This year, I was not invited to represent English at my university’s Lifeboat Debate event. I had that honor the previous three spring semesters. Nothing lasts. Nothing should.
I am not offended. Honestly. I assume that the new crop of students who organize the event don’t know me. Or they don’t like me. Either is possible, but there’s a big dumb part of me that wants to believe I was not asked because of what I said last year.
Quick context: The Lifeboat Debate is a gathering of instructors and students who are tasked with defending their existence. The idea is that the world is flooding and there is only room on a lifeboat for three academic disciplines. Why should mine be invited onboard? Of what value is English?
Of course, the very question offends me to my core, though I realize that not everyone intuitively understands why they ought to practice writing and read a lot of books. Thus, my job. But my job has morphed from composition and literature instructor to detective, and I find myself reiterating the value of functional literacy to a population that increasingly sees no issue with exporting their skills to AI. So maybe the debate has more purpose than I thought?
I would not have won. I never do. At best, I get second or third prize. Last year, I came in second, which I attribute to reverse psychology. Which will make more sense when you read my speech.
My colleague who teaches Sustainability Studies always wins. Of course. The totality of his argument: Who likes eating food and drinking clean water?
I’ve never been competitive, but I will admit that one year I was compelled to fight for my discipline after another colleague resorted to pure pathos and misrepresented Henry David Thoreau’s story. Otherwise, I tend to let someone else take the gold. Forever steeped in punk rock ethos, I’m content staying niche. The real heads know.
And then last year I had a thought: English Comp and Lit should not be saved. I see where the world’s headed. There’s no place for me there.
Here’s the speech I gave as my introductory statement. While I cannot say that it is truly to blame, I, again, want to believe that it had an impact sufficient to deny my invitation to the very event where I would surely be denied hypothetical survival.
“We can forgive a man for making a useful thing as long as he does not admire it. The only excuse for making a useless thing is that one admires it intensely. All art is quite useless.”
That’s from an Oscar Wilde book I read as an English major.
I don’t 100% agree, but I understand the sentiment.
Literature and writing have utility, but that makes them much less interesting than the reasons I got into this absurd field of study. And while I respectfully thank you for having me, the idea of defending those reasons in this manner is antithetical to both how and why I’ve spent my life.
Reading, writing, literary study… these are labors of love. They have little value to most people, or at least so say the market, culture, and consumers who believe art is owed to them for free, constantly streaming and all-too disposable.
Let’s be honest: English study is a pain, what with its emphasis on care and reflection and the slipperiness of its most interesting theories. Worse, being an English major or literary-minded person means accepting uncertainty. And these days, no one is comfortable in uncertainty. Literature doesn’t pretend to know anything for sure (unless it’s rubbish posing as literature). What good is that?
Yes, there is “inspirational” literature, but more times than not, you literary-minded suckers will have your hearts broken, your optimism challenged, your ability to understand thwarted, your sense of correctness decimated. At best, you’ll be better prepared for how unprepared we are in this world.
Let me stress this: English doesn’t assure you anything. The language is built on contradictions, exceptions, irregularities, baffling possibility. And worst of all: you’ll never master it. None of us do. Of what use is this to the society you’re rebuilding? Well… plenty, actually, but I can’t pretend that use is quantifiable. And while, unlike some of my esteemed colleagues, I would never assume my discipline’s value is self-evident, I don’t care to beg for shelter in this STEM storm.
So, if my survival is contingent on somehow justifying my chosen discipline’s utility, you should force my face into the cold water until the bubbles cease.
Thank you.
