I guess I should face it: I’m a dick. I’m a jerk. I have opinions. I can be overbearing — intimidating, even. I’m not warm-and-fuzzy, but cold-and-coarse. I love a good debate, but I don’t think many of us can detach personal feelings from intellectual exercise anymore. When I think I’m being critical and challenging, I’m really being an overbearing, insensitive, disrespectful bully. When I think that I listen to others’ positions and ask questions, I’m really just standing on my soapbox and being, well, a dick. I am arrogant and liberal — who wouldn’t be with a Ph.D. after his name? I can be read like a book: I’m out to corrupt America’s youth, and I must be stopped.
Maybe all that’s true? Why am I any more qualified to have opinions than any other citizen of Central Georgia? What makes me so special? Nothing. Maybe in a room full of Ph.D.s, I do have some respect and empathy, but should I expect the same in a classroom? On a street corner? Shouldn’t I pay as close attention to what the students think? After all, isn’t it really about them? They are the customers. They have paid to be in the class. Why should they have to listen to anything that they disagree with? What gives me the right to try to make them? I’m such a jerk.
It’s true, and it’s time that I admit it to myself and do something about it. It’s a big, stinky piece of humble pie that I finally have to choke down. Offense used to be, to me, a learning opportunity — something to really make me examine my attitudes and convictions. It’s the most difficult thing about education: that existential moment of understanding that comes from an idea that shakes you to the core. Frightening as hell. Now offense often seems to be grounds for complaint to the authorities, not for introspection.
Aren’t I just a functionary? I have facts to impart to the students, and isn’t that what knowledge is about? Facts don’t offend; they’re impartial, beyond contention. If people wanted opinions, they could turn on their favorite “news” channel or go to church. Is it the fact of my jerkiness that you hate? Or is it that my opinions don’t match your own?
In this current political climate, perhaps the best course of action is to remain silent or risk a fatwa, a witch hunt, a crusade, or a book burning. Yes, I have a right to say what I want — and I even have the qualifications. However, maybe right now and right here the prudent thing would be to keep my jerky mouth shut?
What would my classroom be like if I just stuck to the facts, Jack? Seriously. What are the facts in the study of literature? Context for sure. Plot. Oh, yes. I could point to all the zeugmas, synecdoches, and caesuras in a Neoclassical poem — all facts. What about textual interpretation? Ah, that’s tricky. Isn’t “interpretation” just another word for “opinion”? Better check those at the door. So literature turns into a quantifiable exercise of plot, context, and device?
What piece of literature does not in some way challenge conventional attitudes and beliefs? This is why I love what I do: it deals with all that human stuff that makes us who we are, for better or worse. It’s a mirror that shows all of our beauty and scars — us at our best and our worst. It challenges — kicks us in the throat and teases us with subtlety. It’s not the fact of plot, but the significance of it. Literature is the labyrinth, the puzzle of humanity. No other human endeavor is as important. (Shit, did I just write my opinion?)
I get so passionate in the classroom because I love what I do. I love what I read, and I want to hear what others think about it, too. Yet, my zeal is often mistaken for overbearing intimidation. My execrable opinion. Not for everyone, but a vocal few. I do care about you. I do.
And this is what makes me sad. I don’t know how to change. The only way I can be sure not to offend is to remain silent. Is that what this is about? Is that the prudent course? I do need to think about my job security, no? No employer wants to employ a jerk.
How do I challenge without offending? Is this even possible? For a better educator than myself, perhaps.
I don’t know how to temper the sharp edge of my personality other than to remain silent and smile. Who could object to that? How do I foster a classroom where people can disagree without becoming offended and turning off or going on the attack? Is that even possible these days? The classroom is where we should engage these ideas, not in an administrator’s office.
I’ll probably remain a jerk, but I just need to be a quieter one if I am to remain an educator. I guess that means this is my last blog entry, too.
I’m beaten down.
Last semester in one of my upper-level classes I often felt like I was not vocal enough in promoting progressive ideals despite their having, arguably, a legitimate place in that particular class. On reflection, I think the best I could do was to model those ideals, create a “safe space” for discussion, and thereby open the door for students to hopefully come to new conclusions on their own. I didn’t do as much as I hoped, but at least I did something.
Also, if students are disturbed and stirred up by what they read and/or by scholars’ interpretations of it, at least we know they are trying to entertain new ideas–I’d be more worried if they sat idle and unaffected while Mrs. Turpin took a textbook to the browbone and John Donne compared a flea bite to a premarital shag, wouldn’t you?
I’m concerned that we don’t discuss anymore, at least in my classes. Students want a passive experience, where I talk to them. But when I do — and perhaps say something they don’t like — rather than using the class as a place for debate and examination, they remain silent. Only later do I hear about their chagrin — out-of-context when I can do little to address it. I hear reports of crying and carrying on.
Can they really believe that’s my intention?
Depends on the student, the class, and the prof, I think. I’m a lot more approachable than I used to be (and I have always been pretty approachable) and some students are still afraid of me–I think they are more afraid of the idea of THE PROFESSOR than the reality of my tiny self.
I think the logic here is similar to “if you don’t vote, don’t complain”–that is, if students don’t discuss, then their freakouts later should be regarded as less valid. But I don’t know how one could communicate that idea to students either as a policy or a matter of classroom culture. Must ponder further.
I tend to agree with this assessment, Laura. Perhaps my difficulty is fostering a classroom where students feel comfortable enough to talk about their ideas, even if they are contrary. Education has always, to me, been about an opening up of possibilities, but it seems like I’ve been doing the opposite lately.
Maybe these aren’t the days for conflict? And I thought it was bad after 9/11.
J,
I’ve thought about these things a lot, maybe for different reasons, but I wasn’t kidding about wanting you to do a workshop on how not to bs your students. Some days, if feels like I’ve earned a degree in making students feel comfortable, no matter how much I stress they have to back up what they think. They need to be more prepared to defend themselves than they are.
I’m not sure what happened, but I hope to God you don’t change who you are – especially for students who can’t even tell you to your face that they have a problem.
I agree that if you try not to rattle or upset in any way, you won’t be teaching literature. You won’t be doing what you love.
I really hope, for the sake of continuing to do what fires you up, that you’re not beaten down for long, that you continue to write, and that you continue to inspire students who can be inspired.
As for those who run to administration instead of confronting you directly, there’s not much hope of reaching them anyway. They’ll always be running away from things that don’t fit into their narrow bubble. They’ll always be running.
Indeed. Thanks, Heather. When I get a complaint or two, that seems to overshadow the all the other students who appreciate what I do. The ones who feel wronged, I guess, are the ones who seem to scream loudest. My ideal is to reach everyone; perhaps the reality will always be different.
Maybe I need to concentrate more on my writing — let that speak for me? I’m sure to get in trouble there, too…
Dr. Lucas, first, chin up! You are an engaging, thought-provoking educater and I really enjoyed your class. I did not and still do not always agree with your viewpoints. We are on opposite ends of the spectrum with ideas on politics, religion and worldview. I am a pastor by vocation and we will have different opinion, but thats ok. The difference in opinions is the spice of life.
I took your World Lit II class and found that I learned an amazing amount of things from your class by the way you engaged us. Some times, admittedly, it was maddening, but I found the times I disagreed with you the most were the times I learned the most. Sort of a, “I’ll show him” and I dug more deeper into the work. You really helped me grow in areas like diserning what the writer is saying and how does that apply to the context of life.
As a pastor it has taken me a great amount of time to realize everyone will not get the message and that it is ok. If I worry too much about the one or two people who may disagree with what I am saying, I may in fact lose all the others. In other words, don’t stop engaging. Learn that some are not going to get you or the message, but that is the way it is. I know you don’t take much stock in religion, but Jesus at one time had over 5000 followers and then in one particular sermon he ostracized every single one and they left except for the twelve who came with him, but it was those twelve who made the later impact.
I understand being beaten down, but as a former student of yours, I am saying keep doing what you are doing. Anything less than the way you engage a class, then you truly are not giving them their moneys worth.
Many regards,
Robert Mike Bankston
Thanks for your kind words of encouragement, Mike. It’s students like you that got me in to this profession to begin with. I also think it’s for students like you that I’ll stay.
I don’t think our political views could be any further apart, but I was not offended at all when I took your class. (My views are like concrete, all mixed up and permanently set.)
People who do not want their views challenged more than likely are full of self doubt. I will likely forget most of the stories I was forced to read, but I will never forget how you made me think about society, and is not that part of the college experience?
Keep truckin’ , blogin’ and challenging your students!
Thanks, James. I think part of the issue is that a good educator would try to reach everyone, not say things that could potentially ostracize or shut someone down. This is easy to do in positions of authority, unfortunately. While I agree that I need to be myself, I also think I need to be forever cautious about what I say and how I say it.
I appreciate your comments.
Last semester in one of my upper-level classes I often felt like I was not vocal enough in promoting progressive ideals despite their having, arguably, a legitimate place in that particular class. On reflection, I think the best I could do was to model those ideals, create a “safe space” for discussion, and thereby open the door for students to hopefully come to new conclusions on their own. I didn’t do as much as I hoped, but at least I did something. Also, if students are disturbed and stirred up by what they read and/or by scholars’ interpretations of it, at least we know they are trying to entertain new ideas–I’d be more worried if they sat idle and unaffected while Mrs. Turpin took a textbook to the browbone and John Donne compared a flea bite to a premarital shag, wouldn’t you?