Indiana Jones found the lost ark of campus clichés



They say never meet your heroes. It turns out Indiana Jones is no exception.

Arizona State University’s commencement this year featured exactly the kind of speaker Americans have come to expect from modern universities: a wealthy Hollywood celebrity lecturing graduates about climate change, “indigenous spirituality,” social justice, and the moral failures of Western civilization.

The sign over the modern left-wing academy reads: Let none who seek intellectual consistency enter here.

Harrison Ford told ASU graduates, “Humanity is a part of nature, not above it,” before calling for sweeping environmental action, “cultural change,” and the elevation of indigenous perspectives about the natural world. Had he remained silent, some might have mistaken him for wise. Instead, he opened his mouth and proved himself a fool.

The speech mattered not because it was unusual, but because it perfectly captured the ideology that now dominates many American universities. Had you asked ChatGPT to generate a commencement address based on ASU’s official political commitments, it would have sounded very much like this one.

The solutions offered by Hollywood activists and university administrators are the very ideas that helped produce much of the confusion in the first place.

Ford’s speech rested on a rejection of the biblical view of man. Scripture teaches that human beings are distinct from the rest of creation because they are made in the image of God. In Genesis, man is commanded to exercise dominion over the earth, not as a tyrant, but as a steward. Human beings are created to behold the glory of God in the world He made, not merely to dissolve into nature as one creature among many.

Ford rejects that distinction. But the moment he does, he collapses into contradiction. If human beings are merely another species within nature, no different in principle from wolves, termites, or algae, then why should they presume to reorganize economies, restrict energy production, and manage the global ecosystem?

The rest of nature does not hold climate summits. Ants do not draft sustainability goals. Coyotes do not issue carbon mandates.

Nature simply acts according to its nature. That is the emptiness of leftism. Ford made millions pretending to be heroes who could save the day. Now, sliding into old age, he has no answer for anyone. The left thrives on captive audiences. Put its spokesmen outside the lecture hall, and the whole performance looks ridiculous.

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Ironically, Ford’s own activism depends on the very biblical framework he rejects. The claim that mankind has a moral duty to care for the world makes sense only if man occupies a unique place above the rest of creation. Stewardship presupposes authority.

The modern environmental movement tries to erase the biblical doctrine of dominion while quietly smuggling morality back in whenever moral action becomes necessary. Yet it cannot explain where such morality comes from. Nature is red in tooth and claw. Why, then, should man not follow suit?

Ford also praised indigenous communities for understanding that “the trees, the mountain, water, soil are not commodities. They are relatives.”

This romanticized view of indigenous life now comes standard in university rhetoric. It also bears little resemblance to history. Human beings across cultures, ancient and modern, have altered landscapes, hunted animals to extinction, waged wars, enslaved rivals, and struggled ruthlessly for survival. Indigenous tribes were not mystical ecological saints floating above ordinary human nature.

One cannot help noticing the contradiction built into these speeches. ASU routinely acknowledges that it sits on indigenous land. Fine. If that confession is sincere, when exactly does the university plan to return the property? ASU confesses the theft, keeps the land, and then congratulates itself for moral awareness. That is not repentance. That is performance.

And what about Ford himself?

He owns multiple luxury properties and has spent decades enjoying private aviation, industrial modernity, and immense personal wealth. Has he offered to return any of his land? Has he proposed downsizing his estates for the sake of climate justice? The modern progressive elite increasingly resembles a secular priesthood that demands sacrifice from everyone except itself.

Ford also repeated the now-obligatory oppressor-oppressed framework that dominates university discourse. Every social question gets filtered through the same categories: oppressor versus oppressed, colonizer versus marginalized, privileged versus victimized.

That framework has become so totalizing that universities no longer even pretend to offer intellectual diversity on first questions about human nature, morality, or society. In their world, you are either oppressed or an oppressor, and those are the only categories available for interpreting history.

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That raises an obvious question: Will ASU ever invite a commencement speaker who openly defends the American founding, free markets, Christianity, or the biblical doctrine of man?

Or will commencement remain an ideological pep rally, one last progressive sermon after four years of DEI, decolonization, and critical-theory mush?

To Ford’s credit, he did say one thing that was undeniably true. Speaking to the graduates, he admitted, "The world you're stepping into, the world my generation left you, is a real mess."

On that point, he was right. But then he instructed the students to clean it up and presumably climbed into a private jet back to one of his luxury homes.

The ideas pushed by Hollywood activists and university administrators are the very ideas that helped produce the confusion in the first place: hostility to the biblical view of man, contempt for America’s inheritance, and utopian promises of social transformation through centralized moral activism.

ASU’s graduates deserved better than another lecture in fashionable conformity. A university worthy of the name would expose students to competing visions of humanity and the good life. Instead, they got Harrison Ford declaring that mankind is not above nature, moments before assigning mankind the duty to save the planet and clean up after him.

The sign over the modern left-wing academy reads: Let none who seek intellectual consistency enter here.

The pipeline from university radical to would-be assassin



Last weekend delivered yet another grim headline: political violence, an attempted presidential assassination, once again treated as a mystery by the left.

The alleged perpetrator, we are told, was not some fringe drifter living off the grid, but an award-winning teacher. This is a detail that would have seemed ironic a generation ago, but now seems almost predictable.

Reports indicate that the individual had a record of professional accolades and community involvement, the sort of résumé typically invoked to prove the impact of leftist ideologies.

If one wishes to understand what is happening to our country, there is no need to search for obscure explanations.

Alongside that résumé, there are early indications of ideological commitments and public expressions that fit comfortably within the increasingly militant strain of contemporary progressive activism and most university classrooms.

After such events, the public conversation follows a well-worn script. We are told this is an isolated incident. We are urged not to “politicize.” And yet, the same voices that warn against generalization in this context have no hesitation attributing sweeping moral guilt to entire categories when it suits the prevailing orthodoxy.

One is tempted to ask: How often must this pattern repeat before we permit ourselves the unfashionable act of noticing it?

It’s as if there are some mysterious places we send young adults to be indoctrinated to hate their country, hate their bodies, and hate God. The only thing worse is if we are footing the bill for tuition.

So let us ask, with due sobriety: Are there institutions in our country where young minds are being shaped, not merely to critique, but to despise?

Now that you mention it, yes, there are.

The university as moral re-education center

As a Christian and conservative professor, I have spent years calling attention to what occurs inside our universities.

Earlier this month, my college at Arizona State University formally adopted a Native American land acknowledgment as official policy.

These statements are often presented as benign gestures of historical awareness, but their actual function is quite different: They are meant to problematize the legitimacy of American land ownership and to “expose” what are called “structures of oppression.”

In practice, this language is not descriptive but rather accusatory. It does not invite inquiry; it prescribes judgment.

At the same time, faculty are encouraged to “decolonize” their curricula. That term, which sounds like a meaningless academic exercise, carries a very specific ideological payload. It teaches that Western civilization, particularly the United States, is not merely flawed but fundamentally illegitimate, built upon “white supremacy” and sustained by “structural violence.”

And if a system is fundamentally illegitimate, what follows?

Historically speaking, one does not reform such systems. One dismantles them. And so you find ASU professors calling for armed resistance to the United States.

From theory to rhetoric to action

This is not some abstract speculation. It is a demonstrable reality.

Across the country, we have seen:

  • Professors at American institutions openly defending or rationalizing political violence as a form of “resistance.” If intersectionality calls you “oppressed,” it’s fine to be violent.
  • University departments issuing statements framing America as inherently oppressive while praising movements aimed at its transformation.
  • K-12 educators using classroom time to advance ideological positions that portray students’ own nation, heritage, and even biological identity as sources of moral guilt.

Consider the broader pattern:

  • At Harvard and Columbia, student groups and faculty responses to recent global conflicts have included rhetoric that many Americans would recognize as moral inversion, where acts of violence are reframed as justified expressions of resistance.
  • Diversity, equity, and inclusion programs across major universities and corporations routinely instruct participants to view American history through a lens of oppression, often discouraging dissent as a form of harm.
  • “Decolonization” and the anti-settler, anti-whiteness initiatives increasingly reject the very idea of objective truth, reason, and even science, casting them as instruments of power and white supremacy.

One begins to see the progression:

Step 1: Teach the youth that America and Christianity are evil.
Step 2: Teach that dismantling them is justice.
Step 3: Act surprised when someone takes the final step.
Step 4: Cash your state employee checks.

What of oversight?

All of this brings us to a question that is at once practical and unavoidable: Where are the Arizona Board of Regents and similar institutions in other states?

Is it merely a ceremonial body, an occasion for polite applause and catered wine and cheese receptions, or does it exist to provide actual oversight of the institutions entrusted to it?

Public universities are not private salons for ideological experimentation. They are taxpayer-supported institutions with a mandate to educate, not indoctrinate; to pursue truth, not enforce orthodoxy.

In Arizona, professors sign an employee contract agreeing not to undermine the Constitution. And yet, when faculty openly promote ideas that undermine the constitutional order they are employed under, the response is silence or, worse, complicity.

Meanwhile, those who raise concerns find themselves subject to scrutiny, marginalization, and, in some cases, professional penalty.

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What are we paying for?

American families send their children to universities like ASU at considerable cost. It is easily tens of thousands of dollars per year and sometimes far more when all expenses are counted and taxes are factored in.

What do they expect in return? An education in truth. Training in reason. Preparation for responsible citizenship. Maybe even a little wisdom and fear of God.

But that is not what they get. Instead, their kids receive instruction in grievance. Classes about envy and training to hate your neighbor. Formation in ideological hostility. Encouragement to view their own country, their own traditions, even their own families as objects of suspicion or contempt.

And occasionally, as we are now forced to confront, something worse: calls for violent resistance by professors on the state tax dime.

A modest proposal

If one wishes to understand what is happening to our country, there is no need to search for obscure explanations.

It is happening, in large measure, in our universities. And it is paid for by taxes in the very country these professors hate so much. Parents don’t know how bad it is and continue to send their children, paying tuition, into these ideological training camps.

And — this is the uncomfortable part — we don’t stop paying for it. It’s much worse than you think, and it is time to say enough is enough. No more state checks for those who hate America. They are free to start their own private university and teach their hatred there.

I have documented these trends extensively. I will continue to do so. If you would like to keep updated on what goes on within our universities, you can subscribe to my Substack as I report from within the belly of what some call the Devil’s University.

If you find yourself in conversation with someone who asks, in genuine bewilderment, “What is happening to America?” you might offer a simple reply: “Look at the institutions shaping the next generation.”

Shelby and Eli Steele’s new film goes straight at the white-guilt grifters



Are you guilty? That depends. Are you white? Then yes, you are guilty. But whiteness is no longer the only offense. Believe in God? Believe Christ saves sinners? Believe in objective morality, the rule of law, or marriage between one man and one woman? Then skin color hardly matters. You are guilty anyway.

Guilty of what? Guilty of the sins of history, the inequities of the present, and whatever new offense the racial racketeers invent tomorrow. At least that is what grifters like Ibram X. Kendi and Robin DiAngelo have spent years selling to America, often for staggering sums underwritten by universities eager to flatter the ideology. Arizona State University, where I teach, has offered classes on the problem of whiteness. ASU’s Barrett Honors College teaches the evils of settler colonialism.

You, Mr. and Mrs. Taxpayer, are footing the bill for Struggle Session 101.

That is the backdrop for “White Guilt,” the new documentary from Shelby Steele and his son, Eli Steele, which premieres this week at ASU. Shelby Steele, a senior fellow at Stanford’s Hoover Institution and recipient of the National Medal of the Humanities, has spent decades writing about race, multiculturalism, and affirmative action. In his 2006 book “White Guilt,” he argued that racial moralism had become a tool for gaining power over others rather than a path toward justice.

The film appears at a moment when Americans have begun to see more clearly how much of the modern racial industry depends on intimidation, guilt, and fraud.

Steele understands the temptation from the inside. As a young man, he felt drawn to the black power movement. His parents had been active in the civil rights movement, and he wanted to help his community. But he came to see that race blame solves nothing. It degrades everyone it touches. Blame wielded by race remains racism, no matter who aims it or who absorbs it.

The better question, Steele argues, asks what it means to live as a free and responsible person. What happens when an individual takes responsibility for his own choices? What kind of life becomes possible when dignity comes from agency rather than grievance? That moral vision sits much closer to the American ideal than the racial spoils system now preached across much of higher education.

Steele rejects the fashionable claim that slavery was America’s original sin. The deeper sin, he argues, is the use of race to gain power over others. That temptation did not die with Jim Crow. It adapted. It migrated into institutions, party politics, nonprofits, and university bureaucracies. Today it thrives in classrooms where professors insist they do not teach racism while teaching students to judge one another by skin color, ancestry, and inherited guilt.

That fraud has paid well.

Black Lives Matter offered perhaps the clearest recent example. In the wake of Michael Brown’s death in Ferguson, BLM became a moral brand for affluent liberals, activist professionals, and corporate America. Shelby and Eli Steele explored the lie at the movement’s foundation in their earlier film, “What Killed Michael Brown?” Their new film picks up a related question: How did the language of anti-racism become such a lucrative racket?

The answer is not hard to find. Much of the left’s social justice industry runs on a simple formula: Manufacture guilt, divide people by race, promise absolution, then collect money, influence, and institutional power. Sell moral panic to well-intentioned Americans, then invoice them for redemption.

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Want to end racism? Write a check. Sign the DEI pledge. Sit through the seminar. Keep your head down while the consultants explain that your skin makes you complicit and your silence proves your guilt.

The strategy stays simple. Divide humanity into categories. Teach each group to resent the others. Tell people that the brokenness of the world is not a permanent feature of fallen life but the fault of their neighbors. Then arrive as the enlightened manager who can fix it all, for a fee. That formula has wrecked poorer countries for generations. Now left-wing elites have imported it into American life, dressed it up in therapeutic language, and sold it as virtue.

Anyone who has spent time around a university classroom knows the script. A professor begins with a banal truth: The world is filled with injustice. The class nods. Then comes the poisonous turn: Would you like to know who is to blame? Look around the room. Identify the oppressor. Assign the guilt. Require ritual silence from some students and ritual confession from others. Repackage humiliation as education.

And you, Mr. and Mrs. Taxpayer, are footing the bill for Struggle Session 101.

Instead of surrendering to this politics of racial hatred, envy, and managed guilt, Americans should recover a better ideal. Freedom means more than license. It means responsibility. It means building a life through choice, discipline, and moral agency rather than through grievance and tribal score-settling. Whether the world crowns that life a success or a failure, it still belongs to you. No race hustler can take that from you.

“White Guilt” premieres March 25 at 6 p.m. at ASU Tempe in Bateman Physical Sciences F Wing, Room 166.

My school’s AI challenge raised a scary question: What do students need me for?



I might have talked myself out of a job this week. I teach philosophy at Arizona State University, and the university wants to position itself as a leader in the AI revolution. I remain skeptical about AI’s ability to replace a humanities professor. Because of that skepticism, I signed up for what ASU called its AI Challenge.

My project involved what I called the “AI Dialogues.” I used ASU’s version of ChatGPT to hold Socratic-style dialogues, prompting Chat to reply as a given philosopher. I conducted dialogues with Chat as Aristotle, Hume, Marx, and even Lucifer. My students evaluated these exchanges to see how well Chat performed.

We can avoid the toil of learning to be wise — but we cannot avoid the need for it.

Chat could draw on public information and represent each thinker with reasonable accuracy. It also showed another trait: It wanted to please. It often leaned toward whatever it believed I wanted from the debate.

How does that work me out of a job? ASU now provides an AI that professors can customize for individual courses by uploading syllabi and course materials. Students can ask basic questions and receive answers that save me from writing emails that begin with, “Did you read the syllabus?” They can also ask what we covered in class and get quick explanations of key concepts and questions.

When I told my students about this feature, I asked them what they need me for at this point. I was joking — a little.

My classes depend on Socratic discussion. It is conceivable that ASU could project a realistic AI image of me at the front of the classroom and have it ask and answer questions with students. Maybe the only remaining edge is the “personal touch” of a real professor in the room. Even that could vanish if tuition becomes tiered: Students might pay less for “AI Anderson Socrates” than for the in-person version. Add one of Elon Musk’s Optimus robots made to look like Anderson, and I’m in trouble.

A new myth dies

Musk has been talking for months about how the AI revolution is upending the myth we have told for six decades about university education. The myth, he says, promised an escape from toil. Students were told a degree was the path to an air-conditioned job that avoids heavy lifting and involves spreadsheets.

But spreadsheets are exactly what AI does better than humans. The new John Henry isn’t competing to pound railroad spikes; he’s competing to calculate data. No human can keep up with a microprocessor.

In Musk’s view, jobs that involve toil become the “safe” jobs, while many degree-based jobs disappear — replaced by technicians who keep AI running while it calculates taxes, diagnoses medical problems, and writes legal paperwork. The university-educated track no longer looks like the safe route. Universities now compete not just with fewer students due to demographic decline, but with an increasingly outdated product that students may stop buying.

Toil may not stay safe

The problem is worse than Musk lets on. The first jobs on the chopping block might be “numbers jobs,” but Elon has also said he plans to produce 100 million Optimus robots in 10 years. If so, even many physical jobs may not remain protected from automation.

One version of this future says we enter a utopia: Food is plentiful, toil disappears, and we cash our basic income checks — though an AI could do even that for us. We end up living in “Wall-E.”

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The more dystopian version looks like sci-fi depictions of AI overlords controlling humans as property — “The Matrix.” Or worse: Like Ultron, super-AI robots decide we must be exterminated to save us from ourselves and protect the planet. We build our own worst enemy.

Whichever future arrives, Musk may have highlighted something about human nature. We avoid suffering like toil. We build machines to avoid toil. And yet we uniquely need toil.

God introduced toil in the Garden of Eden after Adam sinned. Because of sin, we could no longer live in a paradise without toil. We must suffer and strive for our daily bread. History has been divided ever since between those who try to avoid suffering altogether and those who see suffering as a call to repent before God. AI is only the newest version of the philosopher’s stone.

AI as ‘philosopher’

Can I really be replaced by an AI philosophy instructor? I’m not worried.

What AI cannot do, in its counterfeit attempt to replace humans, is serve as an example of how to suffer well to attain wisdom. The Hebrew definition of wisdom is “skillful living.” Being told, “Here is an AI that can simulate skillful living,” is not the same as learning from a human who is actually skillful.

Students will still need to learn how to be wise themselves. A human professor who has actually done this will remain the gold standard that AI can only imitate. We can avoid the toil of learning to be wise — but we cannot avoid the need for it.

Jeffrey Epstein’s ‘philosophy’ wasn’t deep — it was dirty



Anyone can search the currently available Epstein files and see what turns up. As a professor at Arizona State University, I searched for my own school. I did not expect to find so much ASU-related material.

One reason: ASU employed Lawrence Krauss, paying him a substantial salary to write books arguing that the universe created itself from nothing.

Epstein’s philosophy collapses under its own weight because it begins with a lie about God.

That claim is its own story. You will object, rightly: “But we can’t get something from nothing.” Krauss replies, “By ‘nothing’ I mean quantum foam.” And you respond, “Then the title misleads. You don’t mean nothing. You mean quantum foam.”

Krauss also became close with Jeffrey Epstein. In one exchange, Krauss wrote: “I really do love you deeply as a friend Jeffrey. I don’t think I know anyone else who so honestly cares about me, and I don’t think I can ever truly express how wonderful that feels. Thank you. The cruise was a great reset.” In other messages, they discuss science and religion.

That is what caught my attention. As I read Epstein’s comments about religion — and listened to his interview with Steve Bannon on similar themes — a picture began to form of how Epstein made sense of the world and, more chillingly, of himself.

How a monster sleeps

A question hangs over every moral horror: How does a moral monster live with himself? Even if we limit ourselves to the explicit immorality in the files — without speculating about coded language or hidden networks — how did he sleep at night? What silenced his conscience?

Several pieces fit together.

In the ASU-related material and in interviews, Epstein does what I have often seen among intellectuals: He retreats into abstraction. He speaks about the history of ideas, mathematics, and cutting-edge research in a way that floats above concrete people and particular moral obligations.

That retreat protects a self-image. He can pose as the enlightened patron of science, funding humanity’s progress. That image sits in grotesque contrast with the cruelty he inflicted on actual human beings.

Abstraction as a moral anesthetic

This pattern tracks with Paul Johnson’s thesis in “Intellectuals”: Intellectuals who talk about serving “humanity” often treat individuals in their orbit badly. Grand claims become a shield. The rhetoric of progress becomes moral insulation.

Think of the professor who preaches liberation while using DEI programs to impose racial essentialism and ideological coercion. He can tell himself he is helping “the marginalized” even as he harms colleagues and students in the real world.

Or consider the pop star who repeats slogans like “no one is illegal on stolen land.” The moral performance happens at the level of abstraction. The carelessness happens at the level of reality.

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Epstein’s ‘unknowable’ God

Epstein goes further by trying to dissolve moral accountability at the metaphysical level.

He argues that physicists once believed reality could be fully captured by mathematics. Now, he claims, we understand reality is irrational. Mathematics can only approximate what he calls “the limit,” but the limit itself remains unknowable. Some call that limit “God.”

But if God is unknowable, then God becomes irrelevant to our calculations about life and moral choice.

At one point, Epstein frames this as a male-female divide. The male mind, he says, runs on logic and mathematics. Reality, however, does not fit that paradigm. Reality is fundamentally irrational and accessed through feminine intuition. Ultimate reality, in his telling, is best understood as the divine female.

Humans, in Epstein’s view, are beasts with frontal lobes sophisticated enough to rationalize their impulses.

He may have believed he was elevating the feminine. The framework reads more like a metaphysical excuse: reason fails, therefore the standard fails.

The tension between reason and intuition is ancient. Epstein narrows “reason” to a single project: reducing the world to material causes through mathematics. When that project does not deliver what he wants, he does not abandon reductionism. He abandons reason.

Francis Schaeffer described this move in godless intellectual life: When autonomous reason cannot sustain itself, the thinker does not repent. He escapes into irrationality. Intuition becomes the alibi. Mystery becomes permission.

Religion as therapy, not truth

In conversation with Krauss, Epstein defends a kind of religion, but not biblical religion.

Krauss, echoing the New Atheists, treats religion as an evolutionary leftover — maybe useful in an earlier age, unnecessary for modern man. After all, modern man allegedly knows universes can create themselves out of nonexistence.

Epstein pushes back, but only to reduce religion to psychological management. Religion concerns the “inner world,” he suggests, while science and mathematics concern the outer world. We cannot ignore the inner world. Its purpose is peace. Anxiety and depression signal inner disorder; religion restores equilibrium. That, for Epstein, becomes religion’s function.

Not worship. Not truth. Not repentance. Peace.

That is New Age self-help with a faux religious vocabulary.

A Nietzschean pattern

Put the pieces together and a Nietzschean outline emerges.

Nietzsche described the dialectic between the Apollonian and the Dionysian. The Apollonian seeks order, reason, structure. Yet it can become sterile and suffocating. The Dionysian seeks raw experience — ecstasy, pleasure, intoxication, release. Dionysian revelry becomes not only indulgence but purgation: a controlled environment where darker impulses can be acted out so a man can return to ordinary life and call himself functional again.

God’s moral law is written on the heart. We are not left with "unknowable limits" as our excuse. We are without excuse.

Humans, on this view, are beasts with frontal lobes sophisticated enough to rationalize their impulses.

That is the worldview of the modern pagan: order and chaos, calculation and intoxication, “science” by day and ritualized transgression by night. Add Epstein’s skepticism about knowable truth and his reduction of religion to inner peace, and the method of self-justification comes into focus.

His reported fascination with longevity technologies and strange diets fits too. Death becomes the great enemy. It must be cheated — through science, mythic elixirs, or Silicon Valley innovation.

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Temptation is not his alone

The unsettling part: These temptations are not unique to Epstein.

Many people oscillate between cold rationalism and irrational indulgence. Many treat morality as a social construct and religion as therapy. Many use abstractions to excuse what they would never defend in plain language.

That should drive self-examination, not mere disgust. Are we living inside the Apollonian-Dionysian loop, shifting between self-justifying “reason” and self-excusing “release”?

The lie at the center

Epstein’s philosophy collapses under its own weight because it begins with a lie about God.

God has not hidden Himself. Scripture teaches that His eternal power and divine nature are clearly revealed through creation. His moral law is written on the heart. We are not left with “unknowable limits” as our excuse. We are without excuse.

The claim that reality is fundamentally irrational is not a profound insight. It is an evasion. It is a way to suppress what is plain.

That is why Lawrence Krauss’ self-creating universe and Epstein’s divine female belong in the same category: idols. They exchange the truth for something else — something that grants permission.

Romans 1 describes the pattern of Epstein’s life: the darkened mind, the suppression of truth, the exchange of glory for self-justification, and the descent into sexual corruption. The cure is not oscillation between sterile rationalism and ecstatic purgation. The cure is redemption. The cure is communion with God restored.

We need Christ, who alone frees us from the pagan dialectic — ancient and modern — and grants eternal life, “that they may know You, the only true God, and Jesus Christ whom You have sent” (John 17:3).

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'Overwhelming evidence'

My court fight over DEI at Arizona State isn’t culture-war noise



“Who will rid us of this meddlesome philosopher?”

Arizona State University hopes the Arizona Supreme Court will. I’m confident that my case against required diversity, equity, and inclusion training raises issues far larger than one professor or one ideological program. Fundamental questions about employee rights, public accountability, and the rule of law hang in the balance.

If I succeed in showing that ASU bears legal responsibility — and that employees can hold it accountable — the implications reach far beyond one HR program.

Why would the largest state university in the country defend mandatory DEI training in court? Why would it spend thousands — likely tens of thousands — defending its “inclusive communities” training, a program that teaches employees about the alleged moral and social failures of “whiteness” and “heteronormativity”?

The answer defies common sense. Yet ASU presses forward. In doing so, it has turned what many dismiss as a culture-war skirmish into an employment-rights case with statewide consequences.

Most people hear “DEI” and instantly map the political lines. This case deserves a different reaction. Required ideological training should make any employee — left, right, or indifferent — pay attention.

First, the training relies on racial essentialism. It instructs ASU employees to view themselves and others primarily through skin color, then assigns moral weight and collective guilt on that basis.

Second, it attacks traditional Christian moral teaching, especially marriage as the union of a man and a woman.

Either flaw should have pushed administrators to retire the program long before I raised formal objections.

A third issue should unite every employee, regardless of where they stand on DEI: ASU treated this as an employment matter. The university did not admit error, revise the program, and move on. It hired Perkins Coie to defend racial essentialism. Yes, Perkins Coie — the firm widely associated with the Hillary Clinton-era Steele dossier controversy. ASU employs a full team of in-house attorneys. Why pay a nationally prominent and politically charged firm to defend a training program many already viewed as controversial — and, I argue, unlawful?

ASU’s posture gets stranger. The university has since taken down the required training, yet it continues paying lawyers to defend it in court. When this ends, Arizona lawmakers and taxpayers will want a number: How much did ASU spend on legal fees, and which administrators approved the contracts?

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ASU’s legal strategy aims at dismissal. The university claims I lack standing. Put plainly, ASU argues that an employee cannot hold his public employer accountable for violating state law. At that point, the dispute stops being about DEI and becomes about every employee in Arizona. If ASU wins at the Arizona Supreme Court, employees across the state lose a crucial tool for legal accountability.

Professors to my political left may sneer at my critique of DEI. They should still worry about the precedent.

Imagine a scenario pulled from their nightmares: A future administration takes over ASU and imposes mandatory ideological training from the opposite end of the political spectrum — required ICE-themed training, or MAGA-themed training. If that training violated Arizona law, those same professors would demand the right to sue. ASU’s argument would bar them. This case concerns enforceable employee rights, not just contemporary politics.

ASU’s first bid to dismiss the case failed. A lower court rejected the university’s argument. ASU appealed, and the appellate court sided with the university. That posture put the case on a path to the Arizona Supreme Court.

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Two facts matter here. The Arizona Senate and the state representative who authored the law I claim ASU violated have filed an amicus brief supporting my position. Their message is simple: A public employee has standing to hold a public employer accountable for breaking the law. The statute prohibits the kind of racial blame and collective guilt that ASU’s training promoted. The principle should not require explanation: Don’t assign moral fault to entire groups based on skin color.

So why does ASU defend this?

Because ASU does not view this fight as one training module that can be swapped out and forgotten. Race-based blame sits near the center of the contemporary left’s approach to education. If I succeed in showing that ASU bears legal responsibility — and that employees can hold it accountable — the implications reach far beyond one HR program. ASU’s initiatives aimed at combatting “whiteness” would come under scrutiny. Its embedded social justice goals face legal challenge and public examination. Students could follow with suits over race blame in a “decolonized curriculum.”

“Who will rid us of this meddlesome philosopher?” ASU really hopes the Arizona Supreme Court will.

Every employee in Arizona should watch what happens next. The outcome will determine whether public institutions answer to the law — or whether employees must comply silently, no matter what ideology administrators impose from above.

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'We’re doing pretty much what we were doing before'

How Christians honored a truce the left never accepted



It’s Christmastime, and you can feel the shift in the air.

Something has changed in the nation’s mood. People smile more easily. Familiar music returns. And — quietly but unmistakably — you can say “Merry Christmas” again without apologizing for it. The president of the United States quotes the Gospel of John when he speaks about Jesus.

Christians need to face a hard truth: The truce was a mistake.

For a few short weeks, Americans remember what this season is actually about. Not a generic winter festival. Not a vague celebration of “light” or “togetherness.” But the birth of Jesus Christ — a real event in history that changed everything.

For centuries, Christians have marked this season to reflect on the incarnation of the Son of God. “Christ is the reason for the season” is not a slogan; it is a confession. God entered history. He took on flesh. He came to save sinners. Christianity is not built on myth or metaphor but on eyewitness testimony to what actually happened.

America is now remembering — haltingly, imperfectly — the central role of Christ in its own history. That recovery follows decades of effort by atheists and secular ideologues to banish Christ from the public square. Unfortunately, Christians largely agreed to the truce that made this possible. They kept their faith private while Marxists were happy to occupy public education.

In the 1960s, American Christians accepted what amounted to a truce. I half-jokingly call it the Madalyn Murray O’Hair deal. The now largely forgotten atheist activist sued to remove prayer and biblical instruction from public schools. Christians acquiesced. Public education, they were told, would be “neutral.” Religion would be kept out. Faith would be private.

Christians kept their side of the deal.

The Marxists did not — because they never agreed to one. They announced their intentions openly. They promised to march through the institutions, and they did. Universities filled with faculty who identify as left or far left and who teach Marxist frameworks as settled truth.

Today, it is easier to find a committed Marxist on campus than a practicing Christian.

For 60 years, Marxist philosophy crept into K-12 education and then saturated higher education. What was once smuggled in under euphemism is now proudly declared. Professors announce their ideology on syllabi and use taxpayer dollars to teach students that America is structurally racist and that “whiteness” is a form of oppression.

There was never neutrality. There was only a vacuum — and Marxism rushed in to fill it.

I saw this emptiness firsthand on my own campus at Arizona State University.

At ASU’s West Valley campus, administrators recently installed a “winter wonderland” display. Not Christmas lights — “winter” lights. Decorations carefully stripped of any reference to Christ. The existential meaninglessness was almost overwhelming.

Lights were strung up to flicker briefly in the darkness before being taken down and discarded. What did it mean? What did it point to beyond itself?

Or, as Hemingway wrote, was it simply nada y pues nada y pues nada — nothing, and then nothing, and then nothing?

This is what happens when you preserve form while evacuating content. Ritual without meaning. Celebration without hope. Light without truth.

Christmas is the opposite of that.

Christmas does not offer a vague lesson about darkness giving way to light. It proclaims that Jesus Christ is the light of the world. It is not a symbolic story to be endlessly reinterpreted but a declaration that Christ was born in history, of a virgin, in fulfillment of prophecy, to redeem a fallen world.

That is why efforts to drain Christmas of its meaning always feel strained. When leftists substitute “winter celebrations” and “seasonal observances,” they do not offer neutrality. They offer emptiness — sometimes dressed up as inclusion, sometimes as bureaucracy, sometimes as pagan revivalism. Light shows without the Logos. Rituals without redemption.

Christians need to face a hard truth: The truce was a mistake.

There is no neutral education. There never has been. Every curriculum conveys values. Every institution forms souls. The only question is whether students will be formed in the light of Christ or in the ideology of those who openly despise Him.

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Christmas exposes the lie of neutrality. It reminds us that history has meaning, that truth entered the world, and that human beings answer to something higher than administrative guidelines or ideological fashion.

So this year, I am not whispering, “Happy Holidays.” I am saying, “Merry Christmas” — to students, to colleagues, to anyone who will hear it.

Parents and students should remember something crucial: Universities answer to you. You are not passive consumers. You set expectations. You decide what kind of formation is acceptable.

When you see your professors, say, “Merry Christmas.” Say it cheerfully. Say it unapologetically. What you are affirming is not sentiment but truth: that Christ came into the world, and no amount of bureaucratic rebranding can erase Him.

The lights will flicker and fade. Christ will not.

Merry Christmas.

From accommodation to absurdity on campus



Last week, Arizona State University’s provost sent faculty another familiar message ahead of the spring semester: Ensure all digital course materials meet accessibility standards. After 25 years teaching philosophy at ASU, I’m well aware of the institution’s growth and its long-standing commitment to accessibility. That commitment, in itself, is not controversial.

But recent data should give universities serious pause.

A society can medicalize despair, bureaucratize despair, and accommodate despair. None of that answers the question despair is asking.

Two reports — one from the Harvard Crimson and another from the Atlantic — put numbers to what many faculty have observed for years. At Harvard, 21% of undergraduates received disability accommodations in 2024, up from roughly 3% a decade earlier. The Crimson notes that Harvard is now aligned with a national average hovering around 20%.

The Atlantic goes further, describing what it calls an “age of accommodation” at elite schools. At Brown and Harvard, more than 20% of students are registered as disabled. At Amherst, the figure reaches 34%. The most common accommodation, professors report, is extra time on exams.

When disability becomes elastic

To be clear, accommodations for genuine physical disabilities are not in dispute. A wheelchair ramp is not a moral scandal. A student with a real impairment should not be excluded from education. That principle remains sound.

What has changed is the nature of disability itself.

Both articles describe a shift away from visible, physical impairments toward diagnoses that are invisible, elastic, and difficult to distinguish from ordinary hardship in a competitive academic environment. ADHD, anxiety, and depression now dominate accommodation requests, treated as qualifying disabilities under the Americans with Disabilities Act framework. The Crimson ties much of this surge to the COVID era, quoting one professor who described the pandemic as a “mass disabling event.”

That explanation may be partly true. Many students are not gaming the system; they are shaped by it. But even granting that, the trend raises three problems universities can no longer dodge.

The fairness and standards problems

First is fairness. When extra time becomes widespread — especially among high-performing, well-resourced students — faculty are right to wonder whether accommodations are providing access or advantage.

The Crimson acknowledges faculty suspicion that accommodations are used to “eke out advantages.” The Atlantic warns that a system designed to level the playing field can begin to distort the very meaning of fairness.

Second is standards. If a significant share of students receive individualized modifications — extra time, deadline extensions, alternate testing environments — then faculty must ask an uncomfortable question administrators prefer to avoid: Is the course still the same course?

Exams exist to measure knowledge and skill under shared constraints. Remove those constraints for many students, and results no longer mean the same thing. At best, the system becomes two-track. At worst, rigor is quietly redefined as cruelty and education collapses into credentialing.

The deeper crisis

Third — and most important — is meaning.

If vast numbers of young adults now pass through education labeled as anxious and depressed, and if that diagnosis becomes the gateway to academic survival, we should ask what kind of culture we have built. What account of life, purpose, and human flourishing are students receiving in K-12 and college?

For years, students have been immersed in a worldview that frames them primarily as victims — of structures, systems, identities, and histories beyond their control. They are told meaning is socially constructed, morality is relative, and human beings are little more than biological accidents shaped by power. Hardship, in this framework, becomes pathology. Suffering becomes injustice. Endurance becomes oppression.

At that point, anxiety and depression cease to be merely medical categories. They become rational responses to a life stripped of purpose.

Education with meaning

Here the philosopher cannot remain silent. A society can medicalize despair, bureaucratize despair, and accommodate despair. None of that answers the question despair is asking.

Have we taught students how to face difficulty? To endure frustration? To pursue excellence despite pain? Or have we trained them to interpret hardship as harm — and then rewarded that interpretation with institutional permission slips?

The philosopher Westley (disguised as the Dread Pirate Roberts) said, “Life is pain, highness. Anyone who says differently is selling something.” But there is suffering, and there is suffering well to attain what is good. We stopped teaching this, and the young adults are experiencing the consequences.

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Universities love to talk about “student success.” But education is not merely success. It is formation. And formation requires truth: truth about what a human being is, what suffering is for, what excellence demands, and what life ultimately aims at.

When universities exile God, moral realism, and any shared account of human purpose, they should not be surprised when students seek refuge in medicalized identities that turn pain into paperwork.

This crisis is not simply about abuse of accommodations or even about mental health statistics. It is about whether higher education can still tell students the truth: that limits are not always oppression, that hardship is not always injustice, that discipline precedes freedom, and that meaning is discovered, not administered.

If universities cannot say why education aims at the highest good, then they should not be shocked when students conclude it means nothing — and despair follows.

It is time to return education to what it was meant to be: the formation of souls ordered toward wisdom and virtue.