Thursday, November 17, 2005

INTELLIGENT RESIGN: WHEN FUNDIES MONKEY WITH ACADEMICS

For the last eight years, friends would ask me, "How can you teach at a place that has such a narrow view of the world? Surely you don't fit in there." I would defend the University. I would comment that many of our students are pretty bright, and that there is a nucleus of faculty committed to academic rigor and fair inquiry. Most of all, however, I would satisy them and myself by saying, "Even though the jack-booted thugs sometimes come knocking, the administration has historically been good about protecting our freedom to teach what and how we choose."

I kept making that argument after Dr. N was forced to retire as a religion professor and dean. He had publicly supported a moderate shift away from the conservative denominational control over the University. When they came for him, I did nothing.

I kept arguing that we still had academic freedom when, a year or two later, another religion professor, Dr. L, was denied promotion for supporting the same moderate denominational shift. Dr. L resigned after feeling pressured out. That time I did a little bit. I raised the issue as a point of concern in our bid for regional accreditation. I was regularly told that I was mistaken and that I was only going to hurt the University if I kept up such public naysaying. I resigned from the accreditation steering committee in protest.

I was still arguing that "at least my personal academic freedom is intact" when the campus moral squad came after the theater program. My good friend, Dr. F, is the director; I serve on the theater advisory board. I waded in a little deeper that time, writing pointed screeds to colleagues and powers, and going mano a mano with the provost on issues of academics, aesthetic freedom, and the theological politics of public morality. Apparently my efforts had little effect. The provost has just announced that he will be censoring cuss words in the next University theater production. It appears we may soon lose another immensely talented educator. Gosh darn it. Shucks.

All of this establishes a clear pattern of creeping fundamentalist control, and a profound erosion of faith (Anne Lamott, says "The opposite of faith is not doubt: It is certainty."), not to mention a serious problem for academic freedom and integrity. The purveyors of religious paranoia continue to ride the recent momentum of conservative populism, cracking whips and taking names, in case anyone dares to step outside their box. No one is being tortured on campus yet, but if your interests run more toward independence than indoctrination, it's a good idea to sleep with your rump to the wall.

This renascent evangelical inquisition has recently showcased its latest blunt object: Its name is Intelligent Design.

After 40 years of faithful service to the University, Dr. H is being forced out.

He came as a student in 1960, and went on faculty as the sole biology professor in 1966. He and his family suffered low pay and tough conditions: for years qualifying for food stamps and free lunches, but not accepting them. He was faithful to the school and the community, maintaining membership at First Big Church. For years he served as a Gideon, helping get copies of Christian scriptures into the hands of people around the world who hadn't really read them before. He became one of the most scientifically literate and well-read professors the University ever had. His personal collection of books currently fills bookshelves that stand seven feet high and span about 70 feet in length. He is a colossal mind with a warm heart. Sure, he's a little more churlish than the happy clappy college-is-like-Sunday-school teachers, and he is an unapologetic old school liberal--and I think he has read every book ever written about Bob Dylan--but, hell, er, I mean, "heck," that's what tenure's supposed to be for, right? Trustees and administrators are fundamentally prohibited from coming to a professor and saying, "We don't like what you teach, and you get our panties in a wad, so we are firing you."

Through the years some detractors would object to his refusal to teach a Genesis account of creation. He would respond with a simple, "Well, it's not science, you see," and that was usually the end of it. On the occasion that it went any further, the administrators of yore would assure him, "You let us fight those battles for you." They may not have personally agreed with him, but they recognized that his academic freedom was sacrosanct, if they hoped to have any credibility as an institution of higher education.

Emboldened by their recent rise to political dominance, conservative voices have grown louder. Three or four years ago, a University trustee, who is also a pastor in the community, convinced the Gideons to kick Dr. H out of the organization. I guess teaching evolution doesn't make you fit to worship or share Jesus. The pastor never talked to Dr. H. Hasn't ever met him. Coward. Oh, the Gideons? They're cowards too.

The University gave Dr. H his walking papers this week. They aren't making it too hard on him financially, but it's a firing. They are taking him out of the sensitive classes for the spring, then he's done for good in the classroom. And we are all worse off for it.

I am not going to rehearse the public debates over evolution, from Scopes, to McLean, to Aguillard. I'm not going to mention Dover or Kansas. My purpose is not to settle the dispute over the teaching of intelligent design; you can find an interesting discussion of the topic here. My interest is broader: How do we treat those with whom we disagree?

Apparently, the new stategy for people of faith is to love everyone (who agrees with you); and, if anyone stands in the way of your cultural agenda, recognize that the principles and the agenda are far more important than any stinkin' relationship. I have a good friend, soon-to-be Dr. S, who argues that the marker for fundamentalist communication is a form of "chaos rhetoric." She says the implied message is always, "Accept my argument, or our society will be catapulted into ruin."

Lucky for the University, Dr. H is not a crusader. Even though he has been treated like a plate of warmed over shinola, he maintains his commitment to the campus community, and refuses to hurt them publicly or financially.

He's a better man than I. I am fed up with the spiritual arrogance and academic ignorance that impels them to continue cherry-picking those they see as ideological threats. I'm also upset that they are allowed to keep acting with impunity, enabled by this guilt-trippy, "You don't want to make a big deal out of this and hurt the university, do you?"

What infuriates me even more is that this purging really has nothing to do with morality or scholarship, it's about money. The University, like most colleges these days, is facing tough budgetary times. They hear of a redneck kid from Gravel Road High School who decides not to come to the University because we teach the evil evolution, and they run scared. They lack the courage and the capacity to lead. Instead they circle the wagons into a tighter and tighter knot, until everything we were attempting to protect has been squeezed out onto the trail and trampelled by the stampede out of Dodge.

I know Dr. H wishes everyone would just forget it and go on. There's nothing we can do about it, and what would be the point anyway? I am in awe at his mind and at his enduring humility. Unfortunately, it's not in my nature to sit idly by when innocent people are treated unjustly, particularly when they mean so much to me.

Since everyone I respect on campus has been targeted, my day must not be too far off. Well, in the words of our commander-in-chief: "Bring. It. On." In fact, I doubt I'm going to wait. I think I'll bring it to them. Soon.

I won't call the media, or write op-ed pieces...at first, anyway. I will communicate with people honestly one on one, in hopes of restoring relationships. I have little hope that I can help Dr. H keep his job, but I hope I can help him regain some of the honor and respect he deserves.

Since there may not be anyone left to do anything when they come for me, I may be out of a job soon.

WILL BLOG FOR FOOD.

Wednesday, November 09, 2005

DOG IS MY CO-PILOT*

Dog doesn't follow a point. She just licks my finger.

"Over there," I say.

"Right here," she replies.

"No," stretching and shaking my pointer, " in the distance."

"I'm right here." Lick. Lick.

"Worry."

Wag.

"Heaven, up there."

Lick.

"Hell, back there."

Lick. Lick. Wag.

"I should have...Could have...Need to."

Lick. Sneeze. Slurp. Wag.

Do I dare take my cues from this mongrel love? Is finger-licking...good? Is this existential cross-breed my monk? My seer?

It is a fetching image, this canine mind that knows no regret, shares no guilt. Sheds no tears, only hair. But, will I miss God if I make this mutt my prophet? Can she lead me beside still waters? Restore my soul? Can she take me to the promised land? Deliver manna? What about my guilt? How should I then live? What should I do with my life?

Wag. Wag. Lick.

Her presentlust shames me.

Dog exists. In her image she makes me.
She never leaves or forsakes me.

Wag.

Wag.

Lick.

*The title idea came from a conversation with this wordsmith.

Tuesday, November 01, 2005

HOLY HALLOWEEN

I thought about writing a Halloween screed. I considered writing about the absurd belief among many evangelicals that participating in the practices of All Hallow's Eve is to lend yourself to the pagan forces of darkness. Yes, friends, carving pumpkins and passing out candy can become a stumbling block to the weak of spirit. Let's not consider how ridiculous it is that we celebrate Christmas, a monthlong celebration of unbridled consumerism, or Super Bowl Sunday, a ritual of masculine bloodlust and gluttony; let's point to toddlers in puppy costumes and say, "Get behind me, Satan!"

I was once part of a Sunday School class in late October where our teacher, an optometrist, started in on Halloween as a "worldly practice." He went on to argue that for us to participate in the dark ritual was to compromise our faith and endanger our witness. I sat in the back of the class (yes, we were already on our way out the door of that particular church) seething, while my wife patted me on the arm and attempted to calm me. This was before we moved to our hundred-year-old neighborhood where Halloween is like a national holiday, but I still had strong feelings about Christians who turn off their porch lights on Halloween and join the faithful for a holy huddle and a Bible heroes costume party.

When the teacher equated children's costumes as masks of deception, I said nothing. When he said that giving out candy was like offering sacrifices to demon gods, I said nothing.

When he said, "If what we do and what we are around does not bring glory to God, it glorifies the work of Satan. We are to be without blemish." I couldn't take it anymore.

I raised my hand. "Don't you work at LensCrafters in the mall?"

"Um, yes."

"Can you explain how the mall brings glory to God? I mean, using your standard, is there anything spiritually redeeming about store after store of merchandise that is not necessary for our survival? Isn't the entire focus of the mall designed to create an addiction to consumption that distracts us from a life of purity and holiness? How does the mall draw us closer to God? In fact, couldn't one make a pretty compelling case for the mall as Satan's church?"

"Um. Well. I'm actually trying to relocate to a vision center outside the mall."

"So, you concede that the mall is evil?"

"Um."

"If the mall is evil, couldn't we say similar things about the movie theater, the ballpark, or the bowling alley?"

"We should always be careful to not associate with anything that conflicts with the will of God."

"And you are prepared to declare for all of us what the will of God is? Don't you think that's kind of dangerous? At the end of the day, aren't we better off living lives of grace rather than judgment? I mean, are our efforts best spent criticizing beautiful little children going out into the streets to meet people, building community, and learning to share candy with their neighbors?"

Things continued along this line until the end of class. In his closing prayer, the teacher spoke about "the spirit of dissension" that had entered the class. I guess God listened and cleansed them of unrighteousness, since we never went back after that.

Yeah, I considered writing something about all that Halloween crap, but I decided not to. Instead, I thought I would just tell you about something that happened last night.

My youngest daughter went trick-or-treating in the neighborhood. She and her friends thought it would be cool to stop by the governor's house - he just moved in about four blocks from us. It turns out that he was the one answering the door and giving out the goodies to future voters.

Later, when she joined us at the bacchanalian feast we were enjoying at a neighbor's house, I asked her if the governor was passing out Butterfingers, since it would be an appropriate metaphor for his handling of Medicaid (denying coverage to the "least of these"), among other things.

She couldn't remember what candy he offered, and she had no overtly political comments.

She just said, "His face was completely without blemish."

Beautiful.