My Dear Apologist: Please, Be Patient.

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Sadly, patient reflection and careful nuance are rare in an age where mobile devices are ubiquitous and social media platforms make it possible to broadcast every moment in real time. Never have so many been able to say so little of substance with so much immediacy. We are awash in a sea of memes, gifs, emojis, sound bites, and two to three worded answers smugly put forth in response to questions that fill books and libraries and have been asked for generations across cultures. Ours is the realm of blind consumers of the “digital now” where the one-eyed social media influencer with the latest quip and clever mantra is king. This is the context in which contemporary apologists are called to give the reason for the hope that is in them.[1] In this context it is the patient apologist, the one who is deliberate and thorough in her holy vocation, she is the one the Lord will use in a lasting way. So, I say to you, my dear apologist: please, be patient.

We must remember that the gospel we are called to reasonably present with passion and genuine concern can be made to appear ugly when its messengers—those who are called as ambassadors of the One whose character is marked by gentleness and longsuffering—become impatient. Urgency is one thing, and an important one to be sure; but impatience is different from urgency. Impatience blinds us to the value of the journey we make with our interlocutors, leaving us to think that all that matters is making a point about this or that issue and coming out on top in the argument. Impatience wants to win the argument, while patient urgency serves the argument in helping win the person.

Or, and this is what may be the most insidious side of impatience when it comes to apologetics, we can become impatient with ourselves and decide it is just too difficult to be an apologist. The voice of this type of impatience says to us, “Look at how hard this is. Learning how to think, to argue with logic and persuasion, to represent the claims of the Bible reasonably and charitably—this is best left to others. If you were truly called to this, it would be easier for you; it would come more quickly. Best to leave this business of apologetics to others. You’re just not suited for it, after all.” This type of impatience hopes to silence the apologetic voice God has given you, eventually leaving you with only a few truncated one-line apologetic answers that do little good. Or, worse, leading you to hastily pass along the scattered thoughts of immature apologists who may exhibit a caustic tone amplified by their own strident impatience and failure to yet grasp the sacred gravitas of the apologetic endeavor. The end result is a dialogue that reduces to diatribe, an opportunity that becomes an affront, a relationship with a seeker that ends before it has a chance to begin.

Whichever type of impatience you see in yourself, and maybe it’s both, I hope you will take the time to carefully internalize what I have come to learn as the Top Ten Helps for the Impatient Apologist. (I hasten to add that these are known by me precisely because I have been known to struggle with my own demons of impatience, and I speak from first-hand experience concerning the failures wrought in my own apologetic endeavors.)

Top Ten Helps for the Impatient Apologist

1.       Take the time and effort to learn the nuance of your arguments, both yours and your opponent’s. Nothing of substance in the apologetic realm is learned without time and effort. Commit to the process. Be patient.

2.       Write out your thoughts in full sentences, paragraphs, pages, and invite critique and dialogue from trusted advisors before you share them to a larger audience. Hone your skills. Be patient.

3.       Do not respond to a critic or enquirer too quickly, or without reflection. Your goal is not to save face or look smarter than someone else, but to manifest the longsuffering, persuasive love of God. Allow time. Be patient.

4.       Invest in the conversation, and do not give in to the temptation to put forth shallow or simplistic answers that may appear to win the momentary battle of words but will likely lose the war of influence. Truth matters. Be patient.

5.       Apologetics is a journey, not a moment. Yes, there will be important moments, but play the long game and cultivate the habit of seeing beyond the current moment to the eternal one. Urgency is not impatience. Be patient.

6.       Your audience as an apologist is, in the final analysis, the Lord. He loves you, and he is patient with your development as a defender of the good news. See him in the face of the other. Be patient.

7.       Do not give the enemy a voice in your head, in your heart. He wants you hurried, careless, easily offended, and unfocused. Silence him with patience. Be patient.

8.       Use social media judiciously and with careful reflection when it comes to apologetic engagement. Remember that what you post reflects you and your Lord. Do not be afraid to use social media, but do not misuse it. Be patient.

9.       If you use another apologist’s work, make sure you know what it says and what it means. Take the time to be taught by others. We are in this together. Be patient.

10.   When faced with the choice of speaking the truth impatiently now or speaking the truth in patient love later, always choose love. Now is not always best, and later is not always last. Be patient.

Friends, the struggle with impatience is one that takes…well…patience. It is worth the struggle, and our efforts as apologists only improve when put forth with longsuffering and patience. The urgency of the gospel and the need to passionately reason with others demands our careful patience. The church, and the world, need patient apologists.

I say to you again, my dear apologist: please, be patient.


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T. J. is an assistant editor for MoralApologetics.com and oversees the church and pastor development arm of the Center for Moral Apologetics. A southern Illinois native, T. J. has been in pastoral ministry since 1984, currently serving as senior minister of First Christian Church, West Frankfort, IL, where he resides with his wife, Amy, and their five children. A retired Army National Guard chaplain, he is the author of several books and articles on preaching, counseling, evangelism, apologetics, philosophy, and pastoral ministry. He earned the PhD in Leadership and DMin in Pastoral Counseling from Carolina University; the MA in Apologetics from Luther Rice College and Seminary; the MA in Philosophy from Holy Apostles College and Seminary; the MAR in Church Ministries, MDiv in Chaplaincy, and ThM in Theology from Liberty University; the BA in Political Science from Southern Illinois University; and is finishing his dissertation at North-West University for the PhD in Theology, and at Carolina University for his PhD in Biblical Studies. 


[1] 1 Pet. 3:15.


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

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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.


 

 

 

Elton Higgs

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. (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.)

My Dear Apologist: Please, Be Kind.

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Sometimes, apologetics can be a nasty business. Discussions devolve. Words frustrate. People become entrenched long before the evidence warrants even a tentative conclusion. Pathways of engagement are marked by incivility, arrogance, and meanness. As I said, sometimes, apologetics can be a nasty business.

Don’t believe me? Take ten minutes and peruse social media feeds and look for what I describe. Oh, it’s there. Many times, the nastiness comes from the unbelievers in the conversation, lashing out in disagreement with the apologist’s claims. Their words are often along these lines…

Resurrection? Yeah, right. Don’t be ridiculous.

You have no evidence for your so called “god.” Don’t be so naïve, so simple, so stupid.

The Bible is a joke, a fable, a concoction of misogynistic power mongers bent on controlling the masses.

Frankly, such responses from unbelievers should not surprise us, nor should they deter us. Further, while there may be many mean-spirited interlocutors whose dismissive invectives make dialogue difficult if not impossible, there are also those who genuinely want to discuss the substantive issues. Not every unbeliever is animated by shallow sound bites and cliched tropes. Many are kind and, dare I say, sympathetic to the apologist’s calling and concern for others. Besides, even when an unbeliever is difficult to engage, should that be such a surprise to us? Apologetics is, after all, carried out amid the unseen realm of spiritual warfare. Shouldn’t we expect difficulty from unbelievers…and from the powers of darkness that often motivate unbelief? I think so. I expect unbelievers to act like unbelievers, and I’m delighted when they are kind, but not put off when they aren’t. Such are the hazards of this calling.

What I’m concerned with is the believers I observe. Those who, for whatever reasons, have decided that it’s okay to become snarky and curt with their interlocutors. They’ve concluded that there is nothing wrong with a dismissive remark or a cutting ad hominem, so long as the point is made in favor of the winning side. It seems they thrive on the grit and terseness of one-line zingers directed to their opponent. Here are some examples that I have actually heard from apologists—from Christians—and these are the mild ones…

Only an idiot would fail to see the evidence for the resurrection. Only an idiot!

Your refusal to accept the evidence is simply a matter of your spiritual rebellion. You have no logical basis for rejecting what I say. You’re just a rebel with unclear thoughts…and you are intellectually lazy!

The fact that you reject the Bible is more about your total ignorance of history than anything else. It doesn’t take much ability to see that your claims about difficulties in the Bible are simply misguided and foolish. Your argument is hardly even an argument!

I suspect the idea of someone talking like this perplexes most of you, and you just cannot imagine ever taking such an approach. However, perhaps you don’t think such words are problematic at all, and maybe you agree with those who use them and similar ones to challenge their opponents in the battle of ideas. You may wonder, “But what about Jesus? Didn’t he use strong words with his opponents? After all, calling the Pharisees a ‘brood of vipers’[1] is not exactly soft pedaling, is it?”

Well, I grant you that Jesus spoke directly to the heart of his opponents, and his words were clear and forceful. He did not dance around the issues when it came to confronting the corrupt religious leaders of his day, and there may be an example in Jesus’ approach for us to follow. Yet, and this is an important qualifier, Jesus’ mission was unique, his abilities divine, his knowledge perfect, and his judgment always correct. And, lest we forget, he did rebuke his disciples upon the occasion of their wanting to call down fire in an Elijah-like manner and destroy an inhospitable Samaritan village, reminding his overzealous followers that he “did not come to destroy men’s lives but to save them.”[2]

Seems to me that Jesus was more concerned to be careful with the unbelieving and doubting than to silence their opposition and “put them in their proper place.” His motive was more about love than anything else, and even his challenge to the religious leaders was animated by a desire for their conversion. Did he not weep, crying out “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, the one who kills the prophets and stones those who are sent to her! How often I wanted to gather your children together…but you were not willing!”?[3] Did he not petition his Father to “forgive them, for they do not know what they do”?[4] Was it not to the Jews first that he sent the gospel messengers on the Day of Pentecost, beseeching them through Peter to “Repent, and let every one of you be baptized in the name of Jesus Christ for the remission of sins”?[5]

It is kindness, dear apologist, kindness that is needed in our cultural moment. What our interlocutors need is not the sting of our truth devoid of love, but our kindness. Do they also need our clear thinking? Of course. Our rational and impassioned argumentation? Certainly. But now is not the time for impatient and caustic words. Now is the time for kindness. What is most called for in this moment is a convincing position delivered with gentleness and tact, intentionally expressing the goodness of God through kindness in our demeanor, our tactics, and our words. Kindness is countercultural, and it is what the world needs from us now as ever.

Surely, Paul’s insight is one for all of us, especially those who are wont to a sharpness of tongue in apologetic dialogue: “God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance.”[6] Kindness is the language of God’s love, and I am absolutely certain that none of us will ever stand before God and regret giving our reasons for the hope that is within us in a kind and charitable manner.

Again, I say to you: My dear apologist, please, be kind.


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T. J. is an assistant editor for MoralApologetics.com and oversees the church and pastor development arm of the Center for Moral Apologetics. A southern Illinois native, T. J. has been in pastoral ministry since 1984, currently serving as senior minister of First Christian Church, West Frankfort, IL, where he resides with his wife, Amy, and their five children. A retired Army National Guard chaplain, he is the author of several books and articles on preaching, counseling, evangelism, apologetics, philosophy, and pastoral ministry. He earned the PhD in Leadership and DMin in Pastoral Counseling from Carolina University; the MA in Apologetics from Luther Rice College and Seminary; the MA in Philosophy from Holy Apostles College and Seminary; the MAR in Church Ministries, MDiv in Chaplaincy, and ThM in Theology from Liberty University; the BA in Political Science from Southern Illinois University; and is finishing his dissertation at North-West University for the PhD in Theology, and at Carolina University for his PhD in Biblical Studies. 



[1] Matt 12:34 NKJV

[2] Luke 9:56 NKJV

[3] Matt. 23:37 NKJV

[4] Luke 23:34 NKJV

[5] Acts 2:38 NKJV

[6] Rom. 2:4 ESV

4 Popular Objections to Theistic Ethics

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I’ve had the opportunity to teach ethics and philosophy as an online adjunct for about five years now. During that time, I’ve noticed that students often express similar concerns about the moral argument specifically and theistic ethics in general. Here are the four most popular objections to theistic ethics I’ve encountered and a brief reply.

1.     People can be good without God. Theistic ethics says that people need God to be moral, but there are many good atheists. So, theistic ethics must be incomplete or incorrect.

First, it will help to settle what is meant by “good” atheist in this context. Most of the time, when we say Ms. Smith is a good person, we just mean it in a relative sense. Relative to other people, Ms. Smith is a good person. She is kind to others, she donates to charity, she is generous, and so on.

This objection usually comes from a misunderstanding of the implications of one of the premises of the deductive moral argument. That argument goes like this:

1.     If objective moral values and duties exist, then God exists.

2.     There are objective moral values and duties.

3.     Therefore, God exists.

A correct implication of (1) would be that morality requires God and, therefore, one needs God to be good. God must exist for there to be morality at all. However, (1) does not imply that atheists cannot be good, moral people. All that (1) implies is a view about moral ontology, and not a view about what it takes to be a moral person. Nothing in the moral argument suggests that an atheist cannot be a moral person. An atheist is someone who disbelieves in God. Disbelief of this sort does not make it impossible to be a good person. God can be the ground of morality and atheists can be good people. These are not contradictory statements.

Some may think that while the moral argument doesn’t say that one must believe in God to be good, the Bible nonetheless does. So, if one is committed to a theistic ethical theory that affirms the teaching of the Bible, then she is, at the end of the day, saying one must believe in God to be good. However, I am not convinced that is what the Bible teaches. A key verse in this debate comes from Romans 3:10 “…there is none righteous, not even one.” Often, the verse is interpreted to mean that, apart from salvation in Christ, there are no good people. However, “righteousness” here has a specific, forensic or legal meaning.[1] A better gloss might be “no one is justified, not even one.” In this case, at least, the Bible has in view something different than what me mean by “good person.”

Some may think that the Calvinist doctrine of total depravity stipulates that atheists cannot be good people. But this is not always the case. According to one theological dictionary, 

Total depravity refers to the extent and comprehensiveness of the effects of sin on all humans such that all are unable to do anything to obtain salvation. Total depravity, therefore, does not mean that humans are thoroughly sinful but rather that they are totally incapable of saving themselves.[2]

Total depravity only says no one can earn that forensic status of righteousness.

So, neither the moral argument nor the bible implies that an atheist cannot be a good person or do good things.  

2.     Theistic ethics is too narrow. Not everyone agrees that God exists, so not everyone could have moral knowledge. We need an ethical theory that’s accessible to all.  

This might be the most common of these four objections and it leverages an important concern: the availability of moral knowledge.  As a preliminary reply, we can point out that this sort of critique would work for any ethical theory. We could argue against the utilitarian: Well, not everyone believes that the good is identical to utility (or pleasure), so not everyone could have moral knowledge. Or against the Kantian: Well, not everyone agrees with the categorical imperative, so not everyone could have moral knowledge. The objector might say that in both those cases, one gains moral knowledge through common sense or introspection. These modes of investigation are available to all people, while access to divine commands are not.

There are three vital points to make in response. First, if some ethical theory implies that moral knowledge will be inaccessible, that does not entail it is false. It may be a problem for that ethical theory, but problems can be addressed. Plato’s ethical theory is a good example of this. Morality is grounded in the Forms, but from our present position and with our current abilities, we cannot access the realm of the Forms. Thus, Plato proposes some alternative means through which such knowledge can be attained, including his ambitious doctrine of pre-existence. Possibly, Plato’s ethical theory is correct and moral knowledge just is hard to come by.

Second, most versions of theistic ethics, despite the impression of many, say that moral knowledge is widely accessible, and by means like common sense and introspection. Clearly, this is the case with theistic natural law theories, but it is also the case for divine command theory, which is usually the target of this sort of objection. If we consider the sort of divine command theory offered by David Baggett and Jerry Walls in Good God, we can see how this is so. They say that God’s commands are not arbitrary, but flow from his nature. God’s nature, in their view, is identical to the good. Therefore, one can infer, purely based on reason and her implicit knowledge of the good, what is right and wrong in many cases and, thus, what God has likely commanded. For example, given these things, one should easily see that it is wrong to murder, even if she doesn’t know that God has prohibited murder. In this way, someone has access to much of moral knowledge without access to special revelation; a point consistent with the teaching of Romans 1.

Third, from the Christian perspective, God has revealed himself dramatically and publicly in the person of Jesus Christ and there is sufficient evidence of this (ably demonstrated by scholars like Gary Habermas and Michael Licona). That some people find the evidence unconvincing does not imply that evidence is, in fact, insufficient. If the Christian perspective is correct, then God has provided direct, sufficient, and accessible evidence for his moral authority and the authenticity of his commands through Jesus and his resurrection.

3.     The meaning of the Bible is unknowable. No one really knows that the Bible teaches. It’s all open to interpretation and we don’t know what it originally said anyway.

When I run across this objection, students often give one of two motivations for their view. First, they often say something like this: “The Bible has been copied so many times! All we have is a translation of a copy of translation. It’s been copied and translated so many times, who knows what it really said at the start!” This concern represents a widely held misunderstanding of the origin of our modern Bibles. Our modern Bibles are not copied from other translations; they are copied from the original languages. Some pieces of these texts even date to the second century for the New Testament and the seventh century B.C. for the Old Testament. The source texts for the modern Bible are early and they are in abundance. Through careful study, textual critics of the New Testament conclude that what we have now accurately represents over 99% of the original manuscripts. So, we know with a high degree of confidence what the books and letters of the Bible actually said.

The other motivation seems to come from a general skepticism about the clarity of the Bible. Certainly, there are unique interpretive challenges when it comes to the Bible. It was written in another time, place, and culture. Some passages remain deeply debated and mysterious. However, much of the Bible can be understood on its face, in a straightforward way. This is true in the case of the Bible’s central ethical teaching, presented by Jesus himself: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength and with all your mind” and “Love your neighbor as yourself” (Luke 10:27). This command in particular does not seem especially hard to understand or interpret. On many central ethical issues, the Bible is perspicuous. But even in those cases where the Bible presents readers with an interpretive challenge, one can still often discern the correct meaning with careful, methodical hermeneutics. Therefore, we do know what the Bible originally said, and we can know what it originally meant.

4.     The Bible is unenlightened. The Bible is full of bronze age ethics that we know are immoral now. Theistic ethics needs to be discarded in favor a more modern ethical theory that fits with a modern perspective.

My aim here is not to respond to all of the specific ethical issues in the Bible, but I will offer a general reply in two directions. First, in defense of the Bible, it is very likely that for many of the difficult passages, we are simply misreading them. The Bible can often be read and understood at face value, but not always. Not infrequently, our modern assumptions distort our reading and understanding of the Bible. A possible example of this comes in the Conquest of Canaan narratives. In the ancient world contemporary to the Conquest, it was common to exaggerate one’s victory over the enemy. Language of total destruction of cities, including its citizens, was often used, when it is clear from the surrounding context that such cities were not utterly destroyed. One example of such a text comes from Joshua 10:40:

Thus Joshua struck all the land, the hill country and the Negev and the lowland and the slopes and all their kings. He left no survivor, but he utterly destroyed all who breathed, just as the Lord, the God of Israel, had commanded.

Paul Copan notes of passages like this:

Joshua’s conventional warfare rhetoric was common in many other ancient Near Eastern military accounts in the second and first millennia BC. The language is typically exaggerated and full of bravado, depicting total devastation. The knowing ancient Near Eastern reader recognized this as hyperbole; the accounts weren’t understood to be literally true.[3]

It may be that similar interpretative issues exist for all the ethically difficult passages in the Bible. However, that is unlikely to be the case.

Second, it would be rather strange if the moral vision of the Bible comfortably fit our own. That some parts of the Bible cause us discomfort suggests that the Bible is not a mirror for our own views or some pliable clay to be shaped to our own liking. Rather, it suggests that in the Bible we encounter a moral perspective that is not our own. It belongs to someone else, even if we have adopted it in some measure.

In The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis wrote this:

Divine "goodness" differs from ours, but it is not sheerly different: it differs from ours not as white from black but as a perfect circle from a child's first attempt to draw a wheel. But when the child has learned to draw, it will know that the circle it then makes is what it was trying to make from the very beginning.

Lewis argues that our moral knowledge is not exactly correct. Our knowledge of the good is not univocal, but analogical. It’s off by some margin of error.

If morality is objective, this is what we should expect. If morality was made in our image, a mere human convention, then moral truth should cause us no discomfort or distress. But if morality comes from without and not within, then so long as our moral vision is imperfect, there will be some incongruence between what is actually the case and what we merely believe to be the case. That’s exactly the experience we have when reading the Bible. Significantly, though, this dissonance runs in multiple directions. The wrath of God on display in the Bible may make us shudder, but the Bible also teaches that we should love our enemies, that we should give without withholding to the poor and destitute, that we should love our neighbors as ourselves. This incredible calling sounds its own discordant note in our modern, Western minds. The horizons of our moral vision are widened by the Bible. An effect that should come as no surprise if in it we find an ethic from someone else.

 

 

 


[1] Moo, D. J. (1996). The Epistle to the Romans (p. 203). Grand Rapids, MI: Wm. B. Eerdmans Publishing Co.

Here’s a fuller comment from Moo on this passage (including Romans 3:12):

10b–12 The quotations begin with a series of phrases taken from Ps. 14:1–3 (LXX 13:1–3) (Ps. 53:1–3 is almost identical). As is the case with most of the quotations in this series, Paul’s wording agrees closely with the LXX.28 But there is one important difference: where the Psalms text has “there is no one who does good,” Paul has “there is no one who is righteous.” Granted the importance of the language of “righteousness” in this part of Romans (cf. 3:4, 5, 8, 19, 20), the word is almost certainly Paul’s own editorial change.29 It will thus carry with it Paul’s specifically forensic nuance (cf. 1:17). What he means is that there is not a single person who, apart from God’s justifying grace, can stand as “right” before God. This meaning is not far from David’s intention in the Psalm, as he unfolds the myriad dimensions of human folly.

Here is what Kruse says in the Pillar commentary on Romans:

Paul’s purpose in listing these quotations is to say that as a people Jews are no better than Gentiles. Paul would certainly know of the many righteous persons spoken of in the OT, not least Abraham, to whom he refers in the next chapter (4:1–25). However, it must be said that such ‘righteous’ persons are not the morally flawless, but those who have responded with repentance to the goodness of God. Not one of them would have been declared righteous by God because of their peerless behavior. Thus Paul’s conclusion that follows in the next verse stands.

Still, some Calvinists, like R.C. Sproul, seem to understand total depravity and the thrust of Romans 3:10-12 to be teaching that only Christians can do good things. Sproul says this in his commentary on this passage:

Is Paul saying here that unless a person is a believer in Christ, he will not ever do a good deed? That is precisely what it means. It may seem outrageous, but nobody ever does a single thing that is good, we are so corrupt that our sin infects even the best of our deeds.

However, even in this very strong view of the implications of the passage, Sproul clarifies that Paul here is using “good” in a technical sense. A good deed consists in right and action and right motivation. Only Christians can have the right sort of motivation, pleasing God, so only Christians can do what is good. But if Paul has this technical sense of “good” in mind, that does nothing to undermine the idea that atheists or other non-Christians can do “good” things in the everyday sense of that word.

Sproul makes the dubious claim that actions are either motivated by selfishness or a desire to please God. It seems obvious from human experience that many actions are motivated by a sincere concern for others, without explicit reference to God (that this is appropriate is perhaps evidenced by the fact that Jesus says that there are two commands that sum up the law: Love of God and love of neighbor. cf. Matt 22:40). Further, even if my actions are motivated by a concern for my own interests, that does not entail that they are not good actions. If we suppose, for the sake of the argument, that Bill Gates, an atheist, works on eradicating malaria because it brings him satisfaction, the fact that he is the sort of person that finds satisfaction in curing malaria rather than spreading it is an obviously good moral quality. So, it seems to me, that Sproul’s binary understanding of moral motivation should be rejected.

[2] Grenz, S., Guretzki, D., & Nordling, C. F. (1999). In Pocket dictionary of theological terms (p. 37). Downers Grove, IL: InterVarsity Press.

[3] Paul Copan, Is God a Moral Monster?: Making Sense of the Old Testament God, vol. 1 (Baker Books, 2011), 171.

Campus Expansion and Sabbatical Plans (Part 19)

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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.


More from this series

Elton Higgs

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. (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.)

My Dear Apologist: Please, Be Yourself.

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I sense there is a strong temptation among fellow apologists to try to be like someone else in their efforts to present the truth claims of the Christian faith. Rather than following King David’s example of refusing Saul’s armor in the fight against Goliath and choosing instead to use the simple sling and smooth stones he knew so well, an apologist may try to parrot this or that popular speaker or author. In doing so, they risk losing something that the world needs more than an imitation of someone else; they risk losing their unique voice in the apologetic arena.

I have been there, and I understand the temptation.

I originally thought, going back nearly four decades, that my goal should be to memorize and imitate the then-current apologetic arguments and style of successful apologists like Josh McDowell, Paul Little, or Norman Geisler. I even went through a time when I attempted to become the redivivus of C. S. Lewis, Pascal, and Anselm. To be sure, all these men are capable and effective apologists, certainly worthy of emulation in many, many areas. Yet, my mistake was to try to recreate what they did and who they were, and that is impossible. God called them to a specific task at a specific time, and my calling was not the same. I cannot be anyone other than me. So,  after several poor attempts at being someone else, I decided that the best I could be was me…just me.

It was about the same time that a wise pastor shared something with me that I took to heart and have never forgotten. I was preparing a series of sermons for a revival campaign, and, in the course of discussions with the host pastor, I explained that I was considering using a number of outlines I found in an evangelistic preaching book as the basis for my sermons. The pastor looked at me for a moment, then spoke with clarity and a bit of forcefulness these words, “It’s fine to look at another man’s work and learn from it, but never forget that God has something to say through you, and he wants you to say it in your way, not someone else’s.” And just like that, my heart was pierced, and my mind was opened. I learned that day that God gave me a voice, and he wanted—expected—that I would use it and not try to use some other voice and pass it off as my own.

Here is how I have taken that counsel to heart as an apologist, and what I hope you will learn from my journey in coming to be myself.

1.      It is fine and good to learn from other apologists, to study their arguments, to internalize their methods. The goal, however, is not to parrot or repeat them; the goal is to learn from them and integrate that learning into your own message. And when you are following the path of another apologist, be up front and open about it. Do not plagiarize a person.

2.      Remember that the people you are privileged to serve and encounter in your apologetics context are likely in one of two categories. They either do not know who you are trying to imitate and will think it odd that you are not simply being yourself with them, or they do know who you are trying to imitate and will realize you are not the same as the apologists you copy (and this last group may feel you are being a bit shady by not being yourself).

3.      None of us are as good as all of us when it comes to apologetics, so find your niche in the apologetics arena and serve there. Be you in the place where God has called you, and let the others be who they are where God has called them. God will not ask you to give an account for another person’s calling, but he will ask you about yours.

Again, I say to you: my dear apologist, please, be yourself. The world needs you.


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T. J. is an assistant editor for MoralApologetics.com and oversees the church and pastor development arm of the Center for Moral Apologetics. A southern Illinois native, T. J. has been in pastoral ministry since 1984, currently serving as senior minister of First Christian Church, West Frankfort, IL, where he resides with his wife, Amy, and their five children. A retired Army National Guard chaplain, he is the author of several books and articles on preaching, counseling, evangelism, apologetics, philosophy, and pastoral ministry. He earned the PhD in Leadership and DMin in Pastoral Counseling from Carolina University; the MA in Apologetics from Luther Rice College and Seminary; the MA in Philosophy from Holy Apostles College and Seminary; the MAR in Church Ministries, MDiv in Chaplaincy, and ThM in Theology from Liberty University; the BA in Political Science from Southern Illinois University; and is finishing his dissertation at North-West University for the PhD in Theology, and at Carolina University for his PhD in Biblical Studies. 

Socrates and Jesus on Allegiances

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You have probably heard the saying, “Great minds think alike.” I think there is more truth to the claim that we might imagine. The ancient philosopher Socrates had a conversation with Plato’s eldest brother Glaucon about transcendent truths known as Forms. Forms are metaphysical truths that exist independently of personal opinions and the physical world. His conversation with Glaucon is recorded in Plato’s book The Republic. Socrates explains Forms and the importance of pursuing them in his Allegory of the Cave (Republic 514a-517a).

The Allegory tells the story of a group of men held captive since their youth. They are held in a cave and tied down so that the only thing they can see is the shadows cast on the cave’s wall by their captors playing in front of a fire. This life is the only life these men know. All their knowledge of the world stems from the shadow puppets cast for their entertainment pleasure. But, Socrates inquires, what if one of the captives was released and allowed to see the world outside of the cave? The light from the sun would hurt his eyes. His mind would have trouble comprehending the beauty of the exterior world that is so new to him. The birds, the sky, the animals of the field, and the beauty of flowers and trees would overwhelm his imagination. Socrates further questions Glaucon by asking, what if the man wanted to free his brothers in the cave? What if he were to return to tell of the wondrous things that he had seen? Would his brothers not think him to be a madman and eventually kill him? Socrates holds that this is the response of individuals living only with a mindset on the Particulars (the physical attributes of the world) to those who observe the beauty of the Forms (the unseen realm).

Jesus told a parable somewhat comparable to Socrates’s called the Parable of the Wicked Husbandmen or the Parable of the Bad Tenants in Matthew 21:33-46; Mark 12:1-12; and Luke 20:9-19. The parable is about a group of tenant farmers who gave a portion of their harvest to the owner for payment for the use of the landowner’s property. The harvest was part of their rental agreement. Rather than paying the agreed harvest, the wicked tenant farmers beat and killed the servants sent by the landowner to acquire payment. Last of all, they killed the son thinking that they would steal his inheritance. Finally, the landowner came after the tenant farmers and destroyed those wicked men. While the two parables differ substantially, they hold three common truth claims.

The Reality of the Unseen Realm. Both Socrates and Jesus point to the reality of the unseen realm. The unseen realm of Forms is clearly in view in the Allegory of the Cave. However, the same is in view in the Parable of the Wicked Tenants. The landowner represents God who is unseen in the parable. At God’s command, the servants and son are sent, and the wicked tenants are punished. The reality of God’s existence at least to some degree verifies unseen transcendent truths. This is not to say that Jesus defends the Platonic Forms, but it does draw a similarity between the two stories, although the philosophical implications cannot be pressed too far. Both stories show that there is more to the world than just the physical reality one sees.

The Advocates Proclaiming the Truths of the Unseen Realm. In both stories, the authors hold that servants of the unseen truths are often ridiculed and abused. This is true of the freedman in Socrates’s Allegory of the Cave and the servants and son in Jesus’s Parable of the Wicked Tenants. It is also fascinating to consider that both Socrates and Jesus were executed by the authorities because of their teachings. Jesus’s execution was far more torturous and viler. Nonetheless, both Jesus and Socrates asked questions. As one professor pointed out to me, it can sometimes be dangerous to ask too many questions.

The Choice Between God and the World. Socrates, like Jesus, was likely a monotheist living in a polytheistic world, a henotheist at the very least. By his own admonition, Socrates claims to have encountered the one true God. Regardless of the case, Socrates challenges his readers to make a choice to either live in a world of shadows by only looking to the physical world, or to step out of the cave and experience the transcendent, metaphysical truths of the divine. In like manner, Jesus noted that it was impossible to serve both God and the world (Matt. 6:24), a point that Paul addresses in Colossians 3:23-24. For whom are you working? What are you seeking? Everyone must make a choice. A non-choice is a choice. Whatever masters your heart, masters your life.

Amid the uncertainties of life, we all must ask ourselves where our allegiances lie. If you decide to work for the world, then know that it is of no profit to gain the whole world and lose your soul (Matt. 16:26). If you are only living for the here and now, then you are missing out on a larger portion of reality. Reality is like an iceberg. The part we see is minuscule compared to the realm we cannot see. If you choose to serve God, your life will not necessarily become easier. In some ways, it may become more difficult. But you will find that your life holds greater purpose and value if you do.

 


About the Author

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. 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 enrolled in the Ph.D. program in Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University and is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has been in the ministry for nearly 20 years and serves as the Senior Pastor of Westfield Baptist Church in northwestern North Carolina.

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© 2020. BellatorChristi.com.


Moral Apologetics 101: Ethical Theory and Moral Realism

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Editor’s note: In this series, we introduce the basics of building a moral argument. In this first installment, we explore the concept of ethical theory and two main positions on ethical theory: moral realism and anti-realism.

Some people think the earth is flat and they have a theory about that; that is, they have a justification or explanation for why it is rational to think that the earth is flat. This theory might involve nefarious and shadowy figures working in the dark corners of power to fake the moon landings, among other things, but there is a theory that (attempts) to explain why the earth is flat.

The same is true for other claims. Us round-earthers have a theory about why it’s rational to believe the earth is sphere shaped. Maybe the theory is a simple as this: “That the earth is round has been the consistent testimony of people in a position to know for over 2000 years and that sort of testimony is trustworthy.” The sense of theory here is broader and looser than its use in a scientific context, where theory has a narrower meaning.

Our theories extend beyond these, roughly, scientific concerns about the shape of the earth. We have theories about mundane things as well. For example, I might have a theory about why my wife is angry. Likely, she is angry because I forgot to take out the trash, though I promised I would. I have a belief and I have reasons for my belief. We can call those reasons collectively my “theory” about why my wife is angry. Now, that theory could be right or wrong. It could be partly right and partly wrong. But it is my explanation for why my wife is angry.

When we think about “theory” this way, it seems fair to say that any time we assert that something is the case (that is, we take the attitude “What I am saying is true or correct”), then we have reasons for that view. We have a theory about why we are right.

Even though this is a simple idea, there’s an important objection to consider. Sometimes, we have not reflected on why we think something is true or correct. We do not have internal, cognitive (thoughtful/meaningful) reasons for some of our beliefs. Sometimes, we simply inherit a view from our culture or our parents or some other source. If one asks a sixth grader, “Why do you think the earth is sphere shaped?” she might not have a ready explanation for why she thinks that is the case. She simply “absorbed” the view of her culture or her parents. We might say this an “external” cause of belief. It’s not a belief that is held because of investigation or introspection, but because one was caused to believe by something external to one’s self. (Significantly, an externally caused belief can be correct and rational to hold. Our sixth grade would certainly be correct that the earth is a sphere, for example). 

So, one may find herself believing that certain things are true, like the earth is a sphere or that a spouse is angry, and she either has reasons for those views that internal to herself (they are her reasons) or they are external (she was caused to believe something). Or, to put it in other words, whenever we believe that something is so, we have a theory about that something that is either held on the basis of introspection and reflection or it is given to us by our surroundings (culture/parents/friends). We have considered theories and given theories.

This is a general point, true in all aspects of life, but it’s also true when it comes to ethical theory. We all have moral or ethical beliefs that we take to be correct or true. For example, we might consider the following statements:

Stealing is always wrong.

The government should pay for healthcare.

Sometimes, it is ok to tell a lie.

People have a right to defend themselves.

It is always wrong to torture children for fun.

The best sort of life requires good friends.

It is your duty to vote.

Claims about what one ought to do, what one should do or should not do, claims about what sort of life is worthwhile and whether people have essential rights, these are often moral claims.[1] Likely, most would have a certain attitude of affirm or deny to each of these moral claims. For example, someone might take the attitude toward the proposition “stealing is always wrong,” that this moral claim is false; one might disbelieve that it is always wrong to steal.  Perhaps, thinks this person, it is right to steal if it is the only way to feed one’s family.

These reasons for a moral belief, whether they come from within oneself or from their surroundings, are an “ethical theory.”

If one believes that at least some moral claims are true, then she thinks there are “moral facts” and she is a “moral realist.”

A moral fact is a true proposition that makes some morally relevant claim.

A moral realist is a person who thinks that there are at least some moral facts.

A moral anti-realist is a person who denies that there are any moral facts.

Sometimes people are tempted to say that there are no moral facts because of “grey areas.” We’ve all heard the term “moral grey area” before. A moral “grey area” occurs when there is not  an obviously right or wrong answer to a moral question. Some moral claims are more obvious than others and, in some cases, we might not have a specific attitude toward a moral claim. For example, if I ask whether it’s morally right that the government provide healthcare, someone could say that he sees good reasons for both sides and that he’s not sure whether it is a moral obligation or not. However, if one is not sure, that does not imply that there’s no fact of the matter about whether the government should provide healthcare. It could be there is a fact of the matter, but some simply cannot discern what that fact is very easily.

However, it may be that there is no fact of the matter about whether the government should provide healthcare. If that were the case, that would not imply that there are not “deeper” moral facts about the rights of individuals, the obligations for communities to care for those who need assistance, and so on. It is important to see that the moral realist claims only that there are some moral facts and not there is a fact about every moral issue.

When asked to give an example of a moral fact, moral realists want to give what they consider to be the most obvious, least controversial example. One oft used example is this: “It is always wrong to torture children for fun.” If anything is a moral fact, this would have to be a moral fact. If one agrees that it is really, actually true that “It is always wrong to torture children for fun,” then one is a moral realist.

Some moral philosophers deny that there are such things as moral facts. They are “anti-realists” about morality and their view is called “anti-realism.” According to this view, no moral claims are correct. All moral claims may be false or even meaningless. An anti-realist might say that proposition, “it is always wrong to torture children for fun” has nothing that makes it true; no moral proposition does. Perhaps moral claims are simply statements about one’s own feelings. In that case, if one asserts that “It is always wrong to torture children for fun,” she can only really mean that she dislikes child torture or that it makes her feel bad. Asserting it is wrong like saying, “Boo! Child torture Boo!”  Anti-realists may also say that moral claims are merely conventional statements that have only a provisional meaning based on custom, tradition, or habit.

Therefore, with respect to moral judgments, we can see that there are two camps: realist and anti-realist. The realist says that there are at least some moral facts, moral claims are cognitive (they have meaning and they are intelligible) and the anti-realist denies that there any moral facts. There’s nothing to ground moral truths, in this view, or, perhaps, moral claims are non-cognitive expressions of emotion or preference.  

As we can see, in terms of ethical theory, there are deep disagreements and the natural question, at this point, would be why. What motivates these fundamentally different views about ethical truth?

In general, moral realism is considered the “default” position and so, often, moral anti-realists are saddled with the burden of proof. According to an informal survey of philosophers (PhilPapers Survey), most agree that moral realism is the correct view while about 30% argue that anti-realism is correct. Geoff Sayre-McCord, a philosopher teaching at the University of North Carolina, claims that “moral realism can fairly claim to have common sense and initial appearances on its side.”

The reason that Sayre-McCord might say that moral realism has this advantage is that most of us simply find ourselves believing in moral realism and we find ourselves having a high degree of confidence in these beliefs. It seems obvious to most people that there are at least some moral facts. A simple argument for moral realism might go like this: “I am surer that it is wrong to torture children for fun than I could be of any argument against this belief.”

This might not seem like a very good argument for moral realism, and perhaps it is not. Although, this sort of reply is a widely employed reply to other kinds of skepticism.  For example, suppose that Joe looks at a tree outside the window. For Joe, this means he has the experience of looking out the window at a tree. For Joe, it seems there is a tree out there. In walks Jim. Jim just finished watching The Matrix and now Jim thinks that the external world is an illusion created by very sophisticated robots. Jim sees Joe looking at the tree and says, “There’s no tree out there, Joe. Wake up!”

What might Joe’s response be? Joe could develop a number of replies to this distressing assertion, but it also seems warranted for Joe to reply like this: “Jim, I am more sure that there is a tree out there than any harebrained argument you might give! I see the tree; it’s right there!”  For many, the truth of moral facts are impressed on the mind in a way analogous to the way the “tree out there” is impressed on Joe’s mind. It is a basic fact of experience and, therefore, one is rationally warranted in believing there are trees out the window as well as that there are moral facts.

Still, one might have good reasons for thinking there actually is not a tree out there and so that basic belief in “the tree out there” might lose its warrant. What if Joe had evidence that he actually did live in a simulation?

Anti-realists have two main strategies in defense of their view. First, anti-realists often argue that there is dis-confirming evidence of the existence of moral facts. In our analogy, they would offer Joe some evidence that undermines Joe’s belief in the tree out there. It’s important to see that anti-realists don’t need to show that there are no moral facts; he could simply show that we are not justified in believing there are any moral facts.

One of the most popular ways to argue this point flows from what is called “the diversity thesis.” The diversity thesis is the observation that there is widespread moral disagreement in the world. People disagree about what is moral, and they disagree frequently and substantially. That this is so is obvious from human experience (and is admitted readily by moral realists), but it may be that sometimes the depth of moral disagreements is exaggerated. Nevertheless, some anti-realists think this is an important piece of evidence. They might use this piece of evidence like this: If there were moral facts, then we would expect that people would mostly agree on these facts. However, people disagree on virtually any candidate for a moral fact. Therefore, the level of moral agreement is inconsistent with there being moral facts. Likely, then, there are no moral facts (or, at least, moral facts are indiscernible).

The diversity thesis is the observation that there is widespread moral disagreement in the world.

Anti-realists might also build a more positive case. They might begin by assuming a materialist perspective, or a sufficiently similar view. Materialism is the view that only material things exist, things like space, energy, and matter. For there to be moral facts, there must be something to make these facts true; there must be a moral “truth-maker.”  But there is no obvious way that facts about material things can ground moral facts. What sort of truth about atoms and energy could ground something as strange and exotic as morality? Moral facts, if such things exist, would seem to be facts about something qualitatively different than merely material things. Of course, that is not to say that all materialists are anti-realists. A good many are moral realists. Many materialists who are not, though, would argue there just is no real connection between the real (material) world and our moral assertions.

Realists might also develop a positive case. One common assumption among moral realists is that there are moral facts and there is something that makes these moral facts true. There is a reason or ground for moral facts. Earlier, I suggested that people are entitled to belief in some moral facts on the basis of a certain kind of impression on the mind, like someone is entitled to believe “there is a tree out there” when things align in such way that he has a certain kind of impression that “there is a tree out there.” But moral realists can go beyond appealing to moral experience (which many consider sufficient grounds). One might argue first for something that could ground moral facts and then that this thing actually does ground moral facts. Perhaps the most obvious and popular way to do this would be to argue that God exists. God would be the sort of thing that could ground moral facts, since he is the “greatest conceivable being,” or that is how God is thought of in the Western philosophical tradition. So, if God exists, it is natural to think that moral facts also obtain.

There are other ways to argue for a ground of moral facts, though. One might argue that some sort of realm of abstract objects is needed to make sense out of language and to solve the problem of the one and the many. If there is some non-material realm which gives sense and meaning to our concepts, perhaps this realm could also ground the sense and meaning of moral claims. Why think that claims about abstract ideas like triangles and mathematics are fundamentally different sorts of claims than moral ones? Perhaps, like Plato thought, the Good exists and has the power to determine the truth or falsity of moral claims.

What we see from these examples of positive cases is that different views about what is ultimately real or the ultimate nature of the world make a difference in how moral claims are justified (if they are justified) and they may, as we will see later in term, make a difference in what is considered moral in the first place.

To sum up: We have seen that people make moral claims and that when a moral claim is made, it assumes something about the world. If a person thinks that her moral claims are true, then she assumes some form of moral realism. This is how most people think about their moral claims; they think they are true. However, some people doubt that moral claims are true or that they can be known to be true. These are moral anti-realists.

[1]One can distinguish between a moral should/ought and a merely teleological should/ought. If I want to achieve X, then I should do Y which results in X.  If I want to be a better bowler, then I should invest bowling lessons. This is a merely teleological use of should/ought. 

God is Light

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The concept of light and dark, and their contrast, are found throughout the pages of Scripture. From the opening verses of Genesis, one finds God speaking light into the void of darkness (Gen. 1:3). Over time, God manifested himself to humanity often using light and fire to indicate his presence. God is often identified with light. Isaiah writes, “The Lord will be your everlasting light, and our God will be your glory” (Isa. 60:19). The psalmist notes, “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear” (Ps. 27:1). God is robed with light (Ps. 104:2) and light dwells with him (Dan. 2:22). John, more explicitly, notes, “God is light, and there is absolutely no darkness in him” (1 John 1:5). While God is light, his presence is not restricted from knowing dark areas. The psalmist pines, “Even the darkness is not dark to you. The night shines like the day; darkness and light are alike to you” (Ps. 139:12). Thus, God’s light and his insight penetrates and overcomes even the darkest of areas.

Jesus picks up on this theme and teaches two profound truths. First, he holds that he is light, saying, “I am the light of the world. Anyone who follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life” (John 8:12). As such, Jesus shows that he embodies God’s revelation and his goodness. Second, Jesus also instructs his followers, noting, “You are the light of the world. A city situated on a hill cannot be hidden” (Matt. 5:14). The disciples were to be evangelists sharing the gospel and spreading the love of God to the world. I used to think that believers are mere reflections of the light of God, much as the moon reflects the light of the sun. While I still think there is some merit to the claim, an understanding of the Spirit’s work in our lives illustrates the idea that the light shines from the inworking of the Spirit in our lives. As such, we are like torches that flame the light of God in the areas where God places us. More on that to come.

What does it mean to say that “God is light?” Obviously, with the emphasis of divine light that has already been noted in Scripture, God’s light must hold some weighty meaning. Concerning the light of God, three things can be said of God’s light.

God’s Light is Revelatory. First, God’s light reveals the truth. God exposes things as they truly are. On the one hand, God’s light reveals the truth about reality. The psalmist notes that God’s truthful direction is a “lamp for my feet and a light on my path” (Ps. 119:105). As such, God provides wise instruction on how to handle life’s most difficult circumstances. In addition, the Spirit of God, or the “Spirit of truth” (John 14:17), sheds his light on the believer by guiding them into the truth (John 16:12-14).

On the other hand, the light of God reveals wrong behaviors by exposing sin. The Spirit also is known to shedding divine light onto individuals by convicting the world about sin, righteousness, and judgment (John 16:8-11). Jesus said that it was for this reason that those who loved evil abhorred the light of God, for they feared that their deeds would be exposed (John 3:20). Ironically, the light of God will eventually expose every deed anyhow, regardless of whether one tries to hide their misdeeds or not.

God’s Light is Relational. God’s light often refers to divine holiness. Worded another way, God’s light reveals that he is the absolute good. As previously noted, this was part of John’s teaching concerning the light of God in his first letter. God’s holiness is viewed by Paul to be an “unapproachable light, whom no one has seen or can see” (1 Tim. 6:16). The unapproachability of God was overcome by the work of Christ on the cross by making people righteous so that they can boldly approach the throne of grace (Heb. 4:16). Because of the work of Christ, people can now shine the light of God in a world of darkness.

God’s Light is Rousing. By rousing, I do not infer the idea of a crowd enamored by a well-performed theatrical play. Rather, the term refers here to the giving of life. The symbol of light often referred to life in contrast to sorrow, adversity, or death (Ellis, NBD, 690). To see God’s light was to live (Job 3:16; Ps. 49:19). To walk in God’s light is to walk in the “light of life” (Ps. 56:24; Job 33:30). Light to the eyes is considered the gift of physical life that God grants to all (Prov. 29:13). As such, it is unsurprising that God’s presence is shown to be an effervescent, radiant light (Rev. 1:9-20; 4:1-11).

The concept of God’s light did not stem from Hellenistic thought but was deeply rooted in Judaism. Such is evidenced in the usages of light in the OT and the Qumran texts (e.g., War of the Sons of Light and the Sons of Darkness). Could it be that some sages of philosophy (i.e., Socrates and Plato) and the writers of the inspired Word both caught a glimpse of God’s transcendent light? Even if such is true, the full revelation of God would be found in his Word.

Nonetheless, I come now to the application of the article. I am sure you have heard the song This Little Light of Mine. The lyrics read, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.” God often places us in dark situations and circumstances so that our light will shine brighter. Our world is becoming a dark place to reside. Not only do we have a pandemic, but we also have national uprisings and cities in complete turmoil. Why has God decided to place us in this time and place? While there have certainly been darker times in world history, God has placed us in such a time as this to allow our lights to shine for God’s glory. Things may not be easy for a while. However, the light of God filling us and guiding us will truly be a “lamp unto our feet and a light unto our paths” (Ps. 119:105).

No matter what you may face today, this week, this month, or the remainder of this year; decide today that you will let the light of God shine through your life. Don’t be overcome by the darkness of the world, but rather overcome the darkness with the light of God’s glory. Then, we can all sing together, “Won’t let Satan blow it out, I’m gonna let it shine. Won’t let Satan blow it out, I’m gonna let it shine. Won’t let Satan blow it out, I’m gonna let it shine. Let it shine, let it shine, let it shine!”

Ellis, E. E. “Light,” New Bible Dictionary. Edited by D. R. W. Wood, et. al. Leicester, England; Downers Grove, IL: IVP, 1996.

About the Author

Brian G. Chilton is the founder of BellatorChristi.com, the host of The Bellator Christi Podcast, and the author of the Layman’s Manual on Christian Apologetics. 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 enrolled in the Ph.D. program in Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University and is a member of the Evangelical Theological Society and the Evangelical Philosophical Society. Brian has been in the ministry for nearly 20 years and serves as the Senior Pastor of Westfield Baptist Church in northwestern North Carolina.

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© 2020. BellatorChristi.com.

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

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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.


Elton_Higgs (1).jpg

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.)


More from this series…

Elton Higgs

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. (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.)

Editor's Recommendation: Telling a Better Story by Josh Chatraw

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— David Baggett, Executive Editor

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

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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.


Elton_Higgs (1).jpg

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.)


More from this series:

 

 

 

Elton Higgs

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. (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.)

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

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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.)


More from this series:

Elton Higgs

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. (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.)

The Morality of Mystery

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In the digital age of mass information and social media, the cultural values of openness, sharing one’s truth, expressing one’s feelings, and sticking up for oneself have begun to drown out other important values that keep these supposed virtues in check.  Patience, reflection, nuance, restraint, and the like are scarce, but perhaps none are rarer than mystery and/or discretion. After reconsidering discretion in the framework of the Christian worldview, this article will argue that mystery is not always a problem in need of solving, but a much-needed biblical and theological virtue characteristic of and encouraged by the ultimate good (God himself). As mystery, rightly understood, is morally good, employing it in today’s world of total transparency will go a long way in flattening the curve of caustic commentary that is currently inhibiting human flourishing.

The God of Mystery

            Christian theism has long celebrated God as a personal being who has revealed himself by means of the world he created (Rom 1:18-20), the Scriptures he breathed (2 Tim 3:16-17), and in the Word made flesh (Jn 1:1-4; Col 1:15). Hebrews 1:1-2 highlights these methods of revelation when it says “God, after He spoke long ago to the fathers in the prophets in many portions and in many ways, in these last days has spoken to us in His Son, whom He appointed heir of all things, through whom also He made the world.” Though the fallout of Spinoza’s radical transcendentalizing, Newton’s deistic cosmological dualism, and Kant’s disjunction between the noumenal and phenomenal has recently called into question God’s ability to speak and even then in a way that human beings could intelligibly discern, an even more recent resurgence in trinitarian theology and developments in speech act theory has provided Christians newfound confidence in divine revelation via robust theological and philosophical considerations.[1] That said, one of the things that has been divinely revealed is that God has not disclosed everything (not even close). This does not betray incompleteness or insufficiency on his part, but a character choice he has made in keeping with his goodness.

For instance, mysteries permeate scripture. Often mysteries are introduced by God through confusing visions and solved in prophecies (Dan 2:18, 19, 27, 28, 29, 30, 47; 4:9; Rev 1:20; 17:7). In other cases, important theological quandaries previously left unexplained are elucidated (Rom 16:25; 1 Cor 15:51; Eph 1:9; 3:3, 4, 9; 5:32; 6:19; Col 1:26, 27; 2:2; 1 Tim. 3:16). While God is free to solve mysteries as he wills and, on some occasions, desires his solutions to be shared (Rom 11:25; Col. 4:3), often explanations are reserved for a select group and not disclosed to everyone (Mt 13:11; Mk 4:11; Lk 8:10). Still, some mysteries are left unsolved (Eccl 7:24; Dan 12:4; Rev 10:4).

Running complementary to the theme of mystery is the motif of concealment.  One of the first actions taken by God on behalf of humanity following their creation involved the production of garments to cover the nakedness of Adam and Eve following the fall in the Garden of Eden—‘’the Lord God made garments of skin for Adam and his wife, and clothed them” (Gen 3:21). These concealing coverings are no small matter. Earlier in the narrative, immediately upon eating the forbidden fruit, the text reads, “Then the eyes of both of them were opened, and they knew that they were asked; and they sewed fig leaves together and made themselves loin coverings” (Gen 3:7). Something about the sin of this first couple (a sin which came after being tempted to be like God and involved eating from the tree of knowledge of good and evil) rendered them unable to cope with the juxtaposition of how God created them and the surrounding world they broke. This sent them hiding and clamoring for relief in crudely fabricated rags. Out of his abundant grace, God provided Adam and Eve with an upgraded wardrobe that covered their nudity and, more importantly, their shame, allowing them some measure of respite from their debilitating preoccupation with their naked bodies. By keeping certain things hidden, mankind was able, at least in part, to live with the knowledge they had illegitimately obtained. Here, concealment and subsequent mystery proves to be a good graciously offered by God.

Later, the God-Man is shown concealing himself and leaving certain statements or actions unexplained. For example, after Jesus performed many miracles and foreshadowed his death, Luke 9:45 states, “But they did not understand this statement, and it was concealed from them so that they would not perceive it; and they were afraid to ask Him about this statement.” In one episode of his ministry, immediately upon confirming that he was the Messiah, Jesus instructed his disciples not to tell anyone (Mt 16:20; Mk 8:29-30; Lk 9:20-21). Sometimes Jesus asks those who received a word/miracle from him not to share it with others (Mt 8:1-4; Mk 1:40-44; Lk 5:12-15). There are even examples of Jesus concealing himself entirely (Lk 4:30; 24:13-35; Jn 5:13). The accounts of his life are also incomplete, leaving much a mystery. John’s remarks at the end of his gospel are telling—“And there are also many other things which Jesus did, which if they were written in detail, I suppose that even the world itself would not contain the books that would be written” (Jn 21:25). Though possible motivations behind these examples and interpretations of their meaning run the gamut, one thing is for certain: Christ did not endorse unchecked transparency and at times chose to remain, in part, hidden.[2] His discretion is utilized in many different settings for the purpose of accomplishing the will of the Father in the divinely prescribed way and time.[3]

            Pervasive mystery and concealment in the scriptures by both the Father and the Son are not just activities in which God engages, but are indicative of who God is (at least in part). As John reveals, “No one has seen God [that is, the Father] at any time…” (Jn 1:18). This is probably because, as God tells Moses, “no man can see Me and live!” (Exod. 33:20). This is why Job concludes, “Were He to pass by me, I would not see Him; were He to move past me, I would not perceive Him” (Job 9:11)[4] and why John declares “No one has seen God [the Father] at any time…;” (1 John 4:12). After all, is not God [the Father] “spirit”?[5] are not his ways higher than our own?[6] Again, while God certainly discloses himself in the world, his word, and the Word made flesh, there is still much about him that remains a mystery. If God is the ultimate good,[7] then even this personal attribute ought to be considered a moral value when appropriately understood and applied.

The Virtue of Mystery

            Thankfully, not only does the Christian worldview offer an explanation for the moral value of mystery as rooted in God himself, it is also equipped with instructions on how to appropriately endorse discretion in the world. Such applications are found in (though certainly not limited to) the wisdom literature of the Old Testament. Proverbs 12:16 suggests that the wise are those who keep quick reactions to offence to themselves (“a fool’s anger is known at once, but a prudent man conceals dishonor”).  Proverbs 12:23 teaches that it is actually prudent to conceal knowledge and not overshare (“A prudent man conceals knowledge, but the heart of fools proclaims folly”). According to Proverbs 17:9, this aforementioned principle is especially important concerning the transgressions of others (“He who conceals a transgression seeks love, but he who repeats a matter separates intimate friends”). These helpful maxims (and many others) are compliant with the character and nature of God[8] who is himself mysterious and has chosen to withhold certain things from his creation. He offers this advice so that moral beings can enjoy the kinds of interpersonal relationships that contribute to flourishing which, in and of itself, is good.

Unfortunately, the world is happily exercising the inverse of these virtues and suffering as a result. At no other time in history has it been easier or rendered more efficient to communicate with large numbers of people and share what is on one’s mind. While this may prove good in some ways, it is exceedingly bad/wrong when this ability transgresses the God-given principles of discretion outlined above. The immediacy with which people react to the latest polarizing post, the unchecked openness with which people share everything they are thinking and feeling, the expediency with which people betray a confidence, and the gleeful alacrity with which people expose/share the failures of an interlocutor or presumed enemy is staggering. These proclivities run contrary to the character and will of God who himself enjoys mystery, is himself mysterious, and encourages people to keep certain things to themselves. Unchecked transparency, unnuanced reporting, uninhibited sharing is ungodly and has contributed to a multiplicity of moral ills brought on by increased polarization, anxiety, shame, bullying, etc. Many would do well to put the garments God has provided back on by reconsidering and applying the virtue of mystery. Like Adam and Eve, we continue to prove that we are unable to adequately cope with the broken world around us without adorning the protective coverings of concealment that God has graciously provided, in our case, in his word.  

Neil Armstrong once said, “mystery creates wonder and wonder is the basis of man's desire to understand.” Perhaps what the world needs is not more information or more commentary. Perhaps it needs more mystery. After all, God, the ultimate good, both encourages it, endorses is, and is, at least in part, mysterious. Therefore, according to the Christian worldview, to exercise discretion is to follow his example and that is a good thing both for oneself and others.


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Jeffrey Dickson, PhD studied Theology and Apologetics at Liberty University where he now serves as an adjunct professor of Bible and theology. Dr. Dickson is also the senior pastor of Crystal Spring Baptist Church in Roanoke VA where he lives with his wife Brianna and their children.


[1] For a compelling discussion of this modern affront to classical theism see John Morrison, Has God Said? Scripture, The Word of God, and the Crisis of Theological Authority (Eugene, OR: Pickwick, 2006), 7-110. See also Nicholas Wolterstorff, Divine Discourse: Philosophical Reflections on the Claim that God Speaks (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1995) and Kevin J. Vanhoozer, Is There Meaning in This Text? The Bible, The Reader and the Morality of Literary Knowledge (Grand Rapids, MI: Zondervan, 1998).

[2] Consider other examples of God remaining hidden/mysterious: 1) his glory was hidden behind the veil in the Holy of Holies of the Old Testament, 2) He often proves reticent in seasons of discipline or judgement (especially in the intertestamental period), 3) Jesus’ ascension and the sending an invisible helper following his resurrection, 4) Jesus’ choice to speak in cryptic parables requiring his own interpretation.

[3] One example of this is in John 8:59 where Jesus disappears to escape a premature death by stoning. Given that it was not his appointed time this concealment allowed Jesus to continue following God’s will in the way set before him.

[4] See also Job 23:8-9.

[5] See Jn 4:24.

[6] See Isa 55:8-9.

[7] This article assumes the goodness of the Christian God and is not prepared to make a case for this. That said, for such a case, see Robert Adams, Finite and Infinite Goods (New York: Oxford University Press, 1999) and David Baggett and Jerry Walls, Good God: The Theistic Foundations of Morality (New York: Oxford University Press, 2011).

[8] “It is the glory of God to conceal a matter; to search out a matter is the glory of kings” (Prov 25:2).

An Argument for God’s Existence from Gardening

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Over the past few years, I’ve imagined and even longed for the day when I would have time to venture into organic gardening. This year as the school where I teach moved from in-person to online instruction in mid-March, I suddenly found myself at home with more time on my hands. As a result, I decided that this year was the year I’d finally grow a garden. Since I had no idea what I was doing at first—and still have a lot to learn—I began reading numerous articles, read and re-read a book I have on organic gardening (The Vegetable Gardener’s Bible by Edward C. Smith), and watched countless YouTube videos in an effort to adequately prepare myself for growing and managing a successful garden.

Quite honestly, my initial interest in growing a garden was mainly based on my desire to provide healthy, homegrown food for myself and my family. I also thought it would be a fun experience to share with my wife and kids. However, what I’ve learned and experienced over the past few months has brought many unexpected things: incredible excitement and joy, along with an overwhelming sense of peace, and most surprisingly—a deeper relationship with God and a renewed interest in who he is as Creator.

A deeper relationship with God and a renewed interest in who he is as Creator? How is that? I mean, we are talking about a garden, a mound of dirt with some plants that require watering from time-to-time, right?

What I’d like to do now is offer four things that I’ve learned from gardening over the past few months—four things that essentially serve as an argument (of sorts) for God’s existence, in addition to revealing some important aspects of his divine character.

Purpose. First, everything in a garden has a purpose. From the worms to the ladybugs, to the soil, the sun, and rain—everything has an important role to play. Even garbage (i.e., compost) has a purpose, as it fertilizes plants by enriching the surrounding soil with important nutrients that allow for the plants to grow and thrive.[1] With many things working together, each doing its own job, a bountiful harvest becomes possible. But how is this evidence for God? Everything that belongs in the garden is there for a purpose. Anytime there is purpose, there is intent, and intent reveals a personal will. Purpose also reveals wisdom, and wisdom comes from a personal intelligence. Therefore, purpose in creation points in the direction of a divine “Purposer” or, more specifically, an all-wise personal God.

Order. Second, there is an order to the way things work in a garden. Apart from order, gardening would be impossible. I’ve learned that careful soil preparation must precede planting, that seeds and young seedlings must be planted at specific times and then watered sufficiently, and so on. To further illustrate the point, consider how gardeners and farmers typically strive to improve their yield in succeeding years based upon what they have learned in previous years—which is only possible in an environment of order. Order is a problem for naturalism, which maintains that prior to the Big Bang, the universe was in a state of chaos. Additionally, naturalism involves believing that after the Big Bang, an ensuing set of random processes somehow produced order. This is problematic because chaos does not produce order; chaos only produces further chaos. Likewise, randomness only produces more randomness. A tornado cannot rip through a landscape and lay down a perfectly organized garden, even if all of the seeds are already there. A storm is unable to produce systematic rows of evenly divided crops of various kinds. This begs the question: Why does order exist, even within something like a garden, if the universe is just the result of chaotic origin and random material processes? Anytime there is order, a conscious mind is behind it. If a God of order exists, we would expect to find exactly what we find: an orderly creation. Because an orderly creation exists, we have evidence for an orderly God who stands behind it all (1 Corinthians 14:33).

Taste. Third, the food that I’ve grown in the garden is incredibly tasty. In my opinion, there aren’t many things that taste better than fresh-picked, homegrown strawberries or blackberries. I’ve also really enjoyed the delectable flavors of squash and green beans, and I will soon delight in the pleasant palatability of tomatoes and peppers. Here’s a thought I’ve often had, especially as a lover of food: Why does food taste good? I mean, couldn’t food be just as nutritious and enable us to survive and even flourish if it had no taste at all? The wonderfully delightful tastes of various foods seem to be “add-ons,” like something extra. Perhaps all of different flavors of food are actually evidences of a wonderfully good God, who desires to not only satisfy our hunger and innate need for food, but to also allow us to enjoy the pleasurable experience of tasting and savoring the different flavors he has created (Proverbs 24:13).

Beauty. Fourth, before growing a garden of my own, I had no idea how beautiful so many fruit and vegetable plants actually are, especially the flowers they produce. Every morning when I walk out to my garden, I notice bright yellow blooms on the squash and zucchini plants, small white flowers on the pepper plants, white and red flowers on the strawberry plants, and colorful flowers on all of the tomato plants as well. I’ve learned that these flowers exist in order to attract pollinators (which goes back to our “purpose” discussion above), but it seems they also exist for something more—to point us to the beauty of their Creator. Like taste, beauty is an “add-on” to the world; it is not something that is needed for survival. Beauty exists as a mark of design and order; it is something that is to be enjoyed, of course, but it is not an end in itself—it provides us with opportunity to reflect on the ultimate source of beauty. And as we allow the beautiful things we see in creation to push our hearts and challenge our minds to search for the ultimate source of beauty, we encounter our beautiful and good Creator, the divine Artist of creation himself (Psalm 19:1; Ecclesiastes 11:7).

There’s just something about a garden. This is a thought that I didn’t expect to have, but it is one I’ve had repeatedly over the past few months. Perhaps it’s because when we are in a garden, we are at home in the place where our existence began (Genesis 1-3)—and the place where those of us who trust in Christ will one day enjoy God’s presence forevermore (Revelation 21-22). There is much more that I could say about my gardening experience (including some frustrations), and I realize that I have much more to learn—but, for now, I rejoice in the fact that through gardening I experience the same glorious Creator who made the first garden and the One who will also fashion the last garden. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for me to go outside and check on my garden again…

 

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Stephen S. Jordan currently serves as a high school Bible teacher at Liberty Christian Academy in Lynchburg, Virginia. He is also a Bible teacher, curriculum developer, and curriculum editor at Liberty University Online Academy, as well as a PhD candidate at the Liberty University Rawlings School of Divinity. Prior to his current positions, Stephen served as youth pastor at Pleasant Ridge Baptist Church in State Road, North Carolina. He and his wife, along with their three children and German shepherd, reside in Goode, Virginia.


[1] Placing compost into the garden is basically taking dead, rotten material and using it to bring about life among the plants. Surely, there is a spiritual application here somewhere.

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

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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.


Elton_Higgs (1).jpg

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.)


 

Elton Higgs

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. (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.)

New Developments in Moral Apologetics: Kevin Richard

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Editor’s note: Below is a summary of Dr. Kevin Richard’s doctoral dissertation work entitled: Tawḥīdic Allah, the Trinity, and the Eschaton: A Comparative Analysis of the Qualitative Nature of the Afterlife in Islam and Christianity.

The doctrine of eternal life raises certain qualitative and existential questions. Considering the unfathomable duration, one may rightly ask, what will that experience be like and will it be eternally satisfying? British moral philosopher Bernard Williams once stated that “nothing less will do for eternity than something that makes boredom unthinkable.”[1]

The prospect of eternal life creates a potential existential problem for humanity. The problem is potential because eternal existence creates a certain need, a need which can concisely be stated in this way: quality must overcome quantity. One can imagine becoming satiated with the pleasures and joys promised in religious Paradise. Consider this, at the first intimations of boredom, even if that moment took a billion trillion years to reach (if time is still measured that way), you would arrive at this moment relatively quickly given eternity as there would still be as much time in front of you as when you first stepped into this reality. One can further imagine that this boorish reality could quickly become hellish as pleasures and joy would continue to lose their appeal and boredom would increase and abound with no end.

Christianity and Islam have robust eschatologies and both teach that human beings are intended to live forever. Furthermore, this eternal life is presented as intrinsically good. I would submit that if they are in fact intrinsically good then each respective eschatological reality must overcome this problem of eternal duration if eternal life is something to be desired. My concern here is not with comparison between Paradise and Hell. Faced with the option to choose between the two, most rational people would embrace the former. But what if Paradise would eventually become hellish? What then? The notion of this paradisal life would not be a blessed reality, a divine gift, but the worst of all curses to befall mankind. Therefore, I am concerned with the goodness of Paradise as it is in itself. Does either faith tradition’s purported eternal bliss have the ability to eternally satisfy human creatures?

To answer that question, two fundamental assumptions will be made. If the answer is to be yes, that eternal life is intrinsically good, it would seem that two things must obtain in the afterlife. First, eternal pleasure would have to be found in and/or derive from the ultimate Good (i.e. God or Allah). Second, given that human creatures experience goodness in this life – love, happiness, relationality – and that for these creatures their telos is eternal bliss, then these goods in this life will be part of the life to come.

From these two assumptions emerge two “gap” problems, problems against which either religion can be critiqued: the Qualitative Gap Problem (QGP) and the Teleological Gap Problem (TGP). The QGP is perhaps the more obvious problem and is based on the previous statement “quality must overcome quantity.” This is an objective problem, either the quality of the experienced afterlife overcomes eternal duration, or it does not. Some may speculate that one simply could not know if this gap could or could not be overcome, and perhaps there is some merit to this point. In response to this, however, as was mentioned about, if God is the Ultimate Good, as both Christianity and Islam teach, then it would seem that he alone could be the source of a goodness that can overcome eternity’s demand. Here, one emerging thought becomes of ultimate concern: What is one’s relationship to God or Allah in the afterlife? One’s proximity to the divine, relational or otherwise, would weigh heavily on the gap being overcome.

The TGP is a subjective problem and considers how the ultimate good of the afterlife aligns with the human telos in this life and, consequently, human flourishing. The TGP considers three facts that highlight and emphasize the multi-dimensionality of human creatures:

1.     Human beings have a physical dimension.

2.     Human beings have a mental/spiritual dimension.

3.     Human beings have a social/relational dimension.

These are the teleological realities in need of fulfillment in the life to come. If Islamic Paradise or the Christian Heaven is to be desired over the other, it will be because these subjective dimensions, which form our fundamental longings and aspirations, are met. Furthermore, this teleological consideration has theological implications. As Jerry Walls notes, “The question of whether we believe in God is another form of the question of whether the fleeting glimpses of joy we experience in this life are intimations of a deeper wellspring of happiness, or whether they are tantalizing illusions, shadowy hints of a satisfaction that does not really exist.”[2] Although Walls writes within the Christian tradition, his words apply equally within an Islamic context. Applying Walls’s question to both visions of the afterlife, are the experiences of this life intimations of a deeper “wellspring of happiness” or a “tantalizing illusion”? Do they have their place in the life to come? Also, what is the source of this wellspring, God or Allah, or another source?

Within the Islamic tradition, broadly speaking, there are two theological traditions concerning the rewards of Paradise in the afterlife. The first is the one that people are most familiar with, namely, the sensuous and exorbitant afterlife. The second is not so familiar but it comes from the Qur’an itself. In Surah 56, when humanity is judged before Allah, there are three possible outcomes. The wicked are cast into Hell, the righteous are granted Paradise, and then there are a select few, those in the middle, those whom Allah brings near. Their end will be proximity to Allah, their reward is nearness. This station is the ultimate one and is reserved for the select few who attain to that level of nearness on Earth.

But, as I see it, there is a problem with this notion of nearness to Allah. The doctrine of Allah (or Tawhid) teaches that he is One, without distinction, beyond all language and description, utterly transcendent. What then is nearness or proximity to the One? In short, Islamic philosophy teaches that as the other (man) approaches the One (Allah), the more the other diminishes and only the One remains. In the afterlife, then, proximity to Allah amounts to a quasi-absorption into the divine. It is in this state that the self is slowly annihilated as all creaturely distinctions fade out of view and only the divine reality remains. Proximity to Allah, the highest level of Paradise, reaches its culmination in the Beatific Vision, but at what cost? In this moment, the QGP is met, but what comes of the self? Overcoming this gap problem seems to entail willing self-annihilation.

Now concerning the Teleological Gap Problem, how does it fare? As was mentioned above, the traditional readings of Paradise in Islam connect the telos of man in this life with the life to come. In the life to come, all manner of sensuous pleasures and desires are fulfilled. Those intrinsic goods experienced on Earth are now surpassed 1,000-fold. But according to Islamic doctrine, proximity is lost. Those who attain to this level of Paradise are not near to Allah in any real sense. And so, while they may be fulfilled sensually and relationally, it is apart from the Ultimate Good. This seems problematic, for, on the one hand, if they maintain that love is an intimation of love to come in the afterlife, a good worth retaining, then what is the source of the experience of the good in Paradise? The source is not Allah, for his love is self-contained.

At this point, I would submit that there is a greater inherent dilemma for Islam than for Christianity. On the one hand, if the QGP (the objective problem) is to be met it will entail proximity to Allah. But as we see, proximity to Allah entails the annihilation of the human subject, which does not solve the TGP (the subjective problem). On the other hand, if the TGP is to be met, it will entail a severed proximity to Allah. In the physical depictions of Paradise, the TGP, the multi-dimensionality of human creatures, is met. But, at the same time, the QGP is not met because any meaningful experience with the divine is removed. The two gap problems cannot be met simultaneously.

This study argues that the Islamic view of the afterlife does not have the theological and philosophical resources to meet both of these gap problems simultaneously and must compromise on one in order to meet the other. Islam’s doctrine of Allah – Tawhid –raises the following question in need of resolution: “How does the divine overcome the unlikeness that exists between God/Allah and man and yet not annihilate the individual (the other) in the process?”

It is at this point where the Christian doctrine of the Trinity helps to bridge this impasse. Trinitarian love is the fundamental fabric of God’s nature. Instead of this love remaining an abstraction, unknowable through human perception, the triune God acted in human history manifesting the quality of divine love in full display. While humanity remained enemies to God and hostile to his lordship, the Word-made-flesh descended into creation to save and redeem all things. Through Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross, the quality of God’s immense love was demonstrated. In that moment, humanity was given a glimpse of the quality of love that has existed within the Godhead from eternity past. It is this kind of love that Christians identify as part of the ultimate Good. And not only is that love freely given, it made a way for humanity to experience true relationship with God. To know and be known, to love and be loved. The triune God’s love for man is a non-mystical reality, grounded in the very nature of the Godhead. Christians love God because, in a very real and direct expression, God loved mankind first (1 John 4:19). Humanity can embrace those good aspirations of love and relationality both because it is how God created human beings to be and because the God of Christianity has demonstrated it to the world in human history.

This study submits that the Christian view of afterlife overcomes both gaps because of the God/man relationship in Heaven focused supremely on, in, and through the God-man Jesus Christ. It is our holistic relationship to the Triune God that grants eternal joy for all of redeemed humanity. The Christian view of Heaven presented here coupled with the nature of the Triune God is a more desired reality. The teleology of heaven better accounts for and meets the needs of the multi-dimensionality of human beings. Each of the components of the subjective experience in this life are fundamental aspects of the life to come. It is through the relation with the Triune God of Christianity that the problem of eternity is met, where quality does overcome the quantity.


[1] Bernard Williams, “The Makropulos Case: Reflections on the Tedium of Immortality,” in Problems of the Self, (New York, Cambridge University Press, 1973), 95.

[2] Jerry Walls, Heaven: The Logic of Eternal Joy, (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 197.

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

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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.)


Elton Higgs

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. (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.)

Right Life, Happy Life: Insights from Belgravia

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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 WaterlooSophia’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’.

Tom Thomas

Tom was most recently pastor of the Bellevue Charge in Forest, Virginia until retiring in July.  Studying John Wesley’s theology, he received his M.A. and Ph.D. degrees from the University of Bristol, Bristol, England. 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 from 1998-2003. He has contributed articles to Methodist History and the Wesleyan Theological Journal. He and his wife Pam have two children, Karissa, who is an Associate Attorney at McCandlish Holton Morris in Richmond, and, John, who is a junior communications major/business minor at Regent University.  Tom enjoys being outdoors in his parkland woods and sitting by a cheery fire with a good book on a cool evening.

Assessing Evolutionary Debunking Arguments (Crash Course Apologetics Interview with Dr. Tomas Bogardus)

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From Crash Course Apologetics:

In this interview, Dr. Tomas Bogardus joins me to discuss his paper "Only All Naturalists Should Worry About Only One Evolutionary Debunking Argument." The pdf of the paper is linked below. In the paper, he presents three versions of evolutionary debunking arguments (EDA's) against moral knowledge and shows why each fails. He then presents a fourth version of an EDA that is successful, but explains why it should only concern naturalists.

https://philpapers.org/archive/BOGOAN...