Yet again, what does a 4.0 really mean? As I mentioned before in Achieving vs Over Achieving: http://coachrey.com/blog/achieving-versus-over-achieving/
We used to be mentors and moral authorities. Now we just hand out A’s.
Source: What’s the Point of a Professor?
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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 workingclass kid at Harvard before becoming president of
Students for a Democratic Society.
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.
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. Firstyear 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.
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.”
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
I returned to U.C.L.A. on a mild afternoon in February and found the
hallways quiet and dim. Dozens of 20yearolds 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
When college is more about career than ideas, when paycheck matters
more than wisdom, the role of professors changes. We may be 50yearolds 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.
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.
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.
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 campuslife 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.
You can’t become a moral authority if you rarely challenge students in
class and engage them beyond it. If we professors do not do that, the course is
not an induction of eager minds into an enlarging vision. It is a requirement to
fulfill. Only our assistance with assignments matters. When it comes to
students, we shall have only one authority: the grades we give. We become not
a fearsome mind or a moral light, a role model or inspiration. We become
Mark Bauerlein is an English professor at Emory, a senior editor at First Things
and the author, most recently, of “The Dumbest Generation: How the Digital Age
Stupefies Young Americans and Jeopardizes Our Future (or, Don’t Trust Anyone