You see, sometimes I need a little time to let ideas percolate a bit. I work by intuition at times, and sometimes force won't get the job done. It comes out "forced," awkward, mechanical, and tends to lack a significant authorial voice. In any case, I think I have something worked out, so here it goes.
I was having a discussion for a couple of hours yesterday with the lovely Io. At some point we began to talk about a class she had taken from me this semester. She was curious as to how I would evaluate it. Truly, as I told her, it was superior class, and one in which I felt I did some of my best work and my students had met and even surpassed my expectations. Then she said something funny, something that kind of took me aback. I can't remember her exact words but the meaning seemed to be something like this. When I felt that my students were doing well, she said she could tell, because I seemed like I was proud, even self-satisfied. I don't think she necessarily meant it in a negative way, but it gave me pause. In my mind, I sort of stopped to consider what she meant. Like a proud poppa? Like a manager taking credit for his employees' work under her/his "leadership"? I wasn't particularly impressed with what she had revealed to me about myself. In fact, I said, "I did not know that about myself." It really was kind of embarrassing to me, probably because I could see the truth in it. Now, mind you, those weren't the only facets of the conversation we had. In fact there were a few more flattering remarks, but kind of irrelevant to the discussion right now. I won't go into them here, unless I see a connection as I write.
What I take from this is a kind of clarity, the kind that emerges from passing from a state of self-delusion to a state of self-awareness. Sure, I always think about my "performance" (in the acting sense) as a teacher, but I don't actually get to see it. Come to think of it, I'd probably think I was kind of a wanker sometimes. Nonetheless, it's quite humbling when you realize that what you try to do is watched and evaluated(!) by others. Part of it is that I understand that teaching, getting up in front of an audience, requires that one should play a role of sorts. Please understand, I don't mean that I try to fake it. However, there is a certain level of self-consciousness inherent in the performance. I like to think that this self-consciousness is part and parcel of an effort toward improvement of performance. I have been reminded, though, that part of the performances we render for our viewing audiences is also something we do to satisfy ourselves. We like to be clever. We like to be appreciated. We like to be liked. We like to be seen as wise. We want the audience to confirm our self-conceptions, or even to confirm that we are better than we had hoped we were. We want to be... worthy. Often in my life, I have not been seen as such. I didn't really know I craved it so much, still, again, in perpetuity perhaps. At what point is the abandonment of ego possible, so that I can just get on with life?
I guess, for me, the clarity I've found has taken me to a place where I see a certain level of futility. It reminds me that I'm still trying, after all these years, not to be the biggest fucking dork in the world. And I am not always succeeding at it. Why should that matter, I'm not sure... but it kind of does. I like to think of myself differently: doing my work for others, presenting an example to be followed, being just a medium, so to speak, for the information I'm passing along. A whole bunch of important-sounding things like that. The geek that I am sort of militates against that. It's sort of pathetic. I guess that one is never really what he or she wishes to be; rather, one is just what one is. Yes, Popeye the Sailor philosophy boys and girls. I am what I am, and that's all what I am. Right? Well, maybe not. That just assumes that one is a product, like a box of cereal, with known and relatively unchanging properties and characteristics. That's true, but only partly. We also, beneath the unchanging elements that allow us to see ourselves as coherent and continuous beings, are chaotic, emergent, constantly in a state of flux, of action and reaction to the world. Sometimes, that world, that perverse, obdurate world, surprises us. It surprises us into recognizing something new, or reevaluating something old, and so forth. We don't just get to "be ourselves," because "ourself" is revealed to be temporary, partial, provisional, emergent, and so forth. The work that it takes to be a person becomes more apparent, and the fact that we have been faking it becomes all too clear.
You know, maybe I'm just being way too self-reflexive here. Maybe there are people out there who don't really match this description. The simply are so much themselves, that the world and other people are never able to make an impression. I hate those fuckers. I mean really, how can anyone be that certain of themselves? What unbridled arrogance! Or maybe I'm just jealous, because I don't think I'll ever be that way.
Wow. This has gotten to a place I didn't expect to go. I wanted to talk about something relevant to education, but instead I'm just navel-gazing, kind of doing the psychological equivalent of holding my nuts after being kicked square in my ego. Forgive me. I do see a reason, though, to talk about it, and I'll get there soon.
Teachers, particularly in college, tend to understand themselves as doing more than simply doing a job and going home. The whole edifice of my profession rests on the idea that what I do matters in larger ways than simply coming to class, lecturing, evaluating, and going away. What I do is supposed to matter to students. The way I do my work as a teacher (or an advisor, etc.) is supposed to have some sort of impact. I'm supposed to imagine myself as a role model, as someone who can show people, not just how to think, but what to be and how to live. Let's call that the messianic dimension of teaching. I'm supposed to be the secular equivalent of a priest of some sort, representing a discipline that functions like a denominational label, like "Lutheran" or "Baptist," for example. The problem is, though the congregation, as such, files in regularly, they are not always there for the reasons you think they are. They do not see or understand things exactly the way you expect them to. Most importantly, they do not see you in the same way that you see yourself. That's reasonable, and probably should be expected by someone who is supposedly an expert regarding rhetoric. Ahh... but then self-delusion creeps in, and allows you to project upon your own self-awareness an illusion of mastery. You think you have been what you sought to be, and done what you sought to do. Maybe you have. You probably also have done a bunch of other things of which you are unaware, or even actively in denial. That's where I find myself now.
I am, I have been, humbled. The task of making that kind of connection with my students is so immense as to be unachievable. There is never going to be a time when I and my students will find ourselves revealed, in truth and glory, to each other. We will never truly be consubstantial with each other in any real way. This reminds me of something that John Durham Peters (1999) said about communication in his book, Speaking Into the Air:
The authentic representation of the self or world not only is impossible, it is also never enough. Needed instead is a stoic willingness to go through the motions that will evoke the truth for others. The problem of communication is not language'’s slipperiness, it is the unfixable difference between the self and the other. The challenge of communication is not to be true to our own interiority but to have mercy on others for never seeing ourselves as we do. (266-267)
It's sort of funny to realize, in very tragically funny sort of way, that what I hope to achieve--perfect communion, total consubstantiality--is more or less delusional. Yet, that's what I feel compelled to seek in my work. I hope that I can go to a place, and meet my students there, and that we recognize each other in some very real sense. That in this moment of recognition, that we will reveal all that is important to know, and that we will accept, and even forgive, what is there in the other person, and in ourselves. Is this constant urge I have just the desire for forgiveness (for what?), for love (don't I have that already?), for worthiness (to whom, then, if not to myself?)?
For me, this really fucks with my idea of being a mentor or some kind of role model for my students. How can a person be so ignorant of the basic facts regarding himself and his desires, and how they interrelate with others, and still expect to be a model of perfection? Sort of an arrogant assumption, isn't it? I guess the important thing that I take away from this lesson is that I should not worry about what it says about me. I need to do my job, do it well, and do it with passion, but I should be careful about my expectations as to what I will get in return. To project an obligation upon my students to preserve my carefully wrought self-image is not good. Perhaps it is not particularly ethical either. I guess when you love, you want to be loved in return; however, I don't think love should be so much an investment as it is a gift freely given. Let it flow. Don't worry about what follows. Don't expect. Be in the moment. Most importantly, don't make yourself the most important thing in picture you see in your mind.
Sometimes, the students are the teachers. If teachers listen, perhaps they will recognize this to be true far more often than they suspect.
Sela. Reflect on this.
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