Franz Kafka left explicit directions concerning the journals, letters and manuscripts that would be found following his death: they were to be burned -- all of them -- unread. Whether he expected Max Brod, the executor of his estate, to follow through with his instructions is a matter of some debate. In any case, Brod refused, and the first volume of Kafka’s posthumous works came out shortly after the author’s death in 1925.
The disregard for his wishes can be explained, if not justified, on a couple of grounds. For one thing, Kafka was a lawyer, and he must have known that expressing his intentions in a couple of notes wouldn’t be binding -- it takes a will to set forth a mandate in ironclad terms. And, too, Brod was both Kafka’s closest friend and the one person who recognized him as a writer of importance, even of genius. Expecting Brod not to preserve the manuscripts -- much less to leave them unread! -- hardly seems realistic.
On the other hand, Kafka himself destroyed most of his own manuscripts and did so in the same way he told Brod to do it, by setting them on fire. It is reasonable to suppose he meant what he said. If so, world literature has been enriched by an act of blatant disloyalty.
“Don’t pull the Max Brod trick on me,” Michel Foucault is said to have admonished friends. The philosopher and historian did Kafka one better by including a blunt, categorical line in his will: “No posthumous publications.”
Be that as it may, in late spring the University of Minnesota Press issued Language, Madness, and Desire: On Literature, a volume of short texts by Foucault originally published in France two years ago and translated by Robert Bonnono. The same press and translator also turned the surviving pages of an autobiographical interview from 1968 into a little book with big margins called Speech Begins After Death. The title is kind of meta, since Foucault, like Kafka, seems to be having an unusually wordy afterlife.
Foucault died in June 1984, the very month that the second and third volumes of The History of Sexuality appeared. He left a fourth volume in manuscript, but given the circumstances, it was destined only for the archives. And so things stood for about a decade. There was the occasional lecture or transcript of an interview he had given permission to publish, with claims made it was the “final” or “last” Foucault. After a while this started to get kind of silly, and it only made the thinker’s absence more palpable. Daniel Defert, the administrator of his estate, had also been Foucault’s lover for many years, and he seems to have taken the ban on posthumous works to heart in a way that Max Brod never did.
But by 1994, Defert relented enough to allow a four-volume collection of Foucault’s essays and interviews to be published in France. (A few years later, the New Press brought out an abridged translation as the three-volumeEssential Works of Michel Foucault.) By the 20th anniversary of the thinker’s death in 2004, the situation had changed dramatically. Six of Foucault’s 13 courses of lectures at the Collège de France had been published and the rest were on the way. In September, Palgrave Macmillan is bringing out On the Punitive Society, at which point the whole series will be available in English. That adds another shelf’s worth of stout, dense and rich volumes to the corpus of Foucault’s work -- overlapping in various ways with the books he published (e.g., the Punitive Society lectures were given as he was working on Discipline and Punish) but developing his ideas along different trajectories and in front of an audience, sometimes in response to its questions.
In a paper published last year, John Forrester, a professor of history and philosophy at the University of Cambridge, expresses a mingled appreciation and dismay at how what he calls Foucault’s “pithy and ultra-clear command, ‘Pas de publication posthume,’” has been breached in the case of the Collège de France courses. The paper appears in Foucault Now: Current Perspectives in Foucault (Polity).
“Because these were public lectures,” writes Forrester, “they had already been placed in the public domain ‘dans son vivant,’ as the French language says, in his lifetime. Their transcription and editing therefore is not the production of posthumous texts, but the translation from one already published medium -- for instance, the tape recorder -- to another, the book.” While grateful that Brod and Defert “found a way to publish what Kafka and Foucault forbade them to publish,” he says, “that doesn’t mean to say I think they were right. They did right by me and many, very many, others. But I can’t see how they obeyed the legal injunction placed on them.”
Language, Madness, and Desire consists of six items it was not difficult to squeeze through that dans son vivant loophole, since they were delivered to audiences as radio broadcasts or lectures between 1963 and 1970. Speech Begins After Death is another matter entirely. It consists of the opening exchanges from a series of interviews Foucault gave to Claude Bonnefoy, a literary critic, in 1968. The plan had been to produce a book. It never came together for some reason (1968 was a big year for getting distracted), none of it was published and most of the transcript has been lost.
In short, there’s no real wiggle room for rationalizing Speech Begins After Death as permissible under the terms of Foucault’s will. And this is where things get interesting. To be blunt about it, Language, Madness, and Desire is not going to come as much of a revelation to anyone who has read, say, the literary essays in Language, Counter-Memory, Practice (the Cornell University Press anthology of Foucault’s work from the 1960s and early 1970s that’s still one of the best things out there). It would not be surprising if it turns out there are dozens of other such pieces which could slip past Foucault’s ban without adding much to the body of work he saw through the press.
By contrast, Speech Begins After Death is (1) a clear violation of the author’s wishes and (2) a pretty good example of why violating them might be a good idea. In later years Foucault was used to giving interviews but in 1968 he was uncomfortable with the whole process. Being treated as an author or a literary figure (rather than an academic) only makes him more nervous. As sometimes happens, the performance anxiety, once he gets it under control, inspires him to think out loud in a way that seems to surprise him.
One passage almost jumps off the page:
“As long as we haven’t started writing, it seems to be the most gratuitous, the most improbable thing, almost the most impossible, and one to which, in any case, we’ll never feel bound. Then, at some point -- is it the first page, the thousandth, the middle of the first book, or later? I have no idea -- we realize that we’re absolutely obligated to write. This obligation is revealed to you, indicated in various ways. For example, by the fact that we experience so much anxiety, so much tension if we haven’t finished that little page of writing, as we do each day. By writing that page, you give yourself, you give to your existence, a form of absolution. That absolution is essential for the day’s happiness.”
Like Kafka's demand for a book that “must be the ax for the frozen sea within us,” these lines are worth whatever guilt was incurred by whoever rescued them for us.
A group of University of Wisconsin at Madison faculty members are objecting to a bill in the state's Legislature that would ban research on the tissue of aborted fetuses.
The bill was introduced by Representative André Jacque in response to recently released videos showing a Planned Parenthood medical director meeting with fake buyers of intact fetal specimens. PROFS, an organization of Madison faculty, has registered its opposition to the bill, and Madison's dean of medicine and public health and the CEO of its medical school wrote an op-ed in the Milwaukee Journal Sentinel opposing the proposed legislation.
“PROFS has consistently opposed legislation that limits potentially life-saving research on campus,” Judith Burstyn, PROFS president and a chemistry professor at Madison, said in a statement. “UW-Madison is an international leader in stem cell research, and this legislation could bring that research to a devastating halt.”
Submitted by Paul Fain on August 12, 2015 - 3:00am
Lawrence Lessig is a law professor at Harvard University, a prominent advocate for open-access technology and government reform, and director of the university's Edmond J. Safra Center for Ethics. He's also considering an unusual campaign for the U.S. presidency.
"I will run to be a referendum president if two conditions are met: if we hit our fund-raising target by Labor Day and the leading candidates in the Democratic primary fail to make citizen equality the first priority of their administration," Lessig said on his exploratory committee website. "The key challenge now is making the fund-raising goal. That’s up to you and people like you. If we can raise $1 million for this campaign by Labor Day, then I will run with every ounce of my being."
His candidacy would be of the single-issue variety, and how. Lessig said he would represent a single referendum in his run: to reform the political process. As a candidate and president, he said he would push the U.S. Congress to reduce the influence of money in politics, to eliminate gerrymandering and to prevent roadblocks for people to vote. After that legislation is passed, Lessig said he would resign as president.
"The best presidents are collaborators. They work with Congress as partners over long periods of time. I don’t want to collaborate with these people, and I don’t want to be their partners. I want to force them to act on this issue and then get the hell out of the White House," he said. "This reform needs someone willing to burn as well as build bridges, if need be. I’m running to be that SOB."
Data prepared by Thomson Reuters show a significant spike since 2009 in the number of scientific papers with many, many authors -- at least 50 and more than 1,000, The Wall Street Journal reported. One recent physics paper had 5,154 authors, perhaps a record.
Fall begins, and the email arrives: “Dear Faculty, welcome to the 67th annual blah, blah, blah. So-and-so won this award, so-and-so had a baby, don’t forget your new copy codes (sorry they come with fewer actual copies), have a wonderful new academic year.”
There’s nothing wrong with the tradition of a fall kickoff email, but as a composition professor, the ones I’ve most often received have struck me as missed opportunities for something … more. What if, rather than transactional (dean writes to faculty members; faculty members read and hit “delete”) the messages were relational (dean and faculty members write to each other)? What if the messages offered genuine reminders of the attributes and behaviors both sides, administrative and professorial, most need from each other to accomplish their common goals?
Luckily, I was able to find an associate dean -- as it happens, my own -- who was willing to attempt this experiment with me. Here is our first attempt at a new-and-improved “Dear Dean/Dear Faculty” sequence -- the sort of thing that could be posted to a common wiki or team site and thus become a living document, not something forgotten by the time Labor Day looms.
Eek, this makes me more vulnerable than I expected!
1. I’m overwhelmed a lot. All of us faculty members are. Teaching takes a lot of energy -- sometimes I feel as though there are a million grabbing hands all over me, like I'm in a Walking Dead rerun. This is why sometimes, when I see you walking down the hall, I avoid eye contact -- it is stupid, it sets an unfriendly tone, it probably makes you feel unwanted and invisible. But I get afraid you are going to ask me to do something I don’t have time to do, and that I won’t know how to say no.
2. Treat us like the talent. You know me -- I’m the person who told a job candidate that “don’t be a diva” was my faculty mantra -- so this might sound surprising, but hear me out. Think of when we were job candidates. Think of all the efforts you took to put us through our paces, all the show-offy stuff we did to earn that slot away from hundreds of hopefuls. You were excited, then, about us -- what we could do, what we could bring. We are still those people -- competitive, vital, exciting. Remember to see us that way, even though we’ve become familiar. Don’t let familiarity breed contempt.
3. Don’t hold grudges. Nothing is more tempting when you are in a position of power, and nothing is more fatal to community. You will never hear the truth about something in your management style that is landing wrong -- no matter how often you claim to be “open to feedback” -- if word gets around that you grip onto grievances. If, on the other hand, you wipe the slate clean between rounds (mixed metaphor), nothing will earn you longer-lasting respect.
4. Be inspiring. By necessity, a lot of our relationship is quotidian. My schedule isn’t working. You need a copy of my textbook order. My request for sabbatical was approved or it wasn’t. But when you can, if you can, I’d love for you to remind me of the bigger picture. When a student writes you to express satisfaction, can you take a minute to forward that on? If a tough meeting goes well or something exciting is on the horizon, can you share that? If I know something motivating and positive is likely to come out of your mouth … well, let’s just say I’ll always make eye contact for that.
While I can imagine some of my administrator colleagues shaking their heads at me for being so naïve, your openness makes me want to take this leap with you.
1. We’re happy you’re back. Seriously, we’re like excited dinner party hosts -- all the hard work and planning have come down to this, when you and your students finally meet and the magic unfolds! So this may sound like a little thing, but when you stop in to pick up your mail this week, please don’t ask all the office staff if they “did anything fun over the break.” And if you do, understand that we’re all going to roll our eyes a little bit. Most of the staff didn’t get a break. Most of us have been here day in and day out, plugging away all summer long to get things ready for you.
2. Be flexible. Centralized scheduling put your class that in that creepy biology lab with all the taxidermy birds. Your partner’s work schedule has changed and that morning class is now going to pose some challenges. Your semester leave request was denied -- again. Believe me, I get it, and I want to help you with all of this. But sometimes the answer is going to be no. We can’t swap your room with the one down the hall because there’s another course going into it in two weeks. I already canceled two other classes so your morning section would have enough students. Your project wasn’t supported because a dozen of your colleagues also put in great proposals and there just wasn’t enough money for them all. There’s almost always a bigger picture, and very few of the decisions I get to make are simple or come without some trade-offs. So I need you to be flexible and forgiving if things don’t break your way. I promise, I’ll do everything I can to balance things out the next time around.
3. We play for the same team. Almost everyone at the college -- the janitors who reset the classrooms each night, the admissions staff and advisers who field countless questions from students and parents, the managers of the bookstore, the staff at the testing and tutoring centers, the administrative assistants and everyone in between -- takes great pride in the role they play in the educational mission of the institution. I know you know this, but sometimes you seem to forget. Be respectful of your teammates: respond to communications in a timely manner, meet key deadlines and be gracious when people ask for your assistance.
4. Keep me in the loop. I know you’re overwhelmed, and that your focus is often on just getting through the next bit of grading. But the more you can keep me informed about your plans -- and potential problems -- the easier it will be to find ways to support you. I’m always going to try to find a way to make things work, but you’ll increase the likelihood of our collective success if you give me time to plan, so give me a heads-up whenever you think something has the potential to come my way.
5. Be excellent. It sounds both simple and grandiose, but it’s really the bottom line. No amount of hard work and planning on anyone’s part matters at all if you and your students don’t excel. My job as an administrator is to nurture and support this success in all the ways I can, but often it’s simply going to come down to your own passion and drive to do extraordinary things. If this is going to work, we both have to bring our A games, and we’re going to have challenge everyone around us to be the very best they can be, too. Let’s do it!
In a higher education landscape in which administrators and faculty are too often posited as enemies -- or at least not as natural friends -- a simple exercise like this can promote mindfulness, connection, empathy and reciprocity. And that, we’d argue, is the best way to start the year.
Nicole Matos is a Chicago-based writer and associate professor of English at the College of DuPage. She is the author of three chapbooks of poetry: Oxidane (BlazeVox Books, 2014), The Astronaut’s Apprentice (Dancing Girl Press, 2015) and Skate/Glove (with Carlo Matos, Finishing Line Press, forthcoming 2016). Follow her on Twitter @nicole_matos2.
Sheldon Walcher is associate dean of English and academic ESL at the College of DuPage.
Amid calls for his termination, Central Connecticut State suspends professor who's had skirmishes with the law -- even though none of the crimes and alleged crimes relate to teaching or publications. When professors break the law, what should a college do?
OneLogin’s recent recruitment campaign showing diverse engineers on billboards in the San Francisco Bay Area inspired a viral hashtag: #ILookLikeAnEngineer.
Frustrated by the microaggressions we experience as “nontraditional” faculty, we started a new hashtag: #ILookLikeAProfessor. The flurry of photos, retweets and horror stories since last Thursday suggests that we are not alone in experiencing entrenched stereotypes and bias -- both subtle and explicit.
The female professor mistaken for an undergraduate. She was grading homework, not doing it.
Male teaching assistants assumed to be the professor.
Faculty members of color assumed to be the custodian.
Asian professors assumed to be Chinese food delivery drivers.
We are not making this up.
These are real posts from real people -- real professors in diverse fields across the United States -- who do not fit the stereotype of a 60-something, white male professor, usually in tie and tweed. Extra credit if glasses and a beard came to mind.
With the start of the new academic year just around the corner, it’s worth remembering how much the professoriate has changed over the past half century. The civil rights movement, feminism, gay rights, the Americans With Disabilities Act and more transformed many aspects of society, including the academy. It’s time for our assumptions about faculty to catch up with reality.
So, who are we?
We are economists and art historians, musicians and engineers, chemists and sociologists, poets and mathematicians.
We are black, brown and white -- and every shade in between.
We come in all shapes, sizes and proportions.
We are feminine, masculine and androgynous -- and sometimes we look different one day to the next.
We are queer, straight and questioning.
We speak many languages, and some of us have accents.
We have voices high and low, loud and soft.
We wear suits and jeans, hiking boots and high heels.
We have dreads and dyed hair -- and yes, some of us do have beards.
We wear glasses and contacts, ties and scarves, kipot and hijabs.
We have earrings, tattoos and piercings -- only some of which you can see.
We are partnered and single, parents and child-free, caregivers and neighbors.
We are Christian and atheist, Muslim and Jewish, Hindu and Buddhist, pagan and agnostic.
We are athletes and bookworms, hikers and artists, musicians and chefs, gardeners and dog walkers.
In other words, we look just like you.
We look like professors because we are professors. It’s long past time that we ditch the stereotype.