There has been a lot of commotion over the past few weeks on
the internet regarding the Courts Redford College of Theology and Ministry at
Southwest Baptist University. Maybe
you’ve heard some of it. Maybe you’ve
heard a lot of it. According to the critics of the college, a
grave injustice has been perpetrated against an innocent man, Dr. Clint Bass,
who was fired for the reason that his colleagues held doctrinal beliefs that
are “liberal,” while Bass himself espouses a pure and unadulterated
conservative Baptist theology. This
narrative is exciting—Let us rally to the
defense of justice!—and in the mouths of Dr. Bass’s supporters, nearly all
of whom seem to share his theological
persuasions, self-aggrandizing. It is
also, unfortunately for Bass and his champions, flatly false. The truth of the
matter is not nearly as exciting, or nearly so flattering to Dr. Bass.
The fact is that Clint Bass was fired for gross professional
misconduct. His intention, as best I can
tell, was to get most of the theology faculty of Redford College fired, myself
included, by any means necessary, and arrange to have us replaced by those who
share his narrow and intolerant version of Christian theology in its most
minute detail. (Bass has presented his own views as being simply those
expressed in the most recent version of a prominent Baptist confessional
statement called The Baptist Faith and
Message. The evidence suggests
otherwise, but we’ll ignore this for now.)
His methods were patient—spanning at least the last five years—and deliberate,
as well as seditious and quite treacherous.
The colleagues that he betrayed are the same ones who voted to hire him,
to recommend him for tenure, and to promote him from Assistant to Associate
Professor. Colleagues who have, up to
this point, respected him as a teacher and scholar and supported him in all of
his professional endeavors. In response
to this support and show of collegiality on the part of the other professors in
Redford College, Dr. Bass borrowed a page from one of his research interests,
the Puritans—the worst possible page, I’m afraid. He planned, organized, and did everything in
his power to carry out a witch hunt. He
seems to have convinced himself that all of these actions are justified, and
even noble, insofar as they were done in the name of God and the advancement of
doctrinal purity. But it is a dark
thought that treachery is justified in the service of a good and righteous
cause.
What I have to say about this whole sordid affair will begin
with some remarks about my experience in Redford College up to this point, will
then move to a consideration of Dr. Bass’s allegations against me personally—as
well as the “evidence” upon which they are based—, and finally attempt to bring
into focus what I think is really at stake in all this, which is nothing less
than a fight for the very soul of the university.
When I applied for the job of Assistant Professor of
Philosophy over thirteen years ago, I
told the faculty members who interviewed me that one of the most attractive
features of the position, for myself as a Christian philosopher, was the
prospect of teaching in a department with colleagues who are experts in other disciplines, such as biblical
studies, theology, and church history—disciplines in which I have no formal
training, but whose content I was (and continue to be) eager to learn
more. I was sincere in this remark. Coming to SBU was an opportunity to be a part
of a community of Christian scholars from whom I had much to learn, and, being
a product of a liberal arts education, the desire to continue learning
throughout the length of my life is one that is deep in the marrow.
Over the years, I have frequently availed myself of the
opportunity to learn more about important biblical and theological matters by
bringing my questions on these topics to my colleagues, who have generously
given of their time to share their wisdom and learning with me. Sometimes, the questions I have brought to my
colleagues have been about issues that I have encountered while reading
Scripture or trying to understand theological matters that have troubled
me. How should we understand this particular hard saying of the
Bible? How do we make sense of that particular theological problem? As a Christian philosopher, I believe that we
should not ignore difficult or troubling questions of these kinds. Our God is big enough to handle our toughest
questions. We should bring them to Him,
every last one, in earnestness and humility.
And often, when we do so, our Lord teaches us through the members of His
body, the Church, including members of the community of faith of which we are a
part. For myself, some of the most
helpful and influential members of the Body through whom I have been instructed
are my colleagues in Redford College.
My efforts to learn from my colleagues have almost always
been rewarded, first, by a warm reception of my questions, followed by a hearty
exchange of ideas, and ending with greater understanding, on my part at least,
as I have learned from their wisdom. But,
I am sad to say, this has not always been the case. A few years back, in the Fall of 2015, I was
on sabbatical, working on a book-length project on the problem of hell. Reflection on this topic had led me to begin
wrestling with some questions about how to understand the relationship between
Christian tradition and the Baptist faith.
For example: What authority does Christian tradition have, according to
Baptists? Don’t we have to recognize
tradition as having some authority in
order to make sense of such matters as the canonization of Scriptures (the
selection of books that would be included in the Bible)? After all, if the church councils in which
these decisions were made are regarded as having no authority, what assurance
do we have that the Bible contains all and only the “right” books? These sorts of questions are very much outside
of the discipline in which I have been trained, and they are questions to which
I did not see any obvious and satisfying answers. But I recognized them as being clearly important questions. I wanted to begin trying to sort through them
and (hopefully) gain some insight and clarity, and I thought that there was an
obvious way to go about this. What I
needed, in this case, was insight from someone who is an expert in either
church history or Baptist thought. And what
luck (I thought to myself): we have a member of our own department who is an
expert in both! That person, of course, was
Dr. Clint Bass.
So with his permission, I sat in on a few of Dr. Bass’s
lectures at the beginning of his History
of Christianity I course, which covers the period of time in church history
most pertinent to the particular questions I was asking at the time. And on a few occasions, I stayed after class was
over to ask some follow-up questions. It
is worth pausing at this point to reiterate the purpose of these
conversations. The point was to try to
articulate a certain problem that I was thinking about, to someone who is an
expert on the topic to which the problem pertains, in order to find out what
are the best possible answers to the
problem that can be given (or, at least, the best possible answers that have
been developed thus far). Dr. Bass gave
me his answers, and (though I don’t have a clear memory of the exact details of
the conversation, I think it’s likely that this is what I did, because it’s
what I usually do in these conversations) I “pushed” the questions a bit, to
try to make sure the problem was being posed in its sharpest form, in order to try to discern whether the answer
being proposed was fully satisfactory.
This is the way that philosophers go about trying to answer hard
questions. We engage in a dialectic—a back-and-forth discussion in
which all sides of an issue are presented, defended, and critiqued—in order to
assess the relative merits and strengths of various possible solutions. In short, I was applying a philosophical
method of inquiry to questions of church history and theology.
I’m afraid that all of this must have been very confusing to
Dr. Bass. At least, that’s the most
charitable interpretation that I know of to explain the actions he took in the
wake of these conversations. He seems to
think that I was expressing to him a set of settled
theological convictions. But of
course, I wasn’t: the whole point of sitting in on his lectures and conversing
with him afterward was to try to figure
something out, to try to discern what the best available answers are to a
certain set of questions that I had been wrestling with. The conversations were fairly short, and few
in number. But apparently, whatever
views he thought I was expressing in those conversations were views that he
found troubling.
So what did he do?
Before answering that question, let me ask another: What
would you do in this situation? Let us suppose for present purposes that Dr.
Bass’s confusion in this situation was sincere, in order to attribute to his
subsequent actions the purest motives possible.
Now put yourself in his place. Suppose
that one of your colleagues seemed to be expressing to you in conversation a
set of views that you considered to be mistaken, problematic, or disturbing,
and suppose that these views pertained to matters of the Christian faith. Suppose that your impression of your
colleague’s views was based on a few, short conversations. What would you do? My guess is, if you are motivated at all by
Christian charity, you would go to that colleague, to engage him in
conversation, in order to get clarity on the matter. You would probably say something like the
following: “In our conversation the other day, I thought I heard you say that
you believe [such-and-such], which seems to me a badly mistaken, and maybe even
a dangerous, thing to believe. Did I
understand you correctly? Is that really
the view that you hold?”
This, I’m sorry to report, was not Clint Bass’s
reaction. His way of dealing with the
situation was rather different. Judging
from the campaign that has been carried out against Redford College, and the
particular “evidence” that has been presented against me, personally, it seems
that what Dr. Bass did is this. He took
out his collection of secret notes,
in which he compiled a record of comments from his colleagues that he had heard—or
thought he had heard, or heard that someone else had heard—a record of comments
that he deemed “un-Baptist,” and he added some choice “quotes” from our
conversation to his record. He behaved,
not like a brother in Christ, but like a secret agent in a police state,
assigned the task of continual surveillance of his peers, for the purpose of
trying to amass evidence by which they might some day be prosecuted for
supposed thought crimes. This is not,
let us say, a clear depiction of the Pauline admonition to believers given in 1
Corinthians 13.
I suppose I should add that there was nothing personal about
any of this—at least, nothing “personal” in the sense of singling me out for this kind of treatment. Dr. Bass behaved this way toward all his colleagues in Redford. Consider the following quote, from a recent
Facebook post by the Dean of Redford College, Dr. Rodney Reeves, in which Dr.
Reeves explains the way that Bass handled suspicions that he (Reeves) held a
variety of “objectionable” views:
“Never once
did he [Clint] ever discuss these things with me. Never once did he ask me what
I believe about these things. Never once did he respect me enough to say, “hey,
I heard some students say this about what you believe. Is that true?” I would
do that for him. I have done that for other faculty. This is what Jesus taught
us to do: go to each other to clear up a matter (Matt. 5:23; 18:15). But Clint
didn’t do that. He chose, instead, to call into question my theological
integrity by spreading lies about me.”
In the smear campaign against Redford
College that has unfolded over the past weeks, one of the pieces of
misinformation that has been repeatedly propagated is that Clint had approached
us, his Redford colleagues, about these matters of theological concern, and had
discussed them with us. Let me be clear
and state this in the most unequivocal terms: Clint Bass did not came to any of us, ever, to express his concerns about our theological views and to
allow us to address his concerns in person.
Never. Not one of us. Not in 10+ years of teaching in the Redford
College of Theology and Ministry.
Dr. Bass is now apparently trying to pass
off an intradepartmental email exchange from January 2018 as evidence that he
discussed these matters with us. But the
contents of the email prove otherwise.
For those of you unfamiliar with the email, which has been (of dubious
legality) posted publicly online: Dr. Reeves received an email from a
“concerned parent” who was inquiring as to what kind of theological education
their son could expect to receive from our college. Dr. Reeves’s asked for input from the rest of
the faculty before responding to the parents, and in light of the feedback he
received—which did not include any suggestions from Dr. Bass—, he wrote his
response and emailed it to the parents. After
the reply to the parents had already been sent, Dr. Bass followed up with a
“Reply All” message to the entire Redford faculty, chastising Dr. Reeves for
his treatment of the matter.
For the moment, let us put aside
considerations of how extraordinarily unprofessional and disrespectful it was
to rebuke the Dean of our College in an email sent to our entire faculty, after
having himself made no attempt to contribute to the discussion up to that point,
rather than approaching Dr. Reeves in private with his concerns. Let us for now focus on a different
question. Is it reasonable to consider
this email from Dr. Bass an acceptable substitute for approaching members of
the Redford faculty in person, and (at least at first) in private, to try to
understand our individual views and to give us a chance to explain our
theological positions? Of course
not. To present this exchange as
evidence of Dr. Bass’s engaging the Redford faculty with legitimate concerns,
in good faith, is simply laughable—or at least, it would be, were the matter
not so serious. And yet there is no other occasion on which Dr. Bass came to
any of us to discuss his concerns.
Some of Dr. Bass’s supporters seem to
imagine that he was fired because of his conservative theological views, views
to which the administration and the other faculty of Redford College are
opposed. In fact, no one in Redford
College had any objection to Bass’s theological views. By “objection,” I mean that no one held his
views against him, nor sought to oppose him, personally or professionally, for any
of his views. Of course, some of us
would likely “object” to some of the finer points of Dr. Bass’s preferred
theological system in the sense of disagreeing
with him, if he had engaged any of us in discussions about such matters. Disagreements on matters of theological particulars
are inevitable among Christian scholars, who spend a great deal of time
reflecting on such issues. Not only are
such disagreement inevitable, they are healthy. It is a sign of departmental vitality when
the members of a theological faculty disagree with one another, respectfully
and in good faith, about secondary and tertiary matters of doctrine. (I am
referring here not to fundamental
matters of the Christian faith, like the authority of Scripture or the divinity
of Christ, but rather to minor issues, like debates over the “five points” of
Calvinism—to pick one example.) This is
healthy for a number of reasons: first, because it means that students will be
exposed to a wide variety of options that exist within Christian orthodoxy,
matters about which Christians of good will may faithfully disagree with one
another. Second, it means that faculty
members will sharpen one another, “as iron sharpens iron,” in formulating their
views, being forced by their colleagues to consider opposing arguments and
critiques. All of this is healthy, and
to be celebrated in a department of theology.
A diversity of theological opinions on the minor issues (again, not on the fundamental doctrines, but on
the secondary and tertiary issues) is part of what makes a department of Christian
theology vibrant.
Throughout the years, some of us in Redford
College have sought to model to our student body what it looks like for
Christians to discuss differences of theological opinion in a healthy and
constructive way. Public forums, such as
the one in which Dr. Reeves and I discussed the topic of hell, are a way of
trying to foster an atmosphere of open inquiry among our students, giving them
a chance to see what it looks like for professors to defend different, and sometimes
opposing, views in a spirit of mutual respect and willingness to listen and
learn from other members of the Christian community. A recording of this particular forum,
however, has now been posted online as evidence of our supposed “heretical”
views. Once again, step back from the
debates about the theological topics under discussion in this forum, for a
moment, to notice how pernicious this is.
An academic event that is meant to foster discussion and reflection
among our student body about important theological issues—a worthy goal of a
Christian academic community, if ever there was one—is instead put in the
service of a witch hunt, presented as evidence of the unfitness of the
participants to teach at a Baptist institution.
(For those of you who have listened only to the collection of audio
snippets, conveniently compiled for your quick and efficient formulation of a judgment
of our views, know that you have been deceived.
If you want to understand anything
at all about our respective positions on the various topics that we
discussed in the forum, you must listen to the entire exchange, as well as the
Q&A that follows, in full.) It is
important to appreciate the message that it sends to our students, to use a
recording of the forum in this way, and the chilling effect that this has on
the atmosphere of an academic institution.
The message to the community is clear: “Don’t you dare even entertain, much less sympathetically consider, much less
endorse, a view that is contrary to what WE believe.” (Here “WE” refers to
whatever authoritative body supposedly sets the theological agenda for the
university.) Do you honestly think that
students’ faith would be strengthened by there being only one, officially
sanctioned set of theological beliefs that the university will allow to be even
discussed? If you do, I would ask you to
reflect on the fact that a great many atheists these days describe themselves
as “recovering fundamentalists.” An
environment that does not tolerate theological questioning or serious
consideration of opposing views is not an effective inoculation against
religious doubt. Instead, it is fertile
ground for a crisis of faith later in life, when exposure to such questions and
opposing views is no longer avoidable.
We do our students no favors by treating their time in college as a
glorified day care for overgrown children, where we will shelter impressionable
young minds from any ideas that might challenge their preexisting assumptions,
until mom and dad can return and pick them up after graduation. This is an unbelievably condescending view of
our students, who are themselves adults,
and fully capable of engaging in rigorous and serious philosophical and
theological reflection, and of forming their own views on these matters in a
careful and responsible way.
And this brings us, finally, to what I
believe to be the heart of the matter in all of this. The question that this whole, ugly chapter in
the history of SBU has so clearly brought into focus is this: What is the purpose of a Christian liberal
arts education? And it is clear that
there are at least two very different
answers to this question on display in the horde of opinions currently
circulating on social media and the larger discussion on the internet. One possible answer—the answer that is pretty
clearly assumed by those who have slandered Dr. Reeves and his teaching
ministry to our students—is that its purpose is indoctrination. On the indoctrination
model, a Christian education is one in which professors stand before a class,
and present to the students a set of views (no doubt, the professor’s own
theological opinions on matters great and small) as indisputable facts that the
students shall accept, on the
professor’s authority, and repeat back to him/her on an exam, perhaps as proof
of the student’s fidelity to doctrinal purity as the professor understands
it. Evidence that this is the model of
education assumed by many of our critics—including Dr. Bass himself—is found in
their telltale use of the word “teach.”
For example: that “Manis teaches” inclusivism, purgatory, etc. in
classes at SBU.
In my philosophy classes, I do not “teach”
anything, in the indoctrination sense of the term. I do not instruct
my students on what they should believe on controversial philosophical or
theological matters. (The phrase “controversial philosophical matter” is
redundant, by the way. Any topic that is uncontroversial does not belong to the
discipline of philosophy.) The claim
that I “teach” inclusivism, or purgatory, or any other view displays confusion
about what it is that goes on in a philosophical classroom—or at any rate, what
goes on in my classes.
What motivates the discussions and other
content of my classes is a very different model of education, one that stands
in stark contrast to the indoctrination model.
One of the primary tasks of Christian education—including theological
education—on this alternative model is that of equipping students to think for themselves about deep
questions of enduring significance for their lives, including (especially)
their faith. There is a great deal of
lip-service paid to “critical thinking” these days, but the reality of actually trying to foster it in students
requires that students be exposed to a wide variety of topics, ideas,
controversies, and opposing views. It is
not fostered by “teaching” students in the manner discussed above—the method of
indoctrination. It is fostered by introducing
students to questions, contemporary debates, philosophical and theological
problems, etc. and helping them to appreciate
what the issues are and why people may reasonably disagree about them. It goes on to consider arguments on both sides of an issue (in some cases,
many sides), as well as counterarguments and critiques of each side. And it culminates in equipping students with
a method by which they may evaluate these competing arguments for themselves, and to arrive at
conclusions in a way that is careful, reasoned, well-informed, and capable of
being rigorously defended, all while still appreciating the merits of an
opposing viewpoint. This is not
relativism, or subjectivism, or postmodernism, or any of the other boogeymen
that haunt the imaginations of Christian fundamentalists. This is, quite simply, what it is to engage
in critical thinking, and what it is to equip students to do the same.
My classes have always been, and will
always be, for as long as I have the distinct privilege of being a professor at
SBU, a safe place for students to explore ideas, and in particular ideas about
important matters pertaining to the Christian faith. My classes will never be used as a platform
for indoctrination—regardless of anyone’s preference or demands to the contrary. One of the very first things that I try to
impress on my students in introductory philosophy courses is that I have no
interest whatsoever in producing ideological clones who will parrot my own
views back to me. My students are not
only permitted, but positively encouraged,
to disagree with me on any matter of philosophical or theological controversy that
they wish. I am reticent to reveal my
philosophical opinions in my introductory courses, not because I have something
to hide, but because I want to make sure, before expressing my own views, that the
students have deeply internalized the point that they cannot settle
philosophical questions for themselves by simply deferring to my supposed
authority and adopting whatever conclusions I might have reached on the issue. That is not how philosophy works. My task as a philosophy teacher is to equip
my students to develop and defend their
own views. This is what it is to begin
to think critically. And the fostering
of this ability is among the principle ends of a Christian liberal arts
university.
If there is a silver lining on the
calamitous course of events that has unfolded at SBU recently, it is this: it
is now evident, in the way that this crisis has been handled, that the
university is presently under very
capable leadership at the highest offices of the President and the
Provost. When Dr. Eric Turner was hired
to be the 25th President of SBU, many of us had the sense that his
appointment was providential. It seems
clear now that he was brought to the university “for such a time as this,” to
lead us through tumultuous waters that very likely would have destroyed our
university under less capable leadership.
I am deeply grateful to both Dr. Turner and Dr. Lee Skinkle for their
service to our university. And I am
encouraged by what I see in them, both in their leadership and in their
character as men of God, for the future of SBU to become a shining example of
what Christian liberal arts education can be.
Christian education is a sacred endeavor, and one that can be used by
the Lord to accomplish great things in the lives of students, as well as to support
the Church and to advance the Kingdom of God.
It is my distinct privilege to be a part of an institution of higher
education that understands its mission clearly in these terms.
I suspect that some of you who have made it
this far in my “essay” still are not satisfied.
“What about the specific charges of doctrinal error that have been
leveled against you? How do you answer?” I answer… in person. I have no interest in trying to shout down
the mob. My weapon of defense is reason,
which is, I’m afraid, utterly useless against those who are incapable of
rational reflection or critical thinking.
In my experience, individuals
are generally reasonable, and quite capable of rational reflection and critical
thinking. The mob is none of these. So if you would like to hear more about what
I believe, or why I believe the things I do,* on any philosophical or
theological topic that interests you, I invite you to come by my office some
time, or to meet me for coffee, and we will discuss it. But I’ll warn you in advance (spoiler alert!) that you’ll be
disappointed if your vested interest is in rooting out heretics. I am firmly committed to orthodox
Christianity. I will say it again. I am firmly
and unequivocally committed to the
fundamentals of the faith that comprise orthodox Christian theism. So much so, in fact, that if you can convince
me that some belief that I hold is contrary to orthodoxy, I will certainly
recant that belief… and thank you for your loving Christian service to me. What you should not expect, of course, is for
me to take it on your word that every
alternative to your preferred theological system is beyond the pale of
orthodoxy. You should come prepared with
arguments. And expect that I will do the
same.
One question remains: How should we move
forward in our personal relationships with Clint Bass? Here our Lord presents us with only one option:
we must forgive. It is not given to us
to forgive some trespasses but not others.
I am praying for Clint daily, as well as for many of his supporters who
have joined him in publicly slandering those of us who serve in the Courts
Redford College of Theology and Ministry.
And I encourage you to do the same.
No reconciliation is possible by any work of man. But our God is a mighty God, and the
conviction of His Spirit is at work in the hearts of all believers. May we listen to Him and respond faithfully,
continually looking forward in hope to the day when we may be reunited in
fellowship and communion with each other, and with the Lord.
* Even after so lengthy a post, please permit me to add one
footnote, to my remarks about “what I believe, or why I believe the things I
do.” It appears that some Christians are
inclined to hold all of their
theological beliefs—from the existence of God, to the authority of Scripture,
all the way down to beliefs about church structure—with equal conviction. I am not a Christian of this sort. I hold the fundamentals of the faith—what C.
S. Lewis termed “mere Christianity”—not only with conviction, but as positively
unrelinquishable. But on a great many
issues—and this includes, especially, speculative views about the details of
the afterlife—I am content to recognize that the issues in question are not
possible objects of knowledge,
because they are not a part of the revelation given to us in God’s Word. Some of these matters are of tremendous
importance, in my view—a good example is the fate of those who die in
infancy—and I’m convinced that philosophical and theological reflection on
these matters can be fruitful and even yield genuine insight. But the beliefs that emerge from such
reflections should always be recognized for what they are: conjectures. At best, they are informed conjectures, guided by careful reflection on the
desiderata of fidelity to Scripture, Christian tradition, deeply held moral and
theological convictions, etc. But there
is no sense in pretending that our beliefs on such matters enjoy anything like
rational certainty; nor is there any reason to pretend that they need to. There is a much more sensible—a much more
authentically Baptist—position that
one can, and should, hold in such matters, and it is this: “IN ESSENTIALS UNITY, IN NON-ESSENTIALS
LIBERTY, IN ALL THINGS CHARITY.”
