A year and half ago, I sat at dinner during a job interview for a French teaching position in Upstate New York. The main interviewer, a man I came to like and in some ways even to respect in the coming months (I got the job) made a disparaging remark about the Book of Mormon (clearly he was not aware of my religious affiliation). I desperately needed this job (I had a wife, three kids) and so I didn't feel sufficiently empowered at that moment to mention that I was in fact, a Latter-day Saint myself and thus to dispel whatever false notions he may have had about us.
For all of the ensuing year as I worked with this colleague (he was my boss) I always longed for the opportunity to disabuse him of some of his notions. I even prayed for opportunities to bring up my faith so that I could set the record straight. But after one whole year, after a year's worth of discussions, and jokes, and pleasant conversations on all kinds of topics, I got another job in another state and ended up leaving everything I wanted to say about my faith to him unsaid.
There was the time I had my Book of Mormon prominently displayed on my desk, when he came in to talk to me. I noticed his eyes glance down at it several times throughout our conversation. But that didn't count. I should have opened my mouth. I should not have feared. I should have spoken up, even if my voice shook.
That experience still haunts me. It has caused me to think of something Elder Henry B. Eyring, one of the presiding elders and Apostle of my church, once said in General Conference:
"Years ago I worked for a man in California. He hired me; he was kind to me; he seemed to regard me highly. I may have been the only Latter-day Saint he ever knew well. I don’t know all the reasons I found to wait for a better moment to talk with him about the gospel. I just remember my feeling of sorrow when I learned, after he had retired and I lived far away, that he and his wife had been killed in a late-night drive to their home in Carmel, California. He loved his wife. He loved his children. He had loved his parents. He loved his grandchildren, and he will love their children and will want to be with them forever.
Now, I don’t know how the crowds will be handled in the world to come. But I suppose that I will meet him, that he will look into my eyes, and that I will see in them the question: “Hal, you knew. Why didn’t you tell me?”
There are some important things that I know are true. I hope the lines of people coming up to me in heaven, wanting to know why I didn't tell them what I knew when it could have helped them, will be short. And yet I already know that my former boss will be in that line.
So I want to testify now of things I know to be true. These are the kinds of things I would probably be more comfortable discussing in private, in person, but I feel a responsibility to share what I know. I also feel a love for God, and for the Gospel, and for my fellow mortal travelers which motivates me to speak so openly.
I know there is a God. He is our Heavenly Father and he loves all of us, His children, perfectly. I have felt his love and his presence in my life since I was a child, and He continues to be with me and to bless me in my adult life. He hears and answers my prayers; He always has and I do not doubt that He will continue to do so for as long as I live.
I know that Jesus Christ is the Son of God. He is my Savior and Redeemer, my Lord and my God. Through his great atoning sacrifice, and through obedience to the laws and ordinances of His Gospel, all mankind can return to live with Him and with our Heavenly Father forever, which is eternal life. It is through Christ that we can be forgiven from sin, that we can feel the burden of sin lifted and become whole again. It is through the majestic and incomprehensible power of his love and his atonement that we can overcome not only sin, but burdens and afflictions of all kinds. This is something I have learned from reading Isaiah 53, and from reading Alma 7 in the Book of Mormon.
"And he shall go forth, suffering pains and afflications and temptations of every kind; and this that the word might be fulfilled which saith he will take upon him the pains and the sicknesses of his people.
And he will take upon him death, that he may loose the bands of death which bind his people; and he will take upon him their infirmities, that his bowels may be filled with mercy, according to the flesh, that he may know according to he flesh how to succor his people according to their infirmities." (Alma 7:11-12)
I have felt the healing power of the atonement of Christ in my life, sometimes in very powerful ways. It is true, as Alma says, that the Lord knows how to "succor" his people. "Succor" comes from a medieval French word which means "to run to." I have felt my Savior run to me many times in my life. This is how I know that Christ lives and that he is my personal Savior. My relationship with Him is personal. I am proud to belong to the church that bears his name, the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.
I know that the Book of Mormon is the word of God. Some of my Christian friends think this diminishes the importance of the Bible in my life. It does not; in fact, for me, it only enhances the miracle and power of the Bible in my life. I know that the Bible is the word of God. I read both books and draw tremendous strength from doing so. Not only is my life as a father, a husband, a professional, and everything else that I am strengthened when I strive to live by the principles of these two God-given books of sacred scripture, but I can feel God's love and the presence of the Holy Spirit when I read these books. This is why I read from them daily, both alone and with my family. I am grateful for parents and for a faith that have taught me the importance of nourishing myself daily by reading from the good Word of God.
I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet of God. He translated the Book of Mormon from ancient records, by the power of God. I know this for myself because I have read its pages and pondered its message. I have prayed to know for myself if it is true, and God has answered my prayers many times over. Joseph Smith was the instrument whereby Christ restored his church and gospel to the earth in their fulness.
There is a prophet on the earth today, and Twelve Apostles, just as existed in Christ's church during his mortal ministry. You can learn all about it at www.mormon.org.
I know that families can be together forever. The family unit is eternal. Through sacred ordinances performed in God's temples, families can be united for eternity. The bonds of affection that exist between husband and wife, between parent and child, are sacred and holy and are intended to endure forever. Heaven would not be heaven without my wife by my side, nor without my children, parents, and other family members. The family is ordained of God.
There are many other things I might say, but these seem to me the most important.
I bear my personal witness that these things are true.
Monday, October 24, 2011
Monday, October 3, 2011
The Bourgeois Gentilhomme and Today's Would-Be Students
I shuddered as I recently saw the new student dorms being built in places like the University of North Texas and North Carolina State University.
(see them here: http://www.cnn.com/2011/09/22/living/dorm-rooms/index.html)
I say shudder, though I didn't actually physically tremble so much as I seethed with moral indignation and outrage, two emotions well-internalized after years of higher education training therein. You see, as you get more and more education, the more you are supposed to shudder and feel outrage as beings lesser than yourself make decisions that you in your infiniter wisdom would never have made. But that is a topic for consideration another time, and a matter of private repentance for me to consider, well, in private.
I am still legitimately troubled, though, by this latest attempt to draw "students" to these desperately pandering universities. Adolescents they may draw, but true students probably not. Universities are now becoming, in the wise words of Mark Edmundsen, "retirement spread[s] for the young," with all of the country-club amenities that a young person who has never worked for them could want.
And why shouldn't universities provide these things? Thanks to decades of thorough corporatization, the American University (Inc.) after all has now long been in the business of providing customer satisfaction for its many eager clients. Who cares about the integrity of the product? It's what the focus groups say the students want, so let's give it to them, and at ever-increasing prices. If they want Economics Lite, or Diet Physics, or watered-down history and literature offerings, then let us give it to them. With the vast student loan and Pell Grant programs, we'll even have American taxpayers (and two-thirds of Americans never graduate from college, so think of who exactly is paying for much of this) underwrite the cost for all those climbing walls, those tanning salons, those flat screen tv's, those luxuriating campus dining halls. We may have to cut professors' salaries and increase tuition rates so that all but a few may attend this great carnaval of learning we have created, this confused circus of curricula we have constructed, but, hey, the customers are happy, so let's keep forging ahead. Bring on the monster stadium, multiply the army of invading bureaucrats, throw endless money into the pit of losing sports teams. That is what the customers want, and we will give it to them.
And since shopping is what they like, let's have them "shop" for courses, too. (Note: some students actually use the term "shopping for classes" and Princeton even has an offical "shopping period" when students can do said "shopping"-- this is language that speaks volumes). The courses that don't do well in this free-market forum, well, we'll just have to mold them according to the focus groups, or else get rid of them altogether. Little matter if students actually need some of these courses as an integral part of their education-- the product must suit the consumer, and what the consumer wants unfortunately often has little to do with education.
So what does the consumer want? I recently attended a roundtable for faculty members, where six students described what they liked about attending the university. They were explicitly told not to mention "it will help me to get a job," which made me very interested in what else they might have to say. Half of them basically still said that college would help them get a job, and the other half basically said that they liked having four years of a transition period before adulthood. No mention of education, broadening horizons, developing critical thinking skills, learning. Many (most?) do not come to college for those kinds of things. They come for the rite of passage, for entrance to the middle class, to enter softly into adulthood, to get a better-paying job.
But why?
Because we are a bourgeois nation, and that is what bourgeois nations do. I have been recently re-reading with my students one of my favorite plays, Moliere's "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme" i.e. "The Bourgeois Gentleman" or the middle-class gentleman, an ironic, nonsensical title inasmuch as gentlemen are noble and therefore not bourgeois, or middle class. Most English translations render it "The Would-Be Gentleman." The story concerns a well-to-do merchant whose money, he hopes, will allow him to purchase a new social status for himself. He is the stereotypical buffoon of "new money," the arriviste and social climber who hopes that his money will somehow magically buy him the taste, attitudes, and experiences that will give him easy access to the upper class or nobility. He is, of course, mercilessly ridiculed throughout the play, inasmuch as Moliere recognized that there are some things that money just can't buy. The bourgeois, you see, knows the price of everything and the value of nothing because to him, the value is the price (channeling Nibley here). To have and to be are near-synonymous to those whose petty possessions are life itself.
Most of our college classrooms are veritably overflowing with the bourgeois spirit. Monsieur Jourdain, Moliere's protagonist in the play, hires tutors to teach him, but he does not want to learn what they have to teach. He wants to be taught only what interests him, and unfortunately only elementary spelling and superficial writing skills interest him. He does not want his tutors to question the existing structures he has created for himself, to introduce him to new structures or ways of looking at the world. His interest in learning is not even for the joy of learning itself, or for the opportunity to learn new things, or to learn old things in a new way, or to enrich his mind and thus his experience with the world. He simply wants wants to be seen as learned, to wear all the superficial trappings of educated finery without too much of the substance of it. He wants status. He wants position. He wants to seem and appear rather than to be.
Our corporate university model, which gives the student only what s/he wants, operates much in the same way. Like Jourdain, undergraduates pay exorbitant amounts of money to be taught what they want to be taught, not what they ought to be taught. And thanks to the customer satisfaction surveys/student evaluations to which faculty members are beholden, professors with any hope of tenure, renewal, or even a workable classroom atmosphere take note of what the students want and say they need. Like Jourdain, so many of our students want a college degree because it is seen as some kind of entrance ticket to the middle class, to a social status, and not primarily because of how their education can help to enrich their world view. Students and their parents, as we have seen, are often more than eager to pay enormous amounts of money for this kind of social status.
Only when America ceases to be a bourgeois nation, only when we willingly leave off the status-driven life, can the situation change. Learning must be pursued for reasons more eternally significant and ultimately transcendent than mere mortal, myopic, petty social ambition.
(see them here: http://www.cnn.com/2011/09/22/living/dorm-rooms/index.html)
I say shudder, though I didn't actually physically tremble so much as I seethed with moral indignation and outrage, two emotions well-internalized after years of higher education training therein. You see, as you get more and more education, the more you are supposed to shudder and feel outrage as beings lesser than yourself make decisions that you in your infiniter wisdom would never have made. But that is a topic for consideration another time, and a matter of private repentance for me to consider, well, in private.
I am still legitimately troubled, though, by this latest attempt to draw "students" to these desperately pandering universities. Adolescents they may draw, but true students probably not. Universities are now becoming, in the wise words of Mark Edmundsen, "retirement spread[s] for the young," with all of the country-club amenities that a young person who has never worked for them could want.
And why shouldn't universities provide these things? Thanks to decades of thorough corporatization, the American University (Inc.) after all has now long been in the business of providing customer satisfaction for its many eager clients. Who cares about the integrity of the product? It's what the focus groups say the students want, so let's give it to them, and at ever-increasing prices. If they want Economics Lite, or Diet Physics, or watered-down history and literature offerings, then let us give it to them. With the vast student loan and Pell Grant programs, we'll even have American taxpayers (and two-thirds of Americans never graduate from college, so think of who exactly is paying for much of this) underwrite the cost for all those climbing walls, those tanning salons, those flat screen tv's, those luxuriating campus dining halls. We may have to cut professors' salaries and increase tuition rates so that all but a few may attend this great carnaval of learning we have created, this confused circus of curricula we have constructed, but, hey, the customers are happy, so let's keep forging ahead. Bring on the monster stadium, multiply the army of invading bureaucrats, throw endless money into the pit of losing sports teams. That is what the customers want, and we will give it to them.
And since shopping is what they like, let's have them "shop" for courses, too. (Note: some students actually use the term "shopping for classes" and Princeton even has an offical "shopping period" when students can do said "shopping"-- this is language that speaks volumes). The courses that don't do well in this free-market forum, well, we'll just have to mold them according to the focus groups, or else get rid of them altogether. Little matter if students actually need some of these courses as an integral part of their education-- the product must suit the consumer, and what the consumer wants unfortunately often has little to do with education.
So what does the consumer want? I recently attended a roundtable for faculty members, where six students described what they liked about attending the university. They were explicitly told not to mention "it will help me to get a job," which made me very interested in what else they might have to say. Half of them basically still said that college would help them get a job, and the other half basically said that they liked having four years of a transition period before adulthood. No mention of education, broadening horizons, developing critical thinking skills, learning. Many (most?) do not come to college for those kinds of things. They come for the rite of passage, for entrance to the middle class, to enter softly into adulthood, to get a better-paying job.
But why?
Because we are a bourgeois nation, and that is what bourgeois nations do. I have been recently re-reading with my students one of my favorite plays, Moliere's "Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme" i.e. "The Bourgeois Gentleman" or the middle-class gentleman, an ironic, nonsensical title inasmuch as gentlemen are noble and therefore not bourgeois, or middle class. Most English translations render it "The Would-Be Gentleman." The story concerns a well-to-do merchant whose money, he hopes, will allow him to purchase a new social status for himself. He is the stereotypical buffoon of "new money," the arriviste and social climber who hopes that his money will somehow magically buy him the taste, attitudes, and experiences that will give him easy access to the upper class or nobility. He is, of course, mercilessly ridiculed throughout the play, inasmuch as Moliere recognized that there are some things that money just can't buy. The bourgeois, you see, knows the price of everything and the value of nothing because to him, the value is the price (channeling Nibley here). To have and to be are near-synonymous to those whose petty possessions are life itself.
Most of our college classrooms are veritably overflowing with the bourgeois spirit. Monsieur Jourdain, Moliere's protagonist in the play, hires tutors to teach him, but he does not want to learn what they have to teach. He wants to be taught only what interests him, and unfortunately only elementary spelling and superficial writing skills interest him. He does not want his tutors to question the existing structures he has created for himself, to introduce him to new structures or ways of looking at the world. His interest in learning is not even for the joy of learning itself, or for the opportunity to learn new things, or to learn old things in a new way, or to enrich his mind and thus his experience with the world. He simply wants wants to be seen as learned, to wear all the superficial trappings of educated finery without too much of the substance of it. He wants status. He wants position. He wants to seem and appear rather than to be.
Our corporate university model, which gives the student only what s/he wants, operates much in the same way. Like Jourdain, undergraduates pay exorbitant amounts of money to be taught what they want to be taught, not what they ought to be taught. And thanks to the customer satisfaction surveys/student evaluations to which faculty members are beholden, professors with any hope of tenure, renewal, or even a workable classroom atmosphere take note of what the students want and say they need. Like Jourdain, so many of our students want a college degree because it is seen as some kind of entrance ticket to the middle class, to a social status, and not primarily because of how their education can help to enrich their world view. Students and their parents, as we have seen, are often more than eager to pay enormous amounts of money for this kind of social status.
Only when America ceases to be a bourgeois nation, only when we willingly leave off the status-driven life, can the situation change. Learning must be pursued for reasons more eternally significant and ultimately transcendent than mere mortal, myopic, petty social ambition.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)