The Search for Balance
Doug's account in chapter 5 of Nash's book moved me in a deeply spiritual sense. As with Doug, I am a Christian and I have a personal relationship with Jesus Christ, as anyone who knows me or reads this blog regularly can discern. My faith has been the one constant in my life despite its ebbs and flows. I came to faith at a very early age long before I reached a point where the slings and arrows of relativism and inquiry waged war with it.
Naturally, as a child of 11, I couldn't have counted on Jesus coming under attack, let alone comprehended why anyone would want to attack Him or the messages that He proclaimed. 1 Corinthians 13:11 aptly summarizes my state of mind: "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me" (that last sentence should come with an asterisk because, in all honesty, I am nowhere close to becoming the man that God wants me to be. I say this despite my being a full-time teacher, a grad student, and soon to be a husband. But I have yet to put all my childish ways behind me, and in all likelihood, I will continue to struggle with this).
Anyway, mine was a very child-like faith. Nothing unusual there. To me, Jesus was invincible, untouchable. More than that, He was a deified split personality. Part interesting storyteller (never a moment when He didn't have a parable up His sleeve), and part divine superhero (my friend Taylor likened this to a form of Superman beating the crap out of some punk villains). And as a child this duality made all the sense in the world to me. What else was there to talk about or argue? Nobody could grab your attention with a captivating story like this Man, and if you weren't on His side, woe unto you!
Naturally, I ran into trouble upon entry into high school and college. I was naive, even somewhat arrogant about my beliefs, though I couldn't bring myself to admit it. Absent was the love and respect for others regardless of whether they disagreed with me. This didn't manifest in verbal discourse, mind you, but it was apparent in tone of voice, facial expressions, and attitude. I'm sure people noticed, and I won't do myself the disservice of pretending it didn't play a role in why some of them didn't go out of their way to hang out with me. Who wants to hang out with some clown who thinks he's always right? Who wants to associate with someone so narrow-minded he won't even do you the courtesy of listening to what you have to say?
This, at its core, was why reading Doug's account spoke to me personally. Nash came right out and asked him what it was he truly cared about, and he made it clear that it was his struggle for equilibrium. His search for balance. How could he live his life serving Christ and still manage life as a secular educator? What a question!
I deal with that problem almost every day as a public school teacher inwardly if not outwardly. How can I teach in such a way that my kids see the real "me?" No matter what the curriculum mandates, I will not compromise my moral values (and I am thankful for two things: that I work in an environment in which no one puts a price on my head for believing in Jesus, and that I have gotten much better at getting it across in a more creative, artful fashion) and I think they deserve no less. I say fairly often that kids are sharper than we give them credit for. What I mean is, they can "read" teachers. Chances are, they'll smell a rat pretty quick if I teach about something and my heart's not in it.
I say this, and I freely disagree with Nash on truth and absolutes. It doesn't mean I respect him any less - I've read his book the past three days and he already feels like one of the closest companions I've ever had. I'd love to meet him if I ever had the chance. How can I not admire someone who has the guts to lay himself out in the public eye and make himself vulnerable as he does in this book (particularly when I remember I had a chance to do the same years ago and failed - see "Courage to Be")? Regardless of whether I agree or disagree with him personally, I have to admire that.
But Nash's "it all depends" (chapter 6) philosophy? I disagree - to an extent. Let me use this to expand on the plagiarism issue I brought up yesterday. I promise I'll try to be brief.
I think relative truth has serious limitations when it comes to ethical issues. If all the reason I can give for why a student shouldn't plagiarize on a research paper is, "well, it's common courtesy to give credit back to your source" I honestly don't think he'll listen or care. It sounds too wishy-washy. No passion or earnestness in it at all. He could say, "I wasn't raised that way" or "In such-and-such class, we plagiarized all the time, and no one got in trouble. Now we gotta cite our sources? What's your problem?" It's not that he has a problem with my taking away his "right" to plagiarize; it's that I'm doing so in a way that fails to communicate how serious it is. After all, he learned one way to write a paper - he can easily learn another. But it depends on where the line is drawn, or if a line is drawn at all. If I don't make clear plagiarism is cheating, dishonest, and most importantly wrong, then he won't get the message. He has no perimeters to exercise his creativity. It's chaos without the necessary controls in place to justify it.
Does that mean everything I wrote yesterday was a big, fat waste? I acted by what I believed was morally right and thus have no right to regret not publishing my story? Of course not. I was in tenth grade, for crying out loud. My parents knew more about the nuances of plagiarism than I did. My teacher knew what the magazine required from its submissions; otherwise why would she recommend it at all? I knew plagiarism was wrong, and it is - but I didn't fully understand what it was at the time. I made a choice, but it wasn't the most informed choice.
But my point is, Nash's postmodernist idea that what we do depends on our situation seems to imply that there aren't any standards or absolutes to govern what we do. Maybe I'm wrong on that, but that's how I read it. I see the good in that; it helps produce more authentic work. But we shouldn't ignore the risks involved if we go too far with relative truth. I think it sets a dangerous precedent if students get the idea they can push the envelope as far as they want on the basis that it helps them write a more authentic paper. That's the goal, yes. But they can handle a simple "no." They can even handle "you should not do this because it isn't right." They might ask you to explain (which shows how much absolute truth they get on the homefront), so you should be prepared to do so. But they can handle it. Moreover, I think it makes me more 'real' to them. It lets them know I stand for something that I won't budge on, and I'm willing to take the time to explain myself because I care about the decisions they make. It's not that I'm trying to come off as a stubborn hardcase (though I may come off that way sometimes, and I apologize for it) or make their choices for them, but I want them to make the most informed choices possible.
Finding a balance between moral and relative truth is tough.
I hope to keep getting better at it.
Naturally, as a child of 11, I couldn't have counted on Jesus coming under attack, let alone comprehended why anyone would want to attack Him or the messages that He proclaimed. 1 Corinthians 13:11 aptly summarizes my state of mind: "When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me" (that last sentence should come with an asterisk because, in all honesty, I am nowhere close to becoming the man that God wants me to be. I say this despite my being a full-time teacher, a grad student, and soon to be a husband. But I have yet to put all my childish ways behind me, and in all likelihood, I will continue to struggle with this).
Anyway, mine was a very child-like faith. Nothing unusual there. To me, Jesus was invincible, untouchable. More than that, He was a deified split personality. Part interesting storyteller (never a moment when He didn't have a parable up His sleeve), and part divine superhero (my friend Taylor likened this to a form of Superman beating the crap out of some punk villains). And as a child this duality made all the sense in the world to me. What else was there to talk about or argue? Nobody could grab your attention with a captivating story like this Man, and if you weren't on His side, woe unto you!
Naturally, I ran into trouble upon entry into high school and college. I was naive, even somewhat arrogant about my beliefs, though I couldn't bring myself to admit it. Absent was the love and respect for others regardless of whether they disagreed with me. This didn't manifest in verbal discourse, mind you, but it was apparent in tone of voice, facial expressions, and attitude. I'm sure people noticed, and I won't do myself the disservice of pretending it didn't play a role in why some of them didn't go out of their way to hang out with me. Who wants to hang out with some clown who thinks he's always right? Who wants to associate with someone so narrow-minded he won't even do you the courtesy of listening to what you have to say?
This, at its core, was why reading Doug's account spoke to me personally. Nash came right out and asked him what it was he truly cared about, and he made it clear that it was his struggle for equilibrium. His search for balance. How could he live his life serving Christ and still manage life as a secular educator? What a question!
I deal with that problem almost every day as a public school teacher inwardly if not outwardly. How can I teach in such a way that my kids see the real "me?" No matter what the curriculum mandates, I will not compromise my moral values (and I am thankful for two things: that I work in an environment in which no one puts a price on my head for believing in Jesus, and that I have gotten much better at getting it across in a more creative, artful fashion) and I think they deserve no less. I say fairly often that kids are sharper than we give them credit for. What I mean is, they can "read" teachers. Chances are, they'll smell a rat pretty quick if I teach about something and my heart's not in it.
I say this, and I freely disagree with Nash on truth and absolutes. It doesn't mean I respect him any less - I've read his book the past three days and he already feels like one of the closest companions I've ever had. I'd love to meet him if I ever had the chance. How can I not admire someone who has the guts to lay himself out in the public eye and make himself vulnerable as he does in this book (particularly when I remember I had a chance to do the same years ago and failed - see "Courage to Be")? Regardless of whether I agree or disagree with him personally, I have to admire that.
But Nash's "it all depends" (chapter 6) philosophy? I disagree - to an extent. Let me use this to expand on the plagiarism issue I brought up yesterday. I promise I'll try to be brief.
I think relative truth has serious limitations when it comes to ethical issues. If all the reason I can give for why a student shouldn't plagiarize on a research paper is, "well, it's common courtesy to give credit back to your source" I honestly don't think he'll listen or care. It sounds too wishy-washy. No passion or earnestness in it at all. He could say, "I wasn't raised that way" or "In such-and-such class, we plagiarized all the time, and no one got in trouble. Now we gotta cite our sources? What's your problem?" It's not that he has a problem with my taking away his "right" to plagiarize; it's that I'm doing so in a way that fails to communicate how serious it is. After all, he learned one way to write a paper - he can easily learn another. But it depends on where the line is drawn, or if a line is drawn at all. If I don't make clear plagiarism is cheating, dishonest, and most importantly wrong, then he won't get the message. He has no perimeters to exercise his creativity. It's chaos without the necessary controls in place to justify it.
Does that mean everything I wrote yesterday was a big, fat waste? I acted by what I believed was morally right and thus have no right to regret not publishing my story? Of course not. I was in tenth grade, for crying out loud. My parents knew more about the nuances of plagiarism than I did. My teacher knew what the magazine required from its submissions; otherwise why would she recommend it at all? I knew plagiarism was wrong, and it is - but I didn't fully understand what it was at the time. I made a choice, but it wasn't the most informed choice.
But my point is, Nash's postmodernist idea that what we do depends on our situation seems to imply that there aren't any standards or absolutes to govern what we do. Maybe I'm wrong on that, but that's how I read it. I see the good in that; it helps produce more authentic work. But we shouldn't ignore the risks involved if we go too far with relative truth. I think it sets a dangerous precedent if students get the idea they can push the envelope as far as they want on the basis that it helps them write a more authentic paper. That's the goal, yes. But they can handle a simple "no." They can even handle "you should not do this because it isn't right." They might ask you to explain (which shows how much absolute truth they get on the homefront), so you should be prepared to do so. But they can handle it. Moreover, I think it makes me more 'real' to them. It lets them know I stand for something that I won't budge on, and I'm willing to take the time to explain myself because I care about the decisions they make. It's not that I'm trying to come off as a stubborn hardcase (though I may come off that way sometimes, and I apologize for it) or make their choices for them, but I want them to make the most informed choices possible.
Finding a balance between moral and relative truth is tough.
I hope to keep getting better at it.
posted by david @ 8:04 AM
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