[Excerpt from keynote address: Utah Council of Teachers of English, November 9, 2018]
It strikes me that the question, why do we need to teach literature goes to the question of what it means to teach freely and the answer to that question is a kind of spiritual answer. For me, the simple answer to the question, why do we need to teach literature goes something like this: Because one does not live by bread alone.
Of course, that answer is not complete, is it? If one does not live by bread alone, then what does one live by? What do you live by? Here it is that you get to freely fill in the blank. I call whatever it is you fill in here something spiritual not because it is necessarily associated with any particular religion, although it can be, but because the response is a reality that lives in us, in our minds, in that complexity of being that is you and me. A spiritual reality, an invisible center, from which words and acts spring forth. To teach freely is to operate out of that invisible reality in the classroom and at the same time to recognize that literature gives young people the opportunity to discover that reality – to answer in their own unique way, what does one live by if not bread alone?
I think that to teach freely you need to accept that in your heart, deep in your heart, you know that there is more to teaching than just teaching a student what he needs in order to get the bread he needs to live. The problem that I see is that you are besieged by external constraints, you are forced to work under restraints imposed upon you by those who see the making of bread as the ultimate and only goal. To teach freely, you must operate under those constraints while those constraints are there, but you need not accept those constraints internally.
But the truth is that when the question: Why do we need to teach literature? was asked a few years ago, I did not speak freely. I was inhibited because in our modern world we are afraid to speak about truths that may be interpreted as religious, or as spiritual. We are more afraid of being cheesy and corny than we are of being vulgar. But what is worse: I did not see the place, the real place where that question was coming from. It wasn’t coming from someone looking for arguments he could use to respond to the job-secured colleague down the hall who was teaching kids how to enter code. I think the person who asked me that question wanted to know if he had chosen the right path. Maybe he was barely making his monthly mortgage payments and maybe he was hoping the old Honda would hold up another year and maybe his class had gotten below par scores as dictated by those who dictate such things, and maybe all he wanted was someone to say “Yes, you are needed,” and to thank him, to thank him, for the path he decided to take.
I think now that what the questioner wanted was permission to teach freely. Not my permission, because it is not mine to give. But I think he was looking for a way to give himself permission to teach freely. So that’s what I want to urge you to do today. Give yourself permission to teach freely.
Teaching English literature is what comes naturally to you and what you love and why you are here. Not just here today, but here on this here earth. When doubts or anxiety come, all you have to do is remind yourself why you do it or at least remember why you started doing it. Find a way to inject into your class what really matters to you, what burns you with curiosity and interest, your ultimate concerns. Â If you have a choice, teach a book that has touched you deeply in some way. Be personal. Be creative and surprising within the constraints placed around you. Become a student along with your students asking questions and pointing the way rather than providing answers. Become an educator in the old Latin meaning of the word: e-ducare. To draw out. Rejoice in the ambiguity that good books create and draw out from your student responses that are uniquely his or her own. Create a space of trust in your classroom where students can speak freely about what they have read and how it intersects with their lives and aspirations, their fears. Give them permission to think, speak and write freely.
And don’t be afraid to see that the answer to the question as to why you do what you do, the only answer that will give you the energy and peace you need, is a spiritual answer. It is whatever you believe one needs to live on besides bread. Once you have that answer firmly in place, then you don’t have to talk about it. You can just carry it locked up in your heart. It will be a light shining within you. The beautiful thing about teaching literature is that your students will see and recognize and be affected by that light without you saying a single word about. If you have it, they will see it. Don’t worry about all the external restraints, all the ulterior motives. Play your game within the bounds imposed upon you. The writing and teaching of literature will go on in one form or another. I guarantee it. We do not live by bread alone. And literature will always be the manifestation of that truth. All you have to do is teach with joy and purpose and offer your work as a free gift to your students. The rest will take care of itself.
