Civilization 10 and Its Discontents
Elise Viebeck
Last Updated: 12/3/07 Section: News
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While standing in line at Huntley Bookstore during the first week of school, I saw a CMC upperclassman peering into the basket of a nearby freshman. "Why are you buying all those books?" said the junior, surveying the selection of Candide, the Bhagavad-Gita, and Sense and Sensibility. "Who's the professor?"
The freshman responded meekly.
Rolling her eyes, the upperclassman nodded. "Put those back. SparkNotes will work just as well in that class, trust me."
As part of the academic infrastructure of freshman year, Questions of Civilization is embedded in CMC student lore. Rather than meet its own standard as "one of your finest experiences at CMC," however, the program rouses nearly universal criticism from its alumni.
The results of the annual Student Life Survey from spring 2007 quantify this sentiment. The free-response portion of the survey amassed so much write-in commentary concerning Civ. 10 that the administration, shocked to discover such widespread negative opinion, sponsored several student forums to discuss the topic. The consensus among the sessions left little room for argument: the Civ. 10 experience is entirely hit or miss.
The Basics
In 1995, 30 faculty members assembled to deliberate on the creation of an interdisciplinary program inspired by the Great Books curriculum. The product of their meetings was Questions of Civilization, which became a General Education requirement in the fall of 1997. Today, the aim of Civ. 10, according to a letter sent to all incoming freshmen, is to tackle the "fundamental issues of humanity" and explore their impact on "cultures, religions, and governments-and on the day-to-day lives of individuals-even you!-across the centuries."
Despite some basic similarities between the two, however, Civ. 10 never professed to offer a traditional Great Books program in Western Civilization. The syllabus blends a mix of Western and Eastern texts designated for their "functionality and richness" and chosen via consensus of the Civ. 10 faculty. Professors provide a "bit of flavoring" from their own disciplines to supplement the core materials; Professor Taylor, for example, uses Supreme Court opinions in leading discussion about art and society. Any CMC professor may teach Civ. 10 as long as they eschew lecturing, engage the class, and pose "tough questions from both sides" of every issue.
Professor Robert Valenza, Dengler-Dykema Professor of Mathematics and the Humanities and current director of the Civilization program, relishes its uniqueness among CMC's academic disciplines. "Our goal is the development of informed, personal philosophies," he says, speaking on behalf of the Civ. 10 faculty. "It is not as a vehicle by which to train students in one way or another, but to inform whatever positions they would develop on their own."
The Trouble
For Valenza, Civ. 10 is an opportunity to encourage "deep learning" and to teach freshmen to "write in their own big voices." This philosophy is not enough, however, to inspire students' diligence, and only rarely does it translate to intellectual rigor in the classroom.
Several factors contribute to the failings of the Civ. 10 program. Some of the required texts, for example, are consistent repeats of high school English. This initial stigma detracts from the program's reputation which in turn diminishes students' expectations and work habits.
In its large assortment of texts, the curriculum routinely ignores the subtleties of each discipline and furnishes only a shallow understanding of the material. In this sense the course always risks becoming a schizophrenic chain of book reports and caricatures: Socrates as gadfly; Pangloss, bumbling; Freud, sex-craving; Confucius, grandfather of grandfathers; and so on.
Interdisciplinary courses have become more popular in higher education since the 1960s, as the liberal arts began to accommodate emerging natural sciences and quantitative arts. Unlike its contemporaries at other liberal arts colleges, however, Civ. 10 never surrendered to trendy multiculturalism or left-wing radicalism. Instead it reflects the assumptions and languid politesse of the post-modern academy.
Allan Bloom, former professor at the University of Chicago and author of The Closing of the American Mind, posits that the vital question in American higher education is whether Socrates was right or wrong. During the 1980s, Bloom observed a brutal intellectual assault on Western philosophy, and vigorously defended the importance and primacy of the Platonic tradition. Civ. 10 attests to the decay of that tradition. We cheer, as we know good, thinking students should, for Socrates: champion of free speech, silenced by the vast, historical forces of traditionalism and intolerance. We engage with Plato as a historical figure whose experience reaffirms our prejudices, but not as a philosopher.
The Big Question
A broader objective of Civ. 10 is to provide a forum for intellectual inquiry that steers CMCers away from careerism and towards the humanities. "It's not liberal arts if it's all pre-professional," says Valenza. CMC freshman are "so good at following rules [that] some experience resistance and skepticism before they can write organically from their own perspective."
It would seem, therefore, that freeing the freshmen from their own pragmatism prepares them for intellectual inquiry and helps them develop informed life philosophies. But what happens when self-interest encourages freshmen to skip the very readings from which they would benefit? At CMC, professors' reputations are easily discovered and students often act according to them: Some arrive in class eager to discuss; others get A's without even buying the books. Openness rarely begets openness.
The tolerance and open-mindedness of the Civ. 10 philosophy imposes an unintended set of restrictions. "We were never Answers of Civilization, [never] oracles of truth. It would be awfully arrogant to presume we know the answers," says Valenza. True, professors should not endeavor to fashion students in their own image, and indoctrination is surely not the proper function of a liberal arts education. But without the purpose of judgment, the mind languishes. Hence Civ. 10 confronts the perennial question of post-modern education: if everyone is right, why study?
The Future
In response to the Student Survey results, Associate Dean of Faculty Amy Kind has assembled a committee to consider the fate of the program. The committee must carefully appraise and heavily amend the program to ensure an experience worthy of the students, the professors and the material.
Civ. 10 can only recast its reputation for farce by accepting more structure and rigor. The curriculum should be smaller to permit closer study of the texts. Professors should not just be allowed to teach Civ. 10 if they express interest; they must be selected for their extraordinary skills and expertise. A semester divided into a series of transient lectures, for example, would allow students to explore one text at a time under the supervision of an expert.
Musing on the difference between teaching goodness and teaching geometry, Valenza says, "Teaching engineers [Calculus] is different than teaching Civ. 10 We aren't going to discuss goodness like geometry…there is no way to regularize the standards of arguments, the axioms. A student may answer a Calculus problem objectively-much more clearly than a question of morals."
But Aristotle tells us in Book I of his Nicomachean Ethics that "it is the mark of an educated mind to expect that amount of exactness in each kind which the nature of the particular subject admits." Even for topics that are "merely generalities," he says, "it is enough if we arrive at generally valid conclusions."
So though CMC freshmen may be "led by their feelings," the spirit of inquiry rises to standards. With a curriculum of the greats, liberal arts students can pursue truth and avoid an academic character impoverished by indolence and nihilism.
The freshman responded meekly.
Rolling her eyes, the upperclassman nodded. "Put those back. SparkNotes will work just as well in that class, trust me."
As part of the academic infrastructure of freshman year, Questions of Civilization is embedded in CMC student lore. Rather than meet its own standard as "one of your finest experiences at CMC," however, the program rouses nearly universal criticism from its alumni.
The results of the annual Student Life Survey from spring 2007 quantify this sentiment. The free-response portion of the survey amassed so much write-in commentary concerning Civ. 10 that the administration, shocked to discover such widespread negative opinion, sponsored several student forums to discuss the topic. The consensus among the sessions left little room for argument: the Civ. 10 experience is entirely hit or miss.
The Basics
In 1995, 30 faculty members assembled to deliberate on the creation of an interdisciplinary program inspired by the Great Books curriculum. The product of their meetings was Questions of Civilization, which became a General Education requirement in the fall of 1997. Today, the aim of Civ. 10, according to a letter sent to all incoming freshmen, is to tackle the "fundamental issues of humanity" and explore their impact on "cultures, religions, and governments-and on the day-to-day lives of individuals-even you!-across the centuries."
Despite some basic similarities between the two, however, Civ. 10 never professed to offer a traditional Great Books program in Western Civilization. The syllabus blends a mix of Western and Eastern texts designated for their "functionality and richness" and chosen via consensus of the Civ. 10 faculty. Professors provide a "bit of flavoring" from their own disciplines to supplement the core materials; Professor Taylor, for example, uses Supreme Court opinions in leading discussion about art and society. Any CMC professor may teach Civ. 10 as long as they eschew lecturing, engage the class, and pose "tough questions from both sides" of every issue.
Professor Robert Valenza, Dengler-Dykema Professor of Mathematics and the Humanities and current director of the Civilization program, relishes its uniqueness among CMC's academic disciplines. "Our goal is the development of informed, personal philosophies," he says, speaking on behalf of the Civ. 10 faculty. "It is not as a vehicle by which to train students in one way or another, but to inform whatever positions they would develop on their own."
The Trouble
For Valenza, Civ. 10 is an opportunity to encourage "deep learning" and to teach freshmen to "write in their own big voices." This philosophy is not enough, however, to inspire students' diligence, and only rarely does it translate to intellectual rigor in the classroom.
Several factors contribute to the failings of the Civ. 10 program. Some of the required texts, for example, are consistent repeats of high school English. This initial stigma detracts from the program's reputation which in turn diminishes students' expectations and work habits.
In its large assortment of texts, the curriculum routinely ignores the subtleties of each discipline and furnishes only a shallow understanding of the material. In this sense the course always risks becoming a schizophrenic chain of book reports and caricatures: Socrates as gadfly; Pangloss, bumbling; Freud, sex-craving; Confucius, grandfather of grandfathers; and so on.
Interdisciplinary courses have become more popular in higher education since the 1960s, as the liberal arts began to accommodate emerging natural sciences and quantitative arts. Unlike its contemporaries at other liberal arts colleges, however, Civ. 10 never surrendered to trendy multiculturalism or left-wing radicalism. Instead it reflects the assumptions and languid politesse of the post-modern academy.
Allan Bloom, former professor at the University of Chicago and author of The Closing of the American Mind, posits that the vital question in American higher education is whether Socrates was right or wrong. During the 1980s, Bloom observed a brutal intellectual assault on Western philosophy, and vigorously defended the importance and primacy of the Platonic tradition. Civ. 10 attests to the decay of that tradition. We cheer, as we know good, thinking students should, for Socrates: champion of free speech, silenced by the vast, historical forces of traditionalism and intolerance. We engage with Plato as a historical figure whose experience reaffirms our prejudices, but not as a philosopher.
The Big Question
A broader objective of Civ. 10 is to provide a forum for intellectual inquiry that steers CMCers away from careerism and towards the humanities. "It's not liberal arts if it's all pre-professional," says Valenza. CMC freshman are "so good at following rules [that] some experience resistance and skepticism before they can write organically from their own perspective."
It would seem, therefore, that freeing the freshmen from their own pragmatism prepares them for intellectual inquiry and helps them develop informed life philosophies. But what happens when self-interest encourages freshmen to skip the very readings from which they would benefit? At CMC, professors' reputations are easily discovered and students often act according to them: Some arrive in class eager to discuss; others get A's without even buying the books. Openness rarely begets openness.
The tolerance and open-mindedness of the Civ. 10 philosophy imposes an unintended set of restrictions. "We were never Answers of Civilization, [never] oracles of truth. It would be awfully arrogant to presume we know the answers," says Valenza. True, professors should not endeavor to fashion students in their own image, and indoctrination is surely not the proper function of a liberal arts education. But without the purpose of judgment, the mind languishes. Hence Civ. 10 confronts the perennial question of post-modern education: if everyone is right, why study?
The Future
In response to the Student Survey results, Associate Dean of Faculty Amy Kind has assembled a committee to consider the fate of the program. The committee must carefully appraise and heavily amend the program to ensure an experience worthy of the students, the professors and the material.
Civ. 10 can only recast its reputation for farce by accepting more structure and rigor. The curriculum should be smaller to permit closer study of the texts. Professors should not just be allowed to teach Civ. 10 if they express interest; they must be selected for their extraordinary skills and expertise. A semester divided into a series of transient lectures, for example, would allow students to explore one text at a time under the supervision of an expert.
Musing on the difference between teaching goodness and teaching geometry, Valenza says, "Teaching engineers [Calculus] is different than teaching Civ. 10 We aren't going to discuss goodness like geometry…there is no way to regularize the standards of arguments, the axioms. A student may answer a Calculus problem objectively-much more clearly than a question of morals."
But Aristotle tells us in Book I of his Nicomachean Ethics that "it is the mark of an educated mind to expect that amount of exactness in each kind which the nature of the particular subject admits." Even for topics that are "merely generalities," he says, "it is enough if we arrive at generally valid conclusions."
So though CMC freshmen may be "led by their feelings," the spirit of inquiry rises to standards. With a curriculum of the greats, liberal arts students can pursue truth and avoid an academic character impoverished by indolence and nihilism.
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