After graduating from grad school quite successfully Scooter (Richard Evans) heads to Pittsburgh Presbyterian Divinity school.
Scooter stood at the entrance of gate of the Pittsburg Presbyterian Divinity School…. The school was located on the edge of the combat zone on Pittsburgh’s North side, directly across the street from the cities notorious red light district…. Scooter stood before the building like a spiritual immigrant. He was Redburn at the wharf in Liverpool; Luther at the steps of Scala Sancta in Rome; Jacob by the ford of the river Jabbok. He was dazed in awe, at once frightened and exhilarated by the sight of this holy institution…
Scooter entered the building. It’s interior was as somber as its façade… The office walls were adorned by portraits of bearded scholars of Calvinistic heritage who once graced the lecterns of this institution, some of whom went on to teach at the grand Presbyterian Seminary at Princeton. He was now a bona fide student of divinity school.
The first day was given to class registration followed by an assembly for the entering class to hear an orientation speech by the dean. Scooter looked forward to hearing the address. He had heard Dean Alexander Jefferson speak when he had visited Witherspoon College as a vespers speaker. Scooter had been assigned as the dean’s campus escort on that occasion and had arranged dinner and housing accommodations for him. It was the dean’s sanguine manner and personal vitality on that visit that had convinced Scooter to enroll in the PPDS.
Dean Alexander rose to speak:
“Gentlemen, we welcome you to this institution. We are called a divinity school. Some refer to us as a theological seminary. Those words are accurate to a degree, but they fail to capture the spirit of this place and this faculty. Our goal is to be a theological university where the highest level of scholarship is performed, the most rigorous academic curriculum. Your class will be the first to follow it. The curriculum will be exacting, innovative, and I trust, exciting. You will be challenged. The assumptions you brought with you will be tested.
“We have assembled a faculty that we believe is one of the finest in America. We do not speak a party line. We are not monolithically committed to one theology. We are diverse. We are critical in the academic sense. You will certainly not be sheltered. We want you to be exposed to a broad spectrum of theological viewpoints. ‘Iron sharpens iron,’ gentlemen. We will have spirited debate, open dialogue, and candid criticism.
“This is not a ‘safe school.’ We put the accent on risk, on challenge. There will be times when you will struggle. You will be confused, frustrated, and sometimes downright angry. But those are the price tags for any man’s honest pursuit of truth.
“The door to my office is always open to you. I want our time here to be rewarding. Let us make the pilgrimage together.
Scooter was moved by Dean Jefferson’s speech. The ringing challenging was taken by the new students as a compliment, a transparent assertion that they had the maturity to handle difficult issues and critical analyses of their faith without lapsing into sheltered retreat. Scooter was confident that subjecting his faith to rigorous intellectual scrutiny would only serve to strengthen it.
His confidence was shaken on the third day of classes. Two events converged to kick the props out from him, leavin him flailing in the air for something to grab on to. In theology class he was exposed toa German scholar who added academic prestige to the institution. Both his personal bloodline and academic credentials were impeccable. Dr. Hans Mannheim was noted for his brilliance as well as for being a nephew of one of Germany’s most famous theologians. Mannheim’s bohemian style, punctuated by a heavy accent, gave him an added measure of charisma.
In his first lecture Mannheim declared with Teutonic bombast, “Gentlemen, the truth of God can never be contained in the earthly vessel of human logic. For ultimate truth we must go the way of the paradox. Reason is a whore. She will deduce you and leave you spent but unsatisfied. We must defy logic, say, ‘To the gallows’ with reason. We must walk to the edge o irrationality and peer into its pit. And then jump. Jump with reckless abandon. We must go over the brink and into the abyss. That is where authentic faith is found. It is Abraham hearing the summons of God to kill his own son, with Keirkegaard calling the ‘temporary suspension of the ethical.’ It is believing against reason that makes us Christians. Put your logic away; nail it to the cross. We must destroy reason to make room for faith.”
The class exploded in spontaneous applause. They were thrilled in their souls by Mannheim’s eloquence, by his passion; and most of all by his words of liberation. Scooter didn’t clap. He sat there confused. What the professor said had moved him too. He responded to the dynamism of the lecture with an inner excitement, but his mind was baffled.
Another student asked the question aloud that was squeezing Scooter’s brain: “Dr. Mannheim, Can you give us an example of how theology goes beyond logic?”
“Yes.” Dr. Mannheim responded. “Consider the nature of God. The classical textbooks declare that God is immutable. He never changes. Yet if God were absolutely immutable, incapable of any change, He would be inert—static—a frozen being locked in eternal permanence who could not act. Such a torpid God would differ not at all from a dead God. Yet the fathers were right: God is absolutely immutable in His essence. We must hold to that at all costs. We dare not abandon that truth lest we worship a God who is ephemeral, who changes His character whimsically like a will-o’-the–wisp.
“But—at the same time we must declare that God is mutable. He does change. He is alive, dynamic, perhaps even a part of the cosmic process scientists are only now beginning to probe. So with our ancient confession we must also boldly declare that God is absolutely mutable in His being.”
Now it was becoming clear to Scooter. The veil was starting to lift. He raised his hand and was acknowledged by the professor. “Dr. Mannheim, do you mean that there is paradox in God, and apparent contradiction that can be resolved by closer scrutiny? That looking at God from one perspective shows a kind of immutability, but from another perspective a kind of mutability?”
“No, no young man. That is precisely what I do not mean. You are still trying to force God to be logical. Did you hear any of my words? I said that ‘God is absolutely immutable in His being and absolutely mutable in His being.’ Absolute and altogether both! At the same time! In the same relationship! From the same perspective! Not merely paradox, boy, contradiction pure and simple. That is the scandal of Christianity. Contradiction. You must be mature enough to accept it and rest in it. Think about it. Deeply. It will force you to faith.”
When the class ended, Scooter walked to the student lounge in a daze. His classmates were buzzing excitedly around him outdoing each other with glowing epithets of praise for their professor. Scooter was hardly listening. Key words from their dialogue hit his ears like poisoned darts: “deep,” “profound,” “genius,” “scintillating”—Scooter remained silent. He was obviously dejected. One of the student prodded him, “Wasn’t that fantastic, Evans? Mannheim is incredible. Best lecture I ever heard.”
“Was it?” Scooter asked coldly, his shock giving rise to anger.
“What’s the matter with you Evans? Didn’t you like what Mannheim said?”
“What did he say?” Scooter asked.
“You know what he said. You were there.”
“Yeah, I was there. I heard it. I know what he said. Maybe I should have asked, What did he mean?”
“You asked that in class. He told you what he meant. He meant what he said, ‘God is absolutely immutable and absolutely immutable.’ He’s both. At the same time. In the same way. Don’t you get it, Evans?”
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t get it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s nonsense, that’s why. The only absolute about it is its absolute nonsense.”
“But that is the whole point. You’re all hung up on logic. You have to get past that. Go beyond it, man. That’s what Mannheim is saying.”
“Yeah, I know. That’s what bothers me.”
“Why? Surely you believe God is greater than logic?”
“Yes. But is He less? He may be above reason but not against it.”
“Do you think you can know all about God just by reason? That stuff went out in the seventeenth century, Evans.”
“Of course we can’t know all about God just by reason. I told you I believe God is beyond reason. There are lots of things I can’t fathom. That’s one of the reasons I’m Here. There’s a whole lot of mystery in my faith. Mystery I can live with. But contradictions? Never.”
“Sounds to me like you’re really a rationalist. Where’s your faith? Or don’t you have any?”
“Maybe I don’t, Scooter said. “Maybe I don’t.”
Scooter felt lousy. He went back to his room thinking, What is this place? A seminary or a Madhouse?
Later that afternoon Scooter had his second shock of the day. This time it was a New Testament professor who delivered the jolt. Dr. Nelson Tweedy. American by birth but educated in Marburg, Germany, was giving an exposition of the theology of Rudolf Bultmann.
“It is Professor Bultmann’s thesis that the Bible is a mixture of history and mythology. There is an historical core to the myths that sprung up about Jesus, But it is like a small kernel encrusted in a husk of mythology. It is the job of the serious student to cut through the husk and get to the kernel. We must use the method of demythologizing the Bible. The Bible was written by ancient men in a primitive and prescientific environment. No one can live in our modern age, making use of radio, television, atomic energy and microbiology, and still believe in the miracles of Jesus. The New Testament stories of virgin birth, resurrection, atonement are all mythological embellishments added to the historical Jesus.”
Scooter was not disturbed by the exposition. He was aware of such theories emanation from the continent, especially from Germany. He was aware that nineteenth-century critics had argued that the resurrection was at worst a hoax and at best a parable of sorts. He patiently waited for Dr. Tweedy’s critique of Bultmann. None came. The lecture continued sounding not so much as an exposition of Bultmann but as a declaration of the professor’s own beliefs.
Larry Knapp, a student rooming on the floor as Scooter, engaged the professor in debate.
“But, professor, if we discount the resurrection of Jesus what happens to Christianity?”
Dr. Tweedy replied, “There is much more to Christianity than stories about dying and rising gods. There is an existential spirit In Jesus that we need to grasp to be authentic men. That’s what we must look for.”
“But what about Christ’s deity?” Larry complained.
“Maybe we need to redefine what we mean by deity to be modern Christians.” Dr. Tweedy was alert to the rising sense of the consternation in the room. He spoke in pastoral terms, gently, to assuage the anxiety of the students. “I’m afraid that some of you have come here with too many assumtions. Relax. This is the place to test your assumptions. Those that are sound should be able to survive intact. Those that won’t stand up to criticism will have to be discarded.”
Tweedy’s words echoed in Scooter’s ears after class, almost making him forget Dr. Mannheim’s morning lecture. Some of you have come here with too many assumptions. The deity of Christ an assumption? Wow! I guess I’m one of the culprits. I’ve come here with two assumptions” that truth is rational, and Christ is divine. Already I’m 0 for 2. Maybe I don’t belong in the ministry.
Scooter resolved to keep his mouth shut in class and to avoid unsavory arguments. He told himself that the professors’ private beliefs didn’t matter. He was here for education, not inspiration. He combed his textbooks carefully, screening what he judged to be true and discarding whatever he thought was false. I can learn something from anyone, he thought. I’ll never find a person with whom I’ll be in agreement about everything. No matter, I can still learn.
His heart was saying something different. He was feeling the excruciating pain of disillusionment. The hurt was fomenting within, threatening him with bitterness. Part of him was hurt, part of him was ngry and he feared a growing paranoia. Why am I so upset? The other students are taking it in stride. Don’t they understand? Don’t they care?
Scooter held his silence in class until the end of the first semester when he listened to another new Testament professor lecture on the meaning of the Sermon in the Mount. When he came to the Lord’s Prayer he said to the class, “Gentlemen, the point of this model prayer is found in its lesson in brevity. The entire prayer takes approximately eighteen seconds to recite. The lesson for us is that we ought to not waste our time in pious outpourings of lengthy prayers as the hypocrites do, but we ought to be men of action, not slowed down or retarded by so-called spiritual exercises. Jesus is saying here to never pray for more than twenty seconds. Any more is a waste of time.”
Scooter raised his hand, a gesture met by synchronized response of the professor’s raised eyebrows. “What is it, Mr. Evans?”
“Sire, it seems strange to me that Jesus Himself never made such an inference about the time duration of prayer. If he was implying such a rule here, why didn’t He obey it Himself? The Gospels record several occasions when Jesus spent protracted periods in prayer. Luke says Jesus prayed all night before He selected His disciples, and in His agony in Gethsemane He rebuked His disciples for not persevering in prayer as He did?”
An electric sense sparked the air as Scooter opened his mouth uttering a direct challenge to the renowned scholar. A sardonic grin curled the corners of the professor’s mouth and he said in imperious tones, “You…Mr. Evans…are not Jesus!”
The class exploded in laughter and Scooter slouched in his seat, crimson-faced in humiliation.
When the class was dismissed Scooter was consoled by a small cadre of friends who shared is faith in historic Christianity and felt the pangs of his shame in the class with him. The five of them met weekly in Scooter’s room for a time of prayer that always exceeded the new orthodoxy of eighteen seconds. …..
To save some space and get to the point I think is relevant for students today, I will skip some of the book.
At this juncture of the book Scooter gets into a tumultuous ribbing from some of those who are critical of historical Christianity. Someone sets a small fire at his dorm room door while he and his buddies are praying. It leads to an embarrassing conflict where Scooter stops the onslaught by punching the most vocal instigator in the nose. Thus, ending the conflict for the time being, he is ashamed of his behavior and feels the weight of his actions. He grows a bit more depressed and struggles along. He even considers quitting school or transferring. But he has a ray of hope in one professor at the school. We will pick up there now.
Scooter’s single ray of hope lay in the person of one faculty member who swam against the current of the divinity school, Dr. Edward Morrison. Dr. Morrison was an anomaly, a maverick and misfit in this place. A Harvard PH.D., Morrison was far and away the most erudite professor on the faculty and also the most conservative. He was shunned by the rest of the teachers, partly out of fear and partly out of contempt. They referred to him behind his back as “Medieval Morrison” the ossified anachronism who seemed to be unaware of what century he was living in. His acute logical mind and penchant for classical orthodoxy earned him the reputation of being the last of the seventeenth-century Protestant scholastics, a fossilized vestigial remnant of bygone days. Put I a scraggly beard on his ruggedly handsome face and his portrait would blend in perfectly on the walls of the registrar’s office. Dr. Morrison was the Pittsburgh Presbyterian School of Divinity’s token Conservative….
Morrison assumed his post working like a Daniel in a den full of lions. He was fearless in debate, quite able to stand alone as a thorn in the side of his colleagues. His scholarship was impeccable and , though the faculty despised him, none could assail his academic credentials, which made him all the more loathsome to them. He was the theologians’ William F. Buckley, a man the liberals love to hate but none wants to face on-on-one in public debate. Morrison was encyclopedic in his knowledge, mastering the latest German theology before his comrades, to their constant chagrin.
Scooter’s problem was that Dr. Morrison frightened him as much as he intimidated the faculty. His courses were so demanding that it was said he would flunk his grandmother if she couldn’t spell “Schleiermacher.” Morrison’s class syllabus declared that students were welcome to make appointments for private interviews with him, but Scooter was not aware of anyone who had the nerve to visit the “awesome one” in his private chambers. But if anyone could understand Scooter’s problem it was Morrison, and his fear of the professor was now slight in comparison to the anxiety he was feeling about staying in school.
Dr. Morrison’s was ebullient, pleasantly chatting with Scooter while she penciled in a 4:00 p.m. appointment on Morrison’s schedule book. He was granted and audience of fifteen minutes, hardly time enough to resolve his difficulties, but at least it was something to look forward to to keep his mind occupied during the day. Scooter could feel the furtive glances of the students as he walked to halls between classes. Maybe his imagination was working overtime, fueled by guilt feelings, but seemed as if the men were giving him a wide swath in the corridors like he was a madman about to explode and lash out at anyone treading too near. Paranoid, he though. I’m getting stinking paranoid.
The 4:00 meeting was a pleasant surprise. Morrison was warm and compassionate, ignoring the clock as he listened to Scooter rehearse his problems of the previous day and confess his thoughts about quitting. He saw another side of Morrison, a gracious wit that sparkled in his repartee. “Aha. We have a Presbyterian pugilist in our midst, a Calvinistic Cassius Clay, our theological answer to the Loquacious Lip of Louisville.”
Scooter was shocked that Morrison, with his head usually buried in tomes in the library would be remotely aware of the young boxer who profoundly proclaimed to the world that he was the “greatest” while composing awful poems predicting the exact round of his next opponent’s demise. This was before Clay’s conversion to Islam, His name-change to Mohammed Ali, and the “Thrilla in Manila.”
That Morrison could jest about Scooter’s “pugilistic proclivity” without coming down hard on him for losing his temper put a warm blanket of peace on his soul. He listened with growing hope as Morrison encouraged him to stay, to put his misconduct behind him and stick it out at the seminary. “Richard, if you stay here and master the material I give you, which I can supplement beyond your course requirements, plus master what the liberals ae teaching you, you will gain the benefit of the equivalent of two educations. You’ll know both sides, learning them from advocates of each.”
Scooter gave Dr. Morrison his solemn assurance that he would follow his counsel, jubilant inside that he had discovered another coach, an ersatz father who would believe in Scooter when he didn’t believe in himself. He stood up to leave, filled with a rekindled optimism.
“One more thing to remember, Richard. Never argue with the man who’s holding the microphone.”
“What do you mean?” Scooter asked.
“What I’m saying is, keep your ears open and your mouth shut in class. Don’t try to argue with your professors. It’s like debating with a talk-show host on television. They control the game. Their finger is on the microphone switch. They can shut you off anytime they feel like it. Only a fool plays against a stacked deck.”
“Yes sire. I’ll remember that.”
Now to end this post I just want to say I think there is a lot of good counsel here for students who have to deal with wayward men who teach things that are aberrations. There are good answers to refute bad scholars. We just have to be prudent and find the resources.
I have heard it said that if you want to spot a counterfeit monetary note you have to be familiar with the real one. I was at a convenient store / gas station a month ago. A customer handed the female attendant a ten dollar bill. After she received it she held it up to the light to examine it. Immediately she called her manager over to examine the monetary note. He immediately declared that the gentleman had handed the attendant cashier a counterfeit bill and asked him where he had received it from.
The point of this blog post is to encourage you students and others everywhere to get to know and examine things based upon the the first book. The Bible is the first book which is the inspired Word of God. It is inerrant and infallible. We need to know this book so that we are not deceived concerning truth in matters of faith and truth. Science changes daily but the Word of God stands forever sure. Philosophies are changed daily but the Word of God is concrete and holds no contradictions.
We should not be fearful of bad teaching but learn from it. As Scooter's first President of Witherspoon College mentioned in the first portion, “You can learn something from the devil himself, if only what craftiness is.” We can learn from everyone. In the second portion I believe Professor Morrison also gave Scooter some sound advice in dealing with teachers. So let me encourage you to think on these two scenarios.
Be Encouraged,
