When I was a young woman, I was privileged to attend one of the (rare enough) Dominican 'liberal arts colleges.' Classes were relatively small, so one could never fade into the background - a good thing, because it demanded proper preparation. The programme was very full. Each of us, for example, had to take four courses in philosophy, theology, English literature, history, etc., regardless of what subject was our concentration.
Much of our grade was based on participation in discussions - I recall one professor of philosophy who gave each pupil a daily mark for this. I would never be shy about participating, and have no doubt there were times when I had valuable insight to contribute. Yet, for all that I value this training, it left me with an affliction that it took years to overcome. :) (Don't let me even get started about what it is like to be a young PhD, where one feels one has to show a vast scope of knowledge about very narrow topics.) Taught to always find a reason to make a comment or ask questions, and indeed knowing that I had to do so to show I had read and analysed the material, even being naturally rather reserved did not prevent my feeling I always had to say something.
In an otherwise not notable book (high on style, low on content), "The Tulip and the Pope," author Deborah Larsen writes of her convent days. She does not identify the Order, as I recall, but they clearly were possessed of both intelligence and style. One wise teaching was 'do not think you always have to say something brilliant or witty.' How true! Feeling one must can make one seem domineering or tiresome, but it also is quite a strain. As in class, one can always be looking for the opening to make a comment. At worst, an innocent reference from another can make one begin to show one did extensive reading, indeed exceeded the requirements...
I must write an entry about how always having to be witty can make one a tiresome comedian in social settings, but I'll save that for another day.
Blessings to all.
Thursday, 21 September 2006
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