Finally the day came when I'd had enough. G was deriding Reagan's plan to transfer a lot of things the federal government handled (like welfare) to state and local governments; she was going on about how foolishly simplistic Reagan's proposal was, how inept and corrupt state and local officials were. I suppressed my aggravation, channeled it into a measured rebuttal in my mind, raised my hand and said (as best I can remember 20 years later) something like this:

"But professor — why should we assume that the people working for the federal government are any better? We'll have corruption and incompetence in government no matter what, but at least the people closer to home are liable to have a better idea how to deal with problems in their own states and communities. Besides, if capable people had more freedom to make policy at those levels, I'd think those people would be more inclined to get into government at those levels than they are when they're stuck following orders from Washington."

G paused for a second, then replied "well — that's how an intelligent conservative would respond."

At the time the chief thing that struck me was her stubbornness: Even in retreat, she had to get in another dig at Reagan (he was no "intelligent conservative"). I missed, until later, the more important point: I'd made a significant step in learning to keep my cool, articulate an argument on the spot and handle a confrontation with an authority figure. That was a big development.

Looking back, I'm embarrassed that I'd taken it all so personally. I still have fond memories of Reagan, but I have enough critical distance to see his strengths and weaknesses measured by objective standards. Back then, criticism of him felt like an attack on me. Whether the criticism was unjust is beside the point. No one should identify that strongly with anyone, including political leaders. (Perhaps especially political leaders.)

That's a lesson I started to learn in some later classes. One was taught by a professor I did like. Professor S was a gentleman who radiated kindness and decency, and an old friend of my father's to boot. (Dad had died a couple years earlier, and S reminded me a lot of him.) While in his class, I wrote a paper on Abraham Lincoln so adulatory toward the Great Emancipator that S — himself favorably disposed toward Lincoln — had to gently chide me not to gush over my subject. "Lincoln," he wrote, "wouldn't have liked that!"

I find it funny when I think back on that, because I've become decidedly more critical toward Lincoln in recent years. But that, too, is beside the point. The point is that it's not right to idolize anyone, even if he truly is the most admirable person you know of.

There's more than one reason for this. The main one is that it's idolatry — taking at least some measure of the glory meant for God alone and transferring it to sinful human beings, the very best of whom is, at the core of his being, thoroughly rebellious toward God and righteous only in that God declares Him righteous through Christ.

But it also breeds in us the bad habit of sacrificing our standards to our heroes. Reagan, for example, had his virtues and accomplishments, which I still honor today. But he also had his shortcomings. One that's had lasting consequences: He put two pro-abortion judges on the Supreme Court (Sandra Day O'Connor and Anthony Kennedy) who are still costing human lives. The views of one of them (O'Connor) were especially predictable, but she got through because Reagan listened to advisers telling him he could blunt feminist attacks by naming the first woman Supreme Court justice. I remember hearing Reagan partisans make excuses at the time ("he had to do it to compete for the women's vote"). Even with my affection for the man, I couldn't help noticing how lame this was. The truth was, in a very crucial area he'd betrayed the principles he was supposed to uphold — the ones that had so resonated with Christians committed to protecting human life as a sacred gift from God — and we needed to admit it.

It's possible to make idols of parties and nation-states as well as persons. (Some social conservatives campaign for Arnold Schwarzenegger — pro-abortion, pro-"gay rights," with a personal history comparable to Bill Clinton's — because they love having a celebrity candidate and figure he's "the Republican with the best chance to win in California.") It's also possible to make demons of them. Thus some people on the left opposed the Iraq war simply because they always oppose the U.S. government in wars — and some people on the right supported the war simply because they always support the U.S. government in wars. Not everyone was so thoughtless about it, of course, but many were, on both sides; if you knew nothing of the particulars of the case, you could still predict where they'd stand.

Yet another of my professors understood this mentality well and did her best to combat it. On the first day of her political science class, she laid out the standards she expected us to meet in our essays. "Patriotism doesn't impress me," she said. Then she added: "Anti-patriotism impresses me even less." We weren't forbidden to take sides, but we had to make our case on its merits, showing we understood what we'd studied and coming to a position by reflection, not reflex.

The standard sounds obvious, I know. But as famed writer Samuel Johnson said, "Men more frequently require to be reminded than informed." The world constantly tries to take our eyes off objective moral standards, focusing them on personalities rather than God’s objective moral standard. It's a constant struggle for us to focus on what is right rather than who we like, or dislike. And struggles like that are only won when we remind ourselves every day to keep our focus.

Some of my professors meant to teach me that lesson; others didn't. But God used them all, so I'm grateful every one of them was in my life.

Photo: Copyright 2001, Index Stock.