An MIT Student’s Discovery of Faith

I became a Christian at MIT. Think about that for a second. MIT, the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, is associated with high-achieving technologists and scientists. It’s a place where logic, rationality, and dispassionate reason are supposed to reign supreme. It is also a place where practicality is enshrined, according to the school’s motto, mens et manus, which is Latin for mind and hands.

The motto refers to using one’s mind for achieving tangible results, not simply thinking deep thoughts. Ideally, one’s thoughts were to be used to improve reality.

MIT’s motto implies human control, while faith implies control being ceded. How was it possible for an MIT student to become a person of faith?

Yet I became a Christian there, and I might not have anywhere else.

When I left high school, I had become an Objectivist. I had devoured the books of Ayn Rand, including her tomes — Atlas Shrugged and The Fountainhead. But I’d also read her shorter works and her non-fiction. At one time I thought the woman was a genius, and I still do.

I thought that the denigration of her achievement common in popular culture was due to latent misogyny in our culture — the contributions of Madame Curie, Florence Nightingale, Hedy Lamarr, Ada Lovelace, and other women who made technical breakthroughs were de-emphasized, just as often the historic achievements of black and brown scientists were ignored.

I was a feminist.

I had to be, in order to strive for MIT in 1983, the year I applied for admission there.

Feminism is also often seen as a barrier to faith, at least to the Christian faith.

Yet still… despite my reverence for rational thought and my feminist leanings, I became a Christian.

How does this make any sense?

It doesn’t, not at all, if you view things from a purely rational point of view. It’s a baffling mystery.

Yet… I was not the only one among my scientific peers to crave transcendence, revelation, and a deeper experience.

As I grew older, I re-read my Ayn Rand collection and I realized — the characters lack the depth found in, for example, the works of Dostoevsky or Tolstoy, other authors I loved.

Some might consider me a glutton for punishment, to immerse myself in Russian tomes. Yet they spoke to my human heart in a way that Objectivism did not.

I had gone on a spiritual journey in high school, and decided that none of it meant anything to me. I’d gone to Hindu temples with my parents, attended Mass with my best friend, who was Catholic, and participated in a Sedar with my other best friend, who was Jewish. When I was younger, I’d had close Muslim friends, and so I read the Quran as well. I even read Dianetics and Siddhartha.

I was searching for meaning, yet the more I searched, the less satisfied I became. So I entered MIT a committed objectivist. I wasn’t an atheist — I allowed that God might exist; however, I didn’t see how He (or She) had any relevance to my life, even if He (or She) were real.

Yet, the longer I was at MIT, the more I realized that something was missing from my life.

One clue, I thought, came from MIT’s own motto. Why, I thought, were were called to find practical applications for our discoveries? Ideally, by doing so, we would benefit humanity.

Yet, why was this important?

Other atheists, such as Nietsche, Bertrand Russell, and even my beloved Ayn Rand, did not seem to emphasize this. In Rand’s book, it seemed that she gave a touch of nobility to characters who focused on their own passions, rather than the public weal.

Yet, these types of people did make the world better.

By persevering despite persecution, Howard Roark created the best architectural designs. Other Rand characters, such as Dagny Taggart, Henry Reardon, and John Galt, were similarly shown as being benefactors to mankind despite their “selfishness”, while those such as Gail Wynand, Francisco d’Aconia and Domnique Francon showed progression towards Randian ideals.

A real-life figure that I had much admired that seemed to encapsulate these beliefs was Benjamin Franklin. He was an aspirational figure for me. However, as I grew older and re-read biographies about him, I was made uncomfortable by his cruel treatment of his daughter, who loved him and showed devotion to him.

Franklin also seemed to change over the years. He seemed to go from being an atheist, to an agnostic, to perhaps a man of faith. He attended church in his later years and talked of the benefits of religion to society.

Perhaps he had discovered the same thing I had, but later in life. I credit MIT and Ayn Rand for this, not any inherent quality I possess.

Both showed me the emptiness of a life based solely on rationality.

What I saw among my fellow MIT students was often a lack of empathy. Yet many seemed to crave it. The friends I had that didn’t seem to have these holes in their hearts were people of faith, whether devout Hindus, Christians, Muslims, or Orthodox Jews. I also found it, in later years, in committed Buddhists, Wiccans, and others that would not classify themselves as religious.

I credit this to having a faith in something other than themselves — whether it was faith in a monotheistic deity, in nature, or in the universe as a whole.

I saw this reflected in the atheist heroes of Rand’s novels, who often seemed like cardboard cutouts to me, two-dimensional people with something missing. I compared them to the complexity of the characters in Anna Karenina and Crime and Punishment.

Where lay the difference if not faith?

The famous Russian novelists I loved wrote of struggles of faith with a depth and compassion I found compelling. Ironically, the atheist Rand also came from that part of the world, but after it devolved under communism.

Was her origin the source of both her passionate writing and her atheism?

And how did my exposure to these various influences bring me to Christ?

Unfortunately, this article is probably too long already, plus my energy is flagging. Because of my cancer, I have to produce in short bursts and now I am tired and need to rest.

However, for those who are interested, I will follow up and tell “the rest of the story” in a future article.

Thank you for reading, and I hope you found it interesting.

I am fighting stage IV cancer. If you can help with medical bills, I would really appreciate it. Or if you enjoy my writing and would like to buy me a cup of coffee, that’s great too. Maybe someday I can return the favor.

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This post was previously published on Shefali O’Hara’s blog.

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