On Phenomenology and Abstraction, PART 002 (with added Surrealism and other Required Existential Nutrients)

I've begun to feel an exaggerated sense of experience in the months since I left the Academy. I never completed a post I began before leaving, but somehow I had prophetically entitled it "Farewell to the Academy." As I celebrate today a simple victory I won August 23, 1989, I am reminded of how much our present experience is seasoned with our past. These days I walk into the classroom with a sense that only 10% of the lecture time belongs to me; as opposed to having an open check to experiment with how my students respond to literature. It's okay, though. I am lucky to be where I am and I think there's no better day than today to reflect on the long road behind. The last thing I believed that day in 1989 was that I would be in the position I am right now. Perhaps that is a common experience, a universal one that infects people in unique ways. Taking a look behind me I only see the dark shadow of time past--looking ahead I see young people looking at me (some of them). Some of them are so young that their "long ago past" is still very much lit, immediate and paved with "milk and honey." No, this is much more than the proverbial walking 10 miles to school barefoot. I wonder, is this generation learning anything from their so immediate past? How does this fit in the classroom today? How can I help them develop their own sense of "narrative," of "story?" Gone are the days of starting the semester with that morbid "in-class" assignment I learned from the legendary Terry Martin: "Write your obituary." These days, it seems to me, a more appropriate assignment would be "If you had all the money in the world, how would you spend it?" Yes, I bid farewell to my wonderful Academy, and with it, it seems I had to leave behind all of the so-called "impracticalities" of a Liberal Arts Education, as per Mark Edmundson. There's no space for the great questions of a positive existentialism, nor for the examination of Virtue and its role in our lives. I spend more time covering "objectives" (even at the college level where I presently am) than pursuing the Life of the Mind. 10% and with it I have to divide my time as professor and alchemist and turn gold out of copper.

August 23, 1989 was the starting line for me. I had some tools, very limited, and I had no idea what to do with them. Music had expanded my horizons, but I had to now walk on my own and find a new path. Most of that time I spent (if I remember correctly) trying to experience everything at full--no shortcuts, not one. Perhaps I embraced more than I could chew at one time, and my first semester as an undergrad was less than stellar. Yet, I was learning how life spent itself, how hours and hours and days, months and years went by with the speed of a bullet train. What I experienced was, in retrospect, so intense I wonder how I did not get burn before my time. Then came logical fallacies, arguments, Plato and the rest of the "gang," professors who really cared about my education.... literature saved me and illuminated the way that made my past doubly dark, my military experience, my loss of faith in humankind. I not only couldn't turn back--there was no past to speak of, and I began to feel that half of my experiences had evaporated into thin air. The few days between undergraduate and graduate school saw me turn from student to teacher (T.A.s were more like adjunct, miserable pay and no benefits: a great savings for that corporate institution known as higher education). I was thrown in the classroom with an anthology and was told to teach students how to think for themselves. Looking back after 15 years I now realize that only the time before 1989 is in darkness--the time after has remained illuminated by my role as teacher. There have been good and bad students, good and bad colleagues, good and bad administrators, good and bad classrooms, but never a bad day.

The abstraction in all of this rests on the fact that no one can predict (from one day to the next) where this so-called "New Economy" is taking us. Between consumerism and long stretches of forbearance of student loans the young do a precarious balancing act that takes up all of their time. Freshmen today pick and choose from a menu of courses that gives them the edge when they are ready to internship or graduate, whichever comes first. More and more "elective" liberal arts courses are being canceled for lack of enrollment, yet not even a single space is to be found in courses like "Business Ethics and Risk Management."

I feel (as I said in my earlier post regarding phenomenology and abstraction) I am still at that skating rink, far away yet close to the security blanket of institutional organization. What I see in the classroom and what is required to do seem to be pulling in different directions. I still go round and round trying to find a balance. The dark clouds and the strong, cool, humid air predicting rain are still here with me. A shared sense of isolation--a contradiction, a paradox, a no win situation. God help us all.

The Occupational Hazards of the Teaching Life...

A couple of months ago, I posted an entry I had to remove due to confidentiality issues. Never mind that I didn't include my student's name, or the name of the school I teach in (I always refer to it as "the Academy"), or that I don't even use my real name in this blog. I had to remove it, and it was painful because I felt I was airing feelings and emotions that spoke for most of those who knew this exceptional young woman. My student, D.C., died of cancer on Monday after a struggle that lasted two years. She was in my class twice, and she worked with me on some video/music montages of the senior class she was a part of. When I heard the news that she had a relapse in October and that this time it was going to be even more critical, I spun into a rage against everything I believed or even professed faith for. That was the entry I posted and later took down. Now that she is gone, I am posting it again. I am doing this because the pain (not only mine but all who knew her here at the Academy and beyond) is so overwhelming and deep that going on with life and work seems nearly impossible at the present. I made some corrections after recovering it (thanks Ms. Stefanie for sending me a copy of it)... here it is...

"A few days ago, I heard that one of my students is in relapse and possibly dying of cancer. Two years ago, she fought hard and won her battle in a display of courage that will remain a lesson to me for the rest of my life. To this day, her example is one of the most selfless acts of courage I have ever seen (including during my military service). I am not exaggerating when I say that. She is simply amazing. Her heart, her bright smile in the face of seemingly insurmountable odds... nothing is lost, or in vain. She has taught me how to be a better human being. I am afraid that whatever I say here is going to sound like some tired cliche, but it's simply a sign that there are NO words to describe what is going through my mind right now.

I don't have children of my own. When I told the story of my student to a friend of mine, his response was just that. "I mean," he said sternly, "it's not like she's your daughter, or anything." I kept quiet in front of him, but I cried on the drive home... more out of anger than anything else. This is not fair, and I don't have to like it. I can enumerate the reasons why I think my student doesn't deserve this, but I suspect that also would be an exercise in futility. I have cursed and howled madly in the direction of passing clouds just because my anger gets the best of me. I have bargained with God this past week like an unregulated Wall Street bookie. It has gone as far as me thinking of that scene from "Amadeus" in which Salieri, feeling cheated by God's gift of talent to Mozart, says to a crucifix on the wall: "From now on we are enemies... you and I..." My faith has never been weaker than it is right now. And those who tell me that we have to understand God's plan for my student dying of cancer never explain to me that this trick of "understanding" takes a great deal of time. I have gone from feeling that faith is going to carry us all through this, to declaring my unreserved antagonism against religion and the facade of peace it offers. I have remunerated, grappled and screamed, shouted and cried again. I have felt confused, cheated, ridiculed and humbled. Of course, it's not like she's my daughter or anything.

It is said love can make us do strange things. These are the reasons behind and underneath the "rat race," the things we live for.... to subtract the most meaning out of life one must be willing to lose a lot (or a little), and do it all in the name of love. Take away all of the "sugar-coating" about "teachers changing the world," etc., etc. ad naseum, and boil it down to the pain and anger and confusion, sadness of losing a student to cancer. Okay, so I understand that part, but I don't like it and presently I am unwilling to accept it. It's not right and it's not fair. But then again, it's not like she's my daughter or anything."

I have accepted now, and my faith is stronger than ever... she taught us all how to reverse the process of losing faith and in the process made us all stronger people. She was the light of life for her family, friends, and certainly her teachers. May God bless you now and forever, D.C. We will see you again some day.