The Veritas Conflict (26 page)

“Give me a classroom example, someone.” He called on a girl in the front row.

“Well, last year in psychology we learned about how little of the brain we actually use and how many mysteries there are about how the brain functions. They did two class sessions on all the paranormal psychology, psychics, mediums, influencing people by the power of your thoughts, all that sort of thing.

“The professor wasn’t a mystical sort of person; it was all just clinically interesting to her. She wanted us to do an experiment where we would try to read each other’s thoughts and another where we would actually try to influence another person’s actions by a sort of meditation—she called it “programming.” I really wasn’t comfortable with that, because the Bible says divination is abominable to God, and that seemed to be coming awfully close! But the prof wouldn’t budge and said that if I refused to do the experiments, she’d have to give me an F on those assignments.”

Mansfield shook his head. “I’ve heard that sort of thing before. What did you do?”

The student looked uncomfortable. “Well … I went ahead and did it. I couldn’t afford to fail. But it just made me uneasy the whole time.”

Mansfield turned back to the class. “Her example is just one of hundreds I’ve heard in the past few years. People often think of Harvard as a main breeding ground for secular humanism in America, and they’re probably right. For the last century or more, the spiritual environment at this school has been quite dark and has influenced other universities around the country. The faculty research and social thinking done
here—research that has been more and more influenced by today’s humanistic, relativistic worldview—has often spread to institutions all over the country.

“You’ve all heard the political phrase, during the presidential primaries, ‘As New Hampshire goes, so goes the nation.’ Well, it does seem that as Harvard goes, so go the nation’s universities. And because many of the nation’s leaders go to these universities, so goes the nation.”

He held up a warning hand. “Now, just so you all don’t get too big for your britches, remember: We all know that what Harvard primarily has going for it is the name—right?” He grinned at the sheepish looks around the room. “Anyone here that has been in a classroom at any other challenging college has seen that there isn’t a whole lot of difference between it and Harvard. Here we’re just a lot older and—unfortunately—sometimes more arrogant about promoting ourselves and our ‘heritage of scholarship.’ ”

Mansfield paused, looking around. “Tonight I want to go back into the past and tell you about the spiritual heritage Harvard has and that you have as Christian students—a spiritual heritage shared by Christian university students all over the country.”

The professor propped some reading glasses on his nose and opened a small leather-bound book. “Let me read to you from the early
College Laws
, dated just six years after this school was founded in 1636:

“Let every student be plainly instructed and earnestly pressed to consider well the main end of his life and studies is to know God and Jesus Christ which is eternal life, John 17:3, and therefore to lay Christ in the bottom, as the only foundation of all sound knowledge and learning.”

“The official founding purpose of Harvard—and the ‘main end’ of anyone’s life and studies—was to help students know God and Jesus Christ. This is why an early college motto was
Veritas
—Truth not for its own sake, but, as the eventual tag line indicates,
Veritas Christo et Ecclesiae
. Truth for Christ and the Church.”

The glasses came off, and Mansfield switched on a projector. A picture of an old Harvard seal sprang up on a screen behind him, its outlines familiar and yet different from the seal Claire was used to.

He gestured to the screen. “This school has gone through many changes over the last few hundred years—and those changes have been inevitably mirrored in the motto and the shield. The early founders of Harvard were Puritans and orthodox Christians in the Calvinist tradition. The motto
Christo et Ecclesiae
, instituted in the late 1600s, was the primary motto for over a century. And for much of that time it was representative of the orthodox Christian beliefs of the students and faculty.”

Mansfield began pacing the room, and his tone changed. “However, by the mid-1700s, as great strides made in science and other areas of study, we in this new country—especially intellectuals—had begun to grow dangerously proud in our own knowledge. And as we grew more convinced of our own superiority, we grew less convinced of God’s. The influence of the so-called Enlightenment began to eat away at the faith’s Christ-centered focus. The Unitarian and transcendentalist movements emerged, appealing to those who preferred to define their own faith, rather than bowing to the sovereignty of God and accepting His revealed plan in the Bible.

“Many Harvard leaders considered themselves the intellectual stalwarts of the Age of Reason, but since they lived in a time when having
no
faith was not yet acceptable, many were eager to embrace Unitarianism.” He smiled sadly. “Since Unitarians reject the centrality of Jesus, that was the beginning of the end of Harvard as a Christ-centered institution.

“An old book,
Three Centuries of Harvard
by Samuel Eliot Morison, perfectly captured this transition. Morison wrote: ‘Faith in the divinity of human nature seemed the destined religion for a democracy, closely allied to confidence in the power of education to develop the reason, conscience, and character of man.’ ”

Mansfield glanced up at the intent expressions before him. “Once you build a faith in the divinity of human nature, Christ is bound to be removed from the center. And that is exactly what happened. Harvard changed the motto from
Christo et Ecclesiae
back to the very first motto of
Veritas
. This time, however,
Veritas
wasn’t referring to Jesus Christ as the source and end of all knowledge. Rather, a return to
Veritas
meant a liberation of reason from religion. Harvard was beginning to transform itself into a modern—and therefore purely secular—university.”

Claire listened as Mansfield described the ensuing tug-of-war between those who supported and opposed that change, and the compromise that eventually merged the two mottoes into
Veritas Christo et Ecclesiae
. The students were surprised to learn that it was still the formal motto for the present day, even if only
Veritas
was actually used.

“But it gives me some small hope,” Mansfield pointed out, “that the school has not chosen to formally eliminate Christ and the Church from its standard. Just as God says His Word will not return void, so will His Holy Spirit tenaciously pursue those who have once invited Him in. The Good Shepherd will leave the ninety-nine to doggedly seek that one lost sheep.”

Mansfield returned his attention to the screen. “In addition to the motto, let me give you another example of how this seal is slightly different than today’s.” Using a pointer, he tapped the three books spaced in an inverted triangle inside the seal. “Take a look at these three books on the older crest, with the letters
Ve-ri-tas
written across them. Do you notice anything different from the way they appear on the modern version of the seal?”

He waited a minute while the newer students strained to discern any differences. Claire spotted a Harvard sweatshirt on a student across the room, and her eyes flickered back and forth from the sweatshirt to the screen. The books looked the same, except…

Her hand shot up, and Mansfield promptly called on her.

“The third book! That bottom book … in the old seal it is facing down. In today’s seal it looks like it’s faceup.”

“Exactly. The early Harvard fathers included the top books to represent the Old and New Testaments and the bottom book to represent the Book of Life. The presence of books, in the university setting, presumably also came to exemplify the quest for truth in all the academic disciplines. The early founders carefully kept the bottom book turned down to make it clear that, while we can search and study and learn, there will always be limits to human knowledge. There will always be mysteries known only to our sovereign God.

“At some point, however, the university decided to turn that book faceup. Apparently we now know everything there is to know.” Indignant chortles sounded throughout the room.

The professor removed his reading glasses and tucked them back into his pocket. When he looked up his jaw was set, and his eyes seemed to bore into those before him.

“I have a warning for you, one borne from repeated and sometimes sorrowful experience while shepherding the members of this Christian Fellowship year after year: Don’t ever challenge God. Ever. As you are surrounded by the best and the brightest on this campus, don’t give in to the temptation to try to upstage one another. Instead, adopt a mantle of humility and ‘let your gentleness be evident to all.’
That is
what will bring the Lord near to you and to this place.

“Otherwise, pride could so easily fester in your hearts and make you more
of
this world and this place. If pride prevails, you may graduate with honors, you may be acclaimed by men, you may achieve worldly success—but you will be pulled away from God. Sin always separates us from God, and pride seems to be a particular trap at many universities.” He smiled sadly. “And Harvard University is no exception.”

Claire shifted uncomfortably in her seat, recalling the many times she had fallen into that trap in the last few weeks.
Lord, thank You for showing me that. Forgive me, and keep me from my pride!

A student in the back raised his hand, and Mansfield nodded. “Yes, Sam.”

“Professor Mansfield, I see that pride can be a trap, but how do we defend right from wrong without seeming prideful? Society has so twisted things that people don’t recognize the truth anymore. Everyone here thinks homosexuality is okay, that getting blasted is okay, premarital sex, cussing—it’s all normal! We as Christians
have
to stand up for what’s right, but when we do, people accuse us of being judgmental or prideful!”

“I know it’s hard to see truth being disregarded. But I’d urge you to remember—” Mansfield swept the ranks of seats with a solemn gaze—“I’d urge
all
of you to remember that our job as Christians isn’t always to rail about right and wrong.”

He reached for a Bible and held it up so all could see it. “Our job is to speak life instead of death. If you look at the Gospels, Jesus didn’t talk much about right and wrong. But His entire ministry was—and is!—about Life instead of death. He built life-giving relationships. And people flocked to Him—everyone except the Pharisees, who were masters at determining right from wrong.

“Let me read you something. I know this is not on the subject of the lecture, but I think it’s important to interject here.” He popped his briefcase open and drew out a small book. “Some of the writings of Francis Frangipane. Listen to his words:

“My personal attitude is this: I will stand for revival, unity and prayer; I will labor to restore healing and reconciliation between God’s people. Yet, if all God truly wanted was to raise up one fully yielded son—a son who would refuse to be offended, refuse to react, refuse to harbor unforgiveness regardless of those who slander and persecute—I have determined to be that person. My primary goal in all things is not revival, but to bring pleasure to Christ.”

Mansfield smiled at the intent faces before him. “Our primary purpose is not to defend right from wrong, or truth from untruth—it’s not even to defend
Him
. God can do that, remember. Our ultimate goal is to be fully yielded to Christ.

“If we are primarily focused on the obvious sins of the world, we are diverted from
our
sins—pride, a lack of grace, self-centeredness. The list is sadly long, and these failings may be even more fundamental than the immorality of our neighbors. But if we are striving, above all, to be fully yielded to Christ, then He can do whatever He wants through us,
including
reaching our neighbors. Let us not forget that.”

A few minutes later, Claire stood and stretched. The student leaders of the group had taken prayer requests and conducted some HCF business. As they released the group for the night, they announced that “dinner is at Chili’s—see you there!”

Claire looked around in some confusion. People were putting on their coats and straggling out in groups.

Brad and a female student appeared at her elbow. “Hey there. Want to join us for dinner?”

“Is that what everyone’s doing? I was wondering what was going on!”

The other girl smiled at her. “They should’ve announced it better, shouldn’t they?
Most Fridays after HCF, we get together for dinner somewhere. It’s the best part of fellowship!” She stuck out her hand. “I’m Alison. It’s good to have you here.”

Through the crowd Claire saw a face she had been hoping for. “Alison, Brad, can you hold on a second? My roommate is here. Could she join us for dinner?”

“Absolutely.”

Claire sped across the room and grabbed Sherry’s arm. Her roommate turned, and relief flickered across her face.

“I’m so glad you came,” Claire said. “I didn’t see you before.”

“I came in a bit late and couldn’t find you.” Sherry glanced around and lowered her voice. “I don’t see anyone I know.”

“Well, that’s easily remedied. Let me introduce you to a few folks.”

Claire pulled her along to where Brad and Alison were standing. After the introductions, Claire started pulling on her jacket. “Sherry, these guys are going to Chili’s with everyone else. You coming?”

“Uh … actually, I can’t. I’ve already made plans. But thanks.”

“Oh?” Claire kept her voice light. “Who are you going out with?”

“Oh, you know, a group of people from the dorm. But you all have fun.”

Alison smiled at her. “Oh, we will. Maybe you can join us for dinner next week. HCF’s a great bunch of people.”