Quo Vadis?

Quo Vadis was one of the blockbuster movies of the 1950’s.   Its title derived from an apocryphal story told about when Saint Peter was fleeing Rome in order to avoid crucifixion.  On his way, he encountered Jesus who asked “Quo vadis?”  Where are you going?  It was then that Peter returned to meet his fate.

Today we must also ask, where are we going?  Peter was guided by his faith, but where are we to find the guideposts needed to direct our way?  As I have previously written, we are experiencing an ideological crisis.  The belief systems that once steered our course have let us down.

Actually, I have been struggling to find a way to demonstrate why relevant ideologies are vital.  These may seem to be mere “as if” stories, yet they enable us to make sense out of a world that would otherwise be too confusing to navigate.

So let me tell a story.  When I was in my early twenties, I decided it was time to learn how to drive a car.  Even though I was living in New York City, I craved greater mobility.  Nevertheless, my father refused to teach me.  He feared that this would raise his insurance premiums.

Instead I turned to my uncle Milton.  He was a bus driver and a very nice person.  Happily, he agreed to help me out.  As a consequence, I met him when he finished his route so that we could ride home together.  Then, once we arrived in Queens, he turned the wheel over to me.

Milton assumed that I knew more about driving than I did.  Perhaps I had exaggerated the skills I acquired by driving a friend’s car around a parking lot.  In any event, I was terrified when I venturing onto the Queensboro Boulevard.  At first, I did not know where to look.

This thoroughfare had three lanes in each direction, with side lanes to boot.  There were thus automobiles and trucks everywhere.  They were in front of me, behind me, and on both sides of me.  It felt as if any one of them could veer into me at any moment.

Although I managed to keep from hitting anything, my panic was evident.  This was when my uncle asked me to pull over so that he could resume control.  To this day, I remember how relieved I was.  The thought of having to endure my terror for several more miles was overwhelming.

Nowadays, of course, the situation is different.  I routinely drive on the interstates without a moment’s hesitation.  What has changed is that during the interim I accumulated hundreds of thousands of hours on the road.  As importantly, I built up a mental frame of reference in the process.

I now know that I do not have to keep track of every vehicle around me.  I have, in essence, become aware of what is normal and what is anomalous.  My attention is therefore drawn to the unusual.  I am even able to anticipate when a driver is liable to do something amiss—such as changing lanes without signaling.

A few hours driving around a parking lot could never have provided the guidance to handle I 75 where it widens to eight lanes.  By the same token, centuries of living in a preindustrial society did not furnish the insights needed to manage in a post-industrial civilization.  Countless experiences in the former are simply not applicable in the latter.

This, in fact, is the circumstance we currently find ourselves.  Our ideological frameworks developed in eras long preceding our own.  The liberal, conservative, and libertarian perspectives all evolved during periods extremely different from our own.

As a result, they often steer us wrong.  The upshot is that what we seek frequently does not bring us satisfaction.  This is one of the reasons for our present political impasse.  Voters are frustrated by broken promises.  Yet these promises are broken because those making them are following inappropriate guideposts.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor of Sociology

Kennesaw State University

Southern Inferiority?

Some years ago, my college at Kennesaw State University hired a dean who came from up north.  From the moment he arrived, he was determined to shake us out of our backward ways and drag us kicking and screaming into the modern era.  He would, in his view, eradicate our bigotry and make us more like his ideal.

This man is now gone.  Having alienated too many of his colleagues—including transplanted northerners like myself—his position became untenable.  Less tolerant of diversity than his southern born underlings, he was not the paragon of virtue he supposed.

My wife and I (she also teaches at KSU) have now encountered the same sort of attitude in the Sothern Sociological Society.  This organization, which was founded in the South and has routinely held its annual meetings in Atlanta, recently decided that the South is no long a congenial venue.

When the Georgia legislature passed bills protecting the freedom of religion, these sociologists were outraged.  They perceived these statutes as homophobic.  The president and board quickly declared that the organization would never again schedule a meeting in the state.

The organization’s leadership did not explain why the legislation was objectionable.  They did not even describe what was in the legislation.  Nor was an attempt made to poll the membership to determine what it felt.  The decision was summarily made—and that was that.

As it happens, Atlanta is one of the most gay friendly cities in the nation.  Evidently the folks at the SSS did not know that.  Many were born and raised in the north.  Now several are again living in the North, and like KSU’s former dean, are determined to rescue their former colleagues.

My wife and I were outraged.  I have lived in Georgia for more than a quarter century and therefore have learned that this is one of the most civilized sections of the nation.  Not only are Georgians more tolerant than some carpetbaggers imagine, but they are more kind-hearted.

Too many Northerners have only a media-driven acquaintance with the South.  They do not know that the Cherokee county in which I live is in some ways more cosmopolitan than New York City.  Mislead by portrayals rooted in a bygone era, they never take the time to reeducate themselves.

Thus, whenever I go shopping, I am reminded of how courteous most of my neighbors are.  I enjoy my pleasant little chats with the checkout personnel and fellow customers.  This is so different from the rudeness that I experienced when living in Manhattan. 

Whenever I am in a classroom at KSU, I am similarly reminded about how accepting my students are of each other.  They come from every quarter of the country and are of all races, yet they are friendly and open-minded.  There is none of the meanness that unenlightened Yankees expect.

Atlanta truly is the capital of the New South and its exurbs truly are pioneering what America may eventually become.  What I see around me is a combination of modernity and the gentility of years gone by.  People are plugged in to what is happening around the world at the same time that they are considerate of the folks next door.

Once I too had a stereotypical view of the South.  When the New York Times described Southerners as uncouth louts, I assumed that this was accurate reporting.  Well, the New York Times is still at it, but experience has taught me the error of its ways.  I now love the South.

No doubt there are more lessons to be learned.  No doubt pockets of ignorance and nastiness remain.  But these exist everywhere.  The bottom line is that the South no longer has a reason to feel inferior—nor the North superior. 

We are together in the process of building a new world.  But that requires mutual acceptance and accurate understanding.  Too bad that these are often lacking.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor of Sociology

Kennesaw State University

Academic Suicide

I have been writing about how we—as a society—have lost our way.  Sadly, just the other day I was reminded of how far my own university has strayed from common sense and its historic mission.  Instead of educating students for the world they are about to enter, the school has decided to commit suicide.

I have never been a fan of online education.  In my experience—and that of my students—it is an inferior substitute for genuine learning.  Now our administrators are threatening to convert this travesty into a total charade.

First let me share their vision.  It is widely assumed that classroom-focused  education is old fashioned.  Face-to-face teaching is described as yesterday’s technology.  Anything involving the computer is supposed to be more effective than merely elucidating ideas for students.

The ultimate objective is full-blown distance scholarship.  Students are to stay home and switch on their personal computers when it is convenient for them.  This way they will not have to commute to a central location, nor will colleges require brick and mortar facilities.

Moreover, the lessons will be designed by the very best professors and then presided over by less highly trained adjuncts.  This way the students will have access to superior instruction that is more flexible and less expensive.

In the end, everyone will be able to get a college education.   That, at least, is the theory.  The reality is different.  It is a dumbed down ritual that imparts very little knowledge.  Students may obtain a degree, but one that is less useful than toilet paper.

Let me explain the problem.  In an ordinary classroom, students are motivated by human interaction.  They not only hear their professor, they are able to look him or her in the eye and read their facial expressions.  They can also ask questions that receive responsive answers.

In other words, face-to-face learning has a human dimension that facilitates thinking and makes complex materials comprehensible.  The computer, however, is more remote.  It is disembodied box that has serious limitations.

In an attempt to get around these, online courses feature chat rooms and videos.  Students watch taped lectures and then post responses to which others reply.  The trouble is that these videos feature poor production values and hence tend to be deadly dull, whereas the posts only allow for inadequate communication.  These discussion boards are thus like extended tweets, only less clever.

What is worse, these methods are labor intensive.  It takes time for the instructor to reply to every student via the keyboard.  There is likewise less incentive to require written assignments that are arduous to grade.

Initially it was hoped that smaller classes coupled with extra faculty pay could avoid these difficulties.  Accordingly, in my school, classes were capped at twenty and then thirty.  Instructors also received an additional fifty dollars per head.

Now the proposal is to increase class size to between fifty and one hundred and twenty, while hiring non-Ph.D.’s to preside over them.  This is a sham!  In an effort to save money, learning is being thrown out the window.  No lecturer, no matter how dedicated, can deal with five, one hundred and twenty student sessions—except in the most cursory manner.

Writing assignments will become a thing of the past and chat rooms a farce.  Instructors, who have been converted into assembly line robots, will go through the motions—as will their students.  Books will not be read, exams will be over-simplified, and no one will care because the exercise is so impersonal.

This so-called reform is not being driven by pedagogical necessity.  Rather, it is being propelled forward by a misguided effort to provide affordable higher education for everyone.

Lastly, I guarantee that the politicians will depict these efforts as brilliant.  You will be told about how well these innovations are succeeding, but don’t believe it.  We on the front lines know better.  We see the casualties first hand!

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor of Sociology

Kennesaw State University

The Deer and I

Way back in 1945, a book came out that was called “The Egg and I.”  It was a humorous memoir of a young wife’s experience at having been transported from an urban existence to life on a Washington state chicken farm.

The recollection of this put me in mine of my own situation living in Cherokee county.  I am a transplanted city boy.  My formative years were spent in the wilds of Brooklyn, New York and my young adult years found me residing in Manhattan.

When I first moved out of New York City to upstate New York, I fell in love with the suburban neighborhood in which I bought a house.  It felt like living in a park, as opposed to a concrete jungle.  The greenery was both beautiful and comforting.

Now I reside in Cherokee county in a home that is even less urban.  Surrounded on three sides by woodlands, everyday when I look out a window I see trees.  I also see squirrels and rabbits and flowers.  But it is the deer that command my attention.

You must understand that the only deer found in Brooklyn were confined to the zoo.  To have real live creatures—that are bigger than a breadbasket—just outside my door was a first thrilling.  I could almost touch them without some zookeeper objecting.

Not only were the deer close by, but they sometimes bedded down in my side yard.  It was also fun to watch them munching on the wild raspberries that grew there in profusion.  That this thicket could provide them with nourishment seemed almost miraculous.

Then something unexpected happened.  My wife and I had long taken note of the deer tracks in our vegetable garden.  They indicated that the deer were there even when we were not.  This was perfectly okay with us.

But eventually the deer started chomping on our tomatoes.  For years, they had left our vegetables alone.  Now they apparently grew so comfortable in our presence that they had no qualms about approaching our house or vandalizing our plants.

At first only a few leaves and tomatoes appeared to be missing.  But then entire bushes were reduced to bare stalks.  There was no hope for these plants to grown back because there was not enough left to regenerate.  This hurt.  It felt like a betrayal.

My wife and I wondered what to do.  The best we could come up with was to install some fencing.  Yet this proved inadequate.  Although we contemplated more robust measures, in the end we decided that we would share some of our bounty.

Nonetheless, the worst blow was yet to come.  My wife especially loves flowers.  She has been experimenting with different varieties and resolved to try tulips.  We consequently purchased a bag full of bulbs, which she planted in the fall.  Came the spring and we eagerly awaited signs of their emergence.

It was therefore with some pleasure that we witnessed the first shoots breaking through the soil.  It was with even greater delight that we welcomed the first flowers.  Alas, then disaster struck.  The deer ate every one of the tulips down to the nub.

Our despair was beyond measure.  Still there was a ray of hope.  The tulips might revive.  After all, the bulbs remained in the ground.  And sure enough, there were new shoots—and even a few flowers.

Except that those predatory deer were ever on the alert.  They had merely been biding their time.  As soon as there was enough to furnish another meal, they had their way with our poor tulips.  They even came back for a third helping.

Who knew that deer love tulips?  This had not happened in Brooklyn. Fortunately, they apparently do not like daffodils, so these survived.  The lesson learned?  Forget tulips and stick with daffodils.  If we cannot beat the deer, perhaps we can learn to co-exist.

Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor of Sociology

Kennesaw State University Melvyn L. Fein, Ph.D.

Professor of Sociology

Kennesaw State University