The impossibility of a one-sided dialogue

Since Oct. 11, when the Undergraduate U-Council called upon President Tilghman and the University community in an open letter to engage in a "dialogue" over ways to improve the intellectual life among undergraduates, our "organization kids" have, in fact, apparently found time in their packed schedules to discuss the issue, even if that has often taken the form of complaints that there is no time to have a robust intellectual life. In letters to the "Prince" as well as informal discussion, students have taken umbrage to the suggestion that they are not sufficiently intellectual, or have asked from where the free time or energy is to come. The student response has been robust enough that the U-Council saw fit to publish a recent follow-up letter on Nov. 5 in which it denied that there was any intention to insult the sensibilities of the students, and appreciated the many accomplishments and the good intentions of Princeton's students.

In the follow-up letter there's a very interesting and subtle revelation: "We invite others, as well as Professor Fleming, to make additions and fill in the details." Anyone who has followed the "dialogue" knows that it has been remarkably one-sided: With the exception of Professor Fleming's delightful and insightful Princetonian columns, there has been resounding silence on the part of the faculty to this invitation to discuss the problem. No letters to the editors; no forum, symposium or colloquium; no "teach-in," no petition, no rally or sit-in. From my experience, no hushed and concerned conversations in the hallways with colleagues. Compared to the faculty, it's the students who are engaged in an intellectual life here, even if it seems only to take the form of sophisticated explanations why no such life is possible.

This is at once surprising and utterly to be expected. It's surprising, because since arriving at Princeton five years ago, I have heard from every corner that the students are intellectually moribund. I recall one of my first lunches at the Annex with a member of the philosophy department who told me that, unlike Yale — which was a paradise of intellectualism — Princeton was a jock school. I had just come from being an adjunct professor at a football stadium which had a University attached to it, so I was, to say the least, shocked to find that I had not at all improved my lot in life. I was never of the view that Princeton is devoid of intellectual life, but I do agree that it could be much better, and I call upon my colleagues to do their fair share of the pulling.

Imagine — please, without laughing — the following conversation:

Professor 1: "So, Bill, what are you working on these days?"

Professor 2: "Gosh, Tom, I just gave a lecture on Descartes in McCosh and I'm teaching a delightful seminar on Tocqueville. Last night I led a discussion in the dorms about the recent election and I'm planning to have lunch later today with a group of my advisees to talk about their courses. The students have been swamping my office hours to talk about Hegel, and I have a wonderful set of senior thesis topics that I'm advising."

All right — I know, I'm being silly, but I always wanted to write fiction. Here, in fact, is a version of what you're likely hear:

Professor 1: "So, Bill, what are you working on these days?"

Professor 2: "Gosh, Tom, I'm swamped. I have two papers to finish for conferences next month, and a book review for the 'Journal of Experiential Diversity.' I haven't had a single moment to work on my manuscript on 17th-Century discourses on horse tails, which Harvard Press keeps asking me about. And, I have to fly to Italy tomorrow for a symposium on navel-gazing. I just can't wait for this semester to be over, so I can finally get back to my work."

This is our dirty little secret: For faculty, "real" work is the production of academic treatises and discourses of sufficient novelty or erudition which can lead to the promised land of fame if only occasionally fortune in the broader intellectual universe. The "work" that students think their professors are engaged in — teaching, leading seminars, discussing student concerns, even the dreaded grading of papers — is a very real but minor annoyance in the lives of most (not all) faculty. Here's a small but very real piece of crucial evidence. At the beginning of a sabbatical leave, one hears from colleagues almost universal responses of envy and congratulation; at the end of such leave, one receives condolences and a bit of schadenfreude. We are here to produce and disseminate knowledge — primarily to the academic community, and only secondarily and grudgingly to undergraduates. Teaching, and being an active part of college life, is seen as a chore and a burden, not as a joy and a privilege.

To have a dialogue, one needs at least two interested parties. The students have held up their end of the bargain, if only insufficiently at this point. Professor Fleming is doing his utmost to give the impression that the faculty give a damn. Students: Hold our feet to the fire, even if it means we will have to miss a conference in Italy or a deadline for the "Journal on Experiential Diversity." More important that the faculty begin writing letters to the editor of the "Prince." Here's hoping a few will object to this column: That's all it would take to prove me wrong. Patrick Deneen is an Assistant Professor in the politics department. He can be reached at pdeneen@princeton.edu.