James Dobson: Lighting the Seventies and Beyond | The American Spectator

As an Evangelical Opie from a little Baptist college in Arkansas, I entered the philosophy graduate program at Vanderbilt in the fall of 1970. It wasn’t an Ivy, but pretty much all the Ivy I could handle as I pursued the doctorate. Those were crazy days in our nation, and plenty of insanity had made its way onto campus. I remember one young adept stood up in a big ethics class, and, clad only in cutoff jean shorts, he declared that man had trespassed over 90 percent of the earth. (“Heavy!”) And then there were the guys who washed the American flag in a bucket of water in front of the ROTC cadets at drill. The San Francisco Mime Troupe appeared in the gym and gave us a nasty whiff of their mindset, teaching us how to “rip off Ma Bell” with some sort of dial tone counterfeit. Fortunately, we had the Opry and the Johnny Cash show down at the Ryman, and it was still the Bible Belt. An ROTC product myself, I was fortunate that the Army let me go from Infantry School straight into the Guard, so I could stick with my studies. And my “Hell on Wheels” patch was appreciated at gas stations, if not on campus.

Our church, Belmont Heights Baptist, was a haven of biblical sanity and godly friendship. And special thanks go to the young marrieds group that would meet late Sunday afternoons in an old house across the alley from the auditorium. We worked through a variety of books together, and James Dobson’s Dare to Discipline came up on our radar. Dr. Spock (of Earth, not Vulcan) had set the table for much of the fostering we Boomers had received, and Dobson’s title carried a jolt, albeit a welcome one. The biblical Proverbs spoke of the need for spankings (of which I received, deservedly, several in my childhood), but that prescription had fallen on hard times in the Age of Aquarius. Of course, Dobson’s book didn’t focus on corporal punishment, but rather on drawing lines, with consequences pending. We didn’t have kids yet, but we filed this away, thankfully.

Once I joined the faculty at Wheaton, we started a family, and, before long, I was assigned to teach a summer course on moral education. I was reminded of something I’d heard in a philosophy of law class back at Vandy. Our prof reported on a conversation between two of his colleagues in another department. One asked the other, “Do you know Sanskrit?” The answer: “No, I haven’t taught it yet.” And so it goes; in many cases, you don’t begin to master a subject till you’re assigned to teach it. Of course, I’d picked up on a fair amount of writing on the topic, from Plato to Dewey. But I’d not heard of Piaget and Kohlberg and their theory of moral development. One big feature of their work was the notion that you don’t start raising your kids with thoughtful discourses on the Golden Rule, theories of justice, utilitarian calculations, and such. At the outset, they are basically into pain avoidance. When your little fartling looks you right in the eye and defies your command to not pull out a can at the bottom of the grocery store’s display pyramid, you don’t go with just “There, there. Mommy told you no” as cans go rolling everywhere — “Don’t cry. Here’s some candy.”

Dr. Dobson helped give us the courage of sterner stuff — not hateful lashing out, but love, “tough love.” And it wasn’t just what the world might pigeonhole as Bible thumping. It was common sense, natural law, as well as divine law. And, mirabile dictu, here was a man speaking from the university (the USC medical school), not what we count as a font of wisdom and prudence today. Of course, ordinary folks can get things right. You don’t need an advanced degree to nail it when it comes to life essentials. But credentials can help you get a respectful hearing, the sort of thing made especially clear in the case of C. S. Lewis.

Dr. Dobson went on to write other true and powerful things, and his Focus on the Family organization continues as a salubrious force in our nation. Along the way, he took a strong stand for marriage. Who knew that the Obergefell madness would prevail in the courts? But it’s a fool’s game to bet against the imaginations, fulminations, and machinations of fallen man. Well, you’d think that the most fundamental human institution, grounded in the opening chapters of Genesis — predating commerce, academia, government, the military, the media, and community organizations — would garner universal respect. But no. And the problem isn’t limited to the pagan culture. As a pastor along the way for over 15 years, I’ve seen a host of believers treat marriage as a sort of channel surfing: “Keep trying spouses till you get the one you want.” Yes, I think there are a few biblical allowances, but you’d better put on your big-boy pants if you suggest that there are limits to “serial monogamy.” Something about “For better, for worse … till death ….” So, thank you, James Dobson, for pressing us to take marriage counter-culturally seriously.

Not that long ago, I found myself on a Father’s Day panel at our church, and one of the guys on the platform said that he strictly avoided any behavior that might lead his children to fear him. He did some sort of scripture-twisting to say that fear was not of God. That was my first up-close look at “gentle parenting,” in the family with “permissive parenting,” and, I’d suggest, “supine” and “goofy” parenting. Of course, there are terrible, abusive parents who scar their kids, ruin their witness, and grieve God. But I’m persuaded, having listened to a lot of conversations, that much of this permissiveness is driven not by love but by fear. Many parents are terrified that if they “dare to discipline,” they’ll lose the affection of their children.

And don’t get me started on family portrayals in sitcoms, movies, and such. So many parents rolling over when faced with snark, huff-and-puff, and insult from their kids, whether storming off from the table or tossing comments over their shoulders as they head out on some justly disparaged mission.

We needed his voice in the 1970s. We’ve relished his voice since then. We long for the extension of his voice in the days to come, and for a generation of champions for the things he championed with clarity, boldness, grace, and, yes, class.

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