One day, not too long ago, I began to think about what I would say if I were ever given the opportunity to be truly candid with one of my professors. I thought about it for a while and decided that it would be the wrong thing for me to get involved with. If the muzzle were ever removed and I were allowed to look one of those people right in the eye and say exactly what I thought, I'm sure that I would lose control of myself completely. The more I thought about it the more annoyed I became. Why, I could go on forever, I thought to myself. It wouldn't make much difference who the professor would be or which course I would be talking about—they were all the same to me and I loathed them all with equal intensity. Yes, it would be quite a scene, I thought to myself. It would be like a grand cleansing; I would be able to purge myself of four years of pent-up hatred and frustration.
Now I find myself in the very position that I have thought about for so long. It is all very ironic though, because, astonishingly, I am unable to draw on my vast storehouse of complaints and criticisms. They simply do not apply in the consideraton of EH 301 as taught by Dr. Rockwood. They are inapplicable because EH 301 has been different from any other course that I have encountered. I have learned things from this course that I shall never forget. Be sure that I do not make this declaration lightly. It comes from a person who has driven to school with a curse on his lips for four years. If but a fraction of my hatred for the educational system could be conveyed, this declaration would seem even more incredible.
As is typical of my nature, I approached EH 301 with skepticism. For the first few weeks I was convinced that my instructor was a ranting evangelist. The theory of the collective unconscious struck me as just another attempt at creating order out of a world in which I could see nothing but disorder. After a few weeks though, I realized that this theory was occupying my thoughts with greater and greater frequency. I became obsessed with my dreams and fantasies. On many occasions I found myself leaving class in a daze, struck speechless by the truths that kept coming from my instructor. "Why, I knew those things all along," I kept muttering to myself. "I knew them all along."
Aside from my being involved emotionally and intellectually, the question I was concerned with is whether or not my writing has improved. I think it has. The instructor always stressed content as our primary concern. We were all capable of producing meaningful work, he hept telling us—all that one needs to do is look within oneself, to the unconscious, to find significant material. It is true! If anything, I have learned that good writing does not come from a mechanical process. It is a highly personal affair between the writer and his unconscious.
Actually this is such a simple approach to composition. Its implications, however, are enormous when viewed in light of the present educational system. It presupposes that knowledge cannot be imparted by rote learning but rather, by inward contemplation and meditation. To be sure, the priorities of our society would be vastly altered if this approach were ever adopted to any great extent by our educational system. It would change things drastically—but then again, what sane person could object?
© Copyright 2002 by Robert J. R. Rockwood. All rights reserved.