大學(xué)教授還有什么意義?

What’s the Point of a Professor?

大學(xué)教授還有什么意義?

IN the coming weeks, two million Americans will earn a bachelor’s degree and either join the work force or head to graduate school. They will be joyous that day, and they will remember fondly the schools they attended. But as this unique chapter of life closes and they reflect on campus events, one primary part of higher education will fall low on the ladder of meaningful contacts: the professors.

在未來(lái)幾周里，二百萬(wàn)美國(guó)人將獲得學(xué)士學(xué)位，之后，他們要么參加工作，要么去讀研究生。畢業(yè)日將是他們快樂(lè)的一天，他們也會(huì)思念他們讀過(guò)的學(xué)校。但是，隨著人生這一獨(dú)特篇章的結(jié)束，畢業(yè)生開始反思校園生活，高等教育的一個(gè)主要部分將在有意義的校園接觸排名中名落孫山，那就是教授。

That’s what students say. Oh, they’re quite content with their teachers; after all, most students receive sure approval. In 1960, only 15 percent of grades were in the “A” range, but now the rate is 43 percent, making “A” the most common grade by far.

那是學(xué)生們的說(shuō)法。噢，他們對(duì)自己的教授很滿意;畢竟，大多數(shù)學(xué)生都得到了肯定的認(rèn)可。1960年，只有15%的成績(jī)屬于“A”的范圍，而現(xiàn)在的比例是43%，使“A”成為遠(yuǎn)高于其他分?jǐn)?shù)的最常見成績(jī)。

Faculty members’ attitudes are kindly, too. In one national survey, 61 percent of students said that professors frequently treated them “like a colleague/peer,” while only 8 percent heard frequent “negative feedback about their academic work.” More than half leave the graduation ceremony believing that they are “well prepared” in speaking, writing, critical thinking and decision-making.

教授們的態(tài)度也很親切。在一項(xiàng)全國(guó)調(diào)查中，有61%的學(xué)生人說(shuō)教授經(jīng)常把他們“像同事/同行”那樣對(duì)待，只有8%的學(xué)生經(jīng)常得到對(duì)“他們學(xué)習(xí)的負(fù)面反饋”。有超過(guò)半數(shù)的學(xué)生在畢業(yè)典禮結(jié)束時(shí)認(rèn)為他們?cè)诠_發(fā)言、寫作、批判性思維和做決策上受到“充分的培養(yǎng)”。

But while they’re content with teachers, students aren’t much interested in them as thinkers and mentors. They enroll in courses and complete assignments, but further engagement is minimal.

不過(guò)，雖然對(duì)教授們頗為滿意，但學(xué)生們對(duì)教授作為思考者和導(dǎo)師的角色并不怎么感興趣。他們選教授的課，完成作業(yè)，但進(jìn)一步的接觸極少。

One measure of interest in what professors believe, what wisdom they possess apart from the content of the course, is interaction outside of class. It’s often during incidental conversations held after the bell rings and away from the demands of the syllabus that the transfer of insight begins and a student’s emulation grows. Students email teachers all the time — why walk across campus when you can fire a note from your room? — but those queries are too curt for genuine mentoring. We need face time.

對(duì)教授有什么信仰、他們除了授課外還擁有什么智慧感興趣的標(biāo)志之一，是課堂外的互動(dòng)。通常是在下課鈴聲響了之后，與教學(xué)大綱的要求無(wú)關(guān)的地方，洞察力的傳授才開始，學(xué)生的效仿才形成。雖然學(xué)生動(dòng)不動(dòng)就給教授發(fā)電子郵件——當(dāng)你能從宿舍房間里輕而易舉地發(fā)個(gè)短信時(shí)，干嗎要從校園的一頭走到另一頭呢? ——但這種詢問(wèn)從真正指導(dǎo)的角度來(lái)看太簡(jiǎn)短了。我們需要面對(duì)面的時(shí)間。

Here, though, are the meager numbers. For a majority of undergraduates, beyond the two and a half hours per week in class, contact ranges from negligible to nonexistent. In their first year, 33 percent of students report that they never talk with professors outside of class, while 42 percent do so only sometimes. Seniors lower that disengagement rate only a bit, with 25 percent never talking to professors, and 40 percent sometimes.

但是，正是這方面的數(shù)字很糟糕。對(duì)于大多數(shù)本科生來(lái)說(shuō)，除了每周兩個(gè)半小時(shí)的課堂時(shí)間，與教授接觸的時(shí)間從可忽略不計(jì)到不存在。在大學(xué)的第一年，有 33%學(xué)生報(bào)告說(shuō)，他們從未在課堂之外與教授說(shuō)過(guò)話，有42%的學(xué)生只是偶爾這樣做。大四的學(xué)生中與教授完全沒(méi)有接觸的比率略低一點(diǎn)，有25%的學(xué)生從來(lái)沒(méi)和教授說(shuō)過(guò)話，40%的學(xué)生有時(shí)和教授說(shuō)話。

It hasn’t always been this way. “I revered many of my teachers,” Todd Gitlin said when we met at the New York Public Library last month. He’s a respected professor of journalism and sociology at Columbia, but in the 1960s he was a fiery working-class kid at Harvard before becoming president of Students for a Democratic Society.

并不是從來(lái)都這樣。當(dāng)我們上個(gè)月在紐約公共圖書館見面時(shí)，托德·吉特林(Todd Gitlin)說(shuō)，“我尊敬我的許多老師。”吉特林是哥倫比亞大學(xué)新聞系和社會(huì)學(xué)系的一位受人尊敬的教授，但在20世紀(jì)60年代，他是哈佛的一名來(lái)自工薪階層的激進(jìn)學(xué)生，后來(lái)當(dāng)了學(xué)生組織“學(xué)生民主社會(huì)”(Students for a Democratic Society)的會(huì)長(zhǎng)。

I asked if student unrest back then included disregard of the faculty. Not at all, he said. Nobody targeted professors. Militants attacked the administration for betraying what the best professors embodied, the free inquisitive space of the Ivory Tower.

我問(wèn)他，當(dāng)時(shí)的學(xué)潮是否包括對(duì)教授的蔑視。他說(shuō)，一點(diǎn)都沒(méi)有。沒(méi)有人有針對(duì)教授。激進(jìn)學(xué)生攻擊了行政部門，因?yàn)楣芾碚弑撑蚜私淌谒淼淖詈脰|西，那就是象牙塔里的自由探索空間。

I saw the same thing in my time at the University of California, Los Angeles, in the early 1980s, when you couldn’t walk down the row of faculty offices without stepping over the outstretched legs of English majors lining up for consultations. First-year classes could be as large as 400, but by junior year you settled into a field and got to know a few professors well enough to chat with them regularly, and at length. We knew, and they knew, that these moments were the heart of liberal education.

我在加州大學(xué)洛杉磯分校(University of California, Los Angeles)就讀時(shí)也看到了同樣的情況，那是在20世紀(jì)80年代初，那時(shí)候，當(dāng)你從成排的教授辦公室門前走過(guò)時(shí)，會(huì)不得不從在門外排隊(duì)等待與教授進(jìn)行磋商的英語(yǔ)專業(yè)學(xué)生伸出的腿中間邁過(guò)。大一的課可能大到有400個(gè)學(xué)生，但到了大三，你已選好了專業(yè)，足夠好地認(rèn)識(shí)了幾個(gè)教授，能經(jīng)常與他們聊天，而且是長(zhǎng)聊。我們知道，他們也知道，這樣的時(shí)刻才是人文教育的核心所在。

In our hunger for guidance, we were ordinary. The American Freshman Survey, which has followed students since 1966, proves the point. One prompt in the questionnaire asks entering freshmen about “objectives considered to be essential or very important.” In 1967, 86 percent of respondents checked “developing a meaningful philosophy of life,” more than double the number who said “being very well off financially.”

在對(duì)指導(dǎo)的渴望方面，我們都是普通人。從1966年開始追蹤學(xué)生情況的美國(guó)大學(xué)新生調(diào)查(American Freshman Survey)證明了這一點(diǎn)。問(wèn)卷中的一個(gè)問(wèn)題，問(wèn)剛?cè)雽W(xué)的大一學(xué)生“認(rèn)為至關(guān)重要或非常重要的目標(biāo)是什么”。在1967年，86%的受訪者選擇了“形成有意義的人生觀”，是選“在經(jīng)濟(jì)上非常富足”的人的兩倍多。

Naturally, students looked to professors for moral and worldly understanding. Since then, though, finding meaning and making money have traded places. The first has plummeted to 45 percent; the second has soared to 82 percent.

自然，學(xué)生指望從教授那里得到道德和世俗方面的感悟。但從那時(shí)候起，尋找意義和賺錢就互換了位置。選第一個(gè)的比例跌至45%，而選第二個(gè)的比例飆升至82%。

I returned to U.C.L.A. on a mild afternoon in February and found the hallways quiet and dim. Dozens of 20-year-olds strolled and chattered on the quad outside, but in the English department, only one in eight doors was open, and barely a half dozen of the department’s 1,400 majors waited for a chance to speak.

2月一個(gè)暖和的下午，我回到加州大學(xué)洛杉磯分校，發(fā)現(xiàn)走廊里非常安靜，一片昏暗。幾十名20歲的年輕人在外面的四方院里散步聊天，但在英語(yǔ)系，只有八分之一的門開著，并且在該系1400名學(xué)生中，等著有機(jī)會(huì)和教授交談的還不到五六個(gè)人。

When college is more about career than ideas, when paycheck matters more than wisdom, the role of professors changes. We may be 50-year-olds at the front of the room with decades of reading, writing, travel, archives or labs under our belts, with 80 courses taught, but students don’t lie in bed mulling over what we said. They have no urge to become disciples.

當(dāng)學(xué)校更多的是關(guān)乎職業(yè)而非理念，當(dāng)薪水比智慧更重要時(shí)，教授的角色變了。在教室前面的我們可能50歲了，有幾十年的閱讀、寫作、旅行和在檔案館或?qū)嶒?yàn)室研究的經(jīng)歷，教過(guò)80門課程，但學(xué)生不會(huì)躺在床上琢磨我們說(shuō)的東西。他們沒(méi)有成為信徒的欲望。

Sadly, professors pressed for research time don’t want them, either. As a result, most undergraduates never know that stage of development when a learned mind enthralled them and they progressed toward a fuller identity through admiration of and struggle with a role model.

悲哀的是，缺乏研究時(shí)間的教授也不想讓他們成為信徒。結(jié)果，大部分本科生永遠(yuǎn)都不知道有這樣一個(gè)發(fā)展階段：博學(xué)者令他們著迷，他們會(huì)通過(guò)對(duì)某個(gè)榜樣的仰慕及與那個(gè)榜樣的斗爭(zhēng)，形成更完整的人格。

Since the early 2000s, I have made students visit my office every other week with a rough draft of an essay. We appraise and revise the prose, sentence by sentence. I ask for a clearer idea or a better verb; I circle a misplaced modifier and wait as they make the fix.

從本世紀(jì)初開始，我就讓學(xué)生每隔一周帶上文章初稿來(lái)我的辦公室一趟。我們會(huì)逐句逐句地評(píng)價(jià)和修改文章。我要求他們有更清晰的想法，或是想到一個(gè)更好的動(dòng)詞。我會(huì)圈出用錯(cuò)的修飾語(yǔ)，等他們自己修改。

As I wait, I sympathize: So many things distract them — the gym, text messages, rush week — and often campus culture treats them as customers, not pupils. Student evaluations and ratemyprofessor.com paint us as service providers. Years ago at Emory University, where I work, a campus-life dean addressed new students with a terrible message: Don’t go too far into coursework — there’s so much more to do here! And yet, I find, my writing sessions help diminish those distractions, and by the third meeting students have a new attitude. This is a teacher who rejects my worst and esteems my best thoughts and words, they say to themselves.

等待時(shí)，我心生同情：讓他們分心的事情太多了——健身、短信、社團(tuán)活動(dòng)——而且校園文化通常把他們當(dāng)做消費(fèi)者，而非學(xué)生。學(xué)生評(píng)估和給教授打分的網(wǎng)站把我們描繪成了服務(wù)供應(yīng)商。多年前，在我任教的埃默里大學(xué)(Emory University)，一位分管校園生活的院長(zhǎng)在對(duì)新生講話時(shí)傳遞了一個(gè)糟糕的訊息：不要過(guò)多地糾纏于作業(yè)，在這里有很多事情可以做!但我發(fā)現(xiàn)，我的寫作講習(xí)會(huì)有助于減少讓學(xué)生分心的事情。到第三次見面時(shí)，學(xué)生們就有了新的態(tài)度。他們對(duì)自己說(shuō)，這個(gè)老師會(huì)駁回我最差的表現(xiàn)，尊重我最上乘的想法和文字。