You Deserve Nothing - Alexander Maksik [42]
“I disagree. I believe it is my role to challenge the faith of my students. In fact, I take it as my primary role—to question their faith in all things. It’s impossible to teach literature, at least to teach it well, without questioning that faith. It also seems impossible that we should be having this discussion and yet here we are.”
“Will, please. I’ve been an educator for more than twenty years. I hardly need a lesson from you. Clearly, a teacher should challenge his students. It is, however, one thing to challenge them and quite another to question their faith in God. You don’t honestly believe that it should be you who questions their religion?”
“Within the context of a piece of literature? Of course I do. Those very questions exist already in the work I teach. Have you not seen my syllabus? The reading list?”
“I glanced at it this morning, yes. I saw that you’re teaching The Book of Job. You have to understand that there’s an important distinction, Will, between the questions posed in a text and those you pose directly to your students. You also teach Macbeth, Will. Would you have your students consider suicide or murder? These questions need to remain in the texts.”
I shook my head. “I disagree entirely. Literature is irrelevant unless its questions have some bearing on the lives of the readers. You think a student who reads Hamlet shouldn’t herself consider the idea of suicide? That when reading The Book of Job we shouldn’t consider the existence of God? Or his logic? Or his nature?”
She stiffened. “Will,” she said. “I will not permit you to use our classrooms to question God’s existence, logic, or nature. It is one thing to discuss a character in a work of literature, it is quite another to treat the God of the Old Testament as a fictional character. This is dangerous territory. You have a moral responsibility to protect your students, to steer them through works of literature, to help them see clearly. That’s it, Will. That’s your job. No more.”
“Laetitia, I disagree.”
She drew a deep breath. “I’m afraid neither of us has time for an academic argument. Perhaps another time, but for now, you need to understand my position, which is to say the school’s position. Simply put, you may not question your students’ religious faith. For that matter, you may not suggest that they consider suicide or murder.”
I laughed.
“Do we understand each other, Will?”
“I think so,” I said, and left her office.
* * *
Mia and I sat together on the grass eating our lunch, the sun turning the poplars gold. A wind blew across the field and, for the first time that autumn, there was a sharpness in the air.
“Cherry Carver is the psychologist. She’s the official school psychologist?”
“Apparently so. She claimed that there’d been an announcement.”
“How does a school have a psychologist that the teachers don’t know about? Who has never practiced psychology? Cherry Carver? Fucking Cherry Carver?”
“It’s always for the kids. We’re doing God’s work. Don’t forget that,” I said, smiling.
“Speaking of which, I had a long talk with one of my new students. Marie de Cléry. Very sweet. Do you know that every day since the beginning of the year before she leaves she says, ‘Thanks Ms. Keller. Great class, Ms. Keller.’ She came by the office the other day to tell me how much she likes my class. This is why she stops by. To compliment me and to talk about the work? She stayed for an hour. She’s my new favorite,” Mia said beaming.
“That’s good, it’s good to have fans.” I felt sick.
“No, I mean she’s not like one of your panting groupies and she’s not looking for grades. She doesn’t really write all that well. She’s fierce and interested. Everything we talk about, she tries so hard to understand and