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How I've Changed
retiring from teaching
and retiring to service
but I know teaching was service, too.
Jay McDaniel
I’ve changed. When I first came to Hendrix thirty-nine years ago, I was asked to teach all the Asian Religions as well as contemporary Christian theology, with a special focus on process theology. Over the years I realized that there were many people who could do some of what I did, plus more, and often much better! So I helped hire people who could teach in each of these areas, Professors Bill Gorvine and John Sanders respectively, and I found myself needing to adapt and grow in new directions. So I changed.
Admittedly, my manner of teaching didn't change all that much. If asked what my method is, I’d say organized storytelling. I borrow the phrase from my cousin, a history professor, and it well captures what I do in the classroom. To my cousin’s phrase I’d add organized metaphor-making, because I’ve wanted to share big ideas with students, but I feel that they are best shared through metaphors. So for good and ill, I’ve been on organized story-teller and metaphor-maker who takes delight in improvisational classroom discussion. I’m sure this method worked with some students and not with others, especially those with an interest in systematic note-taking. But I realized over the years that teachers can only do what they do best, even if it does not satisfy all needs.
What did change were my interests.
Culture. I grew interested in the ways in which “religion” seemed to be at work in popular culture, such that, especially for people who were “spiritually interested but not religiously affiliated,” music and film were functioning in their own way as sacred scriptures: that is, as sources of guidance and inspiration for making meaning out of life. Thus I developed a course on Religion and Popular Music.
Spirituality. I also came to better understand that “religion” is by no means reducible to what happens in organized religion. Religion is a verb not a noun. It is the activity of making meaning and seeking happiness in life, as best you can, in community with others, enriched by rituals, and animated by touches of transcendence, however they come. I realized further that meaning-making is not simply a cognitive process but also, and perhaps more deeply, an emotional process that is by no means reducible to creeds and doctrines. So I became interested in what, for lack of a better word, some call "spirituality" or "contemplative studies." And I began to learn that much of this was studied wonderfully and thoroughly in fields other than religion: positive psychology, for example.
The Earth. I also became interested in how, for many people, felt connections with the hills and rivers, trees and stars – that is, felt connections with the larger web of life on earth -- are a primary source for religious self-understanding. And I came to better understand the need for people of all religions, and no religion, to treat other living beings and the earth itself with respect and care. Thus I developed a course on Ecotheology.
Interfaith. At the same time, I became more and more interested in how people of different religions and no religion can, and need to, learn from one another in a spirit of interfaith understanding. And so, along with Dr. Robert Williamson, I developed a course called Leadership in a Multifaith World, which he will keep teaching once I leave. And I began to work in central Arkansas promoting interfaith dialog and understanding, which now takes the form of the Greater Arkansas Interfaith Network.
Islam. All the while I grew more and more interested in Islam in particular, recognizing how important it is in our time for non-Muslims to develop, in the language of interfaith studies, an "appreciative knowledge" of this tradition. Thus I developed a course on Contemporary Islamic Thought, which was one of my favorites to teach.
China. Amid all this I found myself, to my own surprise, very actively involved in a contemporary movement in mainland China aimed at helping bring “process philosophy and theology” into the mainstream of Chinese cultural life, including at the governmental level, which has an already existing commitment to helping make China an “ecological civilization.” Along with others I was marginally instrumental in helping get the phrase into the Chinese constitution. As best as I’ve been able, I’ve tried to involve Hendrix students in this effort, taking many to China over the years. I never really taught a course on Chinese religion; my colleague Dr. Jane Harris did, and she did it much better than I could. Still, I feel like a large part of my work over the years, in terms of writing, has been geared toward China. Recently I co-authored a book with a Chinese professor, published by a leading university press in China and written in Chinese, called On Whitehead's Process Philosophy. You can read about it and my work in China by clicking here.
Open Horizons. As my interests changed, my understanding of my contribution to the wider world changed. I turned away from writing for academics alone, which was once part of my sense of vocation, and toward what has come to be called Public Humanities or, more specifically in my case, Public Theopoetics. I decided I wanted to pour my energies into the development of a website that might introduce more and more people, within and outside academia, to process thought as it applies to ecology, interfaith studies, justice concerns, music and the arts. I created the website Open Horizons and enlisted many people, including Hendrix students, to write for it. It is still my passion.
The Future. What will continue of all of this? As a process theologian, I believe that all things change, that novelty is good, and that clinging to the past, no matter how good, is a problem. Of course, all the initiatives identified above matter to me deeply. Some of them are, I believe, critically important to the very future of the world: ecology and interfaith, for example. But I also know that my time at Hendrix is at an end, and that there are many new initiatives at Hendrix that are as important in their ways as are those important to me. I celebrate them.
God. I am a religious person, shaped by Christianity with its idea that God is at work in the world, not only as a prod from the past but also as a pull from the future, and that we experience this pull through fresh possibilities. I believe that Hendrix has some fresh possibilities available to it, quite apart from my own interests and talents. And, for my part, I have some fresh possibilities, too. I will continue advancing many of these interests in my life after Hendrix, and I’m already exploring new ways of doing that at various levels: doing music therapy at assisted living centers in the area under the auspices of a music group I'm part of; work with the Greater Arkansas Interfaith Network; continued work in China in the summers; work with process theologians around the world, including a Muslim colleague in Norway and a Jewish colleague in Los Angeles who together represent the leading edge of the process movement, namely theology in a multifaith context; writing for, and enlisting other people to write for, Open Horizons, with special attention to the voices of a younger generation; writing a regular column for Spirituality and Practice, and other activities as well. And, very happily, I'll be able to enjoy new experiences with my wife Kathy and my sons, one of whom is now married and another of whom is about to be. I've always felt that my calling in life is not to be active in the public world alone but also, and often more importantly, to be be the best husband and father I can be. Love is more important than ambition, and often love requires letting go more than holding on. Strangely enough, in the letting go of my life at Hendrix, I find myself excited by what is to come, for me, for my family, and also for Hendrix.
Hendrix. I often find myself amazed and awed by the talent of my colleagues, my students, the staff and administration. Teaching at Hendrix for thirty-nine years, I feel like I’ve been part of something much more than me, and so much of it is good. I’ve been a wildflower in a colorful field of flowers, all of which have their beauty and their time to bloom. I’ll keep blooming in other fields, but I gain great pleasure in knowing the richness of the field that has nourished me, awaiting the various forms of beauty that will blossom after I’ve gone.
Good Middance There is a concept I've discovered recently which captures how I feel as I leave. It's called Midding.
Admittedly, my manner of teaching didn't change all that much. If asked what my method is, I’d say organized storytelling. I borrow the phrase from my cousin, a history professor, and it well captures what I do in the classroom. To my cousin’s phrase I’d add organized metaphor-making, because I’ve wanted to share big ideas with students, but I feel that they are best shared through metaphors. So for good and ill, I’ve been on organized story-teller and metaphor-maker who takes delight in improvisational classroom discussion. I’m sure this method worked with some students and not with others, especially those with an interest in systematic note-taking. But I realized over the years that teachers can only do what they do best, even if it does not satisfy all needs.
What did change were my interests.
Culture. I grew interested in the ways in which “religion” seemed to be at work in popular culture, such that, especially for people who were “spiritually interested but not religiously affiliated,” music and film were functioning in their own way as sacred scriptures: that is, as sources of guidance and inspiration for making meaning out of life. Thus I developed a course on Religion and Popular Music.
Spirituality. I also came to better understand that “religion” is by no means reducible to what happens in organized religion. Religion is a verb not a noun. It is the activity of making meaning and seeking happiness in life, as best you can, in community with others, enriched by rituals, and animated by touches of transcendence, however they come. I realized further that meaning-making is not simply a cognitive process but also, and perhaps more deeply, an emotional process that is by no means reducible to creeds and doctrines. So I became interested in what, for lack of a better word, some call "spirituality" or "contemplative studies." And I began to learn that much of this was studied wonderfully and thoroughly in fields other than religion: positive psychology, for example.
The Earth. I also became interested in how, for many people, felt connections with the hills and rivers, trees and stars – that is, felt connections with the larger web of life on earth -- are a primary source for religious self-understanding. And I came to better understand the need for people of all religions, and no religion, to treat other living beings and the earth itself with respect and care. Thus I developed a course on Ecotheology.
Interfaith. At the same time, I became more and more interested in how people of different religions and no religion can, and need to, learn from one another in a spirit of interfaith understanding. And so, along with Dr. Robert Williamson, I developed a course called Leadership in a Multifaith World, which he will keep teaching once I leave. And I began to work in central Arkansas promoting interfaith dialog and understanding, which now takes the form of the Greater Arkansas Interfaith Network.
Islam. All the while I grew more and more interested in Islam in particular, recognizing how important it is in our time for non-Muslims to develop, in the language of interfaith studies, an "appreciative knowledge" of this tradition. Thus I developed a course on Contemporary Islamic Thought, which was one of my favorites to teach.
China. Amid all this I found myself, to my own surprise, very actively involved in a contemporary movement in mainland China aimed at helping bring “process philosophy and theology” into the mainstream of Chinese cultural life, including at the governmental level, which has an already existing commitment to helping make China an “ecological civilization.” Along with others I was marginally instrumental in helping get the phrase into the Chinese constitution. As best as I’ve been able, I’ve tried to involve Hendrix students in this effort, taking many to China over the years. I never really taught a course on Chinese religion; my colleague Dr. Jane Harris did, and she did it much better than I could. Still, I feel like a large part of my work over the years, in terms of writing, has been geared toward China. Recently I co-authored a book with a Chinese professor, published by a leading university press in China and written in Chinese, called On Whitehead's Process Philosophy. You can read about it and my work in China by clicking here.
Open Horizons. As my interests changed, my understanding of my contribution to the wider world changed. I turned away from writing for academics alone, which was once part of my sense of vocation, and toward what has come to be called Public Humanities or, more specifically in my case, Public Theopoetics. I decided I wanted to pour my energies into the development of a website that might introduce more and more people, within and outside academia, to process thought as it applies to ecology, interfaith studies, justice concerns, music and the arts. I created the website Open Horizons and enlisted many people, including Hendrix students, to write for it. It is still my passion.
The Future. What will continue of all of this? As a process theologian, I believe that all things change, that novelty is good, and that clinging to the past, no matter how good, is a problem. Of course, all the initiatives identified above matter to me deeply. Some of them are, I believe, critically important to the very future of the world: ecology and interfaith, for example. But I also know that my time at Hendrix is at an end, and that there are many new initiatives at Hendrix that are as important in their ways as are those important to me. I celebrate them.
God. I am a religious person, shaped by Christianity with its idea that God is at work in the world, not only as a prod from the past but also as a pull from the future, and that we experience this pull through fresh possibilities. I believe that Hendrix has some fresh possibilities available to it, quite apart from my own interests and talents. And, for my part, I have some fresh possibilities, too. I will continue advancing many of these interests in my life after Hendrix, and I’m already exploring new ways of doing that at various levels: doing music therapy at assisted living centers in the area under the auspices of a music group I'm part of; work with the Greater Arkansas Interfaith Network; continued work in China in the summers; work with process theologians around the world, including a Muslim colleague in Norway and a Jewish colleague in Los Angeles who together represent the leading edge of the process movement, namely theology in a multifaith context; writing for, and enlisting other people to write for, Open Horizons, with special attention to the voices of a younger generation; writing a regular column for Spirituality and Practice, and other activities as well. And, very happily, I'll be able to enjoy new experiences with my wife Kathy and my sons, one of whom is now married and another of whom is about to be. I've always felt that my calling in life is not to be active in the public world alone but also, and often more importantly, to be be the best husband and father I can be. Love is more important than ambition, and often love requires letting go more than holding on. Strangely enough, in the letting go of my life at Hendrix, I find myself excited by what is to come, for me, for my family, and also for Hendrix.
Hendrix. I often find myself amazed and awed by the talent of my colleagues, my students, the staff and administration. Teaching at Hendrix for thirty-nine years, I feel like I’ve been part of something much more than me, and so much of it is good. I’ve been a wildflower in a colorful field of flowers, all of which have their beauty and their time to bloom. I’ll keep blooming in other fields, but I gain great pleasure in knowing the richness of the field that has nourished me, awaiting the various forms of beauty that will blossom after I’ve gone.
Good Middance There is a concept I've discovered recently which captures how I feel as I leave. It's called Midding.
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midding v. intr. feeling the tranquil pleasure of being near a gathering but not quite in it—hovering on the perimeter of a campfire, chatting outside a party while others dance inside, resting your head in the backseat of a car listening to your friends chatting up front—feeling blissfully invisible yet still fully included, safe in the knowledge that everyone is together and everyone is okay, with all the thrill of being there without the burden of having to be. (John Koenig, the Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows)
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By no means am I leaving with a sense of good riddance. But I am leaving with a sense of good middance: the tranquil pleasure of being near a gathering I was once very much a part of, but am not quite "in" anymore, but which has a beauty and vitality of its own. Yes, it's like chatting outside a party while others dance inside. I'll keep chatting, for sure. And I hope that, if you are one of my former students reading this, you'll keep in touch, so that we can chat on topics as yet undiscovered. But whatever goodness is possible for us in the future depends on our capacities to let go in the present, making space for what is not yet born. My hope, for you and for all of us, is that the new births can be just and sustainable, creative and compassionate, for all. And fun, too.