Summer 2026 Newsletter

Dear alumni and friends,

As summer winds to a close, and as the fall semester begins, we wanted to take a moment to reflect on the achievements of our recent graduates. In May, we celebrated the awarding of six Doctor of Philosophy degrees, eight Master of Arts degrees, and eighteen Bachelor of Arts degrees! But these numbers only capture one part of student’s experiences and accomplishments—we hope this newsletter can provide a glimpse of other dimensions.

For more frequent updates, you can now follow the department’s new Instagram account: uvareligiousstudies

With best wishes,

Natasha Heller (nheller@virginia.edu)
Chair, Alumni Relations Committee
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Catching Up with a Religious Studies Major (and New Alum!)

Now that you are an alum, what do you think you will remember most about your experience as a Religious Studies major?

As a Religious Studies major, I was exposed to theories, ethnographies and novels that have reshaped how I ask questions of and situate myself in the world. My professors encouraged me to pair text with lived experience, doctrine with ritual, and careful listening with thoughtful criticism. They encouraged me to grow comfortable with the productive spaces created by ambiguity and paradox. And amongst all the ideas that emerged from this, the one that was most influential was Talal Asad’s theory of tradition (Islamic tradition specifically) as something which is inherently discursive. This conceptualization of tradition as dynamic has completely reframed how I understand the structures and norms which populate my daily life and my relationship to them. It is a conceptualization in which tradition is upheld — not destroyed or undermined — by debate and questions. And to me, this is the type of tradition I aspire to be a part of.

What would you want incoming students to know about Religious Studies?

Wilson Chacko Jacob, whose book I read in a class, described Religious Studies and his work as the result of a “methodology of glimpses.” This term was, for Jacob, a way to make cohesive a methodologically diverse field and to capture the field’s proximity to the divine. But for me, it was a term that captured something much more tangible about my experience as an undergraduate student in Religious Studies — my professors were trained in a variety of fields, as historians, as theologians, as anthropologists, etc. And what this meant for me and will mean for incoming students is that there is an inherent openness to this department which welcomes — and even insists upon — interdisciplinary learning and questions which have no concrete or easy answers. For incoming students, I would encourage you to mirror this openness, to let your classes shape you just as you shape them, and to become comfortable with the beauty of only glimpsing some answers.

What’s next for you?

This upcoming school year, I will be traveling to Algeria where I will be teaching English at a university in Algiers as part of the U.S. Fulbright Program.

Joan V. Bondurant, Conquest of Violence: The Gandhian Philosophy of Conflict (University of California Press, 1958)

Joan Bondurant’s classic analysis of Gandhi’s innovative technique of nonviolent conflict resolution remains a favorite, despite its age. This is the book I would recommend first to anyone looking for a one-volume overview of Gandhian thought and practice; it’s the first book I turn to whenever I need a quick refresher. On top of her analysis of the philosophy and practice of satyagraha (nonviolent resistance) and an overview of Gandhi’s innovative interpretations of traditional Hindu concepts, Bondurant also provides an insightful discussion of satyagraha’s compatibility with several Western political theories. Activists, leaders, and anyone who dreams of a more peaceful and just world would find something of value here.

I have also recently come to learn that Joan Bondurant herself was a fascinating figure. While she initially studied for a degree in music, she eventually felt compelled to contribute her talents to the United States’ efforts in World War II, so she studied Japanese and became an intelligence agent. While stationed in Delhi, she translated and interpreted secret messages. Her time in India proved to be transformative for her (as it has been for many others, myself included), and as a result she became a Gandhi scholar and political theorist. I was shocked, however, to read in her obituary that “her time in India… so profoundly changed who she was that she would ultimately regret having lived there.” This was partly because, while in India, she contracted an infection that would affect her for the rest of her life. It’s a sobering reminder of the potential hazards of pursuing one’s passions—whether that means travelling, practicing Gandhian satyagraha, or even going to graduate school.

Sean Scalmer, Gandhi in the West: The Mahatma and the Rise of Radical Protest (Cambridge University Press, 2011)

This is a wonderful read for anyone seeking to understand both the history of protest in the twentieth century (and onward to today) and Western movements’ deep indebtedness to Gandhi. If I may spoil one of Scalmer’s findings for you: Gandhi had theorized that the bodily suffering incurred by satyagrahis (i.e. nonviolent demonstrators) in the course of a nonviolent campaign would stir an aggressor’s sense of compassion and would ultimately produce a change of heart in those who inflicted violence. But Scalmer finds that this did not happen for civil rights protesters and pacifists, who were repeatedly beaten, abused, and shot at, with seemingly no remorse or change of heart from the people who inflicted violence on them. This might have disproven Gandhi’s theory of satyagraha , but as Scalmer points out, it also led to the discovery that displays of suffering and revelations of injustice could convert neutral bystanders—uninvolved audiences watching the news at home and perhaps even elected officials. Thus, spectacle—and in particular visible suffering that could affect the hearts and minds of average people—came to play an important role in Western protest movements. I leave it to you to consider the importance of such a development for our contemporary situation.

Susanna Clarke, Piranesi (Bloomsbury, 2020)

Enough scholarship. Let’s talk about fun books!

Imagine yourself as the sole resident and caretaker of a House with infinite rooms. You know every passageway, every marble statue that lines the House’s walls. You are lulled to sleep every night by the sound of the ocean’s tides that crash underneath the floor. Where did this House come from? What ancient secrets does it hold? You don’t know, but you and your only friend in the world, the Other, are determined to find out. In Susanna Clarke’s moving and haunting second novel Piranesi , the eponymous protagonist relays such an experience through a series of bizarre and intriguing journal entries. I started this book expecting something a little trippy and a little thought-provoking, but it packed a hugely philosophical, theological, and psychological punch that I did not anticipate. Through Piranesi’s experience of the House and his gradual recovery of a long-forgotten past, Clarke explores questions about the nature and purpose of the pursuit of knowledge, the relationship between magic and modernity, as well as darker themes like exploitation and trauma. What emerges is a beautiful, sometimes shocking, but ultimately becalming portrait of reality.

Richard Powers, The Overstory: A Novel (Norton, 2018)

I once saw an ad in the back pages of the New York Review of Books that offered up a number of quirky tips and insights related to trees. The ad’s author quipped about possible names to name a tree (“Tree-y” was my favorite) and waxed philosophical about them (“Why is there something – say, a tree—as opposed to nothing—say, high school?”). It’s amusing, until it hits you: Trees really are existential. They ensure the existence of countless other beings, ourselves included, and yet humans are so apt to treat them as a kind of natural furniture. Chopping them down is easy; protecting them (and, by extension, existence itself) is hard. Richard Powers’ The Overstory is a powerful story of people who awaken to the existential nature of trees and choose to do something about it, often to their own individual detriment. Along the way, the reader is persuaded to undergo a shift in temporal perspective: As the varied protagonists measure their lives in years and decades, the trees that loom over them possess rings that span centuries. The slow growth and unhurried advance of trees is contrasted with the speed at which individual human lives emerge, flower, and decay—and the speed at which we destroy that which ought to outlast us.

Rick Steves, On the Hippie Trail (Avalon Travel, 2026)

You might think of Rick Steves as the Mr. Rogers or the Bob Ross of travel. He’s like your uncle, if your uncle were an enthusiastic, well-travelled Pacific Northwesterner. But who was he before he became a beloved PBS host and one of the United States’ most trusted travel experts? His recently published travel journal, titled On the Hippie Trail , offers a glimpse. In 1978, a 23-year-old Steves embarked on what was known as the Hippie Trail, a mostly overland journey from Turkey to Nepal, with his friend Gene. Steves’ journal allows you to experience the trip vicariously through the two of them – fresh out of college and eager to visit the world outside the West before settling into their careers – as they meet friendly strangers, battle unfriendly microbes, and try pot for the very first time. All around, I’d say it’s a solid beach read for anyone who loves to travel.

Even so, I found myself cringing a bit while reading this book. Be warned; you might find Steves’ perspective a little jarring. I said above that Steves wrote his Hippie Trail journal in 1978. That also happens to be the same year Edward Said’s Orientalism was first published. Let’s just say that it’s clear Steves didn’t do his Saidian homework before heading East. And yet despite its flaws and despite the young Rick Steves’ occasional poor behavior, I quite enjoyed the book. It got me thinking about my own first experiences as a world traveler and gave me a chance to reflect on how far I have come. I know I definitely committed more than a few faux pas the first few times I went to India, but like Steves, age, study, and experience have given me the perspective to both judge and forgive my younger self. The book also shows signs of what have become hallmarks of Rick Steves’ message for his fellow Americans: enthusiastic xenophilia, an invitation to self-reflection, and an open desire to broaden the lens through which one views the world. “Keep on travelin’!”