Class is canceled this semester, and I am not taking it well. After several semesters of agonizing, I am one class (and a thesis) away from completing my ALM in English Lit at Harvard Extension. Although it would seem a good thing to have a break from tearing my hair out, I look forward to it each semester. There’s something about being overloaded by a thing I care so much about, rather than all the little details of life, like making a living, that I care so little about. And now, with the end so near in sight, there’s no more questioning why I am doing this or if it’s the best way to spend my time. I’m close to the finish line. In a word, it would be stupid not to finish.
Not that you asked but, for the record, this program is good for me for several reasons (not in any particular order)
- It gives me something to do outside of work—an intellectual pursuit that makes me feel accomplished.
- I’ve always wanted to do a graduate program in English Lit; I can check it off my bucket list.
- Exercising my communication skills in a formal, structured environment has to be a good thing for work and life.
- I get to write.
The intellectual pursuit part is a big deal for me. I’ve always been a big reader. And I’ve always wanted to read the big stuff, you know, the classics, the Great Books. But without guidance, that stuff can be as dry as a pile of leaves in November. It’s difficult to appreciate without understanding why the works and their authors were important historically or culturally. Let’s face it, if every author wrote like Oscar Wilde in The Importance of Being Earnest kids would beg for books like they were candy bars. Even Jane Austen can seem frivolous—or worse, pointless—if you don’t get the irony. (As an aside, this is probably why we read Austen in high school. Teenagers intuit irony.)
So I was devastated when I discovered, a week before the semester started, that the class I excitedly rushed to register for didn’t meet my last course requirement. I asked for an exception to be made, and it was denied. It was denied by the dean of the program whom I admire greatly. She is an incredible instructor and has a depth and breadth of English language literature that stretches the limits of credulity. And she’s an energetic and engaging person. Unfortunately, due to this and past interactions, I’m convinced she hates me. (In reality, she probably couldn’t pick me out of a crowd, but because that causes me all sorts of agita for other reasons, let’s just not go there.)
At the end of the day, I understand that exceptions are not made (despite my very firm belief that the class I inquired about was not really an exception, but rather an oversight, i.e., it met the definition of courses that should count but somehow didn’t land on the approved list). I also understand and sympathize with the dean’s competing priorities. She has way too much on her plate to bother with my stuff. However, the following is an excerpt (with typos corrected below) from an email to a friend the night after my Big Disagreement with her two years ago. I recognize that I should bring this up with her. Doing it here is a bit cowardly on my part. But I have to acknowledge that she is the Scholar; I am the Student. There is no way I can win this argument with her.
Asking the big questions is important. I was disappointed when I stayed after class last night to ask my Milton professor a question. I asked what was probably a pretty simple question: if man is God’s second screw up (Satan and his fallen minions being screw up #1) then isn’t there precedence for questioning God’s omnipotence? We laughed and debated. And then I was dismissed. She said matter-of-factly, “we are not meant to question God.” That was the end of the conversation.
I cried when I got home (mostly from my low blood sugar mood swing) but because I was looking for something else. I wanted her to say “We understand from Milton’s writing that he was in fact questioning God and the whole purpose for writing Paradise Lost was to understand that Milton was questioning God. He followed his own path and wrote it down for us to follow or not. Milton’s contemporaries would have come to the same conclusion he did; they would never have questioned God’s power. On the other hand, how do we know if the text continues to be relevant if we don’t question it? This is one of many points Milton makes: an informed decision requires understanding both sides of an argument. How can one choose good if one has never known evil? And once you’ve known evil, you cannot un-know it. This is what that makes Milton’s Paradise Lost so complex. Milton himself chose to remain obedient to God. But he made that decision based on knowledge that Adam and Eve did not have. Milton experienced hardship and loss in his own life. He was not able to un-know the things he knew. And in the end, he chose to place his faith in God because he wanted and needed to believe that something better waited for him in the afterlife (duh, he was old and blind and in a kind of exile when he wrote Paradise Lost). Nevertheless, it is important to understand Milton’s position AND for each of us to come to our own conclusions.” That’s what I wish she had said.
I am posting this now because I have to concede that the possibility of her holding a grudge against me is highly improbable. It’s time for me to let go of the grudge I am holding against her.
Visualizing Shakespeare 