Something to be Proud Of

Chapter 12: Academic Freedom

Among the signs of ignorance is arguing with irrational people – Hussain (681)

Professor Thorston Olafssen was not having a good day. He had, once again, started a debate with his students, which would likely be brought up before the review committee at year end. It did not really matter what started it, but once student, at least, was in a feisty mood.

“How in the Hell did you ever get tenure?”

“I slept with half the review committee, men and women,” he quipped.

Not giving the student a chance, he followed, “You want to kill God, do you? What do you have to offer in replacement?” “What has Materialism given us? Consumerism and Marxism. That’s what. What did we get in exchange?” What is our moral basis for Ethics? Consensus? What threat is a Creationist to you, personally? Professionally? How do you explain the scum? A meteor hit the Earth and carried it all the way to Jupiter? What questions can you answer?”

He was ranting again. He checked himself. How many times had he tried? They no nothing else; they don’t know any other way of thinking. In his youth, he got rabid like this often. The Faculty had split over academic freedom. One semester, the department had compromised by having dual instructors; essentially, a member of the cultural anthropology department had volunteered to “co-instruct” (monitor) his introductory courses. The subsequent debates and rebuttals were wildly entertaining, and students eagerly audited the course just for the show. The two professors grew to look forward to the lectures, like boxing matches, but the doubling their teaching commitments wore on both of them. He toned down his rhetoric out of fatigue. The Department felt they had tamed their “reactionary” member. He did not enjoy the Thought Police, but missed them when they lost interest in debating. They left him alone; he left them alone. Both sides had won, but teaching had somehow lost its lustre for “Old Thor”.

He adjourned the lecture. Prof. Olafssen shuffled his papers and books, preparing to schlep it all back to his office, when he noticed an elderly, but muscular and tanned man, still sitting far back in the lecture hall. He wore a yellow duster, of all things. The man was staring, bemusedly at him. He spoke:

“The crassness of our society demeans Man and offends God.”

“I have always assumed so,” the Professor muttered.

“You are useless here; you are useless as a Man.”

“Being useless defines the male of the species,” Thorston retorted.

“Excellent.” The man’s face lit up like he just hooked a trout. “What you are missing son, is God.”

“Yes, reverend (he guessed), I know…” Staring at his papers, he offered, “I envy those who believe, but I can’t see my way to.”

“You are in Limbo?”

“Please! I’m not one of these damned, virtuous pagans.”

The reverend smiled. “I didn’t take you for one.” He leaned forward in his chair, as if he were to talk more, considered, and leaned back. “Friend, I am in need of a teacher, and you are in need of faith. Can I buy you a drink?”

“I figured you would be a tea totaller.”

“The Mormons sell alcohol; the Amish let their teenagers party; why can’t we?”

“Tell me: Why the duster? You look like Henry Fonda.”

“I like the old Spaghetti Westerns,” the reverend replied, reasonably enough. “It looks good on me, doesn’t it?”

Professor Thorsten Olafssen thought to himself: What the Hell? The guy’s a nut, but Berkeley is full of them. It would be better than going to the faculty meeting. “Sure. I’m going nowhere fast.”