January I wrote this talk for a high school. I never actually gave it, because the school authorities vetoed the plan to invite me.
On the uses of a liberal education: September 1, Harper's Magazine Mark Edmundson A college student getting a liberal arts education ponders filling out a questionnaire that includes an opportunity for him to evaluate his instructor.
At times it appears that the purpose of his education is just to entertain him.
Today is evaluation day in my Freud class, and everything has changed. The class meets twice a week, late in the afternoon, and the clientele, about fifty undergraduates, tends to drag in and slump, looking disconsolate and a little lost, waiting for a jump start.
To get the discussion moving, they usually require a joke, an anecdote, an off-the-wall question -- When you were a kid, were your Halloween getups ego costumes, id costumes, or superego costumes?
That sort of thing. But today, as soon as I flourish the forms, a buzz rises in the room. Today they write their assessments of the course, their assessments of me, and they are without a doubt wide-awake.
Whatever interpretive subtlety they've acquired during the term is now out the window. As I retreat through the door -- I never stay around for this phase of the ritual -- I look over my shoulder and see them toiling away like the devil's auditors.
They're pitched into high writing gear, even the ones who struggle to squeeze out their journal entries word by word, stoked on a procedure they have by now supremely mastered.
They're playing the informed consumer, letting the provider know where he's come through and where he's not quite up to snuff. But why am I so distressed, bolting like a refugee out of my own classroom, where I usually hold easy sway? Chances are the evaluations will be much like what they've been in the past -- they'll be just fine.
It's likely that I'll be commended for being "interesting" and I am commended, many times overthat I'll be cited for my relaxed and tolerant ways that happens, toothat my sense of humor and capacity to connect the arcana of the subject matter with current culture will come in for some praise yup.
I've been hassled this term, finishing a manuscript, and so haven't given their journals the attention I should have, and for that I'm called -- quite civilly, though -- to account. Overall, I get off pretty well. Yet I have to admit that I do not much like the image of myself that emerges from these forms, the image of knowledgeable, humorous detachment and bland tolerance.
I do not like the forms themselves, with their number ratings, reminiscent of the sheets circulated after the TV pilot has just played to its sample audience in Burbank.
Most of all I dislike the attitude of calm consumer expertise that pervades the responses. I'm disturbed by the serene belief that my function -- and, more important, Freud's, or Shakespeare's, or Blake's -- is to divert, entertain, and interest. Observes one respondent, not at all unrepresentative: I don't teach to amuse, to divert, or even, for that matter, to be merely interesting.
When someone says she "enjoyed" the course -- and that word crops up again and again in my evaluations -- somewhere at the edge of my immediate complacency I feel encroaching self-dislike.
That is not at all what I had in mind.
The off-the-wall questions and the sidebar jokes are meant as lead-ins to stronger stuff -- in the case of the Freud course, to a complexly tragic view of life. But the affability and the one-liners often seem to be all that land with the students; their journals and evaluations leave me little doubt.
I want some of them to say that they've been changed by the course. I want them to measure themselves against what they've read. It's said that some time ago a Columbia University instructor used to issue a harsh two-part question. What book did you most dislike in the course?
What intellectual or characterological flaws in you does that dislike point to? The hand that framed that question was surely heavy. But at least it compels one to see intellectual work as a confrontation between two people, student and author, where the stakes matter.
Why are my students describing the Oedipus complex and the death drive as being interesting and enjoyable to contemplate? And why am I coming across as an urbane, mildly ironic, endlessly affable guide to this intellectual territory, operating without intensity, generous, funny, and loose?May 13, · HELP: Persuasive essay: Should students get paid for scoring high grades?
I have to do a persuasive essay, and I am stuck on my second, third, and fourth paragraph. This being, I've only done my introduction and Status: Resolved.
Northwestern University's Midwest Academic Talent Search (NUMATS) is a research-validated program that utilizes above-grade-level assessment, as a means of gifted testing, to help parents and educators better understand their students’ educational needs.
NUMATS allows eligible students to take internationally recognized tests before the grade levels at which they are normally administered. College athletes should get paid. But wait. That might not mean what you think it means.
It doesn’t mean that college athletes should be living like professional athletes – raking in signing bonuses, making and spending millions.
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Students should get money for getting good grades. For example, if you get a % you could receive dollars. But in order to get the .