Amanda is 41, divorced, and broke. With no other options, she leaves Chicago and moves back in with her mother in the small Texas town where she grew up. On a whim, she visits her old college campus. Inspired, she signs up for a philosophy class as...
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Reading: Ciardi, John. "The Courage of His Confusions", Saturday Review, p. 9, June 2, 1962.
"There ain't no answer. There ain't gonna be any answer. There never has been an answer. That's the answer." Gertrude Stein
"Let's begin with a head-count" Dr. Soren said at precisely 9:31. He was wearing the same blue cardigan and brown polyester pants that he'd worn last week. Instead of a white dress shirt, he wore a pale yellow one instead. After writing the paper last night, I decided to stick with it.
"There are eight of you now. I presume that those of you who are in the class today plan to stay? If not, this is your last chance to get out. After this, I will take you to be serious students with serious question and will treat you as such." We looked around the room to see if anyone would take this last "out." No one did. One more student walked in.
"Make that nine. Sir, in the future, please be seated by 9:30." The tall, stocky young man nodded silently as he sheepishly took a notebook and pen from his book bag. Now that we are all gathered together, let's start with The Courage of His Confusion. Who will explain what Mr. Ciardi was trying to tell us?"
Saul, the hipster, spoke first. He was wearing a black T-shirt featuring some band that I was not hip enough to recognize.
"He's trying to tell us to think for ourselves, to question, and to beware of our tendency to go through life with more answers than questions."
"Yes, Saul, that's part of his message. What else?" Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a hand in the back row shoot up. Dr. Soren invited the student to speak.
"I think he's saying not to be afraid of our confusion. In fact, if we should be afraid of anything, it's our certainty. Certainty is cowardice, confusion is bravery, which stands in stark contrast to what most of us, raised in a religious house, were taught. My family equated courage with standing up for our convictions." I looked back; the jock who'd walked in late answered.
"Good observation... your name?"
"It's Derrick, sir."
"No need to call me sir. Doc or Doctor Soren is fine. Who else?"
Sharon jumped in, "I think he's saying that what's right for your parents may not be right for you. His parents were immigrants and had a worldview shaped by their experiences. But their experiences differed from those faced by their children as first-generation Americans. The rules by which the parents lived did not fully apply to their children. This made it hard for him, and other children of immigrants, to respect their parents' desires and to also survive in the real world they encountered beyond the home's threshold."
"Yes, Sharon, that is one of the messages in the article. Was there anything about that insight that applies to your life?"
Sharon fidgeted. I didn't expect the discussion to get this personal. "My life? You mean with my parents?"
