The perils of advice, and some self-doubt
My former student scanned and bagged the objects as if she was running on a treadmill. She recognized me, and I tried to return her nervous smile. We each asked how the other was doing and said"good." I swiped my card, and she gave me a receipt. There were bored people all around, and the whole conversation was understood in a few embarrassed glances.
"Good to see you," I said, leaving."Yeah, you too, professor," she said, flatly. I saw her feigned cheerfulness droop a little as she turned to the next customer.
Benton reflects on what he told her when she came to him, a few years earlier, for professional advice:
I should have been looking out for her. She came to me for advice. I told her something like this:"A liberal-arts degree is the best preparation for life in general, but it helps if you also have some specific, marketable skills." I had persuaded myself that I knew what I was talking about. I supported and reinforced her choices. And my vanity was gratified by the thought that I was helping her.
Okay, that is scary. I could have written that paragraph verbatim a thousand times over. I'll quote his final section at length:
All I have is an instinctive belief in the value of a liberal education without regard to its practical use. I am increasingly sure that it is wrong to encourage students (and indirectly ourselves) to justify the work and expense of education as a prelude to lucrative career opportunities. Yet I know that when so many students undertake so much debt to go to college, the link between education and future income becomes unavoidable.
It seems inevitable, though we are not yet willing to admit it, that a liberal education is becoming a practical impossibility for most young people. Or liberal education earns the justified reputation of something undertaken at one's peril. Students know they have to make a living before they can appreciate Kierkegaard. They don't have time to question their beliefs; they are too busy getting their academic tickets punched.
I understand that outlook, but students do not seem to know that even the practical choice is fraught with as much risk as following one's heart. They seem unaware of how much their drive for"success" is a construction of consumerist pressures. Perhaps careerist choices carry even more risk, since you ultimately give up what you love for the sake of some opportunity that may not exist by the time you are ready to meet it.
Of course, this kind of pontification can only come from a position of privilege
But what can I offer to my students besides the general advice to follow their talents wherever they lead?"Follow your bliss" and"find your vocation." Those remarks seem as banal and unhelpful now as when they were uttered by the wiser advisers of my youth.
Most of my students at Pasadena City College are from working-class backgrounds. To put it bluntly, I am not. Most of my students are not white. I rather obviously am. Most of 'em are first-generation college graduates, while I am the son of two Berkeley Ph.Ds. My kind and fortunate parents paid for my college education; I never had a nickel's worth of student loans. I teach at a community college, but (and this is hard to write) I would have been deeply ashamed if I had"had" to attend such an institution out of high school. All too slowly, I am unlearning my snobbery, my elitism, and my privilege, but it is a work in progress. What from my own experience can I possibly offer to my students? As much as I want to be one, how can I be a satisfactory role model for them?
In the past decade, I have had maybe 70 or 80 students whom I have mentored. They have come to office hours and made special appointments, and they have come time and time again for career advice. Many want to become professors themselves someday. I offer the same sort of airy encouragements that Mr. Benton offered. Indeed, not a semester goes by that I don't actually say:"Study what you love; the money will follow." Though it has all the depth of a Hallmark card, my students nod their heads appreciatively, confident perhaps that if Dr. Hugo believes it is true, than so it must be. As I do in my teaching, I substitute outer enthusiasm for inner certainty. I can always muster the former. It's not that I lie to them about their abilities! Rather, I find that I deliberately misrepresent the difficulties of getting tenure-track jobs in higher education. It's easier to be relentlessly optimistic.
I do have a few former students teaching now at the college level. All are adjuncts so far, waiting and hoping for the appearance of a miraculous tenure-track job. But I've run into my share of former students at Target and elsewhere; they've graduated from four-year institutions, often with history degrees. I love running into my former students and hearing their stories. But I've seen -- or imagined that I have seen -- embarrassment in the eyes of several of them, as if they worry that somehow they have let me down by working at Starbucks fulltime rather than taking out still more loans to go and get a Ph.D. And I wonder, as Benton wonders, whether all of that encouragement and advice does any good.
Year in and year out, I tell my students that their lives will be better and richer because they know about Alexander, about Antony, about Arius the Heretic. They will be better citizens of the world because they know about Luther, Leibniz, and Lloyd-George. But I went straight from high school to college, and never worked for money while in school. When my classes were over for the day at Cal, I could wander over to Strawberry Glade and read a book and think about life; I could sit in coffee shops and pontificate my day away. My students race off from my classes to their jobs and their families. And then they come to me, asking me to mentor them! I am honored and flattered; it satisfies both my vanity and my longing to help. I am so grateful for the genuine close friendships I have formed with many students over the years. But so often, so often, I wonder: What good am I, what good are we historians, if we don't have more tangible, practible advice to offer?