麻豆淫院

A little over four years ago, the University of Colorado, Boulder began a three-year pilot program that I believe has no precedent in American higher education. With the help of private donors, and the support of the university鈥檚 board, president, and chancellor, the school created the position of Visiting Scholar of Conservative Thought and Policy.

According to its supporters, the chair鈥檚 purpose is to advance that type of diversity鈥攑olitical and ideological diversity鈥攖hat seems a natural fit for a public academic institution that has the motto, 鈥�.鈥�

With its fifth year beginning in the fall of 2017, it is safe to say that this is no longer a pilot program, but a permanent fixture of the university. I was honored to have served as the 2016-17 occupant of the chair, which is a full-time faculty appointment with a regular 2-2 course load.

With all my grades now turned in, I鈥檇 like to offer some reflections on my time in Boulder.

Having taught full-time for seven years at a large public university (UNLV, 1989-1996), I was delighted to be returning to a similar sort of institution. I look back fondly on those UNLV days because, as one of the few self-identified conservatives on campus, I felt I had a special obligation to represent my tribe with not only careful scholarship and good teaching, but with a public persona that exuded the joy that was in my heart. I really love being a professor, and that has nothing to do with my politics.

I found myself with the same sense of mission and determination when my wife and I arrived in Boulder last August.

In the fall, I team-taught the course 鈥淭homas Aquinas鈥� with philosophy professor听, one of the world鈥檚 leading Aquinas scholars. As I told Bob when he invited me to team-teach with him, 鈥淵ou know, you鈥檙e the Aquinas scholar; I鈥檓 just the Thomist.鈥� He responded, 鈥淏ut you have skin in the game.鈥�

The class went marvelously. I lectured on the aspects of Aquinas鈥� philosophy I knew best and that I鈥檝e taught before鈥攐n God and the nature of law鈥攚hile Bob focused on Aquinas鈥� views on human nature, free will, and right and wrong action.

The other fall course I taught was 鈥淧hilosophy and Religion鈥� (which I also taught in the spring). Offered in the philosophy department, this course dealt with philosophical issues in religion, such as the concept and existence of God, the relationship between faith and reason, miracles, God and ethics, and the problem of evil.

Because I do not often teach this at Baylor, it was exciting to get back to those issues that originally drew me to philosophy. What amazed me was how interested the students were on the topics we covered in class, especially in comparison to my Baylor students, virtually all of whom would identify themselves as serious Christians. My guess is that because CU is a public university鈥攁nd thus unlike Baylor does not require its students to attend chapel and take six credits of theology in order to graduate鈥攖he issues we discussed were new to many of my students.

My other spring course, 鈥淩eligion and the Constitution,鈥� was offered in the political science department. A constitutional law class focusing on religion cases, most of the students were pre-law political science majors.

Of all my CU classes, this one had the most enthusiastic participants.

Although there were many interesting exchanges, one in particular stands out. It involved the case of听Burwell v. Hobby Lobby Stores. While I was trying to delicately explain to the students the four types of birth control to which Hobby Lobby objected and that the Secretary of Health and Human Services had mandated the company purchase for employees who wanted them, a young lady in the front row raised her hand and interceded.

After announcing to the class that she was at that very moment wearing an IUD鈥攐ne of the birth control methods in question鈥攕he proceeded to explain precisely how it functioned. While she was speaking, I began to consider what I should say in response to her personal disclosure.

I concluded that I should say nothing except, 鈥淭hank you,鈥� and then go on to ask if any other students wanted to contribute to the discussion. For I thought to myself, 鈥淲hat if it were the other way around? What if I were a very liberal, perhaps irreligious, professor, and one of my students鈥攍et鈥檚 say, a devout Evangelical Christian鈥攂oldly announced his personal faith to the class and went on to explain the theological reasons why his brethren at Hobby Lobby hold the views that they do?

Would it be right for me to respond by saying, 鈥淪orry, that鈥檚 too much information鈥�?

The answer is obvious. If you want a classroom where students can speak freely about the topics under discussion鈥攁 place in which we can with integrity assess dangerous ideas鈥攖hen you cannot be a helicopter professor, whether you鈥檙e a liberal, conservative, or something in-between.

Three days after the final exam, I was so pleased to receive this message from one of the students in that class: 鈥淚 have never seen a class in which the students spoke more freely. They (we) truly felt their ideas were welcomed and matter.鈥�

In addition to teaching, the visiting scholar鈥檚 position comes with other responsibilities: (1) inviting guest speakers to campus, and (2) accepting as many invitations as possible to speak to local civic, political, and religious groups.

Concerning the first, I decided to invite speakers who touched on cultural themes that are rarely entertained in a serious fashion by the popular conservative television-radio media complex (which, for most people, especially in the academy, represents the essence of conservatism).

So, in the fall I brought George Yancey (University of North Texas) and Patrick Deneen (University of Notre Dame) to campus. Yancey spoke on 鈥�,鈥� while Deneen gave a talk on 鈥�.鈥�

In the spring, the university hosted lectures by Elizabeth Corey (Baylor University), who spoke on 鈥�,鈥� and author Rod Dreher, who discussed his听New York Times听产别蝉迟蝉别濒濒别谤,听.

I am happy to report that the lectures were well-attended and that there were none of the disturbances or protests that we鈥檝e seen on other campuses throughout the U.S. over the past few years. Audience members asked probing questions, but they were clearly offered in a spirit of inquiry and truth-seeking, even when it was obvious that the questioner strongly disagreed with the speaker. That鈥檚 the sort of critical dialogue that many of us鈥攔egardless of our political views鈥攂elieve to be integral to university life.

As for local talks, I gave plenty of them, most often about our fundamental freedoms and why everyone should defend them.

What became my standard 鈥渟tump speech鈥� focused on the growing indifference to the attacks on freedom of speech, association, and religion in the wider culture, but especially on our college campuses. As far as I could tell, my message was well received, even by many listeners who do not identify as conservative or libertarian.

I believe the main reason for this is that I framed this talk as a defense of what I like to call 鈥�,鈥� about which I have written elsewhere: 鈥淚 miss liberalism. Real liberalism. Not this namby-pamby, afraid-of-your-own-shadow faint-hearted liberalism. What I miss is the rock-ribbed, truth-seeking, justice-pursuing, rights-defending, I-don鈥檛-agree-with-you-but-I鈥檒l-defend-your-right-to-say-it liberalism. It was the liberalism that defeated Nazism and Communism. It was your daddy鈥檚 liberalism鈥�.鈥�

This approach resonated with a lot of people.

From what I could gather, and from my numerous conversations on campus, the administration, faculty, and staff are generally supportive of the visiting scholar program. Although there is no doubt that CU, like virtually all public universities, is overwhelmingly liberal in its political composition, I never felt unwelcome or out of place. For me, it was almost as if the campus was whispering in my ear, 鈥淟et your light shine.鈥�

This essay was originally published by the and is reprinted with permission.

听