Telling stories

I have spent the semester with my Bible and Literature class reading a variety of literary works that interpret scripture and use their interpretations to tell a “story.” Right now, we’re reading a book by the novelist Norman Mailer titled The Gospel According to the Son. It purports to be the New Testament story told from the perspective of someone whose view we do not have: Jesus of Nazareth.

When the book was published, Mailer’s approach received very different responses. Some thought it was interesting and very honest; others considered him to have done something audacious, claiming to climb inside Jesus’ head and tell readers what he was thinking as he wandered the Galilean countryside.

Telling the story of anyone else is always a difficult if not dangerous proposition. We like to think of the exercise in terms of accuracy: are we really reporting the facts correctly? But I think it is more an act of the imagination. We have to imagine ourselves in the shoes of another and string together the bits of information we have or the glimpses we get into other lives. There is always a story embedded in what we produce, even if it is not more than a dispassionate, chronological listing of names and dates. Who among us can look at such a bare list and not imagine almost immediately a connection between those dots?

There is great risk in making such connections, most of which comes from the unavoidable need we have to lend “our” framework to “their” story. Usually we can’t help it; it’s the only framework we know. That’s a problem that Ralph Ellison’s narrator keeps pointing out over and over again. The problem of making other people “invisible” isn’t just that we don’t see them, it’s that we see them in certain ways. The most obvious example is one that several of you have alluded to throughout the semester—the sidewalk encounter with an African American male. Something clicks, and in an instant we re-make that person in our image of him. I don’t think Ellison is calling for us to be naïve in this respect and to ignore all sorts of statistics and geographical boundaries. I think that, among the many points his book makes is this one: that “click” happens for lots of African Americans as well, because African American lives and communities are complicated and no stereotype holds.

Some people think that by acknowledging issues like this we subject ourselves to a kind of politically correct relativism that freezes our ability to say anything about anyone. I don’t agree. I think that what follows from issues like this is a call to be more self-aware. So, for example, when we compile our class exhibit, that’s one of the issues that has to lurk in the back of our minds and come out in what we produce. We need to demonstrate that we have thought about the differences between our world and the one we are describing; furthermore, we have to consider our audience, a much more diverse Washington neighborhood today that at any time in the past, and one that (at first glance)may or may not care about the history we are trying construct. Can we make it meaningful to them as well?

I’ve made it this far in this post without even mentioning the most recent (and potent) example of telling other stories: the election of Barack Obama. We need to save a full discussion of that for another time, but I did want to add one point related to the challenge of knowing other people and telling their stories. I was so dismayed to hear about recent incidents on campus where students have made comments about Obama that amount to racial assumptions and slurs. The most troubling by far are those that spoke about the need to assassinate him. Besides the evil buried in such a statement, there is another point that is more insidious because it is not as obvious: this is the way many people think such stories should end. Implied in comments about assassinating Obama are assumptions like “this is what happens to people who have such ideas, ideals, plans, visions.” For many Americans there is a stereotypical ending to such stories, stereotypes that are supported by significant evidence. It makes me think about how incredibly important it is to end the stories we imagine in ways that promote beliefs and actions that we admire and respect. If you are a believer in something sacred, the endings of stories become very significant. After all, if the divine enters into life at any point it is probably at those places where the stories we tell end, where we reach the conclusion of what we can say about a man, a woman, or the world. Under those circumstances, our stories should finish, I suppose, with the responsible acknowledgement that something else will follow. We should write with the realization that we really don’t have the last word.

This week got away from me, thanks to a variety of campus issues that just kept popping up.  I finally surrendered to the computer gods who rule elearn and admitted they've won.  I told them I was taking my portfolio class to email where things seem to break with much less frequency.  Lots of hours lost on that one.

Believe it or not, even during a difficult Loras week I always enjoy reading your blogs.  Don't get me wrong--it's not like I rush to the computer Monday morning and fire up the links before the coffee brews. But you all seem comfortable writing in this format, and so I typically get a good mix of objectivity and subjectivity--a look at the world around you and your response to it. What you write is interesting.

This week I was happy to read that those of you who have service sites that hide you away from the world seem to be finding value in what you're doing.  Last year I know Dr. Carroll insisted that all of the service opportunities for the class involve direct and extensive contact with people.  I'd like to hear what some of you think about that requirement; it may well be the best approach.  I will say, however, that there is a kind of service dedicated to the organizational needs of institutions that serve the poor.  The kind of work that Leah and Jill are doing, for example, could lead to some real tangible changes in the way health care gets provided and paid for.  The lack of an Hispanic group or office that can help inform people about health resources at Planned Parenthood means, among other things, that important information may not get into the hands of people who could use it. Ryan's lament that we might not be able to turn society around speaks to the need we have for all sorts of approaches to our problems, including the organizational.

Of course, when I read in blogs like Sara's about how her experience at Prescott has tended to confirm her more personal decision not to teach, or in a post like Katie's, where she wonders if maybe she made the wrong decision about pursuing psych instead of teaching--when I read those comments I'm reminded about how experiences at these service sites can change the ways we see ourselves.  Or the way we see the world, as Brita says when she writes about her fresh look at race in Dubuque or Jill's note that a walk through a more diverse waiting room actually seems normal after you do it enough times.

So thanks for giving these posts time and thought, and do keep it up for a few more weeks.

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On another note: I don't know how all of you felt, but I was disappointed in the way class went on Monday.  I know that we're all wearing down and our attention keeps turning to the assignment that still looms out there: that darn group project.  But I was looking forward to a better discussion of the Nussbaum chapter, which I thought gave us a new way to think about how we do something as basic as read.  I still think that the chapter will be useful to us as we try to explain to people why we are collecting and telling "stories" of Dubuque, the Washington Neighborhood, and Kniest Street.  Maybe we can return to it.

See you all soon.  jw

Catholicism and Catholic Education

Though it was clear by the looks on some faces that several of you would not agree with me, I thought that class last night went well.  Practically speaking, we seemed to settle on an approach to our final group project.  Later today I will send an email with the group opportunities we discussed.  I also enjoyed the discussion about Catholicism, education, and the Catholic Worker movement, though (again) I realize that may just be me.

 

Because “religion” can be so personal, it is a difficult subject to “teach.”  Give a bad grade in a religion course, and you run the risk of arguing with a student about her or his faith or personal experience.  It’s true, experiences like those comprise the foundation of religious motives and beliefs, and any serious student of religion is obliged to listen to them carefully.  Grading them, however, can be tricky.

 

I thought that many of you did a fine job with this post because you established some connections between your more personal experiences and the more “objective” content of religion.  Jenn noted that there are important differences between a public school where religion may be carefully avoided and a private one where it is an open topic.  Camila, who was very open about her decision to remain independent of traditional religious beliefs and practices, nevertheless wrote about the value of studying religion as part of an academic program.  Obviously, I agree, and I think that our contemporary world bears out that value; we are not mired in problems in the Middle East, for instance, because we have succeeded as students of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam.

 

To “study” religion is to raise a lot of questions, which I suppose is why many today would rather set the academic approach aside and pursue religion as a personal matter.  Brita’s comment that some (maybe many) have come to Loras to avoid having their faith challenged is very perceptive.  Typically, I try first to build upon what such students have learned elsewhere and, given time, to point out where certain beliefs—which they have held for so long—might not be very consistent.

 

Hence the value of a comment like Jill’s-- that she looks for the place of scripture in Catholicism but everywhere she turns she only finds saints and statues of Mary and a pontiff in Rome.  At the very least, an observation like that should make Catholics aware that they are perceived differently than they see themselves; at best, such a claim should encourage the faithful to think about whether they have neglected certain aspects of a divine revelation that never fits neatly into the packages we provide for it. 

 

I understand those packages to be something like what Ryan means when he talks about “absolutes.”  They are the ideas and practices that we are certain of until God comes along and disturbs our slumber.  To think about religion—in this case, to study Catholic Christianity as an academic discipline—is to resign oneself to the “Catholic soup” that Maria writes about.  It’s mixed up and confusing (kind of like a Catholic Worker House).  But it does provide one of the best environments for seeing others for the people they are.  I find that swimming in the soup leads me to focus on the fact that we’re all in the same pot.  Thus, “drug addicts or single pregnant teens,” as Jeff writes, become more easily recognized as people.  Or as Ralph Ellison would say, they stop being “invisible.”

Politics and Power

Because this blog responds to others from the class (probably not the best use of this tool, but I kind of like it), I want to begin with a few general comments about recent work. Generally, I want to say that I continie to be impressed by your weekly efforts; however, this is also a chance for me to admonish that some of you have to push yourselves harder. I'll be sending out emails to some individuals reminding them that failure to post will lower their grades; others will receive an email encouraging them to add more substance to posts--they're getting thin on both details and insights. Finally, I'll add here that late posts by some mean that others can't reply on time--it's not fair to make them check blogs repeatedly to see if a post is ready.

Now, you've probably noticed that I have been trying to organize my responses to postings by calling attention both to patterns across all the comments as well as individual insights. I've tried to spread my references around, because so many of you make excellent points. Please understand that, if I don't refer specifically to your blog, it doesn't mean that I have not appreciated your comments.

Let me begin with the patterns I saw. There aren't many of you who like politics, and this election season isn't helping your dispositions any. I admit that I share your frustration, though I probably enjoy all this election stuff more than most (though I also get angrier than most at certain candidates and the coverage provided by speicfic networks--but that's another story). The political process and all of the rhetoric associated with it matters so much, I think, because, like it or not, democracy is based on words. The US is an outstanding example of that fact: our nation is founded on texts; we have no other basis for authority (though many other bases get trotted out every four years). So I think it not only matters what is said during an election season but how it is said. When Jefferson writes "We hold these truths" he is using a metaphor (we don't literally "hold" truths). Who would have preferred him to have written "We think these truths?"

In addition to using your blogs to share your feelings about national politics, you also noted that the term "politics" is much bigger than what happens in Washington. It can provide "structure," as Camila and Jill wrote; it implies a hierarchy, as Jenn noted (while describing a pecking order that leads me to think she goes home at night and kicks her cat); it is both positive an negative, as Ryan said (it builds buildings but also causes us to "lose ourselves"); it's frequently a topic of conversation as off-limits as "religion" (Caitlin) or "weight" (as Jime noted).

Within all of these other descriptions, many of you stressed the very point I was hoping you would: politics is about power. It is closely related to a term like "influence," as Abby said. And I would agree with Brita that it is all over Invisible Man. I think it comes out most forcefully in that book in the descriptions of relationships that the narrator has. At times, such as the description of the union meeting, it is an obvious force; at other points it is less obvious. Is power (and politics) a part of love? Is it wired into all of our conversations about a topic like race or, even more frightfully, is it present whenever we even look at (or are perceived by) someone of another race?

Many of you struggled to describe the role of politics or power at your service site, and I can understand why. Kate F. spoke about it, as did Russ, who noted a really interesting exchange at St. Pat's about the national election. In Russ's description, I was struck by how easy it is for people (myself included) to fixate on one individual as a symbol of the kind of power I either do or don't like.

Once again, my hat is off to all of you for staying with this weekly project. It won't last until the end of the semester; we'll break to we can push toward the final project. Please watch for a few emails from me; I have some information about the Saturday project and I have some ideas about how we can assign roles for this final project and maybe get it finished on time (such is my power over you). Take care. jw

Your service

I'm sure that many of you thought you were doing little more than filling up space during this class blog; after all, it's still very early in your time at your service site.  For some, it was a break through week just to find and visit a site that could help open this world up to you.  For a few, the break through was disappointing, since it meant that you discovered your site to be kind of dull and monotonous.

My first response to those who are struggling with their site is to turn your attention as best you can to the people around you.  Get their stories--where they came from, how they landed here in Dubuque; if they are workers at your site, what have they seen over the years; if they are people in need, what are their hopes and dreams?  I thought that the best parts of all the blogs were those moments when writers described their contact with others, even if the contact was brief. So, some really good postings and comments came from the instances when, for example, those of you at St. Pat's watched the faces around you.  What a surprise to see that the faces "looked like me," that they were the faces of families and, (shame on us) of veterans.  It was interesting to read that Tyler found them courteous, Russ kind of rude, and that Brita noted the similarities between the bossy attitude of some and the nasty disposition of that old man who stayed with Dorothy Day at the Catholic Worker House.  Nice connections.

It never occurred to me that "looking around" at a service site and at the people in it could invite a comparison with Invisible Man until I read David's post and Katie B's response to it.  At first it was amazing to read from David that children would so quickly see color, not just the whiteness of the other person but the blackness of their own skin.  Then it was surprising to read Katie's observation from the book Blink, which points out that we all see color this way,it's just that get really good and quick at such looks over the course of our lifetimes.  Then I realized this is what Ellison is talking about: that "blink" during which our brains register skin color and associate a long list of qualities.  Throughout that process, people remain "invisible" to us.

Although my basic advice still holds--look around you at your site--I did notice the many good insights people had from seeing the people around them in wider contexts than just their service sites.  For example, I do agree that it is important to think about and to write about the bigger problems that result from language barriers, health care unavailability, lack of transportation, organizational inertia, etc.    As we write next about politics, these observations are right on target.

Nice work, everyone.  See you soon.  jw

Catholic Identity and Loras

Hi folks:

It's late and I'm preparing to leave town tomorrow, but I did not want to go without commenting on your last postings about Catholic identity at Loras.  I was very interested in what you all had to say.

If I could organize some of the topics you raised, I'd probably start by noting that most of you separated Catholic identity into two areas: the impact of Catholicism on society (via the ideas and actions associated with Catholic social teachings) and the influence of the tradition on the way people think.  Everyone had something positive to say about the first area; the second met with a mixed response, though most were not happy with what they experienced here on campus.

I share many of your hopes and concerns.  Based on my own background (including age), I would add that I have recognized a profound change in the Church during my lifetime and, by extension, in Catholic higher education as well.  For example, this is the first time in the 16 years I have been teaching that I find myself looking out at students who are more conservative in their beliefs than I am.  Now, I realize that this is a broad statement subject to lots of qualifications: that certainly in not true in all classes (like ours, for instance) and no doubt it isn't true at all Catholic colleges.  But, I will say that, among students at Loras who truly are interested in matters related to religion, it is almost universally true.

Of course, I see the college through the classroom, and that is not necessarily the lens students use.  I was puzzled about how to make sense of many of the comments I was reading until I hit upon something Tyler wrote.  In his blog, he distinguished between the possibility of discussing controversial topics in the classroom but also the difficulty of doing so outside of class within the wider campus community.  So, in class you could find yourselves analyzing the position of the Church on women's ordination and discovering that this is a topic that has much more to do with historical choices and theological consistency than with, say, scriptural accuracy.  But once class was over, you would not really find forums on campus where you continue that discussion.  The reasons for this absence include things many of you mentioned: donors wouldn't like it, the local Church might not be comfortable, administrators may be nervous, and (here's where my earlier point about a more conservative student body comes into play) lots of your peers would be indignant.  Extend  your list of classroom topics to areas like homosexuality and abortion/contraception, and the indignant attitudes turn angry quickly.  Much of this begins to sound like what our narrator faced with Dr. Bledsoe.

I do not have an answer to this dilemma, though I really want to thank all of you for helping me understand it better.  I wonder if part of what Loras needs to do is (as Amanda suggested) stop making other faiths invisible.  To put it more positively, I wonder if we should begin really looking at others rather than looking for what we think we know already about them.  The Socratic approach that Nussbaum writes about is essential for such a goal, but I also think that Catholicism can be extremely helpful too.  It sounds like one approach would be to stretch this academic value into other parts of campus life, creating a more informed faith.

I hope we can continue this conversation as the class rolls along.  jw

 forwhere all of you Still, the Church has taken a decided turn toward a more strict orthodixy

All Grow'd Up

Certainly the most consistent theme to run throughout postings last week involved “transitions” and the anxiety they produce. To some extent, everyone shared Regan’s sense that they felt as though they were 16 and learning to drive again.
This is a difficult time. There are the old people like me, who think back occasionally and wish that they had the chance to “do it over again.” That is, until we hear from people like you who are going through it for the first time, and then typically we breathe sighs of relief that we’re free of those decisions.
You all made some excellent points as you reflected on your current predicament in the light of what we have been reading in class. People knew they were not “invisible” in the same way as our narrator—yet you managed to see some interesting parallels. Women especially found a kind of kinship with the narrator. Many of you have been reminded time and again of your “place” relative to the world you’re about to enter: one way or another, you have discovered a male structure “out there,” whether it’s the glass ceiling of corporate culture or the male dominance in your religious tradition(s). When my wife became pregnant with our son, she was moved from the administrative “fast track” at Sears’ headquarters in Chicago and found herself and her career “on hold” until the company could determine whether she would continue to be a good investment after she gave birth. I suppose that, from their perspective, she wasn’t, since she left for maternity leave and never went back.
Keep in mind that you can imagine being invisible “out there” in part because certain experiences at Loras have left you feeling that way as well. That makes me think of Missy’s comment that the world outside Loras might not be any more “real” than the one we have known together here. Remember, this is a transition, not a trip to another planet. Your experiences here have prepared you for much of what you’ll encounter, not because Loras has given you that exact experience but because it has given you many of the tools to deal with the unfamiliar. One of those tools (I hope) is the awareness of what it feels like to screw up, to miss the point, to ask the dumb question, to fail. Expect all of that to continue. One of the most reassuring studies I ever read was the one that pointed out that 4.0 English majors who enter law school frequently write terrible legal briefs; the reason is simple: they’ve never written one before, and so they mess it up. The good news is that most of them figure out quickly how to fix it.
I was so pleased to read what you wrote about the value of “community” in this transition. In a world that is so hell-bent on inserting a bunch of “things” between us and the world—ipods, cell phones, television sets, laptop computers—many of you wrote about how important it is to develop and maintain personal relationships. I would encourage everyone to think about something that doesn’t all comes to mind as you’re pondering your future: love. No other term captures what is so rewarding and so frustrating about being in relationships or communities with people, whether they are coworkers or neighbors in your apartment building or the crowd rushing to work at 7:45 AM. Love gives you a chance to see what otherwise is invisible, including what one of you called the “secret plans” beneath those plans the world shows us. Out of genuine compassion for what’s important in life, love can be skeptical of those things that disregard or harm others.
Allowing yourself to feel a connection to the world also can open your ears and eyes to what it has to say and show you. That’s my final thought. For all of you who (like me) feel compelled to plan out your future, go ahead, keep doing it. But remember that the world has ways of finding you. More often than not, life take shape around you and you discover yourself in a career or a relationship that is unexpected. And you know, usually it’s pretty good. jw

Thinking about the liberal arts

Several drew convincing distinctions between the liberal arts and alternatives. The phrase that popped up a lot was “trade school,” which I’m not sure is very accurate, at least not as an alternative that many Loras students would have faced. A better way to think of the distinction might be to begin in a place where a lot of you began your post—with your majors. Obviously, you all have one. But, at Loras are you locked into it in the same way you would be at, say, Iowa State? Moreover, are the courses you take outside your major just a bunch of 100-level offerings that meet requirements, or do these courses cohere in some way? Have they pushed you to develop your thinking outside your major, not just supplement it? (At the very least, the courses seem to have forced you to read Plato twice.)

I really liked the way most of you got beyond the liberal arts “sound bites” quickly in your answers. Yes, the liberal arts can make you well-rounded—but what difference does that make? The purpose of the liberal arts is to leave you well-rounded so that you are not a victim of one way of thinking. Several of you stated this well; I’ll mention Jenn not only because she gave a good example in her blog but also because she used it in class—her claim that courses in philosophy and ethics have caused her to think about science (and medicine) differently. I took that to mean that she might actually think about science in a very unscientific way, which I think is a good thing. No doubt the same can be said of my field, religious studies/theology, where the absence of other ways of thinking threatens to leave the profession unaware of the very issue we are supposed to focus on—the presence of God in the world.

We’ve been talking in class about the way Ralph Ellison gives us complex situations—almost no-win situations. It strikes me that some of what people wrote about the liberal arts smacks of that problem. For example, Abby and Nick corresponded about how the liberal arts should respond to a fast-paced, changing world. I don’t think anyone would argue that our studies should not answer changes in the world, but there is a danger here as well, for if we find ourselves chasing after all of the changes the world adopts, won’t we lose sight of what is lasting or important? For example, I admit that I want to be part of an educational system that is current, but I’m really bothered by the fact that fewer and fewer people pick up books and read them these days. I think something has been lost. Although several of you addressed problems like this when you summarized Nussbaum, I did want to single out Maria, who pointed out that the liberal arts don’t necessarily “liberate” us in traditional ways. We should not, she said, think of ourselves as liberated from the world but for it; that is, we are freed from our preconceptions so that we can be more aware of our surroundings.

This was a very good online discussion that extended into the class Monday as well. I appreciate that, and I hope to hear ideas and challenging comments from everyone as the semester unfolds. jw

Loras Honors: Service Learning

This blog is my effort to create a space where I can reflect on postings made by my students in a course I teach at Loras College in Dubuque, IA.  The course is dedicated to service learning, and it is the capstone course for the Loras Honors Program.  The Loras Honors Program attracts an outstanding group of students, and because I hope to remain involved with it through a variety of offerings, I have  created an address for this blog that is quite general: lorashonors@blogger.com. Despite this general address, all of the posts for this semester (Fall, 2008) will be dedicated to the service learning class.

Briefly, this capstone class tries to accomplish three things: to provide meaningful opportunities for community service; to create a structure where these service opportunities can be discussed for their larger social or cultural implications; to motivate students to reflect on what they discover about their educational backgrounds and their readiness to address issues in the world outside the classroom.