward in heaven.....But when you pray, go into your room and shut the door and pray to your Father who is in secret; and your Father who sees in secret will reward you.
I felt strongly the urge to have classroom prayer. But I knew of no colleague who was doing it, so I had no way of examining the question practically. All I had to go on was my own inclination and my sense of responsibility. Was my desire really a temptation? Was the reward I wanted to "be seen" by men? "When you pray, you must not be like the hypocrites; for they love to stand and pray in the synagogues and at the street corners, that they may be seen by men" (Mt. 6:5). My best critical self-examination told me that my motivation was not that I wanted to be seen praying, but that I wanted prayer to be seen occurring. I hoped the Lord would find that answer sufficient.
Having considered the warnings of Jesus Himself, it was a relief to turn to the merely professional anxieties of those Catholic teachers who say that their counterparts in big, secular schools will call our schools second-rate if we start praying in class. A reasonable reply is that a scholar's work judged by its quality, not by the prayer habits of its author, and that a school is judged by the competence of its graduates in their fields, not by their fondness for the Lord's Prayer. But a reasonable answer is not enough, for here we enter the realm of fear and loathing. In the academic world, progressivism, individualism, skepticism, rationalism, and relativism rule.
The monists and materialists who dominate American academia feel licensed to look down on those who pray. In their assumed superiority one can discern much conformity and much fearfulness. There is also a fundamental contradiction: The more that academics deconstruct the venerable concept of the human "person," the more untenable becomes their dogma that personal self-determination is the supreme authority. Yet they assert it desperately, for they have nothing else to assert. The outlook that Christian institutions aim to teach their students--that we are created with free will but are accountable to our Creator--is profoundly disturbing and even frightening to the common run of the intellectual elite, and so they may lash out at just the tenderist spot in a scholar's self-esteem--they may call us out-of-date, behind the times, second-rate.
But for us to conform ourselves to unbelievers, even academically distinguished ones, seems to me weakness and cowardice. While many students at my university are not Catholic, we are increasingly becoming aware that many of our students are drawn here precisely because the school is Catholic. We should not let them down.
The other objections to prayer in the classroom that I collected during my investigation apply to grade school and not to college. A college student will be able to sit silently while others go through their prayer, without fear of being teased on the playground for being different. We would certainly expect that devout Catholic students who attend, say, a Jewish college could sit respectfully while prayers are said in which they might not choose to join.
Another common objection to prayer in the classroom is that prayer is for family and the church, not for schools. The argument runs that it is the responsibility of the parents to teach children how to pray, and if parents don't fill this role, then the schools won't be able to make up for it. But how can we be sure of this? Or let's suppose the parents have taught the children to pray, and the parents have sent their children to Catholic grade schools and high schools. Can't the parents expect that their emphasis on prayer and the sovereignty of God will be stressed in those schools as well? And when those students go to a Catholic college, why shouldn't we expect the parents' emphasis on prayer to be extended to the college classroom? After all, many parents still send their children to Catholic colleges expecting they will get a fully Catholic education. In fact, many of them have been saving money since before their children were born in order to provide a Catholic college education for them. In many cases, those parents are shocked to learn that certain elements of the so-called Catholic higher education that their children receive are strongly anti-Catholic.
In many cases, it is not the parents who have chosen the school, but the students. When they choose to go to a Catholic college, students are old enough to have some idea of what they will be getting. The argument that prayer should be taught at home does not mean that it should not also be practiced at Catholic schools. There are, after all, many students who were taught prayer at home and then, as they mature through their late teen years, decide that they want to continue their education at a Catholic institution of higher learning precisely because of the religious commitments and atmosphere of the institution.
There are those who say that prayer is fine in Catholic grade and high schools, but not in Catholic colleges, because collegians are mature and college studies are purely intellectual. To adhere to such a policy is to send precisely the wrong message, namely, that prayer is really for children and the intellectually underdeveloped. For a Catholic college to send such a message is to undermine its reason for being.
Having considered this long list of objections to prayer in the classroom, and having prayed about it, I decided to begin my classes with a prayer. In the fall semester of 1995, after the first day of class, I announced in my classes that I would begin each class session by praying the Lord's Prayer. I said that anyone who would like to could join me in the prayer and that anyone who was uncomfortable with the prayer could sit quietly as we prayed.
That semester I was assigned two sections of Introduction to Philosophy and one upper-division class on the writing and thought of Walker Percy. Neither class had anything directly to do with prayer. I must admit, I was apprehensive about how prayer in the classroom would be received. It probably helped that two of the classes were introductory courses in which most of the students were freshmen, to whom everything was new. No ne questioned me as to why philosophy class began with the professor and students praying the Lord's Prayer. I found out how much they had taken to the habit when, four or five weeks into the semester, I rushed into class late one day and jumped right into my lecture. Before I could begin, one of the students raised her hand and said, "We forgot to pray." Embarrassed, I admitted she was right, and began to bow my head and make the sign of the cross. She then added, "Could we remember a special intention? My godmother just found out she has a brain tumor, and she's going in to find out if it's cancerous. Can we pray for her?"
The semester seemed to go well, though my antennae were alert for problems. I had several Muslim students that semester, and I wasn't sure how they were accepting the practice of Christian prayer in the classroom. There were also several grungy coffee-house intellectuals, the type who love to drink espresso and talk about the latest trends in thought--and the Lord's Prayer is far from the latest trend. I was worried that one of my students would complain to the student newspaper or to the university administration. Our campus is like many other Catholic campuses: prone to be Catholic in only a politically correct sense. If being Catholic means helping the poor and working in soup kitchens, then there is a strong affirmation of the Catholic identity of the university; but there are many issues where taking a Catholic stand seems to raise eyebrows of both secularists and liberal Catholics. Prayer in the classroom was sure to be one of those issues, I thought.
The semester ended without incident, and I began the self-assessment of my teaching that I do every semester. I think over the reading assignments, the tests, and the papers--and now I was also thinking about prayer in the classroom. The confidential evaluation forms that students fill out on the last day of class--and which the teacher cannot see until he has turned in the students' grades--might give me helpful feedback about the praying, and I decided I would wait until I saw them to decide whether to continue beginning each class with a prayer. As it turned out, they were mislaid for several months. By the time the new semester began, I still hadn't seen them. Fearful that the lost comment sheets might contain negative criticism of starting class with a prayer, I went back to my old habit or running class without a prayer. It was safe, at least.
Late that spring, two things happened to remind me that safety may not be the path to salvation. First, the student evaluation forms were found, and they were the most approving comments my classes had every received. And none of the students in any of the classes even mentioned beginning class with a prayer, either in praise of dispraise. Second, a student made a comment in class that took me aback. This woman, slightly older than most of the other students, had taken the Intro to Philosophy class in the fall semester and now was taking the Ethics class with me. I had the impression she was not a Catholic. Out of the blue one day late in the semester, she raised her hand and asked, "Why don't you start class with the Lord's Prayer anymore? Did your boss tell you that you're not supposed to?" This was an awkward moment for me, since most of the students in the class could have no idea that I had started my classes with prayer in the previous semester. I told her I'd talk to her about it after class.
After class, she told me that my Intro course had had a great impact on her, and she had spent a lot of time thinking about the philosophical questions we had raised, including the meaning of life and our place in the universe. She also sid that she was in the process of deciding to become a Catholic. Previously she had assumed that being a genuine intellectual was incompatible with being Catholic, but she had met many truly intelligent Catholics at the university, and now she was considering converting.
She had been struck that I could pray the Lord's Prayer and then embark upon a philosophical exploration of the writings or Plato and Aristotle. Since she was about to join the Church, she urgently wanted to know why I had quit praying in class. Had I been reprimanded by my chairman? I assured her that I had not been. She went on to talk about the many philosophical questions that needed answering and about her increasing attraction to the Church. She was full of questions about faith and reason, and how becoming a Catholic would affect her intellectual life. What problems would be solved? What new problems would faith raise? She spoke about her own muddled efforts at prayer, how she felt drawn to join the Church, and how she had tried to think through that decision. (She has since joined the Church.)
This conversation settled the question that had been nagging me. When the fall semester rolled around, I told the students in each of my classes that I would begin each class meeting with a prayer, and I have done so ever since.
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