Teaching Civic Engagement

This is a late, but pre-publication draft of the introductory chapter of: Forrest Clingerman and Reid B. Locklin, eds. Teaching Civic Engagement (New York: Oxford University Press, 2016). Introduction Forrest Clingerman and Reid B. Locklin Shortly after the 2014 U.S. midterm elections, Drew Stelljes posted a Huffington Post blog entitled, “US Colleges and Universities Earn a Poor Grade for Civic Engagement.”1 In his blog, Stelljes notes the high levels of discouragement and distrust in the post-election landscape, along with an apparent decline in core civic virtues of civility, reasoned deliberation and a commitment to the common good. Though universities have in many cases invested in centers dedicated to addressing this concern, he argues, they tend to focus on facilitating student volunteer opportunities rather than the harder, riskier work of fostering these particular virtues, so necessary for democratic citizenship. He concludes: The history of higher education in the first part of the 21st century is partially written and for the most part, it does not read well for civic engagement. It is largely deplete of the democratic virtues our nation is so desperate to recapture. Imagine if a college was so bold as to remain wholly dedicated to its civic mission – to really prepare students to be dedicated civic leaders, equipped with skill set to engage in thoughtful dialogue across differences, with compromise the shared goal and solutions the standard. How could higher education be most thoughtful about getting closer to this aim for the benefit of the next generation of engaged citizens and public servants?2 1 Stelljes’ criticism might be regarded as at least slightly self-serving: he is, after all, Director of the Office of Community Engagement at the College of William and Mary— presumably among those centers whose scarce funding he deplores. Nevertheless, he joins a chorus that has been sounding at least since the publication of Robert D. Putnam’s 1995 article, “Bowling Alone” and subsequent book of the same name.3 In these works, Putnam and his collaborators noted a sharp decline in “social capital” in the late 20th century, as North Americans withdrew from active community connections at all levels, from the family dinner table to the political party convention. This and other alarms from a range of social theorists led to what is frequently termed the “civic engagement movement” in higher education, as organizations like Campus Compact, the Association of American Colleges and Universities and those many centers of community engagement celebrated and criticized by Stelljes set out to renew the civic mission of the university.4 Reflecting on such trends in his encyclopedic manifesto Multiversities, Ideas and Democracy, the Canadian economist George Fallis differentiated two aspects of a robust democratic mission for the contemporary “multiversity”: 1) a “social contract for research” that fosters innovation and supports intellectuals willing and able to contribute their expertise to questions of public interest; and 2) a broad, liberal arts curriculum that cultivates “civic wisdom” on the part of the undergraduate students that represent the university’s largest and most consequential constituency.5 What significance does such a movement and mission have for religious studies and theology? At one level, civic engagement and religion reveal a natural connection: as Putnam and William E. Campbell argued in their 2010 work American Grace, religious belonging of almost any variety reveals a strong, positive correlation with most aspects of civic engagement, 2 including volunteerism, political activism and contributions to both religious and secular social initiatives.6 The study of religious studies and theology would thus seem, by virtue of its subject matter, to imply some level of engagement with issues of social and political concern. Insofar as such study may presume or encourage any religious belonging on the part of its teachers or students, it may also implicate them more directly in the connections that, according to Putnam and Campbell, nourish a robust, healthy civic sphere. But such a presumption is, at best, highly problematic for teachers of religious studies and even theology. The contemporary study of religion in North America and Europe is often built on a distinction between religious belonging, on the one hand, and the critical analysis of religious practices, institutions and intellectual traditions, on the other. Though many scholars might stop short of raising this distinction to the level of a sine qua non or ideological absolute, most accept it to one degree or another in practice. This has been important for the definition of the field of religious studies in the last few decades, as seen in how scholars challenge traditional Western theological concepts of “religion” in favor of new modes of study. Therefore, we can perhaps narrow the questions at the heart of this volume: what is the civic relevance of the academic study of religion, considered on its own terms and in its increased diversity? What unique contributions does religious studies offer the public sphere, especially when seen as separate from the work of religious communities who concentrate on religious belonging? How might the disciplines dedicated to such study offer a distinctive shape and response to the civic mission of the contemporary university? These became the guiding questions of a faculty workshop on “Pedagogies for Civic Engagement,” conducted under the auspices of the Wabash Center for Teaching and Learning in Theology and Religion in 2008-2009 and directed by Clark Chilson, Forrest Clingerman, Reid 3 Locklin and Erin Runions. The workshop brought together nineteen faculty members from the United States and Canada, from a diverse range of disciplines in religious studies and theology, to develop a shared framework and particular classroom strategies to foster and assess our students’ capacity for effective civic engagement. The present volume consists of selected insights generated in the course of this workshop, supplemented by further research and reflection on the part of workshop participants—along with several additional essays, solicited by the editors as the book began to take its present shape. The workshop itself is described in some detail in chapter three, so we will not discuss it in detail here. Instead, we wish to highlight the distinctive, heuristic framework for assessing civic engagement as it emerged from the workshop conversations. That is, as the group reviewed relevant literature and reflected on our own teaching, participants together identified four core capacities central to civic engagement and, thus, to the project of teaching for such engagement in the religion classroom. These are: 1) the capacity to engage in sustained, complex modes of deliberation and discussion; 2) the capacity to understand the dynamics of social location and diverse social frameworks, including the imbrication of such frameworks in networks of power and privilege; 3) the capacity not merely to foster empathetic connections across boundaries of social, economic and/or religious difference, but to identify such connections as a source of moral obligation; and 4) the capacity to act, motivated by careful deliberation, a consciousness of social location and empathetic connections across boundaries of difference. 4 These four capacities of intellectual complexity, social framing or location, empathetic accountability, and motivated action obviously include the development of particular skill sets, but they are better understood as dynamic, recursive and mutually reinforcing habits of thought, disposition and practice. They can, moreover, be very briefly captured in the short formula, Complexity-Location-Empathy-Action, or CLEA. From this point forward, we will refer to this as the CLEA model. The CLEA model provides the foundation for the chapters of this book, as well as a lens through which to understand the coherence of the diverse perspectives presented by these authors. Elaborating this model is the task of the first section of this book. In the first two chapters, Reid B. Locklin and Ellen Posman offer an introduction and rationale for the CLEA model of teaching for civic engagement, as it may relate to the teaching of religious studies and theology. Chapter one makes a case for the model itself by drawing insights from the civic engagement movement with selected theorists of cognitive development and liberatory education. On the one hand, Locklin and Posman note, advocates of liberal education tend to emphasize the civic importance of education, but they frequently do so entirely in terms of an intellectual complexity oriented toward participation in democratic processes, public discourse and the adjudication of constitutional rights. Liberatory educators, on the other hand, critique any artificial separation of academic methods of deliberation and discourse from the political context(s) in which such methods are necessarily implicated. They call both for a deeper understanding of civic participation in terms of social justice, activism and solidarity and for a deeper practice of critical thinking that includes the negotiation of power in the classroom and in the wider world. The CLEA model is proposed in this chapter as a way to widen the understanding of civic engagement beyond its equation with critical thinking and deliberative 5 discourse, and, following liberatory theorists such as Paulo Freire and bell hooks, to suggest how practices of social framing, empathy and even direct action may deepen rather than detract from traditional emphases upon intellectual complexity as a primary civic virtue. Chapter two extends this discussion by applying the CLEA model to the wide variety of disciplines, contexts and practices that constitute the “religion classroom”—including, in this case, primarily undergraduate classrooms in religious studies and theology. The religion classroom does not offer a unique context for the cultivation of intellectual complexity, the navigation of social difference, empathetic accountability or motivated action. Such capacities can be cultivated across a liberal arts curriculum. Religion, however, does offer distinct challenges and opportunities. Chief among these is the intrinsic, ambiguous attraction of its subject matter, insofar as religious traditions represent volatile sources of meaning, value, motivation, passion and concern for many persons in our societies, including many if not most students. But religion also stands out for its interdisciplinary character and diverse methods of instruction, many of which conduce well to one or more of the objectives comprehended by the CLEA model. Myth and ritual, cultural studies, political analysis, literature and film, community-based learning, moral philosophy—all of these and more find a natural home in the religion classroom, and all of them have deep implications for fostering these core civic capacities. The final section of the chapter addresses the question of assessment, exploring methods to evaluate such capacities as empathetic accountability or participation in direct, motivated action through structured reflection as well as the virtue of articulating civic goals that may be encouraged “sub rosa,” around the edges of a course, rather than becoming an object of direct assessment. 6 The first two chapters deal with the question of civic engagement and the CLEA model almost entirely in the abstract. The seven chapters that follow turn instead to specific classroom strategies as both exempla and opportunities for self-reflection, and thereby form the second section of this book. In chapter three, Melissa Stewart offers an overview and analysis of the various projects undertaken by members of the workshop group during our two-year grant project. In so doing, she explores the possible correlation between particular kinds of class assignments—reflective writing, textual and media analysis, field trips, community-based projects and other forms of experiential learning—with particular capacities of the CLEA model. It might seem that core capacities of complexity and social location should correlate more closely to in-class exercises, while empathic accountability and motivated action require experience outside the classroom; yet, in practice, the instructor cannot assume any such neat correlations. This has consequences not only for the teaching of civic engagement, but also for how we imagine the religion classroom itself. “Due to the interrelationships among the skills needed to teach civic engagement,” Stewart concludes, “the binary definitions of ‘in’ and ‘out’ of the classroom break down.”7 The key, then, is to teach with multiple methods, attentive to the ways that they may overlap and inform one another in unexpected and potentially fruitful ways. One way of approaching this task is to think not in terms of one-to-one correspondence, but in terms of central and peripheral objectives: identifying one core capacity as the starting point and central lens, while also attending to its integral relations with other such capacities. Thus, the following three chapters might each be characterized as exploring empathy, relationship and imagination as a distinctive, and clarifying, point of entry for the civic project. In chapter four, Marianne Delaporte examines the interpersonal patterns of hospitality, reciprocity and relationship in local, community-based learning activities. In chapter five, 7 Rebekka King extends her view more widely to include students’ imaginative conceptions of a whole urban environment—in this case, the city of Toronto—and the ways that such conceptions may be fruitfully de-familiarized from the perspective of those who live on the margins of power. In chapter six, Hans Wiersma reaches still further afield, exploring the potential and perils of the virtual “global village” constructed as new media sources provide students with immediate, experiential access to the Vatican, temple complexes in Angkor Wat or a protest in Cairo’s Tahrir Square—all without leaving the comfort of the university classroom. For our present purposes, it is important to note how Delaporte, King and Wiersma’s respective appeals to imagination and empathy are crafted to open space for cultivating other core capacities. King, for example, describes her “Religion in the City” course as an exercise in theoretic imagination, informed by the Epic of Gilgamesh, the fiction of Michael Ondaatje, postcolonial theory and a guided tour of “homeless Toronto.” Yet, in and through such an expansion of their imagined environment, students learn to re-frame and re-locate themselves and their positions of power within this environment. Both King and Delaporte also note occasions in which students go on to take political action, deeply informed by their experience in class. Wiersma, for his part, draws a straight line from the imaginative engagement of new media to motivated action: not only does training in media equip student activists with new tools, but teaching with such media can also be construed as the self-conscious construction of—in the idiom of Marshall McLuhan—a “counter-environment,” an act of subversive resistance to a “media-infused cultural environment that misunderstands and misrepresents a variety of religious/spiritual subjects.”8 And all three chapters emphasize the heuristic value of their respective imaginative projects to strengthen intellectual habits and practices of critical reflection, analysis and evaluation. For King, the integration of field work and personal 8 engagement with traditional sources functions to complicate easy binaries of teacher and learner and thus to reconfigure learning itself as a complex, ongoing “reflexive process.” The following two chapters shift the central focus from empathy to action, describing community-based learning as a privileged locus for taking up the civic project in the religion classroom. As noted at the start of this introduction, many assume classroom civic engagement projects consist of volunteerism; in turn, community-based learning is often the “face” of civic engagement on campuses. But these two chapters challenge the too-easy reduction of civic engagement and community-based learning, instead contextualizing action in a broader model of civic engagement. In chapter seven, Philip Wingeier-Rayo offers an introduction to communitybased learning at both local and international levels as both a practice of civic engagement and an opportunity for critical self-reflection. In chapter eight, Nicholas Rademacher details a partnership between Cabrini College and two community partners forged over multiple years in relation to courses in social justice and Catholic Social Teaching. For Wingeier-Rayo, a service trip to Cuba becomes an occasion for students not only to discover the economic impact of the U.S. embargo, but also to explore the effects of a trade deal like NAFTA in their own, North Carolina backyard. In his teaching, service opens into authentic civic engagement when students widen their view beyond the construction of a school, church or community center to systemic, political analysis. Rademacher—similar to Delaporte, above—focuses instead on reciprocity and hospitality, bringing students to a homeless shelter and intentional community and bringing members of those communities to the classroom to foster interfaith dialogue and solidarity. In both cases, the pedagogical strategies presume that civic engagement involves habit-formation as much as discursive knowledge of political processes and systems of power; hence, immersion in 9 such action—even in the limited space of an international service trip or a 15-week semester— can provide an effective entrée into the civic project. In the chapter that concludes this section of the volume, Elizabeth W. Corrie effects a startling reversal, commending the cultivation of good practices of civic engagement not by action, but by deliberate, strategic in-action: what she calls the Ascetic Withdrawal Project. Positioning consumer culture and preoccupations with the “private self” as a primary threat to the civic commons, Corrie leads her students in a fasting exercise. On the one hand, she notes, the countercultural significance of voluntary withdrawal from fast food, cable news or impulse shopping, in and of itself, is well-attested by the surprised and sometimes hostile reactions students receive from families and friends. On the other, the broader civic potential of the project emerges most fully when this six-week practice is combined with research into a related social issue and subsequent application in a final project. Corrie’s exercise—offered in a seminary context and oriented toward youth ministry leaders—also helpfully blurs the line between the study of religion and religious belonging, with which we began this introduction. Though the Ascetic Withdrawal Project clearly incorporates a number of capacities of the CLEA model, the language Corrie prefers is theological, including the tropes of sin, repentance, justification and a strong connection to the Christian liturgical season of Lent. Whereas Rademacher asks students to identify their diverse, personal expressions of “faith” in generic terms borrowed from James W. Fowler and King leads students to identify their own, distinctive experience of the city of Toronto as preparation for their shared study, Corrie presumes a specific religious formation on the part of her students. Yet, all three strategies suggest that teaching for civic engagement ideally takes its start from students’ own experience, formation and values as an intrinsic aspect of the classroom and the civic sphere itself. 10 In the third section of the volume, contributors raise their view from specific classroom strategies and the particular capacities of the CLEA model to address several more general, theoretical questions that arise when civic engagement and civic goals are specifically identified as learning objectives in the religion classroom. Most importantly, perhaps, is our understanding of the “civic” itself. Taking up this question in chapter ten, Carolyn M. Jones Medine briefly traces the recent history of the civic engagement movement, contrasting the citizenship model in the influential U.S. high school textbook Magruder’s American Government with the more decentralized, organic “cellular model” proposed by the anthropologist Arjun Appadurai. Appadurai’s work suggests that voting patterns and political participation may not offer a full picture of our students’ engagement: perhaps, Medine suggests, current generations of undergraduate and graduate students are not “disengaged,” but “differently engaged.”9 In light of this analysis, Medine proposes a special role for teaching civic engagement in the religious studies classroom, one that focuses less on those practices of citizenship engagement fostered in political science or history departments and more on the cultivation of trust, genuine encounter, and the “interpretive capacity” to de-exoticize the cultural, racialized and religious other and to engage a globalized community in the telling and receiving of our shared stories. The complex, contested notion of global citizenship invoked in passing by Medine moves to the center of inquiry in the following chapter, by Karen Derris and Erin Runions. In this chapter, Derris and Runions interrogate the notion of mobility by drawing on three experiences: a three-week, intensive conversation with a significant Tibetan Buddhist leader, the 17th Karmapa, in India; a collaborative writing workshop in a local women’s prison; and religious and political mobilization around the firing of 17 undocumented, immigrant workers on the campus of Pomona College. Drawing on Foucault, Derris and Runions suggest “biopolitics” as a 11 framework to interrogate and analyze the freedom of mobility as embedded in wider, systemic structures of power. The religious studies classroom offers a distinctively fruitful site for such interrogation not only because students are often asked to travel literally or imaginatively to temples and churches outside their ordinary experience, but also because of the particular topoi of study in the discipline, including the relation of ontologies and ethics, cultural criticism, intercultural competence, and attentiveness to the myriad ways that ideals become embedded in structures of power. These tools offer the possibility of a necessary self-critique and a repositioning of the rhetoric of global citizenship as only one form of engagement with the freedom of mobility and global community—and one that is, like religious traditions themselves, deeply implicated in patterns of power and domination. If Derris and Runions suggest that an apparently neutral phenomenon may emerge in the religious studies classroom as part and product of contested political processes, the argument of chapter twelve, by Swasti Bhattacharyya and Forrest Clingerman, explores the potential of making explicitly political processes part of the religious studies curriculum. Bhattacharyya and Clingerman propose that there is—or should be—a place for political advocacy in the religion classroom, but only insofar as it takes the form of “advocacy of process,” rather than advocacy for a particular party or political cause. This argument depends in part on broad definitions of its key terms, such that “politics” encompasses any activity that contributes to the shared, public life of a community, and “advocacy” implicates students in the relatively straightforward project of “taking a side in a debate and arguing for it.”10 For Bhattacharyya and Clingerman, the theology or religious studies instructor serves both as advocate for a particular, reasoned approach to political processes and a facilitator for students to try on such advocacy in the contrived but still political environment of the classroom. This can take many forms—the authors describe 12 exercises in guerilla theater and letters to the editor—but necessarily implicates such instructors in concerns about indoctrination, classroom incivility and assessment. An appropriate response to such concerns, Bhattacharyya and Clingerman contend, is to become more self-conscious, careful and reasoned in one’s advocacy for informed political involvement, rather than to send politics into an artificial and ultimately self-deceptive exile from the college or university classroom. Though the chapters in this final section of the volume take up various meta-issues related to teaching for civic engagement, rather than specific classroom strategies, their proposals can nevertheless be seen as bringing out one or another element of the CLEA model proposed in this volume. Medine proposes an understanding of the civic sphere more firmly rooted in empathy and imagination than political processes, Derris and Runions’ analysis of mobility carries clear implications for students’ emerging understandings of their own social locations and dynamics of privilege, Clingerman and Bhattacharyya advocate for the integration of political action into classroom instruction, and all of them relate such practices to the foundational practice of knowledge-production and critical thought. In general—following the majority of our contributors—they also situate these practices in a putatively generic “religious studies” or “religion” classroom. In one of two summative chapters of the volume, Thomas Pearson asks what difference, if any, one can discern between the distinctive approaches of theology and religious studies, respectively, in the civic project. Reviewing the preceding essays, Pearson differentiates multiple orders of normativity, from first-order (students encounter and analyze normative judgments in their sources) to fourth-order (students are encouraged or obliged to assume a normative judgment prescribed in the class) and eventually even fifth-order (learning directly from an authoritative religious other in the context of a course). 13 Some degree of normativity, Pearson notes, is implied in any pedagogy of civic engagement, and this, in turn, would seem to make it more amenable to the theology than to the religious studies classroom. Yet, empirically, he locates the highest levels of normativity in both the more theological contributions of Corrie and Delaporte and the materialist and neo-Marxist analyses of Derris and Runions. He places most of the other contributors, regardless of discipline, somewhere between first- and fourth-order normativity, encouraging students to form some form of normative commitment without necessarily prescribing the content of such commitments for them. But this, he concludes, may ultimately be an unsafe position: given the suspicion of both theology and religious studies in the contemporary academy, perhaps scholars in our disciplines are well advised to defer the civic project to other, more well-established disciplines. When we have all become more comfortable with normativity in the academic project, in multiple disciplines, then the distinctive commitments that characterize religion classrooms of various types will no longer leave us vulnerable to critique. The contributors to this volume endeavor to explore how the student experience in the religion classroom—be it in an undergraduate or seminary setting—might help foster the intellectual complexity, sensitivity to social location, empathetic accountability and motivated action necessary for effective civic engagement. It must be noted, however, that if such initiatives succeed only in preparing such students for their own engagement in the public sphere, the university may well have fallen short of its civic purpose. In a 2010 piece entitled, “Still Bowling Alone?” Thomas H. Sander and Robert Putnam updated Putnam’s earlier analysis and noted that, though there was an upsurge of civic engagement following 9/11 on the part of high school seniors from middle-class backgrounds, less advantaged populations withdrew still 14 further.11 Notwithstanding the general disaffection noted by Stelljes, with which we began this introduction, college students and recent graduates nevertheless show significantly higher levels of engagement than their generational peers.12 To concentrate only on this population’s capacity for engagement risks further entrenchment of their privilege, relative to other, more marginalized members of our societies. Tina Pippin takes up this and related questions in her concluding chapter, entitled “Dreams of Democracy.” Surveying a range of civic engagement initiatives in higher education, from the foundational work of John Dewey to the Imagining America initiative, founded in 1999, Pippin asks whether an authentic pedagogy of civic engagement implies a systemic change in the structure of the university, its funding sources and the professional and activist roles of its professoriate. Echoing Paulo Freire’s refusal to allow his dialogical method to be reduced to a teaching technique rather than a strategy for social change, Pippin calls for a practice of civic engagement that places universities, their hierarchies of staff and faculty and the communities they ideally serve together as co-participants in the construction of a shared, reciprocal “knowledge of living experience.”13 Though she introduces her chapter with reference to the CLEA model proposed in this volume, her argument also implies a critique. Insofar as instructors in the religion classroom aim to foster particular civic capacities on the parts of our students, we may be overlooking the need to transform the face of higher education itself. Taking Pippen’s critique to heart, however, we still find a hopeful alternative to Stelljes’ dire diagnosis. Throughout this volume, there is a desire to illustrate how those of us who “profess” religious studies have a responsibility to contribute to civil society in meaningful ways. Indeed, collectively these chapters show that it is imperative to connect higher education with a vibrant society. This impulse toward civil responsibility in religious studies and theology 15 classrooms returns us to the question of belonging and commitment. The contributing authors seek to show new ways of engaging civil society, belying the stereotype that college educators live in the ivory tower and promote the idiosyncratic and arcane. Teachers and students may or may not belong to the particular religious traditions we study. Nevertheless, we all belong to civil society—in the midst of its complexity, from their own locatedness, empowered by personal, empathetic connections, and sustained by informed action. Perhaps it is time that we began teaching like it. <1>Acknowledgements This book is the result of several years of collaboration, which began when most of the contributors met each other in Crawsfordville, Indiana, at the Wabash Center for Teaching and Learning in Theology and Religion. For many of the chapter authors—and certainly for the editors—the Wabash Center served as a formative place for reflection on teaching. A debt of gratitude is owed to the Wabash Center staff, especially Tom Pearson, Paul Myhre, Rita Arthur, Patricia Overpeck, and the Center Director, Dena Pence. We learned a great deal from the workshop coordinators Carolyn Medine, Tina Pippen, Joe Favazza, and Charlie Hallisey. We also owe a great deal to our fellow workshop participants Jeff Brackett, Clark Chilson, Melanie Harris, and Helen Rhee. This project has also benefitted from the work of several others who have been instrumental in a variety of ways, including Caitriona Brennan, Verna Ehret, Ella Johnson, Kevin O’Brien, and Jenna Sunkenberg. We offer special thanks to Kathleen Baril of the Heterick Memorial Library at Ohio Northern University for her help on the bibliography of this book. We 16 also wish to thank Karen Jackson-Weaver of Princeton and Cynthia Read of Oxford University Press, who worked with us as editors to get these ideas into print. 1 Drew Stelljes, “US Colleges and Universities Earn a Poor Grade for Civic Engagement,” Huff Post Education, 10 November 2014, accessed 5 December 2014, http://www.huffingtonpost.com/drew-stelljes/us-civic-engagement_b_6127608.html. 2 Ibid. 3 Robert D. Putnam, “Bowling Alone: America’s Declining Social Capital,” Journal of Democracy 6 (January 1995): 65-78; Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon and Schuster, 2000). 4 See Barbara Jacoby, “Civic Engagement in Today’s Higher Education: An Overview,” in Civic Engagement in Higher Education: Concepts and Practices, by Barbara Jacoby and Associates (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 2009), 5-30; and, with a more critical perspective on the movement, Ben Berger, Attention Deficit Democracy (Princeton and Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2011), 24-51. 5 George Fallis, Multiversities, Ideas, and Democracy (Toronto, Buffalo and London: University of Toronto Press, 2007), 355-76, 381-87. See also George Fallis, Rethinking Higher Education: Participation, Research and Differentiation (Montreal and Kingston: McGill-Queen’s University Press, 2013), esp. 144-51; and George Fallis, “Reclaiming the Civic University,” Academic Matters (June 2014): 3-6. 6 Robert D. Putnam and David E. Campbell, with the assistance of Shaylyn Romney Garrett, American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010), 443-92. The notable exception to these civic virtues is tolerance for the public expression and 17 advocacy of opposing views, where persons affiliated with either progressive or conservative religious traditions reveal themselves less committed to freedom of expression than their more secular peers. 7 Melissa Stewart, this volume, XXXXXX. 8 Hans Wiersma, this volume, XXXXX. 9 Carolyn Medine, this volume, XXXXX. 10 Bhattacharyya and Clingerman, this volume, XXXXXX. 11 Thomas H. Sander and Robert D. Putnam, “Still Bowling Alone? The Post-9/11 Split,” Journal of Democracy 21.1 (2010): 9-16. See also Berger, Attention Deficit Democracy, 166-70. 12 Mark Hugo Lopez and Abby Kiesa, “What We Know about Civic Engagement among College Students,” in Jacoby, et al, Civic Engagement in Higher Education, 31-48. 13 Pippen, this volume, XXXXXX. 18