Hanged, Drawn, and Sectioned

There comes a time in the desultory career of every Harvard student when he realizes that section really, really sucks. Maybe it’s the umpteenth superfluous allusion to Nietzsche, or the teaching fellow’s (TF) apathy after five misbegotten years of grad school, or the fact that the only hot girl in the section seems to invariably—and wisely—drop the class. But whatever it is, he begins to dread that one, solitary, excruciating hour of the week as if it were a root canal.

I start with the disclaimer that I have had a few stellar TFs who even managed to run a half-decent section, usually in the English department. Not only do English TFs usually speak intelligible—even eloquent—English, they also seem to have a genuine passion for the literature they teach, much of which is pretty boring.

But more often than not, and despite efforts to improve the situation such as mandatory English language training and a TF review process, the Moral Reasoning TF stutters and stammers to explain “the hedonism,” or the Quantitative Reasoning TF is “too tired” to go over the subject material again even after a diligent student points out her mistakes. Even worse are the martinetish schoolmarms who harp on punctuality—and mark down for tardiness—but spend the rest of the hour sitting with a hand to their mouth, concealing a yawn.

Is it then any surprise if the class itself becomes equally bored and disengaged? Every section the same thought process: “If I pipe in with a comment about the Kantian a priori synthetic, I’ll look like a tool, but then again, I need my section credit.” At the risk of playing the part of the German philosopher (every section has at least one, brimming with analogues to the Hegelian dialectic and quotes from Schopenhauer about Weltschmerz and the will), I make my paltry contribution.

Sometimes, a naïve, well-meaning freshman will actually try to engage you in constructive debate, which is kind of infuriating: doesn’t she know that section is supposed to be an endless string of monologues, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing? (See, that’s the kind of glib literary allusion that one might make in section.)

We should admit that the problem does not lie wholly with our TFs so much as with the sheer stupidity that students think they can get away with. I wish I had a dime for every time I saw a TF’s flaccid, feigned smile of approbation, that muttering of “good” or “interesting” every time another student weighs in with a complete non-sequitur.

Only in small seminar discussions are students sufficiently intimidated by close contact with distinguished professors, who not only have a better mastery of the material but are also not afraid to tell students they’re wrong. So when the class megalomaniac says something obtuse like, “I think we should discuss the theological implications of the eschatological, and Stephen Dedalus is the devil,” the professor will respond, “No, I don’t think that’s relevant at all. In fact, I wish you would think more before you speak.” Ah, the sweet sound of rejection.

Of course, someone will chime in that I should have gone to a Swarthmore, Williams, or Wesleyan if I wanted that kind of professor contact. But that’s ludicrous, because as they always say, where else could I meet such interesting, brilliant people as here at Harvard—people who have impressively collected a dilettante’s knowledge of quantum physics and Wittgenstein, and who aren’t afraid to bore me with it over beers?

After all, if once you try and your long-winded diatribe spins out of control and crashes embarrassingly to a halt, then try, try again. It’s the Harvard thing to do.

David L. Golding ‘08, a Crimson editorial editor, is an English and American literature and language concentrator in Dunster House.