The Abbot and the Teacher 6

In my last post on 64:8 of Benedict’s Rule, I contrasted two different ways of being a college professor: one that insists on my own expertise vs. one that focuses on my students’ profit. In 64:9, Benedict says the abbot should “be learned in divine law, so that he has a treasury of knowledge from which he can bring out what is new and what is old” (Matt 13:52). Benedict is saying an abbot must possess broad and deep knowledge of scripture. According to one commentator, the abbot himself is supposed to be the treasury of scriptural wisdom.

The reference to “what is new and what is old” comes from Matthew’s gospel, where Jesus uses a variety of agricultural parables to teach his disciples about the nature of God’s kingdom. He praises disciples who know the ancient sacred texts well but who are also open to Jesus’ brand new fulfillment of the ancient promises made to Israel.

As a theology professor, I’m supposed to know a lot about old stuff: the two-thousand-year-old Christian tradition—including its scripture, liturgies, moral life, and spiritual practices—as well as the connection between Christianity and Judaism, whose tradition stretches far back beyond two thousand years. If the abbot’s learning and wisdom are any indication here, I’m supposed to be a profitable treasury for my students.

But theology professors are not unique in this regard. Every teacher is a portal to very old riches: long stories, ancient concerns, enduring conversations. Some of us are self-consciously so. Literature teachers, historians, philosophers, theologians, and the like are actively involved in introducing old things to new people. But some of us are unconsciously so. Teachers in the STEM disciplines, for example, might ignore their disciplines’ histories. The excitement of new discoveries and the quest for immediate application can hide the fact that all of our work is historical. All of it stretches back unfathomably into the past. All of it depends on stuff that happened before we ever got here.

In order to be the sort of treasury Benedict is talking about, every teacher needs to possess a living sense of history. Our job is to bring out the old and put it in conversation with the new. This is difficult work because our students do not immediately see the connection between their lives—so vibrant and real and right now—and the past. Many of them have been taught that history itself is not that important. It’s just stuff that happened.

In the US, for example, the high school history teacher is often a coach. This arrangement says a lot about us. We are signaling that the collective, ancient wisdom of our disciplines is optional, something you can teach while you focus on other things. We are starving the treasury. If the goal is profit for our students, we can’t treat the past as an afterthought. Every teacher should be a living repository of the "old" that Benedict envisioned. Otherwise, the "new" our students chase will be shallow, rootless, and ultimately, unprofitable.