Response #1 to Why I Left, Why I Stayed, by Tony and Bart Campolo

The name Tony Campolo invokes quite a bit of nostalgia for me. Like many church kids, I grew up watching the animated Christian sociologist/evangelist, always struck by his humor and energy, his insight and erudition. While attending Asbury Theological Seminary in the late 1980’s and early 1990’s, a friend and I read several of his books together, each in turn, taking the time to discuss them together as we did. Occasionally we may have balked a bit at some of what we read, a rhetorical flourish, something a tad hyperbolic here, a hint of needless iconoclasm there; but for the most part we enjoyed his passion, personality, and prodigious gifts a great deal.

Why I Left, Why I Stayed: Conversations on Christianity Between an Evangelical Father and His Humanist Son

By Campolo, Tony, Campolo, Bart

This made it all the more fun when we were able to see him speak in person outside Lexington, Kentucky before I left that area for good. If memory serves, he spoke in the same church where my seminary graduation would be held pretty soon thereafter. I still remember how he effortlessly held the capacity crowd in his hand on the day he spoke. His charisma was contagious, and I distinctly remember thinking that if he misused his considerable gifts he could do real damage. I have often said that he’s one of the three most gifted communicators I have ever seen (along with James Robison and Tom Morris).

It has been some years now since I have read any of his work, but I recently purchased his latest book because the topic was irresistible. His son Bart has lost his faith, after having served in ministry for many years. And the evangelical father and humanist son have written a book together, called Why I Left, Why I Stayed, a friendly conversation on the topic of Christianity published by HarperOne. I had had an interest in the book for a while, and finally ordered it, then read it through pretty quickly.

As I read the engaging and irenic dialogue, it spurred a lot of interest within me and served as fodder for a good deal of reflection. So the thought occurred it might be worth the trouble to blog a bit about each of the chapters. Tony and Bart take turns writing chapters, so the first chapter is by Tony, the second by Bart, and so on. In subsequent posts I will take each chapter in turn and discuss its contents, sharing some of my own reflections the chapter inspired as we go.

The nature of their close relationship makes for compelling reading. So often it’s hard for people of diametrically opposed worldviews to remain civil while discussing their deep differences. Tony and Bart are determined to do so because of their long and close familial relationship, and because it’s important to find good models of such difficult conversations, it’s worth considering for that reason alone. As the culture wars have ramped up, suspicions of those with whom we disagree have elevated to often alarming levels, exacerbating and intensifying the chasms and divides between those with conflicting perspectives. The casualty of such tensions is often substantive dialogue, which is a real shame. This book can help serve as a partial corrective to this lamentable state of affairs and a better way forward.

As the Preface notes, the Campolos are not unusual; many Christian parents are struggling, both emotionally and spiritually, because their children have left the Christian faith. So often the result is one of tension, acrimony, and alienation, and they hope to show a better way. “Hopefully,” they jointly write, “this book models a graceful way to process what has become an increasingly common crisis, while also serving as a safe forum for those struggling with doubts and questions about the Christian faith.” They aim to heed the apostle Paul’s advice to be kind, tender-hearted, and forgiving to one another, and this is laudable indeed.

The poignant Foreword to the book was written by Peggy Campolo, husband to Tony and mother to Bart. Although she’s heartbroken that Bart has lost his faith, she’s also proud of him for being authentic and transparent about his convictions, especially in light of the painful price they have exacted. She retains the belief that God is still involved in Bart’s life, just as God was, by her own admission, at work within her for a long time before she realized it.

One last preliminary: I am intrigued by the more social scientific tenor of much of the conversation. Tony has a PhD in and a career teaching sociology, and he often brings to bear insights from a range of thinkers—from Durkheim to Heidegger, from Freud to Maslow—with whom I don’t interact very much. This adds a texture and richness to the conversation I find enjoyable and enlightening. Obviously, I cannot help but reflect on what they talk about from my own background and professional training in analytic philosophy, but I think the resulting interdisciplinary nature of the conversation should prove both interesting and illuminative.

If folks decide to read along, I might suggest you get a copy of their book and read each chapter with me as I go along. Doing so would probably enhance your enjoyment and ability to add to the conversation.

Loki and the Locus of Identity

Warning: This article contains spoilers of the Disney+ series “Loki.”

 Loki is a television series found on Disney’s streaming service called Disney+. It follows the life of Loki after he swiped the tesseract and was swept into another dimension. He is captured for crimes against time by the TVA (Time Variance Authority). As the series progresses, Loki introspectively reviews his life, his multiple failures, and what makes a Loki a Loki. He encounters other variations of himself by the integration of beings across multiple dimensional timelines. He comes to meet a female version of himself who calls herself Sylvie. Oddly, he finds that he finds the love of his life in a deviation of himself. That is to say, the only love of his life is himself.

            Loki’s quest to find his identity reminds me of an episode of the television series The Big Bang Theory. In one episode, the gregariously free-spirited Penny meets the hyper-analytical Dr. Beverly Hofstader who is mother to Dr. Leonard Hofstader, Penny’s next-door neighbor and future husband. Beverly uses her psychoanalytical skills to inquire into the life of the vivacious young Penny. At one point, Penny notes that she is an aspiring actress. Beverly coldly retorts, “Why?” She goes on to pinpoint that Penny suffers from an external locus of identity. That is, Penny finds her sense of identity in what others think of her. Likewise, it may be said of Loki that he found his value of identity by what others thought of him. Perhaps Loki desired to rule the world because of his deep insecurities about what others thought of him. If he ruled the world, then everyone must appreciate him. Yet as one evaluates three loci of identity, one begins to find one option is much better than the other two.

The External Locus of Identity: To Find One’s Value in What Others Think

            Every person likes to be liked. As the saying goes, people will buy things they don’t need, with money they don’t have, to impress people they don’t even like. For this reason, individuals will spend exorbitant amounts of money for the latest and hippest clothing, the fanciest cars, and the most luxurious homes to stand out as an impressive person. Others will spend countless hours in the gym to chisel themselves into the image of a Grecian god or goddess so as to receive the approval of individuals in their community. An invisible form of competition emanates in the mental state of a person to see if they can outdo everyone else around them. The problem with the external locus of identity is twofold. First, the internal competition against all others is doomed for failure because somewhere and somehow, someone is always better than you in some capacity. The Westernized conception of competitiveness has its setbacks particularly when a person sets oneself against all others. Additionally, the person will never rest and appreciate what one possesses because he or she is always seeing to best their adversaries. In contrast, the apostle Paul noted that he had “learned to be content in whatever circumstances I find myself” (Phil. 4:11, CSB). Second, the internal competition is impossible to win because not even Jesus himself could please everyone. The early church taught that Jesus was sinless (2 Cor. 5:21; Rom. 3:25-26; Gal. 3:13). As such, Jesus always said the right things, always thought the right things, and always behaved appropriately. Yet he still managed to find himself on a Roman cross condemned with criminals, betrayed by a close compatriot, and buried in a borrowed tomb. If Jesus, the exemplification of perfection, could not please everyone, what makes us think that we can?

The Internal Locus of Identity: To Find One’s Value by How One Sees Oneself

            Some might say that the better option of identity is found by looking within oneself to find one’s identity. While a better alternative than the former, it still elicits problems. John Hare wrote a book entitled The Moral Gap where he identifies a gap between the moral demands placed upon us, both internally and externally, and our ability to meet them. Sagely, Hare denotes that “we see people constantly failing by the moral standards they and we uphold at least verbally, and we want to hold them accountable for each failure.”[1] In response, the church has taken two attitudes to the problem: 1) moral idealism, which holds that people are capable of living good lives and holds them accountable for such, 2) cynical realism, holding that no one can live a virtuous life, thereby removing all blame upon a person for an indiscretion committed.[2] The apostle Paul lamented, “For I do not understand what I am doing, because I do not practice what I want to do, but I do what I hate” (Rom. 7:15, CSB). If a person finds one’s sense of identity only within oneself, the person’s inability to live perfectly could cause great stress and strain on one’s mental and emotional faculties. Not to mention, the mind plays horrid tricks on a person much like a funhouse mirror, leading to false notions of oneself (i.e., he/she is not worthy of love, he/she will never do better in life, and so on). Is there not a better way?

The Upward Locus of Identity: Seeing Oneself through the Lens of God

            Thankfully, a better choice is found in possessing an upward locus of identity. By this, it is meant that a person finds one’s worth and value in God’s love and value for the person. This perspective is not unique in Christian thinking. In his eighth book on The Trinity, Augustine argued that God is the good and that human beings find ultimate happiness and value when they enter into a loving relationship with a good God.[3] By this union, God’s righteousness unites with the receptive person and guides the person to live ethically and morally. Hare states, “The emphasis is not on Christ’s righteousness being external to us, but on the unity he establishes between himself and us.”[4] Granted, professing Christians do not always act ethically. However, it can be said that moral transformation can only come about by the unity with the good God and continued dependence on his moral empowerment. Ultimately, a person’s sense of worth, value, and ethics is vastly intensified and expanded when a person sees oneself through the lens of God. Romans 8:31-39 becomes an integral aspect of one’s sense of worth as it is realized that nothing can separate him or her from the awe-inspiring love of God.

Conclusion

            Much, much more could be said about this topic. But to conclude, think of the following scenario. How would the fictional Loki’s character have changed had he been able to view himself through the Creator’s lens? Would he have sought a better relationship with his brother Thor? Would he have resolved the conflicts he had with his father Odin? What about Penny of the Big Bang Theory? Would she still have desired to be an actress if she was not as concerned with how other people viewed her? While Loki and Penny are fictional characters, their internal conflicts and sense of self-worth are far from make-believe. Real-life people deal with these issues every day. Loki and Penny can serve as parables for us to exemplify the need to view ourselves not as others see us or even how we see ourselves, but rather to see ourselves by the divine viewpoint of God. Experiencing the love and moral transformation that comes from a real-life omnibenevolent God is much better than what any writer of fiction could ever muster.

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About the Author

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics, and a Ph.D. Candidate of the Theology and Apologetics program at Liberty University. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has served in pastoral ministry for nearly 20 years and currently serves as a clinical chaplain, an editor for the Eleutheria Journal, and an Associate Editor for MoralApologetics.com.

https://www.amazon.com/Laymans-Manual-Christian-Apologetics-Essentials/dp/1532697104

© 2021. BellatorChristi.com.

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[1] John E. Hare, The Moral Gap: Kantian Ethics, Human Limits, and God’s Assistance, Oliver O’Donovan, ed (Oxford, UK: Clarendon, 1996), 140.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Augustine of Hippo, On the Trinity, in St. Augustine: On the Holy Trinity, Doctrinal Treatises, Moral Treatises, Philip Schaff, ed, Arthur West Haddan, trans, vol. 3 of A Select Library of the Nicene and Post-Nicene Fathers of the Christian Church, first series (Buffalo, NY: Christian Literature Company, 1887), 244; David Baggett and Marybeth Baggett, The Morals of the Story: Good News about a Good God (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2018), 66.

[4] Hare, The Moral Gap, 263.

Loki and the Problem of Determinism

Warning: This article contains spoilers of the Disney Plus Series “Loki.”

Recently, my family and I binged the series Loki which is the latest of the burgeoning MCU[1] programs on Disney Plus. While all MCU programs thus far have been very well done—and mind you, I am a huge MCU fan—the Loki series proved to engage deep philosophical and theological questions which should be considered and pondered.

The series begins with a scene from the movie Avengers: Endgame where Loki steals the tesseract and warps himself into another dimension of time. Having thought that he outsmarted his foes once again, the God of Mischief discovered that he would soon be captive to an organization that protected time itself. Since he had disrupted the timeline, he had become dangerous to the TVA (Time Variance Authority) and thus labeled a “variant.” Eventually, Loki meets numerous iterations of himself including a female version known as Lady Loki. Lady Loki abhors the name and decides to call herself “Sylvie.” Loki finds himself in love with Sylvie, the only true love of his life. Technically, he falls in love with himself which creates a whole other set of problems for another time and another article.

The first season of the Loki series ends with Loki and Sylvie standing before a scientist who found a way to stabilize time. Known only as “He Who Remains” (most likely, he either is or will become the fierce villain Kang the Conqueror), the mystery man reveals that he has plotted the lives of every single person in every dimension to stabilize the flow of time. Free will is a farce according to this mystery man as each event was scripted which led Loki and Sylvie to the point that they would meet him. This led to a threshold event in which the One Who Remains found himself at a point that he did not know what would occur.

Sylvie and Loki found themselves at a crossroads trying to decide what to do with the timekeeper. Sylvie desired to kill the keeper of time because she deemed him responsible for what she considered a meaningless life, whereas Loki viewed the timekeeper as a necessary evil. After an epic combat scene, Sylvie warped Loki back to the momentarily defunct TVA before killing the timekeeper. This leads us to our current question: Is God like the One Who Remains? This question kept plaguing my mind as the series unfolded. For three reasons, God’s involvement with the arrow of time is unlike the timekeeper of the Loki series.

1.     God grants moral freedom to creatures, unlike the MCU timekeeper.

While various sects of Christianity may differ in this concept, the cumulative biblical and philosophical data suggests that people are free. As Thomas Aquinas masterfully contended, “I answer that, Man has free-will: otherwise counsels, exhortations, commands, prohibitions, rewards and punishments would be in vain.”[2] Morally speaking, a strict determinist God may be likened to the MCU timekeeper. In such a universe, one discovers oneself in a situation not that dissimilar to the Hindu caste system, whereby a person cannot free oneself from the caste in which one is born. In contrast, as Baggett and Wells denote, “freedom is altogether at home in a universe that is the creation of a perfectly good God who freely created this universe and made us in his image.”[3]

2.     God’s foreknowledge does not necessitate determinism unlike the MCU timekeeper.

Unlike the MCU timekeeper, Scripture defines God as a necessarily omniscient Being. The psalmist praises God as being “great, vast in power; his understanding is infinite” (Psa. 147:5, CSB). It is also noted that God knows a word that comes to a person’s mouth before it is even uttered (Psa. 139:4). The late Thomas Oden defined omniscience as “the infinite consciousness of God in relation to all possible objects of knowledge.”[4] As such, God is intricately involved in all aspects of life. However, God’s knowledge does not necessitate God’s dictation of all events. As Tim Stratton has argued, God’s knowledge includes free choices, but “God does not cause a person’s choices.”[5] Oden further states, “God not only grasps and understands what actually will happen, but also what could happen under varied possible contingencies.”[6] Thus, an Anselmian God—the maximally great Being—is one who knows all choices without forcing choices on a creature.

3.     God’s moral code means that he desires the best for all people, unlike the MCU timekeeper.

The MCU timekeeper was not concerned about the wellbeing of those under his watch care. Rather, he was merely interested in keeping the timeline together. While the timekeeper claimed to loath the position he held, his last words before dying seemed to suggest otherwise. The suspense builds! Enter the ominous music. In contrast, God is an omnibenevolent Being who desires the best for all people. One could not argue the same in deterministic models. The best data suggests that God loves us and has given all of us inherent dignity and worth.[7] Rather than bargaining with Loki and Sylvie to provide them their best life, God desires the best for all creatures. It is because of human rebellion and the impact of sin that people are unable to live to their maximal potential, something which in my opinion will be corrected in heaven.

Conclusion

The Loki series on Disney Plus is a philosophically rich program. In my honest opinion, I believe it is one of the best television programs of the MCU currently available on the streaming app. With that said, some may be tempted to compare He Who Remains (potentially an iteration of Kang the Conqueror) with the Anselmian God of Scripture. However, as has been shown, the two are worlds, if not dimensions, apart. Unlike the MCU timekeeper, God has given his creation moral freedom, purpose, and meaning. We truly serve a good God who desires the very best for us all.

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Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics, and a Ph.D. Candidate of the Theology and Apologetics program at Liberty University. He received his Master of Divinity in Theology from Liberty University (with high distinction); his Bachelor of Science in Religious Studies and Philosophy from Gardner-Webb University (with honors); and received certification in Christian Apologetics from Biola University. Brian is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has served in pastoral ministry for nearly 20 years and currently serves as a clinical chaplain, an editor for the Eleutheria Journal, and an Associate Editor for MoralApologetics.com.

https://www.amazon.com/Laymans-Manual-Christian-Apologetics-Essentials/dp/1532697104

© 2021. BellatorChristi.com.

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[1] Short for Marvel Comics Universe.

[2] Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologica 1.q83.a1, Fathers of the English Dominican Province, trans (London: Burns Oates & Washbourne, 1911),

[3] David Baggett and Jerry L. Walls, God & Cosmos: Moral Truth and Human Meaning (Oxford, UK: Oxford University Press, 2016), 104.

[4] Thomas C. Oden, The Living God: Systematic Theology, Vol. I (San Francisco, CA: HarperSanFrancisco, 1992), 70.

[5] Timothy A. Stratton, Human Freedom, Divine Knowledge, and Mere Molinism: A Biblical, Historical, Theological, and Philosophical Analysis (Eugene, OR: Wipf & Stock, 2020), 189.

[6] Oden, Living God, 72.

[7] Baggett and Walls, God & Cosmos, 280.

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Poems for Passion Week: Perspectives and Choices

The Denial of Saint Peter, an oil-on-canvas painting by Gerard Seghers, dating to around 1620–1625 and now held by the North Carolina Museum of Art.

The poems below represent various responses by several of those who were a part of the drama of Passion Week.  Some were involved through long association, others seemingly by accident, but all by God’s design.  We have a range of responses: jaded cynicism, desperate guilt, cool hypocrisy, stubborn self-will, perplexed or abashed enlightenment.  All of the speakers’ lives have been profoundly changed by their encounter with Jesus, but whether for good or ill is being determined by their own choices.  And as we overhear their thoughts, we find that we, too, are challenged to examine our responses to the suffering Christ, and this process is reflected in the last poem of the set, “The Final Step.”

COCK-CROWING

("And the Lord turned and looked at Peter.  And Peter remembered the Lord's words . . . ."   Luke 22.61

Grey dawn                              

Gone,                                     

But day                                   

Still waits.                               

Cock-crowing                         

Flowing                                   

Flashing                                 

Tearing                                   

Through anguished heart.           

Part                                        

Of me                                     

Is dead--                                 

The thread                              

Of boasting, knowing,             

Throwing words about            

Is snapped,

And dangling ends ensnare the dawn.

Dark my heart since dawn

And dark the curtain drawn

Across my soul

By fear which stole

My light away.

But day must come.

The One who prophesied the broken thread

And gazed on new-made shreds

Can knit my soul and turn

Cock's call to Light indeed.

It needs my Master's face

To make cock-crowing

Both breaking

And making

Of dawn's first rays.

A MATTER OF CONSCIENCE

(Matt. 27:1-10)

They were exceedingly careful

In handling blood-money;

They picked it up gingerly,

And debated what,

In conscience,

Could be done

With the price of another man's life.

They provided

For the burial of the poor

With the rejected silver,

Then busily turned

To the murder

Of the man it had bought.

SON OF PERDITION

(Matt. 27:3-5)

Did all the powers conspire

To make me plant that kiss?

And why did what He sowed among the Twelve

Bear bitter fruit in me alone?

I was called and sanctified

And given power to exorcise—

Even held the purse for all the rest.

He alone could see the secret fires

That burned my soul away,

And yet He left me to my course

And urged me from His presence

In the Upper Room.

My doom is His to bear as well;

This day we meet in hell.

He let himself be killed,

Poured out the ointment

Meant as alms for all,

While I, at least, have

Dared to test my worth

And act my will.

Even now,

When emptiness engulfs me,

I cannot be still

Beneath the scourge of God;

I shall die on a tree

Of my own devising.

PILATE'S QUANDARY

(John 19:4-16; Matt. 27:24)

The gods lurk everywhere,

Even, perhaps,

In this wretched Nazarene!

How can I judge the judgment

Of this world

On one whose very presence

Scorns the power of death?

The breath of other-worldly royalty

Stirs upon his lips

And blows my threats away.

The people shout for blood

And wait upon my word.

Their guilt is greater--

So he said--

But mine is great enough,

And leaves no room

For subtle sophistry.

If "truth" has brought him here,

Then "truth" will have to save him--

But not through me.

Long ago I banked the fire of truth

That I might not be consumed.

The open flame is in his eyes,

And brooks no compromise.

I turn my face

And call for a basin

Of lukewarm water.

Simon of Cyrene Takes the Cross

(Luke 23:26)

But I was only looking on!

No lover of this miserable Nazarene,

Who pushed his truth too far

And tempted power to kill.

The cross he bears

Is self-inflicted shame and pain.

I have no part in this

Except conscripted brawn!

--Heavier than it looks;

A burden more than wood.

Amazing

That he bore the thing this far,

And carries still

A weight He cannot share.

Nicodemus, Post Mortem

(John 3:1-21; 7:45-52; 19:38-42)

His words are done, and now He rests,

A fragrant corpse in a rich man's tomb.

Lifted up, indeed—but are we healed?

The night He chided me for darkened mind

Is not behind me yet,

For this death no more

Than second birth I grasp.

How can earth receive

A body so unlike itself?

Not spice nor worthy grave

Can honor Him, nor rescue us,

But only words of life I heard

When cowardly I went by night.

No words now—but pregnant death!

That brings us to the womb again

And begs our souls to breathe anew

The air His Spirit stirred!

Both birth and death are buried now

In the Word that does not die.

Touching Thomas

(John 20:1-29)

Why should I have touched His wounds,

Who asked a measure more than those

Who only saw, and made His peace their joy?

Still others, seeing not, will have His touch.

And I, who walked with Him and shared

A thousand days of common ground,

But ran away when He was taken off

To bear the wounds I now have touched--

These wretched hands have felt the anguish of

The wounds He took for me.

Little did I know that what I asked

Was sharing in His pain.

Yet in his love for me, He let

My probing hands renew the desecrating

Thrust of nails and spear;

And now I know that all along

His sufferance of our selfish, grasping fingers,

Seeking only fleshly touch,

Was of a piece with baring all His wounds.

How far He had to reach

To let me touch His side!

THE FINAL STEP

(Mark 14: 32-42)

I have slept in Gethsemane,         

Lacking the sense

Of immanent pain                        

My Master bears.                         

His sorrow                                    

Has been my pillow,                     

And I have slumbered       

In the shadow                                         

Of a dying God.                            

Because I cannot look upon         

The final step that Love must walk,  

He kneels alone,                                      

And trembling

Takes the proffered cup

For Him and me.

 "Wake up!" He says;         

"Though you could not watch with me—

Though you could not

Embrace my task—

I have met my fear alone,

To seal the bonds of brotherhood,

That we might live at one."

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton. Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

A Walk through Samaria: Befriending The Catcher in the Rye’s Holden Caulfield (Part 2)

A Keen Eye and a Good Heart in a Shallow World

            As Lewis says, a friendship is, in part, a rebellion, and by befriending Holden, we can also participate in rebelling against the superficiality of the world, just as Holden does. The strongest weapon that Holden uses against superficiality is his keen eye. Holden, as a reader, possesses an eye that looks deep into those around him in an attempt to form meaningful relationships and defend innocence within the world. In spite of his claims that he is “quite illiterate,” Holden admits that he reads frequently.[1] According to Holden, the best stories are the ones that make the reader want to befriend the author and “call him up” at any time.[2] Holden reads not only for pleasure but also in hopes of forming a connection—a friendship—between him and the author. Given this understanding of Holden as reader, it makes perfect sense why he would want readers—which includes willing Christian readers—to take on the role of listener. Holden hopes that readers might befriend him and, through such friendship, provide him with the guidance he so desperately needs: that of an authority figure who will show him how to preserve innocence and expose superficiality.

            All around Holden are the superficial—the “phonies,” as Holden famously refers to them: the hypocrites, the shallow, the materialistic, and the perverted. And Holden’s understanding of superficiality is the same as Christian readers might have. There is, of course, the hypocrisy of the religious, which Holden does well to criticize. According to Holden, many religious people simply want to talk to a person just to know if he or she is of the faith, which is what Holden experienced with Louis Shane at Whooton, who, in Holden’s mind, ruins a decent conversation about tennis by asking Holden if there is a Catholic church in town.[3] Holden says, “He [Louis] was enjoying the conversation about tennis and all, but you could tell he would’ve enjoyed it more if I was a Catholic and all.”[4] Here, Holden is able to see past Louis’s façade: Holden understands not only how the practice of faith can become an idol and make one shallow but also how such shallowness prevents people from having a true conversation with others. Empathy is impossible in the realm of superficiality, and given the shallowness of many of Holden’s peers, Holden struggles to find one with whom he can share mutual empathy. By befriending Holden, we can join him in becoming more empathetic toward those around us, for we also seek genuine, meaningful relationships with the people around us.

            Furthermore, Holden, like Christian readers, understands the ills of materialism, and his keen eye allows him to see past the materialism in the three women at The Lavender Room. The three women (Bernice, Marty, and Laverne) represent a materialistic American culture. Holden says that he checks the women out—but not inappropriately.[5] Instead, it is as if Holden is, more or less, studying them, while also noticing their physical attributes as all sixteen-year-old males are, unfortunately, prone to do. Holden concludes in his study that the women are “three witches” and “three real morons,”[6] to use his words. When dancing with Bernice, Holden explains that she does not seem to pay attention to him. In fact, Holden says, “Her mind was wandering all over the place.”[7] Holden’s keen eye clues him in on the fact that Bernice is rather shallow and surface-level, apparently incapable of focusing on anything other than her own thoughts.

            When Holden sits down with the other two women, he discovers that they behave similarly to Bernice. Holden says, “. . . I tried to get them in a little intelligent conversation, but it was practically impossible. You had to twist their arms. You could hardly tell which was the stupidest of the three of them.”[8] Holden resists a shallow understanding of the world and the people who inhabit it. The three women, however, are shallow, blind, and materialistic, which prevents them from recognizing Holden’s humanity. They have no awareness of their surroundings or of those around them. Holden may be crass in this scene, particularly when he mentions the physical attributes of these women throughout the chapter, but he at least provides the reader with a clear vision of his perception of the women. By befriending Holden, we can set an example: we can begin to serve others by truly listening to other people and not being consumed by preoccupations. By doing so, we, by extension, are also serving Holden.   

            Along with a keen eye, Holden also possesses a good heart—and one which compels him to defend innocence. During his encounter with Sunny, a teenage prostitute, and Maurice, her pimp. Holden admits that he can tell that Sunny is his age.[9] Holden’s keen eye is able to see that Sunny, though a prostitute, is still an innocent child. After Sunny explains that the dress she took off was recently purchased, Holden says, “It made me feel sort of sad when I hung it up. I thought of her going in a store and buying it, and nobody in the store knowing she was a prostitute and all. . . . It made me feel sad as hell—I don’t know why exactly.”[10] Holden does not realize that it is his good heart that makes him feel sad.

            Furthermore, Holden desires to protect the innocent; he does not wish to corrupt Sunny. For, as Holden admits, he did not feel like sleeping with her, especially because of Sunny’s predicament and her dress: “. . . I just didn’t want to do it. I felt more depressed than sexy, if you want to know the truth. She was depressing. Her green dress hanging in the closet and all.”[11] Holden is depressed because, unbeknownst to him, he sees how her innocence has been corrupted, and he refuses to contribute to such corruption. This is why, later in this scene, he takes a stand against Maurice, calling out his vileness in spite of his threats.[12] On the surface, as Pinsker points out, Holden is simply saving face: the quarrel is more about money than anything else.[13] However, it would be wrong to say that this is all just about money. It is safe to assume that Holden’s depression turns into rage, and he directs it toward the corruptor Maurice.

            Unlike the shallow, the materialistic, and the hypocrites, Holden seeks genuineness and authenticity, and the nuns he encounters on his second day in New York fit the bill. In contrast to the women in The Lavender Room, for instance, the nuns possess a genuineness that Holden admires. The nuns are readers: they have come to New York to teach English and History, and they discuss literature with Holden.[14] Granted, they do not discuss Thomas Hardy’s The Return of the Native with him—and they change the subject after Holden gives them his opinion of Mercutio,[15] but they at least engage with him—and much more than other Catholics Holden knows. However, for Holden, the nuns do not ruin their conversation with him because they do not ask if he is a Catholic.[16] The nuns possess a genuineness not found in the three women—a genuineness that seeks not the pleasures of materialism but instead seeks to see humanity, particularly within Holden.

            The nuns also appear to possess rather unique qualities that Holden does not see in many other people, which suggests that the nuns—and by extension, Christian readers—represent the type of people that Holden seeks to find friendship with. For instance, Holden finds it difficult to place his aunt or Sally Hayes’s mother in the nuns’ shoes.[17] According to Pinsker, even readers could not fill such a role, for, outside of his sister Phoebe and late brother Allie, Holden finds fault—phoniness—in everyone. For that reason, if readers believe Holden would like them, they are mistaken.[18] However, what Pinsker fails to realize is that Holden respects the nuns, and in his discussion with them, does not detect the same kind of phoniness he does when with the three women. In fact, Holden is clear that he even feels bad that he did not give the nuns more money as a donation.[19] Therefore, it is safe to assume that we, who recognize the humanity in people like the nuns do, would be able to befriend Holden.

A Well and a Person in Need of Truth

            As mentioned earlier in this discussion, Holden seeks friendship from readers, and we as Christian readers should be the first to take up the call. Holden is a defender of the innocent. We should do likewise by befriending Holden and letting him come unto us. If we are to take the time to befriend Holden, then we can join him in the rebellion required of friendships. We can join Holden in calling out the hypocrites, the shallow, the materialistic, the perverse. We can decide to join him in his quest to preserve beauty and innocence. Paul says, “Let no one despise you for your youth, but set the believers an example in speech, in conduct, in love, in faith, in purity.”[20] Holden most certainly, in his own way, teaches us such things—even in his youth and in his depravity. Therefore, we must not despise him and instead let him be the example he so desperately seeks to be, so that we, in turn, can be the example the world so desperately needs.

            However, such a thing cannot be done if we are quick to write off The Catcher in the Rye or any other text that is, or appears to be, un-Christian. In his discussion of Basil the Great, Jacobs notes that in Basil’s day, much of the literature that Christian students studied was pagan (like Homer’s works, for example). However, Jacobs explains that Basil did not see this as a problem because such literature still possessed much “wisdom and virtue,” so long as Christian students possessed sound enough judgment to glean such things from their reading. And, Jacobs adds, if readers are able to engage with such pagan writings in a loving way (what he calls “charitable reading” throughout his book), then readers will also be able to learn how to “love God and neighbor better through reading them” in spite of their un-Christian themes and symbolism, making such books not as wretched as they may seem at first glance.[21] All truth really is God’s truth, and if we as Christian readers can learn to accept this, then befriending someone like Holden becomes not only possible but also beneficial for us.

            As mentioned above, Christ walked through Samaria with a godly purpose. Therefore, I am not arguing that we simply read all narratives that are un-Christian just because they are un-Christian. But I am arguing that before we throw down the book, or write to the teacher, or punish our children or ourselves, let us take the time to truly listen to what that text is saying. We may discover, if we are to turn just a few more pages, that there is in fact a well to drink from and a person in need of truth—and who knows?—this person may even be ourselves.

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               [1] Salinger, 18.

               [2] Ibid.

               [3] Salinger, 112.

               [4] Ibid., 112-13.

               [5] Ibid., 70

               [6] Salinger, 70.

               [7] Ibid., 71.

               [8] Ibid., 73.

               [9] Ibid., 94.

               [10] Salinger, 95-96.

               [11] Ibid., 96.

               [12] Ibid., 103.

               [13] Pinsker, 68-69.

               [14] Salinger, 110-11

               [15] Ibid., 111.

               [16] Salinger, 113.

               [17] Ibid., 114

               [18] Pinsker, 42-43.

               [19] Salinger, 113.

               [20] 1 Tim. 4:12.

               [21] Jacobs, 141-42.

A Walk through Samaria: Befriending The Catcher in the Rye’s Holden Caulfield (Part 1)

Editor’s note: The work of apologetics often first requires entering into relationship with those whose values and beliefs depart radically from our own. In the piece that follows, Richard Decker explores how reading what might be considered problematic texts, such as The Catcher in the Rye, can help develop empathy and build common ground for the apologetic endeavor that follows. This is an important reminder that apologetics is about winning people and not arguments.

Introduction: A Walk through Samaria

            As a public and private school English teacher who happens to be a Christian, I am blessed to have the opportunity to interact with many people from many different walks of life—including fellow Christians. I also have the opportunity to talk about literature and other forms of art with students, parents, colleagues, and friends. However, every now and then, typically when I am speaking with my brothers and sisters in Christ, I find myself listening to an explanation as to why such and such a book/TV show/movie/video game is un-Christian because it contains such and such content. I understand where my peers are coming from—I mean really, who wants to be both in the world and of the world? Still, I typically catch myself thinking, Is that text necessarily bad? I certainly enjoyed that book/TV show/movie/video game—even learned how to be a better person because of it! Blame it on my liberal arts education, but I think such questions deserve to be addressed because I believe we as Christians, and specifically, Christian readers,[1] have a misconception of what it means to be in the world but not of it.

            One of my former professors, Dr. Stephen J. Bell, always begins his English classes with his famous weltanschauung[2] lecture. In it, Bell discusses how Christian readers must be careful not to avoid or retreat from the world as they live in it and read its literature. In other words, to truly engage with the world, we must be willing to at least enter it. In light of Bell’s teachings, I have noticed that many of us seem to think that avoidance of—or isolation from—all things un-Christian is what keeps us from becoming part of the world.

            However, if avoidance is the only path to holy living, why did Christ decide to walk through Samaria instead of around it? Scripture tells us that Christ and his disciples had to walk through Samaria in order to return to Galilee.[3] Andreas J. Köstenberger, an ESV Study Bible contributor, explains that the need to walk through what the Jews would have considered unclean can be understood in two ways: one can read it as the quickest route or as a necessary route, the latter, given the original Greek, refers to a “divine necessity or requirement.”[4] If the latter is true, then this means that Christ went through Samaria for a godly purpose. In this case, it was to reveal himself as Savior to the Samaritan woman—and not only reveal himself but also to drink from her well and listen (and answer) the questions she asks.[5] Drinking from such a well, as Köstenberger mentions, would have been considered unclean by the Jews.[6] However, what mattered more to Christ was not cleanliness or uncleanliness but truth—his truth. Granted, Christ did not dirty himself, so to speak, simply for the sake of dirtying himself but to reveal truth to a woman Christ’s peers would have simply written off as unclean and unholy.

            Christ and his actions reveal to us that we must sometimes go through Samaria and walk alongside those who are unclean if we want to reveal his truth. In the context of this discussion, this may mean that in order to become better ministers and purveyors of truth, we must sometimes engage with that which is unclean—like the many books and movies that many of us tend to simply write off without first listening to the questions these texts ask. When the scribes and the Pharisees were perplexed that Christ was spending time with sinners and unholy people, Christ responds by saying, “Those who are well have no need of a physician, but those who are sick. I came not to call the righteous, but sinners.”[7] Followers of Christ should also be willing to spend time with those plagued by the sickness of sin so that we may better minister to them. But how can we care for the sick if we know nothing of their ailments? And how can we know of their ailments if we don’t walk alongside those who suffer from them and investigate the world that is the source of such sickness? How can we truly walk alongside someone without first befriending them? Such questions have led me to ask a more immediate question: “Why immediately write off and avoid books or other media without even taking the time to listen to what it and its characters have to say?” Christ certainly engaged with what we might call un-Christian in his ministry, and not a single serious Christian would call out Jesus for such actions. Yet, for some reason, when books and other media are the topic of discussion, many of us are quick to turn away without question.  

            Therefore, I wish to look into the idea of engaging with what may be considered un-Christian stories and characters. I propose that as we attempt to understand the un-Christian characters in un-Christian books and other media, we must seek to befriend such characters so that we can give them a chance to be heard before simply writing them off. For I believe that such reading can be beneficial for our Christian hearts and minds. Given that such an idea may be controversial to some Christian readers (or, at the very least, unsettling) and given that I only have time to discuss one character from one novel, I figured it would be best to discuss a rather unsettling and controversial character: The Catcher in the Rye’s Holden Caulfield.

Reading in General and Friendship in Particular

            One of the greatest benefits to reading literature is its ability to encourage the reader to practice empathy. Karen Swallow Prior, in the first half of her discussion on the human aspect of reading, suggests as much.[8] And in her article on why Christian literary critics must learn to approach a text more lovingly, Marybeth Baggett explains how her reading of Stephen Crane’s Maggie: A Girl of the Streets, invoked feelings of empathy within her.[9] However, empathy, being a most selfless act, is arguably one of the most difficult acts to perform. And selfless reading, given that all readers are human and thus fallen, is equally difficult.

            However, for us Christian readers, and especially those of us who seem to be quick to write off any text that has traces of the un-Christian, such empathetic reading is relevant. Christians are called to be selfless in all things, which includes the reading of great literature. But when one considers many of the characters of great literature, it can be rather difficult to be selfless—to be empathetic. Such a difficulty may arise when we attempt to empathize with, say, The Catcher in the Rye’s Holden Caulfield. Holden is a difficult character with whom to walk alongside: he is blunt, rude, at many times vulgar, and seemingly not a person that readers should emulate. However, by befriending Holden Caulfield, we will discover that we both seek to defend innocence and expose superficiality, and in turn, will see that sometimes, that which is un-Christian, can sometimes revel to us the most Christian of truths.

            When considering befriending Holden Caulfield, we must first understand what it means to be a part of a friendship. C. S. Lewis’s understanding of such a relationship makes even befriending Holden possible. In The Four Loves, Lewis explains that one aspect of true friendship is when two or more people desire to go against the grain, seeking out a particular truth in a way that is unique—different from all others within their community. And true friends, Lewis continues, are those who separate themselves from the status quo in a fashion that resembles rebellion.[10] Such a stance, Lewis suggests helps to solidify friendship. By befriending Holden, we will discover that, like Holden, we seek to defend innocence and resist—or rebel against—superficiality.

To Befriend Holden Caulfield

            On the very first page of the novel, Holden appears to invite readers to befriend him, and Christian readers would be wrong to not accept his invitation. Holden begins his story by addressing his listener with the phrase “if you really want to hear about it.”[11] It is well known that Holden is in a psychiatric hospital of sorts; his listener, one can assume, is a counselor or psychoanalyst. This setting establishes the novel’s frame narrative.  However, the listener is not named, nor does he speak. It is as if the novel itself is inviting readers to take on this identity and assume the role of listener—not passively, as eyes scan over the page, but actively, sitting face-to-face with Holden. If we are to take on this role, we at once begin the journey of befriending Holden by participating in his narrative with open minds and hearts and reading in accordance to what Alan Jacobs refers to as a form of reading that understands that not only books themselves but also their characters become neighborly beings during and after the act of reading.[12] Therefore, it is important for us to treat literary characters the way we would want to be treated.

            However, we may wonder why Holden appears to ask them to befriend him, and such an answer may lie in Holden’s desire to find an ideal parental figure. In the essay “The Saint as a Young Man,” Jonathan Baumbach discusses Holden’s attempts at finding an authority figure he can look up to. According to Baumbach, Holden not only seeks to defend the innocent but also seeks one who will also defend his own innocence. In order to be such a defender, Holden must be taught how to defend—a burden that the adults in Holden’s life must bear. In Baumbach’s words, Holden “is looking for an exemplar, a wise-good father whose example will justify his own initiation into manhood.”[13] Furthermore, Baumbach explains that Holden’s attraction to older women represents his need to find a motherly figure. “Where the father-quest,” says Baumbach, “is a search for wisdom and spirit (God), the mother-quest is a search not for sex but ultimately for love. They are different manifestations, one intellectual, the other physical, of the same spiritual quest.”[14]

            Unfortunately, the parental figures in Holden’s life fail to provide him with the answers he seeks and fail to show him what Baumbach refers to as a “God-principle,” which is essentially a system through which a metaphysical entity cares for physical beings.[15] Baumbach is clear that no adult is able to tell Holden where the ducks of Central Park go when the lake freezes over, a question Holden continuously ponders throughout the novel.[16] In The Catcher in the Rye: Innocence Under Pressure, Sanford Pinsker explains that by asking where the ducks go, Holden seeks to know if there is a God who will rescue him from corruption,[17] which, as Pinsker argues throughout his work, is adulthood. Essentially, Holden asks not only the other characters he encounters but also, by extension, readers, “Who is my father and mother?” and “Who will save me?”

            We have the opportunity to be the adults who befriend Holden and serve him by being the role model he so desperately seeks. Of course, readers cannot literally serve Holden—or befriend him for that matter. To serve and befriend a literary character like Holden, readers must allow him to play a part in shaping their “ethical agency,” defined by Marshall Gregory in Shaped by Stories as our ability to make moral choices.[18] Befriending Holden also involves what Gregory refers to as “reflective assent,”[19] or deep consideration for what has been read. And finally, readers must see Holden as what Gregory calls a “narrative companion,” or a character who rests in readers’ imaginations and has the potential to influence their decision-making even after their eyes no longer look at the page.[20] For Gregory explains that to imagine something is just as real as any other action one can take in real life, and that even our real-life friends (as opposed to fictional, literary friends) are also our friends when they are not around us because they are still on our minds—and still can influence the choices we make when we are simply thinking of or imaging them.[21] Friendship is both a physical and mental activity, and befriending Holden means allowing him to enter into our imaginations so that he may have a chance to influence us as we live out our lives.

            For these reasons, befriending Holden is quite possible, and it is, arguably, Christian readers’ duty to befriend him. The underlying theme of Jacobs’ Theology of Reading is to approach a text lovingly, just like one should approach a person lovingly, which is what Jacobs considers the “hermeneutics of love.” Granted, Jacobs is clear that it is agape as opposed to philia that allows readers to approach a text lovingly,[22] but, arguably, it takes agape to truly befriend Holden given his language and delinquent behavior throughout the novel.

            We must love Holden by befriending him and letting him dwell in our imagination—especially since Holden has not been loved in such a way by any other authority figures. According to Baumbach, Holden’s history teacher Old Spencer is too caught up in justifying his own actions. This self-concern causes him to act more childish than Holden, who, in spite of criticizing Old Spencer in his mind, treats him with respect—an example of a reversal of the roles of father and child and the catalyst that sets Holden off on his journey to find a true authority figure.[23] Old Spencer, Baumbach explains, fails to give Holden what he truly needs: someone who will come down to his level and see the world the way he does by claiming that Holden “knew absolutely nothing” in his history course,[24] which may be the case on the surface. But Old Spencer does not take the time to truly see—or read—Holden and listen to the questions Holden asks underneath the surface.

            The same can also be said of Mr. Antolini, who at first appears to truly care for Holden, but then proves otherwise. When Holden goes to Antolini’s to spend the night, Holden updates him on some of his adventures in Pencey, and Antolini offers sound advice.[25] Antolini appears to be speaking to Holden on the level that Holden has wanted others to speak to him the entire novel. However, while Holden is sleeping, Antolini is found “patting” Holden’s head.[26] Holden is obviously shaken by this, and as he is rushing out of Antolini’s apartment, makes the following heartbreaking statement: “That kind of stuff’s happened to me about twenty times since I was a kid. I can’t stand it.”[27] Holden, in a very sixteen-year-old way, suggests that he has been molested in one form or another many times in the past. Up until this point in the text, Holden has struggled with simply finding a person who can meet him on his level, but now one sees that he has also been violated by those around him. Baumbach, too, recognizes that though Antolini’s words are well intentioned, his violation of Holden causes him to lose respect for Antolini in particular and father figures in general, and Baumbach equates this loss of respect to a “loss of God.”[28] As Christian readers, we must act differently: we must not write Holden off by deeming him immature, ignorant, or subhuman. Instead, we must provide Holden with the love that has been denied him by befriending him so that, as we interact with children similar to Holden in real life, we may allow Holden to dwell in our imaginations in such a way that we choose to not write off these children as well.

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                [1] And by “readers” I mean not only readers of books but also of any text—be it a video game, movie, TV show, or even a person.

                [2] German for “worldview.”

                [3] John 4:1-4 (English Standard Version).

                [4] Andreas J. Köstenberger, “John: ESV Study Bible Notes,” in ESV Study Bible, ed. Lane T. Dennis et al. (Wheaton, IL: Crossway, 2016), 2027.

                [5] John 4:7-26.

                [6] Köstenberger, 2027.

                [7] Luke 2:16-17.

                [8] Karen Swallow Prior, “How Reading Makes Us More Human,” The Atlantic, June 21, 2013, https://www.theatlantic.com/national/archive/2013/06/how-reading-makes-us-more-human/277079/.

                [9] Marybeth Baggett, “In Love with the Word: A Charge to Christian Literary Critics,” MoralApologetics, March 16, 2020, https://www.moralapologetics.com/wordpress/2020/3/16/in-love-with-the-word-a-charge-to-christian-literary-critics.

                [10] C. S. Lewis, The Four Loves, Signature Book (New York: HarperCollins, 1960), 102.

                [11] J. D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye (New York: Little, Brown, 1991), 1.

                [12] Alan Jacobs, A Theology of Reading: The Hermeneutics of Love (Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 2001), 64.

                [13] Jonathan Baumbach, “The Saint as a Young Man,” in Holden Caulfield, ed. Harold Bloom, Major Literary Characters (New York: Chelsea House, 1990), 65.

                [14] Ibid., 69.

                [15] Ibid.

                [16] Ibid.

                [17] Sanford Pinsker, The Catcher in the Rye: Innocence Under Pressure, Twanye’s Masterwork Studies, ed. Robert Lecker (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1993), 37-38.

                [18] Marshall Gregory, Shaped by Stories: The Ethical Power of Narratives (Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press, 2009), 24.  

                [19] Ibid., 75.

                [20] Ibid., 81-83.  

                [21] Ibid., 81-82.

                [22] Jacobs, 66-67.

                [23] Baumbach, 67-68.

                [24] Ibid., 10.

                [25] Salinger, 187-88.

                [26] Ibid., 192.

                [27] Ibid., 193.

                [28] Baumbach, 66.

The Simpsons, the Talmud, and Divine Command Theory

In an episode of The Simpsons, the perpetually pious Ned Flanders is the representative of a theistic ethicist. Gerald J. Erion and Joseph Zeccardi explain:

In Springfield, Ned Flanders exemplifies one way (if not the only way) of understanding the influence of religion upon ethics. Ned seems to be what philosophers call a divine command theorist, since he thinks that morality is a simple function of God’s divine command; to him, “morally right” means simply “commanded by God” and “morally wrong” means simply “forbidden by God.” Consequently, Ned consults with Reverend Lovejoy or prays directly to God himself to resolve the moral dilemmas he faces. For instance, he asks the Reverend’s permission to play “capture the flag” with Rod and Todd on the Sabbath in “King of the Hill”; Lovejoy responds, “Oh, just play the damn game, Ned.” Ned also makes a special telephone train room in Reverend Lovejoy’s basement as he [Ned] tries to decide whether to baptize his new foster children. Bart, Lisa, and Maggie, in “Home Sweet Home Diddily-Dum-Doodily.” (This call prompts Lovejoy to ask, “Ned, have you thought about one of the other major religions? They’re all pretty much the same.”) And when a hurricane destroys his family’s home but leaves the rest of Springfield unscathed in “Hurricane Neddy,” Ned tries to procure an explanation from God by confessing, “I’ve done everything the Bible says; even the stuff that contradicts the other stuff!” Thus, Ned apparently believes he can find solutions to his moral problems not by thinking for himself, but by consulting the appropriate divine command. His faith is as blind as it is complete, and he floats through his life on a moral cruise-control, with his ethical dilemmas effectively resolved.

            I thought of this passage the other day as I was working my way through Jane Sherron De Hart’s compelling biography of Ruth Bader Ginsburg. Although Ginsburg had pride in her Jewish heritage, it was eventually more for its social dimensions than religious ones. De Hart writes about one of the exceptions:

There was also one other factor that might have indirectly contributed to [Ginsburg’s] success, though it did not occur to Ginsburg at the time—the age-old connection between Judaism and the law. The Torah (the five books of Moses) functioned as the original constitution for Jews. In the centuries following their exile from the land of Judea, rabbis and scholars in scattered Jewish communities had to figure out how to apply the Torah and its multiple commandments to seemingly insoluble problems of law and ritual. How could a common standard of behavior be maintained in the face of new sociopolitical, economic, and technological developments?

The result was the Talmud—a body of debates and opinions emphasizing legal argumentation based on the precedent of Mosaic law. Issues were examined from every possible angle, though room was always left for further interpretation in the face of ever-changing circumstances. The pattern of thought and methodology used to create the Talmud two millennia ago is remarkably similar to the kind of thinking demanded in law schools today. Ginsburg herself later elaborated on this theme in the introduction to a book about her Jewish predecessors on the Supreme Court. “For centuries,” she explained, “Jewish rabbis and scholars have studied, restudied, and ceaselessly interpreted the Talmud, the body of Jewish law and tradition developed from the scriptures. These studies have produced a vast corpus of Jewish juridical writing that has been prized in that tradition.”

            Making Ned Flanders one’s foil instead of, say, a Jewish sage steeped in the Talmud renders quite a bit easier the task of depicting religious folks as doltish numbskulls uninterested in thinking hard. It is also a quintessential example of constructing a straw man. In truth, whether in the interpretation of the Old Testament or New, good exegesis is hard work. It is done according to solid, principled logarithms of hermeneutics, taking into account the often multifarious aspects of context. The Bible itself tells us to study to show ourselves approved, rightly dividing the word of truth (2 Tim 2:15), which presumably suggests we can wrongly divide the word of truth. When, as is often the case, what scripture teaches are general principles, there is a great deal of labor called for in applying them to specific and concrete situations. It is hard work, taking real thought, not floating through life on cruise control. That believers on occasion—intelligent and informed ones at that—don’t always see eye to eye on how best to exegete a passage and understand its import is evidence that the interpretive task is no easy matter, and often far from a no-brainer. For one who takes, say, scriptural commands seriously, rightly understanding them includes all the following: application of general principles to specific situations, each with its own unique features, extenuating circumstances, and mitigating factors; contending with invariable and vexed hermeneutical complexities; disambiguating between the timeless and transcultural, on the one hand, and the contingent and culturally conditioned, on the other; studying societal, biblical, and historical contexts in rich detail; engaging both heart and mind and communities in conversation; something at least resembling reflective equilibrium; precedent, synthesis, extrapolation, and more besides.

            Ned is a funny character, no doubt, but hardly the paradigm of a thoughtful theist.

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David Baggett is professor of philosophy and Director of the Center for Moral Apologetics at Houston Baptist University.

The Second Phase of My Involvement in CASL Administration: Twilight Musing Autobiography (Part 23)

A key decision I had to make early in my year as acting dean was whether to be a candidate for a regular 3-year term as dean. After discussing the matter with friends and praying about it (though I suspect not sufficiently), I decided that the College would be best served by my not being a candidate, thereby lending more credibility to my being an honest and impartial broker between competing departmental objectives. I wanted the year to achieve the healing of animosities and distrust of administration within the College. My motives were good, I think, but I’m not sure my judgment was sound, especially in view of the person who was selected for the job after a nationwide search.

Joachim (“Kim”) Bruhn was a portly, friendly man who generally made a good first impression. However, within a few months his jolly “Hello, I’m Kim Bruhn, and I’m new here” began to wear thin, and his handling of the job proved less than satisfactory. One staff member observed that his personality and character were “a mile wide and an inch deep.” He had grand ideas about where the College should go and how it should get there, but he was terrible when it came to details. And on top of that, he had very flexible standards of telling the truth. He relied heavily on his staff to handle details, and so he was not always immediately and responsibly aware of exactly where the College’s finances stood nor what was the state of day-to-day operations. All of this meant that often I found myself being asked to explain or defend policies and decisions that I either lacked information on (because he had failed to tell me) or felt were on shaky ground.

I oversaw the College’s dealings with campus service units, such as Admissions and Registration and Records, and in doing so I was able to trade on relationships I had built during my year as Acting Dean. They trusted me, but they were sometimes puzzled by the difference in what they heard from Dean Bruhn and what they heard from me. Faculty in general did not hold Kim in high regard, and my close association with him tarnished my character with them sometimes. All these frustrations led to my deciding to resign as Associate Dean after serving two years.

When I informed Provost Eugene Arden, my friend and mentor over the years, he asked me out to lunch and made a strong pitch for me to stay on for another year. He argued that I was among the top 10% of people he had observed over the years in my aptitude for administration and that if I toughed it out I would have a good potential for an administrative career. I think perhaps he was already seeing that Kim Bruhn would not be approved for a second term as Dean, and that I was in a good position to succeed him. On the other hand, if I resigned (whatever my reasons), it would be a blot on my record and a hindrance to my being chosen for future administrative jobs. However, I was not willing to endure another year of working with Kim Bruhn and felt morally obligated to resign in order to disassociate myself from his dishonesty. In retrospect, that may have been an exercise of poor judgment. I think I was more concerned with my reputation than with whether the Lord wanted me persevere or give up.

In December of 1975, a disrupting event happened in Module 8 that turned out to have personal consequences for me. Early one morning, I received a call that a fire had broken out in our set of modules. (The sage comment of the Fire Warden when he assessed it was, “It appears to have been either an accident or arson.”) When I arrived on campus, I found that there had been considerable damage in Module 8, especially in a room where most of my campus library was stored. Later in the day, Laquita and I were dismayed at how many books were scorched and water-logged. We had to leave things in place until the insurance people had reviewed the scene in order to process the school’s claim for damage compensation. A good proportion of my books had to be written off for any remaining market value. We finally received our part of the school insurance settlement and were ready to move the books home to do whatever repairs we could. The year before this, we had bought a house in an attractive neighborhood about ten minutes away from the campus. We didn’t quite have the required down payment (1/3 of the cost in those days), so we swung a short-term bank loan for the balance and closed the deal. In August of 1974, we moved into 9 Adams lane in Dearborn, where we lived for the next 44 years. It was here that we moved the damaged books, storing them in the basement while we salvaged what we could, which turned out to be a majority of them.

Then, someone suggested we look into our homeowners’ insurance policy to see if there might be some recompense from them for the damaged books. We filed a claim, and wonder of wonders, we received a check for almost exactly the amount of our short-term loan! That incident has been a standard story in our history of incidents illustrating the Lord’s special provision in times of need. In addition, the great increase in my base salary during my years in administration had incremental effects in subsequent years, and the final result was a very healthy retirement package that even now is supplying the bulk of our retirement income. God’s supply of our financial resources over the years has kept us from being in debt except for one short term mortgage. That is one tangible result of my year as Acting Dean.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton. Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

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Hope Among the Graves

A few days ago my wife and I and our daughter Rachel made one of our occasional visits to the grave of our daughter, Cynthia, Rachel’s biological mother who died of Huntington’s Disease in 2010.  She’s buried in a peaceful, ordinary county cemetery in Spring Arbor, MI, and we make the 15-minute trip there four or five times a year to trim the grass and flowers around her grave.  Our most recent trip was on a beautiful, sunny fall day, when it was just pleasant to be out.  We sat there at the grave after we had trimmed around it and thought about how Cynthia’s life had enriched us, in spite of her disability.  The same is true of Rachel, who also has Huntington’s Disease, the genetically transmitted disease of which her mother died.  Just the week before, we were made aware of how a comment Rachel made in our small group at church had an effect none of us had anticipated.

One member of our group was lamenting about some really intense difficulties he had gone through, and Rachel remarked something to the effect that we could be confident that it was all going to be all right, because we are on our way to heaven.  The leader of our group made no particular comment at the time, but the next week he and his wife went for a vacation and he had time to ponder his own busy life, and he remembered Rachel’s word of encouragement and was uplifted by it.  He told us about this experience when we met again the next week.  Rachel said her remark came out of a kind of vision that God had given her, and that was not the first time that she had had a word from the Lord to share.  We were all blessed by the word of the Lord coming through her.

Just as Rachel and her mother before her have been a blessing in spite of their disability, so it seemed to me, there in the grave yard, that there was hope represented in that seemingly unlikely place, and the next day the following poem came to me.

Visiting Cynthia’s Grave

I want to be among the graves

When Jesus comes to claim His own;

To see the spirits rise,

Unbound from Adam’s dust,

The resurrection of the just

Erupting at trumpet’s call,

Unshrouded and clothed anew

With Christ-like form

To meet Him in the air.

Passing fair to wear

Eternal robes of immortality!

Oh, what a congregation then,

When all the Lord’s elect,

Both those awaiting in the dust

And those not yet beneath the earth

Triumphant rise

To meet Him in the skies,

Forever freed from Adam’s curse!

                     Elton D. Higgs

                     (Sept. 8, 2020)

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

Dean for a Year: Twilight Musing Autobiography (Part 22)

Toward the end of my sabbatical year in England, I received a spate of phone calls from back home at UM-Dearborn.  The first was from Dennis Papazian, chair of the Division of Arts, Sciences, & Letters, whom I had served as his associate chair.  He informed me that a cabal of faculty were at work seeking to prevent him from continuing in his position as head of the unit for a year while a search was conducted for a Dean of the College of Arts, Sciences and Letters (CASL).  The renaming of the position from Division Chair to Dean, would be part of the reorganization of the academic units through a new set of bylaws, a kind of constitution for the governance of the campus.  Dennis was pleading with me not to accept a coming offer to take the post of Acting Dean for the next academic year.  The second call came from two colleagues who were leading the “rebellion” against Dennis, urging me to accept the offer when it came from the Chancellor.  They described the alleged offenses of Dennis as Chair and described the wide support they had found (generated?) for deposing Dennis and appointing me.  The third call came from the Chancellor, who detailed the generous terms of the appointment and said he was acting on a petition for my appointment from a number of faculty in liberal arts.

All of this was very heady stuff for a still young mid-grade faculty member.  Laquita and I talked it over, and I called the Chancellor back and accepted.  We flew back home with mixed delight and apprehension for the task that lay ahead.  With just about everybody except Dennis Papazian, I was the golden-haired boy (though I didn’t have much hair of any color left by that time), and I’m afraid I didn’t approach the job with any great humility.  As soon as I could after I arrived back at campus, I went to see the Provost (chief academic officer) of the campus, Eugene Arden, who was a mentor and advocate for me throughout the rest of his years at UM-D.  His administrative assistant, Elnora Ford, greeted me warmly, and I was announced and ushered into the Provost’s office for my first interview with him.  He was a New York Jew who had the brash and often acerbic wit that one associates with New Yorkers.  He could be very gentle and helpful toward those he thought deserved it, but bitingly dismissive of those he thought were being dishonest or manipulative.  (Later, he described a group of dissident faculty members who called themselves the “Committee of Concerned Faculty,“ as the “Committee of Disturbed Faculty.”)  He warned me of the politics that had been the source of my being appointed, and he assigned me an associate dean from the Social Sciences Dept. to “balance the ticket,” so to speak.

Dennis Papazian very much wanted to talk to me, so I went to his office on the first day or two after I returned.  He complained bitterly of how he had been treated and blamed primarily Claude Summers and Ted-Larry Pebworth, two of my colleagues in English and, in the future, my next-door neighbors.  He said they spearheaded the campaign to depose him, and that the power they showed did not bode well for the future.  On that matter, he proved to be right, as I would discover to my great distress.  But for the moment, he was primarily wanting to convey his feeling that, after having been trained by him to do administrative work and being his close associate, I turned on him and was willing to accept the Acting Dean appointment without any regard to loyalty that I owed him.  In my naivete, I had not even thought about that aspect of the offer, especially since I rather agreed with his critics that he was a wheeler-dealer who sometimes cut corners ethically.  Unfortunately, my relationship with Dennis remained strained for many years after that.

I went to get settled into my office in the extemporized quarters for CASL administration, one of several “temporary” modular units (actually some of them stayed around for 10 to 15 years).  The Dean’s office was located in the corner of Module 8, which also housed the College secretaries and associate administrators, including the administrative secretary, Fern Ledford, and the financial assistant, Joe Rath.  Don Proctor, my associate dean, also had an office there.  Since he was also chairman of the Social Sciences Dept., his Module 8 office was secondary.  Fern Ledford kept my calendar and took my calls, so I worked quite closely with her; and Joe Rath made sure that I was aware of the state of College accounts and knew of any inappropriate expenditures.

As Dean, I chaired the Administrative Council (department chairs) and the Executive Committee (elected representatives from each department responsible for setting academic policy for the College).  We met on a regular basis so that we would be mutually informed of what was going on in the departments and could make decisions appropriate to each body.  There had been much tension during the past year among these groups because of the movement to oust Dennis Papazian from his position, so my first job was to assure my colleagues that I would deal openly, transparently, and honestly with them, to the best of my ability.  In the discussion of starting the search for a permanent dean, I had to make the decision of whether I would be a candidate.  I declined to do so, lest my candidacy taint my ability to carry out disinterestedly my job as Acting Dean.  Although I made the decision from good motives, as things turned out, I think the College might have been better off had I elected to run, since the man who was appointed, Kim Bruhn, was not a happy choice and was replaced after only one term.

I think that in general people wanted me to succeed in restoring some harmony to College administration.  I was able during the year to convince people that I wanted to deal with them straightforwardly.  Early in my year’s tenure, I was able to carry out a deal with the Natural Science Dept. to purchase a key piece of equipment that they needed by implementing a creative way of financing the transaction and getting it approved by the Provost.  That was an indication that I was broadly supportive of all departments, not just Humanities, and that I was sympathetic to the special (and expensive) equipment needs of the sciences.  I also established a good working relationship with the other Colleges and the academic support units, such as Admissions, Registration and Records, and staff members in the Chancellor’s office.

I learned a lot that year that laid the foundation for further administrative duties, but I never held the top spot again.  At the end of the year the Provost asked me to stay on as Associate Dean of the College to provide continuity and to be able to use my administrative talents to help the College to function smoothly.  UM-D was still growing at the time, and CASL needed to be guided to absorb that growth without sacrificing either good order or quality of programs.  The next installment will cover my two years as Associate Dean.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

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My Thrilling First Sabbatical Leave Abroad (2) (Part 21)

Our trip into Scotland was a good launch to the year for us. It paved the way for us to take subsequent family trips and for touring around with guests from the U.S. We hosted our friends Wendell and Joyce Bean and their daughter, Melanie, who was about Liann’s age, and with them, we rented a van and visited the Cotswolds, Wales, and northwest England. It was in Chester that we discovered one morning that in the confusion of our departure we had left behind our little Cynthia at the B&B. We quickly corrected our mistake, and Cynthia was quite calm when we arrived, having been plied with cookies by the proprietress while she waited. Crossing the English Channel by ferry, we hit the high spots in Paris and Amsterdam, as well as visiting Cologne and its magnificent cathedral. Unfortunately, our most vivid memory of the visit to Cologne was an incident where Joyce got locked into a toilet booth because she didn’t have the correct coin for paying the attendant. The woman was quite insistent that Joyce would not be released until she paid properly! Finally, someone came in and resolved the matter, and Joyce was released.

We also had the pleasure of being visited by Sel and Helen Sutterfield, who were “uncle” and “aunt” to our children, who were quite comfortable with them and readily engaged in conversation with them. One morning Helen came down for breakfast in one of her usual tasteful ensembles, and Liann told her,”Aunt Helen, you look very “smaht” this morning,” using both an English term of description and its British pronunciation. With the Sutterfields we concentrated on points of interest in London and the south of England, including notable sites in Essex, such as the great house of Audley End and the ancient log church in Greensted.

One of the Essex sites that touched our hearts was the old church of St. Peter’s-on-the-Wall, at Bradwell-on-Sea. It was out in a lonely field on the North Sea and had been restored and re-consecrated, after being used many years as a barn. Built in 654 by St. Cedd, early evangelist to the East Saxons, it was impressive, even in its austerity. Praying there, we felt the power of the centuries of prayers that had been offered there. It was constructed of materials remaining from a Roman fort on that site. In contrast nearby was a WWII concrete bunker, one of many that had been built for coastal defense. At the other end of the spectrum was the famous Canterbury Cathedral, ecclesiastical home of the Archbishop of Canterbury, the clerical head of the Church of England. The beauty and glory of the ancient cathedrals never ceased to amaze us. It is also the destination of the group of pilgrims in Geoffrey Chaucer’s medieval poem, The Canterbury Tales, making it especially meaningful to me as a teacher of literature. The town walls still stand, forming part of the walls around the Cathedral Close, the private grounds belonging to the Cathedral.

Back in Upminster, we settled into our routine. The girls were quickly oriented to their school. It was only a short distance away from our house, and they went back and forth on their own, even coming home for lunch. They did well academically, and Cynthia, being only four when she started, got a head start from where she would have been in the U. S. The headmistress, Mrs. Pullam, was a traditional British school administrator and believed in developing character in her students, as well as intellectual skills. The boys wore short pants all the year around, whatever the weather. When one of the mothers asked Mrs. Pullam about their abbreviated garments in very cold weather, she replied, “It toughens them up!” One of our early memories of Cynthia’s marching to the beat of her own drum arose from her being late coming home from school one day. We went looking for her, and we found her poring over a trail of ants on the sidewalk. She was always interested in bugs, and she saw no reason that she should not just follow where her curiosity led.

Laquita spent a lot of time that year reading books, including a good deal of the local history of Upminster and the Borough of Havering, which was the political and geographical area of which Upminster was a part. We went on walks to see sights she identified through her reading, such as the old Cranham parish church associated with James Oglethorpe, principal founder of the State of Georgia. Right in the center of Upminister was the old parish church of St. Lawrence’s, known for its “high church” liturgy. Because of its use of incense and the ringing of a bell with the Eucharist, Evangelicals laughingly referred to them as “smells and bells.” We visited both the grounds and the inside of the church and found the usual reflections of distinguished parishioners of the past who were buried there. The most prosperous of the members were able to set brass images of themselves and their families into the floor of the church to mark where they were buried. One of Laquita’s interests during the year was doing brass rubbings that were made by stretching a strong sheet of black or white paper over a brass gravestone and rubbing a special wax, called a “heel ball,” across the paper to create an image of it. We have a number of these framed on our house walls, and she gave several of them to people as special gifts. It was fairly easy to gain access to the brasses back then, but it has become increasingly difficult to get permission for this activity, and most churches now charge for it. Laquita and I took several excursions by bus to visit small, very old parish churches that had brasses she wanted to rub.

The customs of daily living in those days still reflected “old England,” since it took the country many years to recover from the privations of World War II. Shopping for food was a challenge, since refrigerators were small and it was necessary to go down to the row of shops serving the community every day or two. One would go to the butcher for meat, to the greengrocer for fresh fruits and vegetables, to the chemist (pharmacist, drug store) for medicines and sundry items, and to the small grocer for other food items. There was also a hardware store, a shoe shop, and a laundromat, which we visited regularly. The shopper was to bring her own shopping cart or bags to hold all the items. One had to go into the town of Upminster to find a grocery of any size, and nothing like our modern supermarkets. By the time we returned there to live again in 1980, refrigerators were bigger and supermarkets had begun to spring up. Milk was delivered to most homes every morning, so that was a help. One day early in our stay, Laquita heard a horse-drawn cart coming down the street with a man ringing his bell and shouting something, so she went out to meet him with 50 pence in hand and asked for a cabbage, thinking he was selling vegetables. He replied, “Oh, no luv, Oi’m the rag and bone man,” meaning he collected junk to sell. No doubt he had a chuckle about that strange American woman.

Across from the shops was the local bank, Nat West, or National Westminster. Tellers generally knew their customers, nearly all of whom lived in the neighborhood. We opened an account, and before long we were visited by the bank manager, Mr. Chambers, a man of 60 or so who was part of the country club set and later in the year treated me to lunch in the exclusive country club dining room. I was of course a complete neophyte in the financial customs and had to learn to write checks and deposit slips in the British manner. The tellers were amused at my accent and my lack of common knowledge about British customs. We have maintained our Nat West account all these years, but, alas, the Cranham Branch closed a number of years ago, and our relationship with the downtown Upminster Branch was never as personal as the one in Cranham.

Every so often we would catch bus number 248 in Cranham and go to downtown Upminister to shop for groceries and other items. The “anchor store” for Upminster was Roomes’ Department Store, which was very large and occupied two buildings across the street from each other. Among the other shops we liked was a little bookstore called Swan’s. It was delightfully cluttered and had a wide variety of books, new and used. One of the most lasting of our purchases there were children’s story tapes that we listened to with our children for two generations. Rachel still has some of them. We also bought travel books there and maps. Number 248 could also take us to Romford, the old Essex market town. Market day there brought hundreds of farmers, clothes merchants, craft and jewelry sellers, fast food stalls, and other people hawking all sorts of wares. It was a marvelous sight and we usually brought home something useful or interesting.

When we could arrange for after-school care for the children, Laquita and I spent days in London, especially in the traditional financial district called the City, or the “Square Mile,” with its ancient Roman walls and beautiful churches built by Sir Christopher Wren after the Great Fire of London in 1666. The best-known structures in the City, of course, are the Tower of London and St. Paul’s Cathedral, the crown of Wren churches. It was delightful to be there in the winter time, since there were few tourists and one could walk even in the British Museum without crowds. We were not much into shopping, but we did go to the famous Harrod’s Department Store, with its amazing artistic display of fish and confections. Toward the end of our stay, we went to a big china shop in London called Lawley’s and bought a set of Royal Doulton china in the Valley Green pattern. It has been our special set of dishes for guests and family festive occasions. We had it shipped, and it was an exciting final touch to our trip when the china arrived at our house a few weeks after we got home. What a year it was!

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

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My Thrilling First Sabbatical Leave Abroad (1) (Part 20)

In August of 1972, my family (my wife and I and two little girls, 4 and 5 years old) took off on our first transatlantic flight, bound for England to spend a year in academic research and travel.  We were still young and adventurous enough to launch out into a new world with only the barest of ideas about how to manage it.  We had been put in touch with a faculty member at King’s College in London, Prof. Ronald Waldron, a published scholar in Middle English language and literature.  Having reserved a room in a small bed and breakfast hotel in London next to Paddington Station (the Ty-Mellon it was called), we stayed there a week while we searched in the classified newspaper ads for a place to live.  However, having been cautioned not to go to bed immediately on arrival, we took some time to orient ourselves to the city through a tourist bus ride that pointed out all the major sites of interest.  Having been up for 18 hours or so, we went to bed around 8 p.m. London time and slept well.  Very soon after we arrived, we phoned Professor Waldron (with whom we were quickly on a first name basis), and he invited us for tea at his house (a light supper, not just something to drink).   He gave us instructions on how to get to a train station near his home in Essex, where he met us with his car and drove us to his home.  It was a delightful experience with Ron and his wife Mary and their three children.  We became good friends, and whenever we went back to England for subsequent sabbaticals or just visits, we always tried to spend some time with them.  Mary died several years ago, but we are still in touch with Ron.

We finally settled on a house for rent in a “bedroom suburb” of London called Upminster, about a 45-minute train trip from central London, or, as it was often identified, the last stop on the District Line of the London Underground system.  I’m sure God engineered that place for us, since it set us up to find a church in that community and to make some long-lasting friendships that have enriched our lives even to this day.  At that point, Laquita and I still wanted to maintain our relationship to the Churches of Christ, but the only one at all accessible to us (we had no car that year) was a small church in central London.  We tried going there several Sundays, but public transportation was unreliable on Sundays, which were often used by the railway system to make repairs.  Consequently, we started searching in the Upminster community for a church we could walk to.  We tried attending a nearby Baptist church, thinking it would be closer to our traditional ties, but that didn’t click for us, so we visited the local Anglican church, and we were warmly welcomed there and decided to continue with them.  The church was called St. Luke’s in Cranham, which was the name of the old village that been incorporated into the larger town of Upminister.  On our first or second visit we were invited home to Sunday lunch with a young couple named Terry and Val Thorpe, and that was the beginning of one of those rich friendships that have lasted to this day.

We soon realized that this congregation was not in the mainstream of the Church of England, but was part of a minority of conservative evangelicals within the C. of E.  The Vicar at the time was John Simon, who had been converted by evangelical preaching in the business area of London and had dropped his banking career to become a clergyman.  He brought to St. Luke’s an informal style of worship, often leading the singing with his accordion rather than the organ, reflecting the evangelical move away from adherence exclusively to the formal (and often lifeless) Anglican liturgy.  How interesting that God brought us into fellowship with a conservative congregation that was to enrich us for many years to come

Our neighbors on Helford Way were warm and welcoming.  The Stiff family next door were agents for our landlord, a sea captain working out of Beirut, Lebanon.  Roy and Elsie had us for tea on the day we looked at the house and for meals several times after that.  The neighbors on the other side of us were also hospitable, an older couple, John and Martha Morris and their teen-age son, Peter, who was deaf.  Martha was a Scotswoman who had met and married John when they were in their 30s.  They were both great talkers and regaled us with stories of their WW II experiences.  The Stiffs also had teen-age children, two daughters, who did some baby-sitting for us. They were greatly amused by our girls’ pronunciation of “bear,” with the American “r,” in contrast to the English “bayah.”  Helford Way was a cul-de-sac, so it didn’t have a lot of traffic, and it was a safe place for Liann and Cynthia to play.  We were within easy walking distance of the primary school (or “infant school,” as the English called it) that they attended.  Liann was a first grader, and Cynthia was in kindergarten.  They enjoyed attending there, and they soon picked up perfect English accents, of which we became aware one day when Liann asked us for a drink of “wotah.”

Soon after moving into our house, we launched out to take a road trip to Scotland, since September is usually still good weather for touring.  We were rather bold in deciding to drive and stay at bed and breakfast (B&B) places rather than taking a guided tour of some sort.  Learning to drive on the “wrong” side of the road took some major adjustment, but apart from a fender-bender accident on one of their roundabouts (traffic circles) at the beginning, we did all right, and when we went back in subsequent years, we thought nothing about driving ourselves around on English roads.  Doing so gave us a great deal more flexibility, and before the year was out, we were able to drive even in downtown London.  Laquita arranged in advance the B&Bs we stayed at, often in the country.  These enabled us to meet British people as we ate breakfast together and sometimes sat together in the parlor in the evenings.

Some of the roads, especially in the mountains, were quite narrow and a bit scary.  I did most of the driving, and Laquita was rather white-knuckled as she looked over the edge down into the valley.  Moreover, not all of these roads had railings!  However, driving on these country roads supplied some spectacular views.  At one point in the highlands of Scotland we pulled off to the side and looked out over a mist-covered lake (or “loch”) and heard a bagpiper playing on the other side.  It was beautiful, but a bit eerie, too, as the sound at that distance had a kind of ghostly echo.  We also visited cities in Scotland, most memorably Edinburgh and Stirling, both of which had famous Castles.  One evening we questioned an old man at a B&B where we were staying as to the location of Loch Ness, which we knew to be nearby.  He took his pipe out of his mouth and pointed, saying, “The Loch-ch-ch (the ch sound seemed drawn out forever) is doon that wey.”  We did make it to Loch Ness, but no monster sightings.

When we got back to Upminster, we settled into a routine of taking the kids to school, attending to household and business chores, and getting me settled in as a “visiting scholar” at the University of London, King’s College, where Ron Waldron was a professor.  Those credentials formed the basis for me to be registered at the British Museum, where I wanted to do some research in medieval studies, and more specifically, I wanted to be able to work in the famous British Library.  Ron helped me get registered in and oriented to all of the places where a scholar in Middle English might want to spend some time, including the Senate House Library, which served all of the colleges of the University of London,  and especially the manuscript reading room of the British Library.  In addition, he introduced me to several of his colleagues in the King’s College English Department, including the Head of Department.  Again, they were all very warm and welcoming. 

I felt quite privileged to be allowed into the manuscript room at the British Library, which housed many original and unique ancient manuscripts.  People could use only pencils to take notes, and I had to order any specific manuscript by its catalogue number.  That meant that I had to know exactly what I wanted to see—no browsing on the shelves!  I was given a numbered place at a table, and the manuscripts I had ordered were delivered to me at that spot.  I had two kinds of research I was doing that year.  First, I wanted to see unpublished manuscripts relating to the literary figure Piers the Plowman, from which one of the dream-works I analyzed in my doctoral dissertation took its name.  Secondly, Ron Waldron arranged for me to be assigned the examination and description of a section of documents in the British Library to be included in the Index of Middle English Prose, a major project to catalogue all of the M.E. prose manuscripts as yet unpublished.  I needed to get some instruction in paleography (reading documents hand-written in early styles), so I audited some of the classes offered to users of University of London libraries, aided by textbooks in paleography.

I met often with Ron for lunch, sometimes in his office, sometimes in a pub, for chats about our work and about English life in academe and the nature of English society and culture.  We formed a close personal friendship that year, and I owed him much for getting me established in my research.

More next time about our travel and excursion experiences during that year.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

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Campus Expansion and Sabbatical Plans (Part 19)

The first freshman class was admitted to UM-Dearborn in the fall of 1971, twelve years after the establishment of the campus in 1959 as a junior and senior (or “upper-division”) college.  It signaled radical changes In the campus, from a new general education curriculum, to new faculty to teach the new courses, to provision of new physical facilities to house the expanded class offerings.  There had to be expanded and new administrative structures, too, and, as I commented before, that opened fresh opportunities for me. 

My place in the Division of Literature, Science, and the Arts was made official by my being designated as Administrative Assistant to the Chairman of LS&A.  I had heavy responsibility in revising the Campus Catalogue to include descriptions of the new courses and general education requirements being instituted.  I also continued to be the coordinator of student advising and handler of academic petitions from students requesting recognition of transfer courses or an exception to the academic rules.

 I was still working under Dennis Papazian, and that occasioned some tensions as I tried to follow his directions, but also to deal straightforwardly and honestly with those with whom my work brought me into contact.  I remember one time when Dennis asked me to put together some statistics and to present them to the Division Executive Committee.  The purpose was to further some objective of Dennis’s in the allocation of resources.  Some of the Discipline Chairs smelled the hidden agenda, and I had to share the attack that accused both of us with playing fast and loose with the data.   Nevertheless, I generally got along with people and managed to stay fairly free of political maneuvering.

It was during this period that the term of the Humanities Discipline Chair, Sidney Warschausky, ended and the Discipline had to select a new Chair.  The two declared candidates were both close friends, Myron Simon, who had helped Laquita and me get a place to live when we first came, and Larry Berkove.  Again, I was naïve in not realizing that Myron was very emotionally invested in winning the position, and I made my decision based on Larry’s campaigning harder than Myron.  In reality, Myron felt that his services were undervalued, and he was so crushed at not winning that within a year he accepted another position at one of the University of California campuses.  I regret to this day not voting for Myron.

I was scheduled to take my first sabbatical leave in the academic year 1972-73, and I was persuaded, primarily by my colleague in English, Larry Berkove, to take the entire year at half pay, rather than only one term at full pay.  Moreover, Laquita and I decided to make it a really special adventure by spending the year in England, where I would do research and we would travel.  That was a life-transforming experience for the whole family, and toward the end of it came a call that also changed the course of my academic career.  While we were planning for this sabbatical, the campus was engaged in revising its Bylaws, resulting in the creation of a new administrative structure, with more conventional academic units and sub-units.  The Divisions of Liberal Arts, Engineering, and Business Administration were to become Colleges, each headed by a Dean, with Departments, each headed by a Chairperson.  This new structure was to begin with the fall term of 1973, and these changes set the stage for a dramatic transatlantic call from the Chancellor of UM-Dearborn, Pat Goodall, inviting me to serve as Acting Dean of LS&A when I returned from my sabbatical.  More of this development, and of our year abroad in the next chapter.

Before I end this chapter, I need to describe another big change that took place during this period in our church life.   Dr. Joseph Jones decided somewhere around 1967-68 to accept an offer to become Dean of Michigan Christian College, located in the town of Rochester, MI about 40 miles north of Detroit.  This move left the pulpit of the Northwest Church of Christ vacant, and it coincided with the return from Finland of a missionary supported by the congregation, Eddie Dunn.  Eddie was asked to become the congregation’s preaching minister, and he accepted.  Laquita and I had already become friends with Eddie and his wife Carole through meeting with them when they were on furlough and through Laquita’s correspondence with them.  The relationship deepened when he became the preacher.  Only six weeks after he assumed the position, he testified that he had had a special experience of the outpouring of the Holy Spirit, resulting in his being empowered “speak in tongues,” which is one of the New Testament’s gifts of the Spirit.  The elders of the church and some members of the church found this disturbing and unacceptable, and Eddie was asked to resign.  He did so, but this abrupt change left him without any means of support.  We felt his dismissal was unjustified and unfeeling, but the position of Churches of Christ at that time was that the miraculous gifts of the Spirit ceased with the death of the last Apostle, and that any claim that they were still possible was false doctrine.  Several other people in the congregation wanted to know more about Eddie’s experience, and a group of us began meeting each week in private homes.  When the elders found out about these meetings, they accused the group of trying to foment division in the church.  The result of their opposition was to cause the group to cease going to services at the church and to identify as a “house church.”  I resigned my position as a deacon, and thus our ties with the Northwest Church of Christ were severed.  We visited around to find a new congregation to identify with, but at the time we went on sabbatical, we had not made a decision on where to settle.

Consequently, when we left for our sabbatical year in England, we were no longer identified with the church fellowship in which we had grown up, and the way was opened for us to make a connection with the church we attended in England, St. Luke’s Anglican Church, a conservative congregation that supplied us with friends and experiences that helped us redefine ourselves as Christians.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.

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More from this series

Growing Our Family and Our Cultural Outlook In Dearborn and Detroit (Part 18)

As I structured and refined my courses at UM-Dearborn and prepared for campus expansion, Laquita and I were expanding our family and becoming involved with race relations and inner-city ministry as well.  Our acquaintance with Bob and Nancy was cultivated anew with our move to Dearborn.  When we were with them socially, they introduced us to some of their Black friends, whom we then invited to our house for a meal.  I don’t remember their full names, but one was a physician named Tony. It was summertime when he and his wife came to dinner, and his arrival must have attracted the attention of our all-white neighbors.  He had a flashy convertible that was not thoroughly muffled.  No one said anything to us, but some of them probably kept an eye on the activities of that socially liberal professor who lived in the flat on the corner. That was the first time Laquita and I had been socially with Black people, and it was an education for us.   

In addition, we learned of the primarily Black Conant Gardens Church of Christ in Detroit that had a ministry in the inner city.   This work eventually morphed into a child care and community support center called The House of the Carpenter, modeled after a similar program in Boston, MA.  This work in Detroit was overseen by a white minister employed by the Conant Gardens Church, Maurice Haynes and his wife Clare.  We became very good friends with them and they taught us much about the workings of the inner city.  Laquita and I volunteered to help staff the HOC and went downtown once or twice a week to visit and help out as we could.  I became a member of the Board of Directors and became a part of a group of four men who regularly met with a group of boys from the neighborhood, playing games with them and trying to model healthy male behavior to them. 

With all of that going on, as well as my heavy involvement with my faculty job, we still proceeded with our plan to build a family, and we pursued the adoption of another child, this time saying that we would consider one with a handicap, a decision that turned out to radically change our lives.  We were informed by the adoption agency that a child was available who had been difficult to place because her maternal grandmother had Huntington’s Disease (or HD), and therefore the baby was 25% at risk to inherit the disease, since it was genetically transmitted.  Were the mother of the baby later to develop the disease, the child would then be 50% at risk.  We knew nothing about the disease, but what we read about it in our research was scary, because it involved not only physical disablement, but mental impairment as well.  Nevertheless, after praying about it and asking friends to do so as well, we were left with a strong conviction that God wanted us to accept this challenge.  So in late 1967, we took into our home our second little girl, Cynthia Lynette, aged 9 months.

It was not until 13 years later that we learned Cynthia’s biological mother had developed HD; that meant that the odds were significantly increased that Cynthia had the mutated gene that caused the disease to be manifest.  But there were significant problems with Cynthia in those early months that were quite unrelated to her being at risk for HD.  She had already bonded with her foster mother, and therefore Laquita had a very difficult time establishing a maternal relationship with her.  After a few weeks, Cynthia began to respond more to me than to Laquita, and that was deeply hurtful to Laquita, since she was the one spending the most time with her.  Adding to the difficulties was my heavy involvement with and commitments to being a church deacon, a member of the Board at HOC, mentoring the group of boys from that neighborhood, and doing my job at the University.  All of this engendered the worst conflict between me and Laquita that we have ever experienced.  The bottom line was that I needed to spend more time at home.

One episode during this period has become a favorite with our children—funny now, not so funny at the time.  One Wednesday night during the winter I had attended Bible class at church with Rachel, while Laquita stayed at home with Cynthia, who was sick.  This was the first season of the original Star Trek TV program, which aired on Wednesday nights, and I was hooked on it.  This particular night I came in a couple of minutes before 8 p.m., which was the scheduled time for the program.  Eagerly anticipating watching the program, I rushed in and threw my coat, hat and gloves on a chair, dumped Rachel with her winter boots and coat and hat still on, and rushed in to turn on the TV.  I must have at least said hi to Laquita, but she had been all day with two little girls, one of them sick, and was ready for some relief; watching Star Trek was not on her agenda.  A few minutes after I had settled down to watch, a glove came flying into the room.  She asserts that she was not throwing the glove at me, but the fact is, it came into the room with some force behind it.  Startled and puzzled, I switched off the TV and went in to her to examine the situation more closely, which she was more than happy to help me do.  She was finally able to get through to me the impression made by my coming in with hardly a greeting and making a beeline for the TV, evidently expecting her to take care of hanging up both my and Rachel’s winter gear.  I don’t remember any more details of the incident that night, but it resulted in my reassessing my priorities and being at least slightly more available at home.

At the beginning of my second year at UM-D, we were offered the chance to live in one of three cottages which were down the road from Fair Lane, the former mansion of Henry Ford and part of the land donated by the Ford Foundation for the building of the Dearborn Campus.  It was a deal not to be passed up, since the house was right on the campus and the rent was reasonable.  The three cottages were originally built to accommodate three of the Ford family’s major employees, the butler, the gardener, and the chauffeur.  During our stay, the other two cottages were occupied by the Dean of Engineering, Robert Cairns, and the Head Librarian, Edward Wall.  The Cairns family were replaced by a Chinese professor of management and his family, Yumin Chou.  We were good friends with both families, and the Wall and Chou children were close playmates with our two girls.  We stayed there for seven years, including a sabbatical year in which we sublet the house and came back to it for one more year.  It was great to have a 3 or 4 minute walk to my campus office.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.)

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More from this series…

The Pre-Expansion Years at UM-Dearborn, 1965-1971 (Part 17)

After a few months of settling into our new home in Dearborn, we turned our attention to what we had determined would be a priority as we began my working career: we applied to receive an adoptive child.  Having gone through fertility tests back in Pittsburgh, and being told that I had a low probability of fathering a child, we agreed that we did not want to remain childless and would adopt as soon as it was practicable.  We decided to proceed with the Childrens’ Aid Society in Detroit.  In those days a lot of babies were still being given up for adoption, and it was fairly easy to become adoptive parents.  Accordingly, in the spring of 1966 we were called to come see a baby girl, only six weeks old.  We saw her and immediately agreed that this was the one for us, and within a short time the necessary approvals were signed and we brought her home with us.  We of course had much to learn, but an empty place in our lives had been filled, and we rejoiced in nurturing a new life and seeing the rapid development from delicate, completely dependent infant into a little girl with her own personality.  Laquita, especially, threw herself into motherhood, and, as one of the elders at our church commented, she blossomed and glowed.  Little Liann Kathleen was walking by nine months old, and it was startling to see this tiny little girl toddling around like an animated doll.

Meanwhile, back at the campus, I was going through another kind of growth phase, as I plunged into a completely new set of literature and language courses, not only in the medieval era which was my specialty, but in linguistics and comprehensive Surveys of British Literature.   The total student population was only about 600 when I first arrived, so classes were small, ranging from fewer than ten to maybe 15-20.  Since there were so few faculty and the administrative structure was still developing, faculty members were called on to perform duties that later became the responsibility of professional administrative staff, such as advising students and keeping academic records.  We were even called on to go out recruiting with the director of admissions and registration at the campus, so it’s not surprising that I became the advisor and academic record keeper for the English Discipline, a job that quickly grew into my being in charge of academic petitions for the whole of Literature, Science, and the Arts.  This job led to my being recruited later by the Chairman of LS&A to coordinate the building of a curriculum to accommodate freshmen and sophomores when the U. of M. Regents decided to expand UM-Dearborn into a four-year campus.  The first freshmen did not come until the fall of 1971, but the decision was made in 1969, and the campus had two years to prepare for implementing the expansion.

When I first came to the campus, a professor of political science named John Dempsey was Chairman of LS&A.  Sometime toward the end of my first year there, he stepped down to run for a state political office, and a chemistry professor named David Emerson became Acting Division Chairman.  Through some political maneuvering that I later became aware of, an ambitious professor of Russian named Dennis Papazian became Division Chair.  Dennis saw in me some promise of usefulness as an assistant administrator, and he asked me to be his chief assistant in constructing the new freshman-sophomore curriculum in liberal arts.  Of course, the specific content of courses in each discipline was determined by the faculty in each area of study, but an overall structure was needed to define the combination of general education and disciplinary courses required for the bachelor’s degrees (bachelor of arts and bachelor of science).  Dennis set me the task of looking through academic catalogues at other institutions to see what their requirements were.  I supplied him with my research results, and we worked together to formulate academic requirement proposals to the governing faculty of the Division and the Executive Committee of the campus.  In addition to preparing the academic program, the campus also had to provide new laboratory facilities and classroom spaces.

To facilitate the keeping of academic records, we relied increasingly on use of the mainframe computer on the Ann Arbor campus, and I was initiated into this technical world by a chemistry professor who had a special interest in computers, Alan Emery.  He taught me how to use punch cards to enter and maintain academic records, and so early in my academic career I was exposed to the practical basics of computer use, though I was not taught the arcane languages of computer programming.  I remember carrying packs of punch cards over to the card reader managed by Al Emery, and he would try to convince me of the potential of computer usage.  He eventually was recruited to work with the center for computer operations in Ann Arbor, and our campus was deprived of the creator of its computer operations.  UM-Dearborn eventually formed an Office of Computer Operations of its own.

Dennis Papazian took me under his wing as a protégé in administrative operations.  He saw me (accurately) as innocent of the subtleties of academic politics, in which he delighted.  One day, only half-jokingly, he told me that his objective was to “corrupt” me, so that I would be disabused of my naïve view of the world and be able to function realistically in a world defined by the exercise of power.  I resisted this relativistic Machiavellian approach, but I was still useful to him in seeing to details of his office that required accuracy and efficiency.  This was the beginning of a relationship with him that was troublesome for many years to come.  I imagine he regretted training me well enough that I was eventually chosen to replace him.  But more of that later.

I made some decisions during this period that turned out to be more significant than I thought at the time.  One arose from receiving an offer from a Dutch press to publish my doctoral dissertation, but with a sizeable subsidy as a part of the deal.   Moreover, the intent was apparently to publish the dissertation as it was, without editorial review.  It therefore looked to me like merely a solicitation from a vanity press that would not be taken seriously by my colleagues as a peer-reviewed publication, so I turned them down.  However, I learned later that about the same time a dissertation that covered some of the same areas treated by mine was published by this press and that the publication contributed to the author’s professional advancement.

Two other decisions sprang from recruitment offers.  Back when I was about to fly to UM-Dearborn for my on-campus interview, I was approached by my alma mater, Abilene Christian College, to come back there, and I turned them down because I thought going back would cut off my opportunities to test my mettle in a broader professional community.  The second offer was a year or two later and was from Pepperdine University in Los Angeles, California, an institution associated with the Church of Christ, the denomination I had grown up in and still adhered to.  At the time Pepperdine was in the process of building a new campus in the suburbs of Los Angeles and moving its home base out of the inner city and into its posh new campus.  I was flattered by their taking the initiative and trying to recruit me, but I was troubled by their move, as it seemed to me, to flee their original neighborhood for a more comfortable setting.  And so, in my idealism, I turned them down.  In the two cases of recruitment, our lives would have been completely different had I accepted either offer.

I spent my first years at UM-Dearborn happily, enjoying my colleagues and the students and the opportunity to get involved in minor administrative duties.  I had come at what turned out to be an ideal time for the exercise of my particular skills.  Since I was not a great research scholar in my academic field, my administrative contributions were my strong suit when I came up for promotion, and though I managed to produce a few published papers in my first five years, that would not have been sufficient to secure my promotion to associate professor with tenure.  At another, more traditional institution, I might not have made the cut.  As it was, I achieved tenure and was able to serve the campus for 36 years, with several kinds of temporary administrative appointments along the way. 

I began my career there when the campus was poised for a crucial development in its history.  During the mid and late 60s, the campus did not fulfill the hopes of its founders, that is, that many students would decide to transfer from area community colleges and that the campus, focused on the internship programs in engineering and business, would capture the attention of industrial metropolitan Detroit and that the campus would enjoy success like that of General Motors Institute.  Unfortunately, the large numbers of students did not come, and UM-Dearborn in 1969 still had an enrollment of only some eight or nine hundred students.  The campus was faced with the alternatives of either folding or expanding.  Happily for me, it expanded, and I was there on the ground floor.

The next installment will deal with the huge effects of the expansion of the campus to four years and my involvement in that process.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.)

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More from this series:

Arrival at UM-Dearborn, Summer 1965 (Part 16)

After I signed my first-year contract with the University of Michigan-Dearborn (or rather the U. of M., Dearborn Center at the time), I was offered the chance to teach a summer course, and I gladly accepted, since the pay was quite good for summer teaching.  The term was for August and September, and the class was small, so it was a good way for me to be introduced to the curriculum and to become acquainted with the campus and my colleagues before the beginning of the fall term in early October.   The campus was on quarters of three months each at the time, but with the beginning of the next term in January of 1966, the campus went to trimesters of four months each.

We stayed our first few days with Bob and Nancy Mossman, with whom we had formed a close friendship back at Pitt.  They lived in an apartment in Taylor, not far from Dearborn.  Nancy gave us the grand tour of the City of Dearborn in her brand-new Ford Mustang convertible, which was then new on the market, at the beginning of a long period of popularity.  We were received at the Dearborn Campus by Prof. Myron Simon, who encouraged us to live in Dearborn, since many of the faculty chose to live in Ann Arbor, a matter which galled Myron because that made it difficult to schedule faculty meetings.  We were amenable to his direction, since we had no reason to live in Ann Arbor and make the long commute of 35 miles each way.  We found a flat in an attractive neighborhood in East Dearborn, owned by an elderly Polish couple, who lived on the ground floor of the house.  They rather adopted us and were continually offering food and advice.  Mr. Lelek’s wife could speak only a few words of English, but she was very warm toward us.  The apartment was unfurnished, so we had to go buy some basic, mostly used furniture.  Myron lived with his family not far away, so he and I often rode together to the campus.

I had three colleagues in English, all of whom were Jewish.  We joked about my being the token Gentile, but we were all good friends.  In fact, they would sometimes consult me on literary references to the New Testament, with which they were not very familiar.  Sydney Warschausky, was a specialist in 20th century English literature,  Myron Simon was also in modern literature and English education, and Larry Berkove was in American literature.  English was part of the Discipline of Humanities in the Division of Literature, Science, and the Arts, one of three academic Divisions of the campus, along with Engineering and Business Administration.  The Discipline of Humanities also housed faculty members in philosophy, linguistics, art history, and foreign language.  The other Disciplines (administrative units) in the Division of Literature, Science, and the Arts were Science and Mathematics, Education, and Social and Behavioral Science.

The campus was very small when I joined the faculty, and we were all housed in the same building, se there was a pleasant intermingling of faculty from all disciplines; we often ate our sack lunches together in the faculty lunchroom—humanities, science, engineering, and business faculty cross-pollinated each other.  There was a Faculty Women’s Club that also got us together socially, fostering our cross-disciplinary comeradery. Unfortunately, as the campus grew and we added young faculty who were more wedded to the disciplines they were trained in, we separated physically and psychologically.  Nevertheless, the seeds of interdisciplinary objectives did bear significant, if short-lived fruit in the form of a Core Curriculum when we expanded to a four-year program and the creation of a Division of Interdisciplinary Studies.

Once again, we established some rich and long-lasting friendships in those first years: Roger Verhey in mathematics and his wife Norma, David Emerson in chemistry and his wife Shirley, Emmanuel Hertzler (biology) and his wife Myrtle, Sydney Warschausky and Larry Berkove in English and their wives Lorraine and Gail, respectively.  Roger and I became prayer partners, meeting in our offices for lunch.  He was my closest friend and chief support among the faculty.  The Emersons and we were socially active with each other because they, like us, lived in Dearborn.  Larry Berkove was single during our first years at UM-Dearborn Campus, and we often had him to meals at our house.  When he met and married Gail, we were among the first to know about the engagement, and we were invited  to their Jewish wedding in Chicago.  When their children began to be born, we were invited to the bris (circumcision) of their first son.

As has been the case wherever we have lived, we had another close circle of friends in the church we attended, in this case the Northwest Church of Christ in Detroit, not far from where we lived in Dearborn.  Our closest friends there were the minister and his wife, Dr. Joseph and Geneva Jones.  Joe had come to the minister’s job from Oklahoma Christian College, where he was a dean.  Being very interested in Christian higher education, he quickly established a connection with Michigan Christian College in Rochester, MI, and taught classes there.  At the same time he was pursuing degrees in counseling and doing a significant amount of counseling for the church.  He and I became fast friends and often had lunch together to talk about theology and life in general.  The Joneses and we were often in each other’s homes.  We were also taken under the wings of some older couples whose hospitality and companionship we greatly enjoyed.

As soon as we had settled into our home and my job, we began to explore the possibility of adopting a child.  We registered with the Children’s Aid Society in Detroit, and by the end of my first academic year at UM-Dearborn, we had taken into our home a six-week old baby girl, whom we named Liann Kathleen.  She is still a beautiful daughter and a great support in our old age.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.)

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More from this series:

On to Finish the Ph.D at Pitt (Part 15)

As we got started in our new life at Pitt, Laquita decided to find a job other than teaching, so she applied to the University and was given the job of Chemistry Department Librarian.  She quickly learned the principles on which the library worked and settled in to keeping the books and journals organized and aiding users when they were not finding what they were looking for.  She had a basic knowledge of chemistry and had no trouble in familiarizing herself with the nomenclature of chemistry research.  Laquita also decided to do some graduate work herself and enrolled in the master’s degree program in English, which she was able to finish by the time I had completed my work three years later.

The center of our social life was the church we attended, the Fifth and Beechwood Church of Christ.  There we engaged not only in three worship and study meetings per week (Sunday morning and evening and Wednesday evening), we also were frequently invited to dinner by the middle-aged and elderly couples.  Several of these had Southern backgrounds and their hospitality and good cooking reflected that culture.  There was also frequent fellowship between the graduate students, some of whom we are still in touch with.  Our closest friends were Wendell and Joyce Bean.  Wendell was employed by Westinghouse Corporation as a research engineer, and Joyce was enrolled in the child development program at Pitt, where she had some contact with the famous Fred Rogers of the Mr. Rogers television show.  Another couple that both the Beans and we were close to was Bennie and Neda Riley.  Bennie was a graduate student in physics at Carnegie-Mellon University, and Neda worked with an accounting firm.  The fourth couple of this group was Gene and Susie Couch.  Gene was in the graduate program in physics at Pitt, and Susie was the consummate homemaker, staying at home and taking care of their little girl.  It was through the Couches that we met Keith and Wendy Ratliffe; Keith was also in the physics program at Pitt.  Keith was not a believer, but we were with them regularly because they were a part of our opera group.

Our best university friends were Bob and Nancy Mossman.  I have already mentioned Bob’s new-found atheism, which was a constant matter of discussion and banter between us. They both came from California and had ebullient personalities.  Bob was ambitious for success, and it was indicative of his independent personality that when he went job hunting after finishing his Ph.D., he didn’t go for a conventional academic position, but instead interviewed with business firms, persuading them that his broader liberal arts perspective and his writing skills, along with a strong personality, equipped him well to be hired into an executive training program.  He was therefore successful in landing a job with Ford Motor Company in Dearborn, MI.  Consequently, when I got my first job with the University of Michigan-Dearborn, the Mossmans introduced us to the town.

While we were in Pittsburgh, Bob and Nancy became involved in the civil rights activities of the Black church where Nancy had started attending.  That aspect of their lives didn’t spill over much into our interaction as couples until we continued our friendship when we moved to Dearborn.  There we met and socialized with several of their Black friends, but in Pittsburgh we had only their reports of these social interactions.

Apart from church gatherings, our richest social activity was our opera group.  Each year the Metropolitan Opera came to Pittsburgh on tour, and a group of four couples, some from church (the Beans and us) and some from the University (the Ratliffes and the Mossmans), bought season tickets and attended the operas together, enhanced by having dinner beforehand.  It was Laquita’s and my first exposure to opera, and we learned to love it.

As I got into my second year at Pitt and my third year of graduate work, I began to focus on what the subject of my dissertation would be.  I wrote a term paper that year on the poems of Geoffrey Chaucer which were cast in the form of a dream, and that spurred me to consider other dream poems of the same period, the last third of the 14th century.  Accordingly, the topic of my dissertation was, “The Dream as a Literary Framework in Works of Chaucer, Langland, and the Pearl Poet.”  The thesis idea was that the dreamer/narrator in each of the poems analyzed is a much more individualized personality than in most previous dream works and comes to enlightenment about some matter of importance in the process of experiencing his dream.  My dissertation topic was approved by the graduate study committee and my dissertation committee was appointed.  My dissertation director, Dr. Alan Markman, would chair the committee and comment on my drafts at various stages. 

During my second year at Pitt I was awarded a teaching fellowship, and that provided my first experience of college teaching.  Along with most graduate teaching assistants in English, I was given classes of freshman composition.  Apart from a basic syllabus for the course, I was given no guidance or instruction; it was merely assumed that I would learn by experience.  I don’t remember much about the details of my composition classes, but I was certainly much better able to grade essays at the end of my year than I had been before, and I was given at least that much practical preparation for teaching English classes when I was employed full time after I graduated with my Ph.D.  During my fourth year of graduate work—my third at Pitt—I was given only a tuition scholarship.  My faithful wife kept us eating during my Ph.D. work with her job at the Chemistry Library.  She also continued her own graduate work toward a master’s degree in English.

Some of the graduate courses I took left more of an impression on me than others.  I have already mentioned Old English, which was very difficult, but which ushered me into learning to read Middle English, the language of Chaucer and the other poets whose works were the subject of my dissertation.  I also took a course in the history of the English language and taught the course myself during my first few years as a full-time college teacher.  The subject of linguistics was burgeoning during my graduate years, so an introduction to the subject had recently become a required course in the graduate English program.  The new textbooks in the subject took a radically non-traditional view of the norms of grammar, contending that grammatical “rules” were not fixed standards, but were defined by popular usage, which changes with time.  I was not enamored by the course, but it introduced me to principles of language that I needed to understand in the pursuit of my professional career.  Another memorable course was an undergraduate course in classical literature, which I was allowed to audit.  It introduced me to Sophocles and Plato and other non-English authors of which I needed to have read at least some.

Another course that I found difficult but needed to be introduced to was in Literary Criticism and Theory.  I found (and still find) the language of this field of study often abstract and full of jargon.  But it did acquaint me with schools of criticism and the reigning ideas about literature in different historical periods.  More to my taste were the courses I took in Shakespeare and major authors of the 18th and 19th centuries.

Finally, in outlining our Pittsburgh experiences, I need to tell about the three places where we lived.  Our first was a third-floor, one-bedroom apartment with an open area for kitchen, dining table, and sitting room.  There were several other apartments with tenants on the first and second floors.  The chief advantage of this place was that it was in walking distance of the Pitt campus.  There were tensions, however, between us and the young women who had an apartment right below us on the second floor.  They were fond of parties with loud music, which kept us awake.  We inadvertently became acquainted with the singing of Johnny Mathes because these ladies played his music so loud that the whole apartment complex was able to hear it.  Our first request for them to turn down the volume was met somewhat politely, but thereafter they were not receptive to our pleas.  Another noise source was the trash truck that came around at about 5 a.m. every morning to service a restaurant across the alley from us.  I don’t remember whether we got ear plugs or just got used to it, but I do remember being irritated and frustrated by these disturbances.  It was another welcome to urban living.

Our second home arose from a proposal by our landlord, Dr. Beroes, an engineering professor at Pitt, to live in his family’s house, a couple of blocks away from our apartment, while they were away on sabbatical leave for several months.  I think we still had to pay some rent, but the purpose of the arrangement was to occupy the house so that it would not be vulnerable to theft or vandalism.  We were given an upstairs bedroom and had access to the kitchen for meal preparation.  It seemed to offer a welcome respite from sharing a house with irritating fellow-tenants, but there was a major glitch when Mrs. Beroes decided to come home after only a month or two away.  She was not easy to live with and turned out to be an inveterate liar.  We finally looked for and found an attractive flat in a working-class suburb named Wilkinsburg, where we spent the final year of our time in Pittsburgh. 

This was an interesting place to live.  Our landlady was a lively elderly Irish woman with whom we had a fair amount of conversation.  She was a bit mischievous, flirting with me and commenting on my “nice legs” and bantering with another of her tenants, an Englishman to whom she referred as “John Bull.”   We had to commute to Pitt, but there was a trolley that went close to our house, and I used that to get to the campus, whereas Laquita took our car, since she had a daily job to get to.  There was a service station across the street from us, so it was convenient to get the car serviced.

After spending a year researching and writing my doctoral dissertation, I completed it and applied for jobs, which at the time were fairly plentiful.  After interviewing with several institutions at the national meeting of the Modern Language Association, and being asked for a second interview, the best offer I received was from the University of Michigan-Dearborn (U. of M., Dearborn Campus at the time).  It had been established only six years before as an upper-division campus, oriented mainly to the professional programs in engineering and business administration.  The second interview on campus went well, and I began my 36-year career at UM-Dearborn in the summer term, 1965.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife in Jackson, MI. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton.  Recently, Dr. Higgs has self-published a collection of his poetry called Probing Eyes: Poems of a Lifetime, 1959-2019, as well as a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, called The Ichabod Letters, available as an e-book from Moral Apologetics. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable.)

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The Cathedral of Learning and Lasting Friends: Pittsburgh, PA (Part 14)

In the summer of 1962, we set out once again to advance my graduate program, headed for the University of Pittsburgh (known informally as “Pitt”) and a second year of fellowship-supported graduate work.  We arrived on a sunny day and drove directly to the house of some friends we knew from A.C.C., Gene and Susie Couch.  Gene was in physics and went directly to Pitt after he graduated with me from A.C.C. in 1961.  They lived in a section of town known as Squirrel Hill, which some of you may recognize as the Jewish neighborhood where the terrible synagogue shooting took place in 2018.  We stayed a few nights with them while we looked for a place to live, and we found one in a big house that had been split up into apartments.  Parking for our car, though, had to be on the street.  This was the first time we had encountered the big city problem of cramped streets and dealing with houses built before there were many cars to be parked.  Rental spaces were at a premium, and we had an early run-in with another resident in our house who let us know indignantly when I left our car behind the house after washing it that she had paid for that spot and would thank us not to usurp it again. Happily for us, we could walk to the University and could leave our car parked on the street, although not always close to our house.

Early in our stay in Pittsburgh, we met people who were to become long-term— in some instances lifelong—friends.  Some were fellow members of the church we attended, the 5th and Beechwood Church of Christ, and others were fellow graduate students.  Among the lifelong friends were Wendell and Joyce Bean and Ben and Neda Riley at church and Bob and Nancy Mossman from the graduate school.  Others we were close to when we were in Pittsburgh and were in touch with for many years afterward were the Couches from church and Keith and Wendy Ratliffe from Pitt, whom we came to know through the Couches; Keith was in the physics program along with Gene.  Ben Riley was also in physics, but he attended another major university in Pittsburgh, Carnegie-Mellon.  Apart from church social functions, the most significant group activity we engaged in during our stay in Pittsburgh was going to the Metropolitan Opera when it came on tour to Pittsburgh.  This group consisted of the Higgses, the Beans, the Ratliffes, and the Mossmans.  It was Laquita’s and my first exposure to classical opera, and it was one of the most lasting cultural experiences of our lives.  We heard live such stars as Birgit Nillson and Richard Tucker, and we have never forgotten it.

After getting settled in, I went to the University’s main building, a 37-story skyscraper built in a Gothic style which led to its being called the Cathedral of Learning.  It was several miles from downtown Pittsburgh and a whole neighborhood had built up around it.  I went to the English Department area on one of the upper floors to meet with my advisor, Dr. Alan Markman, a medievalist.  He was a pipe-smoking U.S. Marine veteran who often referred to his military experience.  We were not temperamentally matched, and he turned out to be rather gruff in his assessment of my work.  He trashed the first major paper I turned in to him and complained that it took him over two hours to get through it and make his comments.  His note on the front of the paper said something about its being one of the worst graduate papers he had ever read, flawed as it was by infelicitous phrasing, errors in usage, poor scholarship, and pretentious frippery.  I was absolutely crushed, of course, but I went carefully over his remarks and in my next paper tried to avoid the kinds of mistakes he had pointed out.  It was a real shock treatment, but it made me a better writer.  Actually, I think it was already on his agenda before he received the paper to take me down a peg or two, because he commented at some point that my being a hot-shot undergraduate at Abilene Christian College didn’t mean that I was anything special as a graduate student.

One of the first basic classes in Pitt’s graduate English program was a two-semester course in Old English, that is, the language in which Beowulf, the earliest English classic, was written.  It was equivalent to learning a foreign language, since Old English is a linguistic cousin of modern German.  We had to learn the basic grammar and vocabulary of the language, and upon completing that we were assigned a certain section of Beowulf to translate for each class period.  Three classmates and I decided to split up the assignments between us to make the task easier.  We would meet together in a study area between classes and share with each other the translation of the section we had done.  It was not a total avoidance of responsibility for the assignments, for we had to be ready to translate in class, but it did give us something of an advantage over the rest of the class, and one of them squealed on us to Dr. Markman.  One day, he called the four of us in and gave us a busy-work assignment in bibliography in the library, so we got our come-uppance.  This joint endeavor nevertheless established a friendship between us that lasted through our graduate years.  One of the group was Bob Mossman, who remains a special friend to this day.  The other two were Joyce Measures and Tom Calhoun, both of whom were interesting personalities.  We called ourselves a comitatus, which is the Old English word for warrior group.

Bob Mossman and I struck up our friendship because our initial conversation revealed that until recently he had been intending to go into Christian ministry.  He did his undergraduate work at Whitworth College in eastern Washington, a small Christian liberal arts college.  He was from California and was very much a part of that culture, so it was a bit anomalous that he should have become a zealous convert in his youth to evangelical Christianity.  He was very active in student leadership at Whitworth, but toward the end of his work there, there was some kind of breakdown in personal relationships that embittered him and turned him away from Christian life.  When I met him at Pitt, he said that he just couldn’t see himself limited by Christian ministry, which he described pithily as, “patting little old ladies on the head.”  So he turned from divinity to English literature.  He was interested in my Christian background and commitment, and we soon were engaging in debates about matters of faith.  He had become a thoroughgoing atheist and considered my faith to be naïve and uninformed.  Nevertheless, we became fast friends, and Laquita and I soon began getting together socially with him and his wife, Nancy, who, though chagrined at Bob’s forsaking the faith, nevertheless supported him in his new career plans.  Our association continued for many years, until the two of them were divorced.  We are still in touch with Bob a few times a year and have kept up with each other’s lives.

The other two members of our comitatus were also unconcerned with religion, but they were curious enough about my Christian practice that they and Bob were persuaded to accept my invitation to attend church with Laquita and me.  I don’t remember precisely the conversation that ensued from that visit, but they were struck by our a capella singing and felt welcomed by the group.  Their curiosity satisfied, none of them were interested in returning.  Joyce and I had a little falling out because I teased her one time about smoking more because it looked fashionable than because she really liked it.  She sat me down in private and told me something of her dysfunctional background as a way of correcting what she thought was my superficial understanding of her.  I was suitably chastened, but I was never close to her.  Tom had done his undergraduate work at Princeton and was very much a man of the world and a part of urbane New York culture.  He was an enthusiastic recontour and regaled us with tales of his boozing days at Princeton.

There is much more to tell of our days in Pittsburgh, including Laquita’s job and academic work, our life with the church, our other residences, and memorable classes and professors.

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Dr. Elton Higgs was a faculty member in the English department of the University of Michigan-Dearborn from 1965-2001. Having retired from UM-D as Prof. of English in 2001, he now lives with his wife and adult daughter in Jackson, MI.. He has published scholarly articles on Chaucer, Langland, the Pearl Poet, Shakespeare, and Milton. His self-published Collected Poems is online at Lulu.com. He also published a couple dozen short articles in religious journals. Recently, Dr. Higgs has published some of his poetry and a book inspired by The Screwtape Letters, The Icahbod Letters. (Ed.: Dr. Higgs was the most important mentor during undergrad for the creator of this website, and his influence was inestimable; it's thrilling to welcome this dear friend onboard.)

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Right Life, Happy Life: Insights from Belgravia

Does the right life lead to the happy life?  The question arises for me in ‘Belgravia’, Julian Fellowes follow-up cable TV series to ‘Downton Abbey’.  In ‘Belgravia’, Lord Edmund Bellasis, handsome heir to the Earl and Countess of Brockenhurst, and Sophia Trenchard, daughter of a moneyed London business-man, love each other; their eyes lock as they waltz together at Lady Brockenhurst’s ball in 1815 on the eve of the Battle of Waterloo.  Sophia’s mother, Anne Trenchard, is dead set against the match; she knows that while she and her husband James travel in aristocratic circles, they are ‘trade’ not nobility

Interrupting the ball, Britain’s Duke of Wellington calls his dancing soldiers to report immediately for the march to Napoleon at Waterloo.  Sophia’s love, soldier Lord Bellasis, rides off to his death in battle, never to return; come to find out, he and Sophia had married secretly.  As Sophia carries their child, she has reason to believe Lord Bellasis tricked her into a fraudulent marriage leaving no husband and no certificate - only a child.  As Sophia dies giving birth to their son, her parents, the Trenchards, accept the baby boy is a bastard.

The immorality of a believed-to-be fraudulent marriage producing a bastard sets in motion a twisting narrative; characters counter the fallout from the evil with their own bad, moral choices one after another in an effort to secure for themselves good.  Does responding with evil after being victimized by evil only further evil?  Does one lose control of one’s life and the good one seeks by attempting to secure good by a pattern of choosing badly?  Can one control one’s destiny for good by responding to evil with a pattern of good, moral choices?

The preponderance of characters in ‘Belgravia’ makes bad, moral choices with John Bellasis leading the way.  Since Earl and Lady Brockenhurst’s only child, Lord Edmund Bellasis, was killed at Waterloo, John Bellasis, their nephew, stands to inherit the title and estate.  John Bellasis becomes alarmed when his aunt, Lady Brockenhurst, showers favor on a mysterious young cotton merchant, Charles Pope.  What John does not know but Lady Brockenhurst does is that Charles Pope is her believed-to-be illegitimate grandson, the son of her deceased son Lord Bellasis and Sophia.  Not content with ignorance, John Bellasis is determined to solve the mystery of Charles Pope and deal appropriately with this menace to his inheritance; at stake is nothing less than one of the noblest and wealthiest estates in England.

So, John Bellasis begins making a chain of bad, moral choices which tend to escalate as he goes about securing for himself the desired good of a noble fortune: he pays servants of both the Trenchards, and the Brockenhursts to betray their masters by surveilling them and prying into their affairs; he wants to unearth information about Charles Pope.  Next, he seduces the Trenchard’s daughter in law with an eye to obtaining desired information.  He insinuates himself into Charles Pope’s workers and finds a disgruntled employee who points him to a false report that maligns Pope’s character.

By the time his plot seems to crescendo to success, John Bellasis and his bad moral choices are suddenly unmasked and revealed when he attempts to murder Charles Pope. He implodes as his bad, moral choices are exposed and bring evil on the lives of those he enlisted to do his bidding: the servants’ betrayal of their masters is revealed, causing their disloyalty to jeopardize their standings and positions; the woman he seduces realizes John hates her and disowns their baby she carries; the malignant report against Charles Pope turns out to be quite the opposite; and the Earl of Brockenhurst’s inheritance will definitely not go to John - but to Charles Pope.  John Bellasis flees to Europe a wanted criminal.

Choosing moral evil, John Bellasis loses control of himself and the ultimate good he desires.  He believes each evil choice will put him in control of securing his inheritance.  Contrarily, each evil choice moves him a step further away from obtaining his desire.  By making bad moral choices he loses control of the good desired for himself and lets evil manipulate and shape him into its image.  Rather than being esteemed by others as a morally, good person who brings grace and benefit to others, his immoral actions make him into a persona non gratis who brings harm to all.  

The narrative of John Bellasis is illustrative of the moral structure of the universe: bad, moral choices inevitably lead one not to good and happiness, but to dystopia and harm.  Responding to an evil with an evil ultimately produces evil.  As Augustine said, ‘We must lead a right life to reach a happy life’.

The biblical character Joseph is the antithesis to John Bellasis.  When Joseph’s brothers victimize and sell him as a slave, he makes good, moral choices: he chooses to trust and be dutiful, conscientious, courageous, honest and trustworthy to his master Potiphar.  When Potiphar’s wife tries to seduce him, rather than entering into the evil he makes the good, moral choice to be faithful to her husband, his master Potiphar.  Though his good action seems to counter my thesis and is rewarded by another evil victimization - he is sent to prison - he responds to this evil by making the good, moral choice not to be vengeful or bitter; rather, he chooses to be a dutiful, conscientious, compassionate, trustworthy and responsible prisoner.

The successive evil injustices that come against him do not control him; he does not become evil seeking to counter evil with evil; he does not become a vengeful, bitter, selfish person but embraces virtuous, moral actions.  Like drips of mineral laden water filtering through a rock cavern form successive, mineral deposits into a conical stalactite, Joseph’s successive good, moral choices mold him into a person of good, moral character.  He is one who acts consistently with beneficent traits of compassion, moral courage, honesty, faith, responsibility and perseverance of which all persons want to be recipients. Rather than capitulating to and being controlled by the evil so that he becomes one with it, he exercises control over his ‘becoming’ through good, moral choices and faith in God.  The result is a good life discontinuous with and independent of the evil which assails him.

If you will exercise control over your life, no matter what evil is perpetrated against you, every time respond with good, moral choices which all persons recognize are a benefit to others.  Joseph controls his life parrying the evil through good, moral choices and transcends evil producing a good, virtuous character which puts him at just the right position at just the right time to act to save not only Egypt, but God’s own people.  ‘We must lead a right life to reach a happy life’.

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Tom is currently a retired Elder in the Virginia Annual Conference.  He has pastored churches in Virginia, California and England.  Studying John Wesley’s theology, he received his Ph.D. and M.A. degrees from the University of Bristol, Bristol, England and his Master of Divinity degree from Asbury Theological Seminary. While a student, he and his wife Pam lived in John Wesley’s Chapel “The New Room”, Bristol, England, the first established Methodist preaching house.  Tom was a faculty member of Asbury Theological Seminary. He has contributed articles to Methodist History and the Wesleyan Theological Journal. He and his wife have two children, daughter Karissa, who is an attorney in Richmond, Virginia, and, John, who is a recent graduate of Regent University.  Being a part of the development of their grandson Beau is a rich reward.  Tom enjoys a good book by a crackling fire with an English cup of tea.  His life text is, ‘Jesus, confirm my heart’s desire, to work and speak and think for thee’.

PSYCHONIX: Mind Over Matter (Book Review)

Editor’s note: This review originally appeared at the site of Free Thinking Ministries

Review by Suzanne Stratton

PSYCHONIX: Mind Over Matter, by Mike Burnette, is a blend of interesting, well-developed characters, and exciting, intriguing action. It is a many layered novel, with unexpected twists and turns. If you like science fiction, espionage, psychology, war stories, philosophy, and many other topics, you will find plenty to attract and keep your attention. Readers with philosophical leanings will be drawn into the musings of the characters who wonder about the nature of reality. Anyone growing up with Star Trek, The Six Million Dollar Man, or the Twilight Zone will recognize familiar territory, along with hints of C.S. Lewis, and many other icons of our cultural heritage.

PSYCHONIX: Mind Over Matter

By Burnette, Mike

The hero is a complex man, who is ready to try a new way to explore reality. Having been wounded in battle, he is a veteran with PTSD, willing to trust scientists who have devised an unusual experimental technique. Along with the preparation for his dangerous role in the exploration of reality, other remarkable people play a part in the action that develops as the story comes to a surprising climax. 

The descriptive details make a vivid picture of the settings and people whose lives become involved with each other throughout the narrative. I found it difficult to put it down and get some rest whenever I became immersed in the tale, because I needed to find out what would happen next!

I kept returning to the book to read parts of it again, since within the context of the action, Burnette adds some thought-provoking philosophical musings of different characters interspersed throughout the telling of everything that happened. If you have ever questioned the nature of reality, but enjoy action and intrigue, this is the book for you. J.P. Moreland agrees:

“Believe me when I say the novel is very interesting reading.  I was engaged. Mike Burnette has done an outstanding job of capturing the mind-body problem arguments accurately and in an interesting, readable way.” 

You can buy the book at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Apple and many other sites by typing in PSYCHONIX. You can get the paperback only at Amazon (Click here: Amazon Kindle/Paperback).

For the eBook, click here: Barnes & Noble.