On making opening remarks

What does it mean to start a conversation? Over the past two years, as a columnist for Spectator, I have struggled with this concept. My goal has been to start what usually happens organically, to jump-start discussion without knowing where it will lead. I titled my column “Opening Remarks,” because I imagined that what I wrote would not comprise a dialogue in itself, but would serve as tinder for discourse. Measuring my own success is impossible. However, this process has given me an insight into the state of discussion at Columbia. In many ways it is healthy, robust, and productive. I have certainly experienced conversations with brilliant and thoughtful people who have an earnest desire to understand the world. Such talk is characterized by its length, breadth, and ability to catalyze further consideration. It does not stagnate, but becomes something to share with others—an idea that begs further contribution.

Sadly, our campus has had too few instances of widespread interpersonal discussion. This is in part because the Columbia model of communication frequently resembles trench warfare. Dialogue becomes a slog as individual schools of thought erect the barbed wire of specialized vocabulary, oversensitivity, and hyperbolic rhetoric. A conversation, supposed to be a mutual exchange, becomes a diplomatic ballet to avert offending the sensibilities of the other party. While formalized institutions and departments bring ideas into contact with each other, individuals on the ground often only interact with thinkers of their own persuasion.

Occasionally, we make meaningful connections. Like Paul Bäumer in “All Quiet on the Western Front” who becomes trapped in a hole with a French soldier he has shot, we find ourselves encountering an individual, not a mass. The exchange proves shocking as the faceless corpus of opposition gives way to profoundly human interactions. We are suddenly reminded that there are humans behind the arguments, and, like those rare personal encounters between wartime enemies, our conversations gain perspective. These interactions need not be the exception. I can think of two ways that we can begin the process of increasing the infection of dialogue and recovering the lost ground of intellectual entrenchment.

The first relates to the backbone of our education, the Core Curriculum. It has remained the centerpiece of what it means to be educated at Columbia for more than 90 years, mainly because of the academic interpersonal dialogue that it produces. I can think of nothing more beneficial for our personal and intellectual development than placing students from all the departments in CC and SEAS into a room, giving them a common ground of literature or philosophy, and facilitating discussion. Through the many clashes and conciliations of classroom debate we begin to understand each other and ourselves. However, this invaluable experience does not exist without threat. Recently, the Core has moved from being an intellectual environment in which professors considered it an honor to participate in to one that is dominated by graduate students. As regulations about which graduate students can teach increase, there are bound to be larger classes and, consequently, less involved discussion in class. To combat this decline, we cannot rely on others. The powers that be frequently find themselves in a position where larger classes and less qualified instructors are of financial benefit to Columbia. Rather than rely on them, we, as students, need to strenuously reassert the importance of a Core Curriculum defined by intimate class sizes and over-qualified professors. These classes are the beginnings of thoughtful dialogue throughout campus.

Smaller classes alone do not achieve the aim of enriched on-campus dialogue, however. They must be paired with a thoughtful and willing student body. While the intellectual caliber of Columbia’s undergraduates is certainly not lacking, its productivity becomes crippled from a collective tendency to overstretch. Rather than leave room in our schedules to elevate our class work from drudgery to scholarly exploration, we allocate only the bare necessity of time to complete assignments. The remaining time is filled with extracurriculars, community service, and other preoccupations.

Professor Helfand’s advocacy for a tighter cap on class registration cuts to the heart of this problem. He proposes limiting the number of classes that students can take and increasing the substance and teaching time of the remaining courses. He argues convincingly that such a system would promote a more meaningful understanding of the subject material and prompt students to dedicate genuine thought to their studies, not just requisite work hours to complete assignments.

The end goal is to promote what can only be called thoughtfulness. That is the characteristic that serves as the foundation for the considerate and authentic interactions that bring intellectual factions together in an atmosphere of contagious conversation. Absent this virtue, we remain entrenched in the obstinate camps of oppositional conflict. The encounter may evoke stings of disagreement, but the ultimate product is a truly vibrant atmosphere of thinking.

Derek Turner is a Columbia College junior majoring in anthropology and political science. Opening Remarks runs alternate Mondays.