The Center for the Humanities at a leading university offers this simple and compelling definition of its discipline: “The humanities are the stories, the ideas, and the words that help us understand our lives and our world. They introduce us to people we have never met, places we have never visited, and ideas that may never have crossed our minds.”
And why should we care about these people, their stories and their ideas? Because when faith and reason dance, their coming together sparks the curiosity of love.
After more than 40 years of teaching theology at Valparaiso University, a Lutheran institution, a retiring colleague reflected on his decades of tenure: What had changed? What had remained the same? His response: “When I started, my students had names like Kristen, John, Mark and Mary, and I used to teach them about what Martin Luther believed about Jesus; then if there was any time remaining at the end of the semester, we’d talk about Muhammad and Krishna. At the end of my career, however, my students were named Jesus (pronounced as a Spanish name), Muhammad, Krishna and Shaquita. Although they now don’t too much care about Martin Luther, they do still seem to love learning about the world-changing justice and mercy of Jesus.”
The transition he noted was from a student population with ethnic descendants once primarily northern European to those who are now global; from monocultural particularity to inter-everything: intercultural, interracial, interfaith. Two rising variables — transportation and technology — have intensified a dilemma noted by social psychologists: We are more interconnected than ever and, paradoxically, less connected historically, ethnically, linguistically, politically or tribally.
Some see this pluralism as divisive, diversity as disintegrative, and inclusivity as corrosive to the Christian faith. This emeritus professor, on the other hand, credits his faith as a pivotal influence in shaping his mind to embrace a new demographic reality.
Our ideas about God hold both intended and unintended consequences for our pedagogies and our treatment of the students and colleagues who come to us as persons. We know them not as census data, nor boxable categories, nor stereotyped forms, but as humans, possessors of divine dignity, intrinsic value, infinite purpose. This understanding animates us anew to study the humanities as the human ties that humanize us. Theoretical concepts conceal and carry ethical implications precisely because of the eternal Word becoming fully human (John 1:14), grace taking on a human face, faith and reason embracing each other.
Faith seeks the ancient Aristotelian ideal of virtue (aretē or excellence). The Greek verb for fixing one’s focus is λογίζεσθε (logizesthe). We hear in it an actual English verb — to logicalize — meaning to prioritize this use of reason in pursuit of truth.
It’s the meaning of Northwestern University’s Latin motto: “Quaecumque Sunt Vera” from Philippians 4:8. Eugene Peterson’s creative translation of this verse puts it this way: “Summing it all up, friends, I’d say you’ll do best by filling your minds and meditating on things true, noble, reputable, authentic, compelling, gracious — the best, not the worst; the beautiful, not the ugly; things to praise, not things to curse.”
Flowing from this humanizing purpose, the humanities spark love’s curiosity. At mealtimes when I was growing up, my family ordinarily came together to eat. My late father, Neville Nunes, a man of deep faith — considered by me and by many to be an emancipatory educator — would, in turn, direct me and my siblings at the dinner table to share, “What good questions did you ask in school today?” The humanities teach us to respectfully question narratives, interrogate truths, challenge assumptions and honor alternate narratives. This is a core charism of faith-based universities.
A charism is the Spirit’s enlivening gift, landing on individuals within institutions. Leaning into our unique identities, Christian colleges and universities can become prophetically differentiated within the culture, daring to care in ways that elevate their institution’s trajectory and in ways, we pray, that ameliorate the seemingly rising incivility of humanity.
In Plato’s “Republic,” we are given insight into the root of the word “theology”: It centers on logos, the word of the poet breaking into the cultural caterwaul with shalom, salaam, interrupting violent silences with subterranean love, angling iambically into tyrannies of rigidity with rhythmic pity, promising the mercy of the deity.
For the sake of our students, may it be so.
John Nunes is the president of California Lutheran University and a senior fellow at the Center for Religion, Culture and Democracy.
This story appears in the September 2025 issue of Deseret Magazine. Learn more about how to subscribe.