I recently read that the University of Central Arkansas' Student Government Association voted unanimously to change (i.e., dumb-down) the General Education requirements for all undergraduate students. The core requirement will be reduced from 47 hours of required interdisciplinary study to 38 hours of quasi-"interdisciplinary" classes, many of which could easily be circumscribed within a students' major when we take a closer look at the official report.
While there were undoubtedly problems with UCA's Core Education requirements (and I voiced many concerns while on the student task force), UCA, following the dictates of Arkansas legislatures and bureaucrats out-of-touch with the educational needs of an informed citizenry, has not reformed the General Education program into a laudable and interdisciplinary program that provides its students with a holistic understanding of our world and its complexities, but has instead deformed it, slowly dismantling its ideals so as to produce laborers much more quickly, and easily, for the mill of capitalistic markets.
UCA has sold itself down the river. It once had the largest and most rigorous General Education requirements in the State of Arkansas, and one of the most interdisciplinary programs compared to public institutions in the entire South. But the legislatures and bureaucrats (and completely uninformed student faux-legislatures) could not stand the fact the UCA was the last bastion of a civilized, liberal-arts grounded, holistic education program. Despite the merits and benefits of such a holistic conception of education--an informed citizenry (which is vitally needed for this dreadfully difficult form of government we have--democracy), more intellectually aware and active individuals (which undeniably enriches one's life)--UCA has chosen to reject that ideal of education because it is too slow, because it is too expensive, because it is too taxing upon our poor, poor students who need to be pushed through the education system so that they can do the most important thing in life: get a damn job and contribute to the rising of American GNP and GDP.
UCA has fallen in line behind the rest of higher education, which is so eager to adapt a corporate model of organization and instruction. The purpose of college education is no longer seen to be the crafting of individuals and groups who will nurture sustainably and effectively their own lives, communities, countries, and planet. Nope, that noble conception of the life of the intellectual is gone. UCA has announced to the world that it believes that the purpose of education is vocational training--mechanically building (not creatively nurturing) automatons for the labor force, which can only be accomplished by reducing the rigor of interdisciplinary education to classes that merely inscribe rote "skills" into students-seen-as-robots.
The General Education program was critiqued for being a "hurdle" to students' getting a degree. Quite ironically, by deflating the capabilities of that laudable program to create true intellectuals, UCA has reduced higher education to nothing but a set of hurdles, so that, alas, one can earn money, money, money--the golden star of our collective value system... for now, at least.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
Wednesday, November 7, 2012
The Threads of Love
My name is Patrick Russell. But what am I? Am a singular entity, born into this world by complete random chance to make a mark (if I'm lucky), and only to die and fizzle away? Am I simply the collection of tasks that I have done and the thoughts and ideas that I have had? Or am I a self-enclosed potentiality of possibility, of future being? Am I just this body, of a particular weight and height, with possibly a balding head and, fortunately and the flip-side, the capacity to cultivate an impressive beard?
Perhaps... but maybe there's more to me, in a way that is not me at all.
Recently, my late-evening habit of listening to music from the movies Shame and Cloud Atlas, paired with a good ol' cup of hot cocoa, has been inciting this somewhat eerie, and partly mystical, calm in me. I slow down. I sit (either in the bathtube--the greatest think tank ever--or on my porch if it ain't too cold). I still my mind. I listen. I feel. I remember and reflect. I breathe, and I watch.
And quite suddenly, visions start hitting me--not ethereal, "hokey-pokey" visions, for I really believe all that to be somewhat malarkey. But visions as concrete realizations; visions grounded in materiality. Visions of you--my ancestors, my family, friends and even strangers; philosophers whose works I have read, actors and actresses whose performances I have watched and admired, and teachers I have had, whether my kindergarden teacher, my first basketball coach, or my gymnastics instructor (thanks for signing me up for that, mom).
And then this odd visual arises in my mind--I imagine threads tying all of us together, "weaved-up" into one big blanket that tells a grand but humble story--for all of us, the grand story of our becoming, our sharing, our fighting and our loving; and for me (and all individuals), the humble and somewhat miraculous funneling of that grand narrative into me, right here and right now. Out of the billions of choices, the billions of tiny events, and the billions of random twists and turns, you and I have come to be. Completely random? yes; but incredibly miraculous? most definitely.
The more I trace these threads, the more I not only travel our world, but the more I also begin to envelop myself in a blanket of relationships to "not-me's." I feel the thread of dependence between my hunger and the farmer who produces my food, the soil that nourishes those plants and animals, the rain that watered that soil, and the oceans from which those rain clouds came. I feel the thread of love between the spark of life within me and my family members who first saw me seconds after I was born. I feel the thread of indebtedness to all my friends, even the ones I no longer talk to--the laughs we had; the ideas we shared; the occasional fights that taught us lessons about ourselves and the nature of relationships; and the midnight runs through sprinklers in our underwear. I remember it all, for it has all coalesced in me, in this moment, in the contours of my body and mind. Every detail of every escapade, every word quietly uttered, every facial feature of every friend and every stranger with whom I made eye contact--I somehow remember all of it. And all these threads come together in me, the locus of millions upon millions of extensions and relationships to Others.
So yea, I'm Patrick Russell, 6'1" and 142 lbs, with a dream to teach and be an environmental philosopher, who has had a set of calculable and definable experiences. But I am also so much more, simply because of what I am not. I am also this tiny little stitch in our shared tapestry of existence. And what is a tapestry, if not the culmination of countless stitches?
Perhaps... but maybe there's more to me, in a way that is not me at all.
Recently, my late-evening habit of listening to music from the movies Shame and Cloud Atlas, paired with a good ol' cup of hot cocoa, has been inciting this somewhat eerie, and partly mystical, calm in me. I slow down. I sit (either in the bathtube--the greatest think tank ever--or on my porch if it ain't too cold). I still my mind. I listen. I feel. I remember and reflect. I breathe, and I watch.
And quite suddenly, visions start hitting me--not ethereal, "hokey-pokey" visions, for I really believe all that to be somewhat malarkey. But visions as concrete realizations; visions grounded in materiality. Visions of you--my ancestors, my family, friends and even strangers; philosophers whose works I have read, actors and actresses whose performances I have watched and admired, and teachers I have had, whether my kindergarden teacher, my first basketball coach, or my gymnastics instructor (thanks for signing me up for that, mom).
And then this odd visual arises in my mind--I imagine threads tying all of us together, "weaved-up" into one big blanket that tells a grand but humble story--for all of us, the grand story of our becoming, our sharing, our fighting and our loving; and for me (and all individuals), the humble and somewhat miraculous funneling of that grand narrative into me, right here and right now. Out of the billions of choices, the billions of tiny events, and the billions of random twists and turns, you and I have come to be. Completely random? yes; but incredibly miraculous? most definitely.
The more I trace these threads, the more I not only travel our world, but the more I also begin to envelop myself in a blanket of relationships to "not-me's." I feel the thread of dependence between my hunger and the farmer who produces my food, the soil that nourishes those plants and animals, the rain that watered that soil, and the oceans from which those rain clouds came. I feel the thread of love between the spark of life within me and my family members who first saw me seconds after I was born. I feel the thread of indebtedness to all my friends, even the ones I no longer talk to--the laughs we had; the ideas we shared; the occasional fights that taught us lessons about ourselves and the nature of relationships; and the midnight runs through sprinklers in our underwear. I remember it all, for it has all coalesced in me, in this moment, in the contours of my body and mind. Every detail of every escapade, every word quietly uttered, every facial feature of every friend and every stranger with whom I made eye contact--I somehow remember all of it. And all these threads come together in me, the locus of millions upon millions of extensions and relationships to Others.
So yea, I'm Patrick Russell, 6'1" and 142 lbs, with a dream to teach and be an environmental philosopher, who has had a set of calculable and definable experiences. But I am also so much more, simply because of what I am not. I am also this tiny little stitch in our shared tapestry of existence. And what is a tapestry, if not the culmination of countless stitches?
Tuesday, November 6, 2012
Moving Back
We've heard quite a bit lately about "Moving Forward." But forward to what? Equality, for sure. Equal opportunities for all persons, no matter their race or socio-economic situation or, especially in this election and the coming years, gender. I believe we are moving forward towards respecting the value and rights of our natural environments, to which we are like tiny red blood cells in a vast body--if that body, our home, is sick, then we probably won't fare that well either. And perhaps we are moving forward in our relations with all peoples of the world. For quite a while, we Americans and our political leaders thought we had some natural right to dictate to smaller, weaker, and ideologically-different countries and groups. Fortunately, we have begun to realize that such hierarchical relationships, whether country-to-country or person-to-person, never engender trust, respect, and mutual concern. So, sure, we are moving forward, and we need to continue moving forward.
However, we need to qualify how it is that we move forward, because until we understand just how this rhetoric becomes embodied practice, it will remain simply fluffy speech and lofty ideals--the common banners of Facebook status updates, "favorite quotes," and character-limited tweets (as if we can really share and discuss ideas in 140 characters or less!).
I've been thinking about this because of my watching and listening to people's words and actions during this election. And what do I hear? What have I witnessed? A mass, general abandonment of personal agency and [local] community action. Go over your Facebook updates; review the editorials in your local newspaper; re-tweet all those tweets; peruse your web-history for the titles of news articles that you have read, and you'll quickly realize that the focus of most of these posts, and the people who authored them, are distant ideals pegged to distant people and distant campaigns, entities (and nothing more) with whom neither you, nor I, have had any serious, slow, meaningful conversation.
I believe that quite a few of us, too many of us, have forsaken our ability to act and to live according to these ideals, and, quite pathetically, we have replaced that capacity with only a [virtual] vocal one: repeating political mantras that are quite hollow, and do nothing to advance our shared, political stake.
I'll provide one quick example that I think many of you can identify with (especially if you reside in the South). One fine morning, after an exquisite [and wet!] float down the Buffalo River, my lady and a few friends and I went to Jasper for a good ole' dinner at a famous grease-joint. While waiting for our table, I stood outside on the wooden porch, soaking up the mystique of this small, enchanting town. An ol' country boy sat down beside me in a rocker, and we began to shoot the bull with each other. While I proudly consider myself a liberally-educated human being who intellectually scorns idle chatter, I find that I can never quite forsake my Arkansan accent and knack for talking about completely meaningless stuff when surrounded by these folk. All was well and entertaining until my neighbor dropped a line that I cannot quite stop thinking about, despite it being well over 8 months ago: "You wanna' know why's I moved on up hur'? Don' tell my wife, cuz she don't like hearing it, but I wanned get away from all dem damn niggers." Oh boy. I prided myself on being a liberally-educated human being, right? Despite my partaking in idle chatter, surely I couldn't partake in racist hatred and ignorance, right? So now was my chance to lash out at this guy, to castigate his heart and soul, to judge him, verbally with my irate body, according to his very own morals, which I assumed to be Christianity (a safe bet in rural Arkansas)!
But I didn't. I simply whimpered a "Hmph" and said that I had to go inside, that my table was ready.
Had I moved forward intellectually and in my beliefs? I sure do think so. But what went wrong? Why didn't I speak up? Why did I not announce my ideals to this pitiable man with my acting, talking body?
After 8 months of thinking about that episode (and too many others to mention here), I've realized that in order to move forward towards our ideals and hopes for a better community and better lives for all, we must first move back. Back to where? Back to our bodies; back to our homes; back to our relationships with friends, family, and even strangers; and back to our communities, our neighbors--humans and non-humans.
We've somehow collectively come to think that, in order to consider oneself progressive and a good human being, we simply have to make reference to a set of liberal ideas (equality, human rights, justice, peace) and, every now and then, vote for someone we've never talked to who matches those ideas and, when we're feeling really pumped up, posting a blurb to the virtual world (a world largely removed from bodies and communities). But might it not be time to start thinking about how we can engrain these ideals into the actual contours of our communities? Can we not start creatively imagining how we may embody these beliefs into our everyday actions, including the minutia of our petty existences--brushing our teeth, traveling to work, refraining from group jokes that demean others? Can we not discover practical methods to incorporate these ideals into our communal relations to each other, whether human or non-human?
I think so. I sense it coming. And this movement will inevitably grow for one of two reasons: either we'll recognize its potency and efficacy and willingly adopt it; or unfortunate events will force us to live in such intentional ways. It is my hope that the former plays out first.
Now, I'm always leery of making particular suggestions to people about what this lifestyle may look like. All too often such rhetoric is reduced to self-ingratiating bravado. I'll let the ideas speak for themselves as they take root in our bodies, propelling us to act and think in radically different ways. But do know this: every facet of our lives, from the grand to the incredibly particular, will change accordingly... if we allow it to, and if we are willing to live more inconvenient lives. Because yes, according to our prevailing cultural norms, a life of bodily awareness and activism is not convenient, for it demands constant attention. But I think it is existentially worthwhile, and ethically necessary.
So please remember that, as we move forward, it is wise to first move back.
Welcome back home, y'all.
However, we need to qualify how it is that we move forward, because until we understand just how this rhetoric becomes embodied practice, it will remain simply fluffy speech and lofty ideals--the common banners of Facebook status updates, "favorite quotes," and character-limited tweets (as if we can really share and discuss ideas in 140 characters or less!).
I've been thinking about this because of my watching and listening to people's words and actions during this election. And what do I hear? What have I witnessed? A mass, general abandonment of personal agency and [local] community action. Go over your Facebook updates; review the editorials in your local newspaper; re-tweet all those tweets; peruse your web-history for the titles of news articles that you have read, and you'll quickly realize that the focus of most of these posts, and the people who authored them, are distant ideals pegged to distant people and distant campaigns, entities (and nothing more) with whom neither you, nor I, have had any serious, slow, meaningful conversation.
I believe that quite a few of us, too many of us, have forsaken our ability to act and to live according to these ideals, and, quite pathetically, we have replaced that capacity with only a [virtual] vocal one: repeating political mantras that are quite hollow, and do nothing to advance our shared, political stake.
I'll provide one quick example that I think many of you can identify with (especially if you reside in the South). One fine morning, after an exquisite [and wet!] float down the Buffalo River, my lady and a few friends and I went to Jasper for a good ole' dinner at a famous grease-joint. While waiting for our table, I stood outside on the wooden porch, soaking up the mystique of this small, enchanting town. An ol' country boy sat down beside me in a rocker, and we began to shoot the bull with each other. While I proudly consider myself a liberally-educated human being who intellectually scorns idle chatter, I find that I can never quite forsake my Arkansan accent and knack for talking about completely meaningless stuff when surrounded by these folk. All was well and entertaining until my neighbor dropped a line that I cannot quite stop thinking about, despite it being well over 8 months ago: "You wanna' know why's I moved on up hur'? Don' tell my wife, cuz she don't like hearing it, but I wanned get away from all dem damn niggers." Oh boy. I prided myself on being a liberally-educated human being, right? Despite my partaking in idle chatter, surely I couldn't partake in racist hatred and ignorance, right? So now was my chance to lash out at this guy, to castigate his heart and soul, to judge him, verbally with my irate body, according to his very own morals, which I assumed to be Christianity (a safe bet in rural Arkansas)!
But I didn't. I simply whimpered a "Hmph" and said that I had to go inside, that my table was ready.
Had I moved forward intellectually and in my beliefs? I sure do think so. But what went wrong? Why didn't I speak up? Why did I not announce my ideals to this pitiable man with my acting, talking body?
After 8 months of thinking about that episode (and too many others to mention here), I've realized that in order to move forward towards our ideals and hopes for a better community and better lives for all, we must first move back. Back to where? Back to our bodies; back to our homes; back to our relationships with friends, family, and even strangers; and back to our communities, our neighbors--humans and non-humans.
We've somehow collectively come to think that, in order to consider oneself progressive and a good human being, we simply have to make reference to a set of liberal ideas (equality, human rights, justice, peace) and, every now and then, vote for someone we've never talked to who matches those ideas and, when we're feeling really pumped up, posting a blurb to the virtual world (a world largely removed from bodies and communities). But might it not be time to start thinking about how we can engrain these ideals into the actual contours of our communities? Can we not start creatively imagining how we may embody these beliefs into our everyday actions, including the minutia of our petty existences--brushing our teeth, traveling to work, refraining from group jokes that demean others? Can we not discover practical methods to incorporate these ideals into our communal relations to each other, whether human or non-human?
I think so. I sense it coming. And this movement will inevitably grow for one of two reasons: either we'll recognize its potency and efficacy and willingly adopt it; or unfortunate events will force us to live in such intentional ways. It is my hope that the former plays out first.
Now, I'm always leery of making particular suggestions to people about what this lifestyle may look like. All too often such rhetoric is reduced to self-ingratiating bravado. I'll let the ideas speak for themselves as they take root in our bodies, propelling us to act and think in radically different ways. But do know this: every facet of our lives, from the grand to the incredibly particular, will change accordingly... if we allow it to, and if we are willing to live more inconvenient lives. Because yes, according to our prevailing cultural norms, a life of bodily awareness and activism is not convenient, for it demands constant attention. But I think it is existentially worthwhile, and ethically necessary.
So please remember that, as we move forward, it is wise to first move back.
Welcome back home, y'all.
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