This fantastic article truly has its finger on the pulse of the American University. I feel like I can do little more than froth in ecstatic agreement! Nevertheless I will try to formulate some kind of response. I’ll start here:
Throughout much of the 20th century, with the growth of the humanistic ideal in American colleges, students might have encountered the big questions in the classrooms of professors possessed of a strong sense of pedagogic mission. Teachers like that still exist in this country, but the increasingly dire exigencies of academic professionalization have made them all but extinct at elite universities. Professors at top research institutions are valued exclusively for the quality of their scholarly work; time spent on teaching is time lost.
Yes, it’s true. Time spent on teaching is viewed as time lost, and that’s a shame. The emphasis is on producing criticism by the ream, which pushes passionate teachers straight out of the academic rat race. This pains me, because I believe that teaching is the main social function of a humanities professor. I wanted to be a professor to teach college kids to grow up not to be suckers for the advertising industry, but having to spout bullshit to put myself in a position where I could tell kids how not to listen to bullshit ultimately imploded the endeavor. I always doubted by ability to see myself through the end of a PhD; there was always part of me waiting for academia to shit me back out. I hung on because I felt I had to; ultimately I let go for the luckiest reason imaginable: I no longer had to. I’ve been handed the opportunity to write what I always wanted.
I will miss teaching literature at the university. I might still get a lectureship or an adjunct position one day, perhaps–but in a market saturated with PhDs who can’t get tenure-track positions, I’m not sure that I can. It is a little giggle-worthy that I am not qualified to teach literature just because I write the stuff. I’d have to be writing about the stuff. In my chats with people about my decision to drop out, I’ve heard the opinion that it’s a shame academia doesn’t make room for artists. It shouldn’t have to: it hardly has room for itself. It is hemorrhaging qualified PhDs who cannot find a cell within its shrinking honeycomb.
Besides, there already is a place for artists in the academy; most English departments hire a few novelists and poets to teach creative writing classes. Once my novel comes out, I could conceivably wiggle my way into one of these positions. Yet the prospect of teaching people to write stories does not fill me with the same sense of urgency as teaching people to read them. These stakes feel lower, plus making art feels less teachable to me than interpretive and critical thinking skills.
Another aspect of Deresiewicz’s article that resonated with me was his analysis of conformity at top-flight institutions, that to get into one of these places you have to be exceedingly compliant with The Machine and that once you come out the other side you have been equipped to be a fine little machinist indeed. Having been at both a big-name private school and a mid-list state university, I am sometimes asked if the kids at Stanford are really that much smarter than the kids at UC Davis. No, they are not; they are not gifted with some ineffable wisdom that cannot be accessed by the Great Unwashed Masses. They are earnest strivers, usually from privileged backgrounds, who are especially good at doing exactly what they are told, that is all. That has both its advantages and its drawbacks. The main advantage being that they are well-tuned devices who know exactly how to channel their considerable gifts into getting the most positive feedback from society at large. The main drawback being that they are well-tuned devices who know exactly how to channel their considerable gifts into getting the most positive feedback from society at large. But Deresiewicz says it much better.