Because, let’s face it, every story is more interesting with lightsabers. You’re welcome.
Joel is right, I’ve totally committed the biggest ruse in the history of ruses. Clearly I’m just making it all up that I attend Rutgers.
First, I got myself a Rutgers.edu email account (because anyone can, apparently).
Next, I got me a student ID and a password (because master thief), which I then used to register for classes (but of course I won’t ever go—muahahahaha!) and pick my majors (I’m so tricksie).
Then, I hired a Special Effects crew to manufacture a set that looks identical to the Rutgers campus in New Brunswick. After which, I took crappy iPhone pictures of myself on set so people would think I was going to class.
But not before buying all of this Rutgers gear so I could look and act the part.
And clearly this is all legit, since this is way more believable for some people than the fact that I actually attend Rutgers (obvi).
UPDATE: Apparently the other question raised is whether or not I went to Montgomery County Community College (I don’t know why this is a thing). It seems Mr. Ellis doesn’t know how to fact-check even the most basic things. Here is the note in question.
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.
So what Mr. Ellis doesn’t understand is that I attended MontCo when I was first going back to college. As many students here in the United States do, I went to a community college first because it is (a) cost effective and (b) it was nearby. I seriously lived a few blocks away. It was perfect. I transferred out of MOntCo to Northampton Community College when I moved away and went there for about two semesters until I transferred again to Rutgers University. Again, typical of many college students, I transferred into a 4-year institution when I had enough credits and a great GPA (since I had been out of school for six years when I initially started considering college).
But Mr. Ellis doesn’t get that because he has no clue how academics function, or even the basic inclination of how college works or how typical students plan ahead because he has no academic background whatsoever. He’s also too dense and far too set in his ways to even be bothered to fact-check the most minuscule information. Of course MontCo has no record of me as a student there right now; I transferred out in 2011. That was 3 years ago. But I still have access to my Student Portal:
My name is clearly visible as logged-in; you can get access to this unless you’re a student with a log-in. But I really don’t expect Mr. Ellis to care. Since he has his own delusional world view where, in it, I am a deceitful, angry con-man who throws stones at True Academics™ which is how Mr. Ellis sees himself. And so in order to keep his mental delusion set in stone, he has to fabricate a world where I’m the bad guy and he is the good guy and any information contrary to that must be deleted or destroyed (which is why he deletes comments that contradict his claims on his FB page). It’s pretty tragic and in a way I really feel bad for Mr. Ellis. I do, I pity him. It must be lonely in his closed-in fictional world.
As some of you already know, after two years at Rutgers, at the end of the current semester, I will be transferring out. This was a hard decision for me, but one I have had to make out of a growing necessity—which I shall explain below.
This all started in January. We were already one week into classes; all the books I needed–$100 later—were purchased and on their way to me. I was prepped for an exciting semester, taking a few courses I was really excited about. One was ‘God, Sex, and Violence in the Old Testament’ and the other was on the Historical Socrates. On the former, I had a good grasp of the material already and had developed a good relationship with the instructor, with whom I’ve had several very useful and informative conversations. The latter course I needed to satisfy a requirement for my Classics program and I was very interested to see how the class was taught in relation to my Historical Jesus class from last semester (were the methods, assumptions, and criterion used in the different fields similar or different, for example?).
I received a rather bizarre email at 7:30 in the evening while I was working on homework. I was informed that I would have to drop my Gods, Sex, and Violence class because it did not satisfy any of my graduation requirements. I immediately grew suspicious—a spam email maybe? It made no sense. It was offered by Rutgers, I am a Rutgers student, I’m double-majoring and I knew it counted towards my generic ancient history major. So what gives?
I immediately wrote to the advising office who then informed me that because it was offered by Rutgers Camden (satellite campus) and not Rutgers main (at New Brunswick), it would not meet the criteria necessary to count towards my graduation, so I had to drop it now or they would drop it for me.
So quick recap: 1 week into the semester, books ordered, classes paid for, email ultimatum issued demanding I drop a class. Got that all? Okay.
Now I’m in a predicament. It’s a week into the Spring term, I now have to frantically try to find another class (not an easy task after a week has gone by—most are full, closed, or don’t count towards my degree). I am doubly-screwed because I am taking the courses online due to the terrible weather in the winter months and commuting over an hour and a half to classes after working a full 8 hours is unbearable normally, but then throw in the winter we’ve had this year (and the fact that Rutgers NEVER, EVER cancels classes—EVER) and it is just more miserable. So I am extremely limited to what classes I can take (RU does not have a very well developed online program for nontradition students).
So I called—because by this time I was livid—and spoke with someone who seemed to be having a bad day. I was confused since I had taken a class last semester on the Camden campus through their online program to get a few more credits and I had not received this email or any indication that I should be dropping the class. Well, she informed me, they let me slide that time—but it still didn’t count. Full stop.
Yes, you read that right—it isn’t bad enough that they wait until a week into the term to let me know I’m wasting my money, Rutgers didn’t feel a need to inform me that I was taking a class last semester that didn’t count towards my degree (not even electives). I just threw away $2500. Seriously, I might as well just go burn my money.
You may be asking–$2500? Wha? Yep. You see, as a nontraditional, out of state, part time student, I am paying $809 per credit hour. You would think with all that dough I’m shoveling out, Rutgers would have a more helpful administrative staff. And this isn’t the first time I’ve gotten the infamous RU Screw.
I settled for another class I didn’t want to take, but being a week late meant I was a week behind (two weeks actually, by the time my books came and I had access to the course because, apparently, technology).
Don’t get me wrong, I love Rutgers. I love the brand. I enjoyed walking down the sacred path and the lively discussions during class and having professors who get it, and who know what they’re talking about. But I just can’t afford it anymore—I can’t continue to shovel out that kind of money (or throw it away)—when I don’t feel I’m being treated like a student (more like a commodity). I pay so much more money per credit hour than an instate, on-campus, 18-something and yet I get thrown under the bus. And I just can’t take it anymore.
And it’s sad, it really is. Rutgers has really grown on me. But the other issue that I had to take into consideration is the travel time and the fact that I’m no spring chicken. I’m dangerously approaching 31 (which technically isn’t old, but it is when you consider that I’ve got another few years of undergrad work to do and I still have to go to grad school). I’m actually, literally, wasting time because there is no way I can go to morning or afternoon classes without quitting my job—which won’t happen because bills.
And this isn’t Rutgers fault, per se. But what is annoying is that they don’t offer any solid online programs. I mean, being in a class room is fantastic, but you don’t really need to be ‘present’ to be present anymore. Technology has dated the old-school in-class need, with programs like Skype and Google Hangout, you don’t have to be physically in a room with 30 other kids to have a lively and interactive lecture. But Rutgers is insanely slow to catch up to this and it is leaving students like me in a bad place financially (because we pay the same rates that other commuters and on-campus students pay) and mentally (because we have a harder work load and less options).
I know I’m not alone in this either. A lot of my classmates have expressed similar dissatisfaction with Rutgers’ ecollege programs. I’m pretty sure other nontrad students like me have had (or are having) similar experiences.
The good thing about transferring into another program is that all of my credits have been excepted (so I don’t have to burn all my cash and watch it disintegrate after all). The school is fully accredited (by a proper accrediting institution—thanks to Chris for looking into it all for me), I can get my whole degree online, and it is way, way less expensive (about $240 per credit hour). But there are downsides.
For one thing, the brand isn’t as well recognized as Rutgers and I can’t double-major anymore (and they don’t offer a Classics program, only a basic history program). That’s fine because I can still get into grad school with it, and really it is the grad school that really matters. But by then I’ll be a bit more ahead, have some money saved (I was blowing through $80 a week on gas commuting to Rutgers 3-4 nights a week last year), and have more publications under my belt.
So here it is. I am still at Rutgers until the end of the semester. But before the summer comes, I’ll have to say my goodbyes. It’s been fun, I had a blast, but I have to get along now (and by ‘now’, I mean in a few months).
Many of my secular friends are having a hard time coping with Pope Francis, and I understand why. He’s an enigma. We’ve all borne witness to the likes of Pope Benedict, whose status as a theologian was overshadowed by his callous attitude and many missteps.
Pope Francis is in some ways Benedict’s polar opposite. Being a Jesuit—the first ever to hold a Papal tenure—he is humble, attempts to live a simplified life, and understands the plight of the impoverished. He goes out at night and takes care of the sickly. He finds humility to be a worthwhile attribute so much that he refuses to stay in the expensive Papal suite. He gives up the Pope Mobile for an antique. He speaks out against Capitalism. He walks the walk… even literally.
Meanwhile, Benedict’s tenure saw scandals galore: money laundering at the hands of the Vatican bank played into the notion of a Vatican City awash in Capitalism rather than the ethical behavior one expects to find at the Holy See. He fumbled—like Bush did with FEMA during Katrina—when it came to dealing with allegations of pedophilia in the clergy. We witnessed the proclaimed center of Catholic morality, including god’s chosen witness on earth, fall into corruption.
Rightly the secular masses are somewhat skeptical—why Francis to replace Benedict? Is this the new face of Catholicism or just the guy they are using to spin the church right before they fall back into corruption once he is gone—like a placeholder for the second coming of Ratzinger? Frankly, I don’t believe the highly-conservative heads of the College of Cardinals would have cast their votes for someone like Francis if they knew he was going to turn as many heads as he has; they have never cared about public opinion before and I doubt highly that they had a change of heart about it. So the conspiracy theories that Francis is a Publicity Stunt for a dying church is growing a little tiresome.
But while there are your typical conspiracy nuts out there (especially those who just flat out hate religion, or just Catholicism in general), other secular individuals are just downright impractical. They want Francis to allow women priests, to open up the doors to gay marriage in catholic churches, and if he doesn’t heed their demands, well, then he’s a terrible nonliberal, who does not belong in his position of authority.
Let me be clear: I’m not an atheist, yet nor am I a Catholic (in the practicing sense, but I do believe in a supreme being). But I was a Catholic—raised into the faith and traditions and the shame (as every good Catholic, even former Catholics, knows well)—and so I am sympathetic towards Catholicism. For me, even as an Apostate, Catholicism represents the earliest, most ‘accurate’ variant of what might be considered ‘actual’ Christianity; that is to say, it represents, to the best of its ability, the oldest continuing sect of what came from the Romanization of the dogmatic eschatological traditions of the 4th Century (which had already changed dramatically—perhaps almost entirely—from the initial post-Easter kerygma). I’ve got a bias and I know it.
However I’m not one to let the church off easy for its many sins. I’ve written scathing articles against the treatment of women, on confessional institutions that limit academic freedom of thought and research, and on certain conservative interpretations of the Bible. In this respect, I am as much a Catholic as any other—one who is both reverent of its place in the world but skeptical of its own hierarchical claims to authority (said with only part of my tongue in my cheek).
Yes, I do think that the Magdalene Laundries were horrific. Yes, I think the Crusades were unfortunate and a tragedy—especially for Muslims and Jews. And, absolutely, I agree with anyone who thinks that every priest who has sexually assaulted or abused another human being—whether that be a child or a woman or a man—should be tarred and feathered and stuck out in the gallows at which people to throw rotten food. And yet somehow I can’t think of a reason why I should let these terrible and historic events overshadow the present.
I’m not going to sit here and tell you all not to judge the people, or even people in general, because I think that is unrealistic. Our world wouldn’t run if people weren’t judged by other people (it makes more sense the longer you think about it). But maybe I’m just a stickler for judging individuals based upon their circumstances and context rather than taking the whole institution as a whole. Maybe I don’t want to hold Francis responsible for the sins of his church fathers.
Would it be awesome if women were allowed into a priestly role? Yes. Shouldn’t the church allow gay marriages? It would certainly be great for all those practicing Catholics who are also gay and who love just as deeply as a straight Catholic. But let us be realistic here. That isn’t going to happen now. There are lines drawn in the sand. It is a glorious thing when a Pope decides that it is time to cross one of those lines, let alone several—but we cannot expect total reform. The Catholic church is a huge and ancient institution (which is a pleasant way of saying that parts of it are rather dated). Things must happen slowly in order to take hold.
Granted, Francis is accountable for his own actions, in his own time (presently), in the broader context of the current state of the church. And right now they are the actions of a decent man trying to desperately to teach his fellow Christians how to ‘Christian’ correctly—at least the way he sees as ‘correct’. Given his predecessors, that is a tremendous leap forward. We should take that for what it is and be grateful. Any man who risks his own life to sneak out and feed the poor—especially after angering so many dangerous people—is a man who is heroic. When was the last time we had such a Pope? That is why I support him. Dimidium facti qui coepit habet. Given time, it is my thinking that his accomplishments will be the light which shines the path for those who follow.
Minimalist Scholar: “Meh.”
Dead Sea Scroll Scholar: “I think it is very likely that Tauriel may have existed in a precanonical form of the book, which very well might be lost in a jar in a cave.”
Q-Scholar: “I believe that if we analyze the Jacksonian variant and the Tolkien variant we might come to find a hypothetical original, which we shall designate as the Hypothetical-V (for Valar) Source.”
Confessional Theologian: “It was a fine movie, but absolutely wrong. Only what is in the Hobbit book is the true word of Tolkien and all other additions are late heresies.”
Gnostic Scholar: “I prefer the additional movie material to the original book. Honestly, I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”
Old Testament Theologian: “I can definitely see the influence of the Davidic narratives on the story of Bilbo and the Dwarves.”
New Testament Theologian: “Whaaa…? David? I think you mean Jesus.”
Old Testament Theologian: “Same difference.”
Atheist Scholar: “I’m still irritated that Tolkien’s world has a Christian version of heaven and an afterlife in it. WTF?”
Liberation Theologian: “I really appreciate the character of Bard; his plight is so common among God’s children, and Peter Jackson did such a great job of orchestrating the evils of economic greed and social injustice in the political hierarchy of Lake Town and the downfall of Thorin as his mind is taken by the power of the Arkenstone.”
Conservative Catholic Theologian: “Goodness you talk too much.”
Liberation Theologian: “When I can get a word in, while you’re not yelling over us, I take it.”
Anglican Theologian: “C.S. Lewis beats Tolkien any day.”
Minimalist Scholar: “Meh.”
Progressive Christian Scholar: “I think the love between Tauriel and Kili is a beautiful thing; it shows us that love can happen anywhere between any group of people, regardless of their differences. It shows us that love is a complicated emotion and, like the love of God, knows no boundaries.”
Confessional Theologian: “Heresy!”
Conservative Catholic Theologian: “Ew.”
Progressive Christian Scholar: “Oh, shut up you two.”
Conservative Baptist Scholar: “Any love that is not between one human man and one human woman is an abomination against the Lord. Also since all the female Dwarves have beards, we can safely assume that this movie is all part of some grand homosexual agenda.”
Maximalist Scholar: “We’ve discovered the remains of a building which might be an example of an early Gondorian style synagogue. We’ve finally proved that Middle Earth was a real thing!”
Minimalist Scholar: “That’s…pretty stupid.”
Mormon Scholar: “We have our own version of ‘The Hobbit’ and it is waaayyyy better than yours. And it is written in a different language–reformed Tolkieneese–so take that all you non-Mormons!”
Confessional Theologian: “Can we all agree to just ignore that guy?”
Methodist Scholar: “Can’t we all just agree that the movie and the book are separate entities and should be judged as such, without muddying the water and acting as if they should all be grouped together in the same category (and therefore hold them to the same standards)? I mean, we all can usually separate the Gnostic Gospels and the Canonical Ones in this way—can’t we at least make a mental attempt to do the same thing when it comes to Tolkien?”
I’ve been a fan of Joe Tyson’s work from the first time I read anything by him. Since then, I continue to grow more impressed with everything he publishes. This is a book I will have to pick, both because he had a part in its creation and because it is a product of the Acts Seminar as a whole. Here is a snippet form the blurb:
The dominant view in Acts scholarship places Acts around 85 CE, not because of any special event linking the book of Acts to that date but as a compromise between scholars who believe it was written by an eye-witness to the early Jesus movement and those who don’t. Acts and Christian Beginnings argues for a more rigorous approach to the evidence. The Acts Seminar concluded that Acts was written around 115 CE and used literary models like Homer for inspiration, even exact words and phrases from popular stories. “Among the top ten accomplishments of the Acts Seminar was the formation of a new methodology for Acts,” editors Dennis Smith and Joseph Tyson explained. “The author of Acts is in complete control of his material. He felt no obligation to stick to the sources. He makes them say what he wants them to say.”
Give it a read and then pick up a copy for yourself!
There seems to be some great confusion in the public media about the definition of ‘scholar’ and what it means, how it is actually used, and to whom it applies. When it comes to defining ‘scholars’, journalists seem to have the hardest time actually determining who fits the bill; those that actually have earned that title are confused, for instance, with scientists (and are sometimes labeled as such), whereas those with no credibility whatsoever are given the esteemed honor of being a ‘scholar’ or ‘historian’ or ‘expert’.
This became clear ages ago, but over the last few years this phenomenon has really picked up with some frightening speed. Clearly so is the example of how the Elkington’s (and their fake lead codices) were labeled as ‘Egyptologists’ (a title given to someone with a graduate or PhD degree in the field of Egyptology), ‘Biblical Scholars’, and ‘experts’. More recently this has been the case with Mr. Joe Atwill (who incidentally calls himself a ‘Biblical Scholar’). In the hope of clarifying this issue for the press and laypeople out there who may not know what words mean, I’ve devised this post.
First, a layperson who self-publishes a book on something isn’t an ‘expert’. They may be considered an enthusiast, an amateur, a hobbyist, a thrill-seeker. These are polite titles. More often than not, however, people who only self-publish do so because they do not want to have their ideas vetted by pesky things like editors, peers, or actual experts. So less polite, but certainly more accurate, titles for many of these sorts of individuals might be ‘conspiracy theorist’, ‘loon’, or ‘Indiana Jones Wanna-be’ (actually this isn’t a complement).
Second, let us stop calling the self-published tomes of these sorts of people, who have zero credibility, ‘theses’. This isn’t a thesis. To a layperson, with no background in the relevant field, any claim or argument that is new to them will appear to be ground-breaking. That doesn’t mean that it is actually new, or useful, or even correct.
The purpose of peer review, of academic vetting, is to determine how well an argument or hypothesis can withstand criticism. If the author of this book does not bother to go through this process, even unofficially, by having his book examined by experts prior to publication, then s/he does not have any grounds to claim that it is anything spectacular. That isn’t to say that an uncredentialed person cannot produce a solid book on a subject. It may actually be ground-breaking, it may be earth-shattering, but if it hasn’t been vetted by other people with credentials then there is no means by which one can claim that it is.
Third, if you are ever unsure about whether or not someone has produced a new theory, and you are curious if this individual is trustworthy, as a journalist you have several options: (1) Google their CV—if they have a CV, check to see if they have some credibility (are academically published, have formal education or training in the relevant fields, etc…), (2) if you don’t trust Google, ask other scholars (your local University has them; they are underpaid—but they will help you), (3) engage with the material yourself (instead of, you know, just republishing the PR Web article or press release without any critical thoughts about it), (4) provide a basic caveat emptor that you are (presumably, as a journalist) not qualified to judge the arguments in the book and request your readers investigate the issue on their own critically, (5) don’t automatically label them as a Scholar, but look for signs (do they have a graduate degree or doctorate? Have they at least been published academically? Have they some engagement with scholars in a critical way? Are other scholars—not laypeople—praising their work? Aim for at least two of these three things before giving an individual press time).
What is perhaps most important to remember is that what you write will resonate with laypeople—your work, as journalists for professional news outlets, gives legitimacy to an idea. So choose wisely and carefully. It is your responsibility to examine the individual and the sources and their theories before you write on them. If you fail to do so, you fail your audience. The second you publish that article, it will be shared one-hundred, one-thousand, perhaps tens-of-thousands of times during its lifespan (before being dumped into a pay-wall archive). So please, for the love of Pete, take the time needed to make sure that you are not putting a crank and their crazy conspiracy theory on a pedestal before you publish. There is nothing more embarrassing for a journalist, I imagine, than highlighting a concept that is absolutely beyond credible. And it drives people like me, who take history seriously, to drink.