A new academic year is set to begin after what was one of the most tumultuous years on college campuses since the Vietnam War–era protests. Depending on one’s perspective, higher education institutions have emerged as sites of protest against a disturbing foreign conflict rife with humanitarian crises; they have been dangerous hotbeds of radicalism threatening Jewish community members; or they have been testing grounds for the limits of free speech in the 21st century. From our vantage point, as the president and a faculty member at a small liberal arts college, all can be true, and it is precisely the legitimacy of multiple perspectives that has made life on campus this past year so difficult and demanding.
We can’t sugarcoat it, because we live it: The breakdown of dialogue on college campuses is real. The irony that liberal arts institutions of higher education are struggling to navigate diverse perspectives is not lost on us. Institutions of higher education insist that navigating differences is core to their work. Mission statements aplenty claim that being able to engage multiple viewpoints represents a central educational value. That so many colleges and universities are grappling with their most basic and central educational commitments should give pause.
It pushes us to ask a question that has largely gone unasked: Is a breakdown in how we now educate partially to blame for the current breakdown on campuses? In other words, is it us?
Current tumult has obscured a crucial organizing tenet of higher education: to be always in pursuit of greater understanding. It is cliché, perhaps. But in these toughest of days, we found ourselves thinking about the deeper implications of being “in pursuit.” To pursue understanding is to conceive of knowledge building as requiring continuous seeking, revising and questioning. Such an approach to learning is desperately needed today not only because it fosters curiosity (which it does) but also because it staves off absolutist impulses to deride and silence others’ views, impulses we have seen firsthand.
Consider, for example, a tremendously difficult class one of us co-taught on the history of blackface performances and minstrel practices during the early part of the 20th century at what was then our all-women’s college. Since the course dealt with deeply racist practices, the understandable desire to singularly condemn the college’s history was palpable. Indeed, at the start of the class, many students, most of whom were white, described their motivations for taking the class primarily in terms of exposing the college’s racist past. “Critique” was the language they spoke, which they took to mean uncovering the college’s blameworthy history, denouncing the practices they were studying and confirming their own absolutes about race and hypocrisy at elite institutions more broadly. They described their attachment to the institution as tenuous. It was clear that, to their thinking, college was a place to have an educational experience and receive a degree, while the notion that they might develop a sense of fidelity or obligation to a college with a racist history, or develop a complex understanding of a condemned practice, was an anathema.
But something different happened. What unfolded over the course of the semester was an exercise in the pursuit of understanding. If the students began the course convinced about the racist motivations of their counterparts in the early 20th century, their research complicated those assumptions. They learned that all-women performances of blackface at that time were quite rare, and so what was happening on campus then represented something distinct. Their inquiries led them to consider the transition from 19th-century Victorian models of white womanhood to newer formulations in the early 20th century that came to be known as first-wave feminism. They began to ask: Is it possible that these blackface performances contributed to this transition? Did commitments to feminism and gender equality at that time actually reinforce persistent racial inequalities? How is it possible that these young women could have genuinely believed they were pursuing a form of self-liberation through racist tropes and performances?
Their answers to these questions went in many directions, and none of them excused the racism of this time. But instead of vilifying these earlier students and refusing to understand perspectives different from their own, our students began to see their predecessors as flawed and complicated with multiple motivations; these included a daring to do what men were doing in an attempt to articulate their own desires for equality. Again, our students did not excuse these practices or the women who participated in them as much as they began to understand their behavior as sitting in a complex network of forces, a condition that may very well mark the human experience. Crucially in the final sets of class meetings, the students began to wonder about themselves as similarly flawed and circumscribed by social forces of which they may not be fully aware.
The effects of this insight on the students’ relationships to the institution were significant. They began to see the college in the early 20th century as a context in which young white women, many of whom were from the middle classes, were struggling to craft a self during a tumultuous time of changing norms. The parallels became obvious. The students began to understand that they too sit in cross-pressured contexts in which they are haltingly and fallibly trying to make sense of themselves in their own turbulent times.
We do not want to overstate the effects of the class; however, the experience gave students a profound encounter with the power of epistemic humility, an acknowledgement of the necessity of curiosity, nuance, uncertainty and multiple perspectives needed for building knowledge. That encounter expanded the students’ capacity to understand—and even have empathy for—a broader range of experiences and perspectives, a necessary condition for engaging the pluralism possible on a college campus.
The question facing higher education today is how to build these types of experiences. The good news is that this doesn’t require fancy lab equipment or other expensive infrastructure. It does require three basic elements—instructors committed to giving their students an experience of novel inquiry, primary sources and time. When faculty make clear that the entire purpose of the class is for students to figure out what they think, students begin to understand the power of question asking. From there, any question—from the teacher, their classmates and themselves—feels exploratory and enticing.
Primary sources—original documents or images—are vital because they cry out for multiple interpretations, functioning like a ball-and-socket joint around which students’ thoughts, ideas and questions can begin to turn. Critically, all this takes time. Students need time to trust that the instructor genuinely wants them to go on a journey of their own. And the meanings of images and texts surface slowly, yielding only to the student’s patience and persistence to ask questions from multiple perspectives.
At the end of the 19th century, William James insisted that education required “the habit of always seeing an alternative, of not taking the usual for granted, of making conventionalities fluid again, of imagining foreign states of mind.” In the 20th century, W. E. B. Du Bois worried about the dangers of education reinforcing “the overwhelming sense of the I, and the consequent forgetting of the Thou.” And in the 21st century, the feminist literary theorist Rita Felski asks, “Why—even as we extol multiplicity, difference, hybridity … are we so hyperarticulate about our adversaries?”
All three circle around the same idea. To be always in the pursuit of greater understanding is to confess that we have more to learn. It is to conceive of education as a process of relationship building between our own perspectives and experiences not our own. Without this, our relationships with those with different experiences risk becoming brittle and unsustainable. Unable to contain a community’s multitudes, we resort to excising—canceling—those whom we cannot countenance. The pursuit of understanding requires the opposite.
Today’s campuses need to develop and be given greater latitude for this version of learning. We know from experience that this process is messy, and we need to allow for that messiness, knowing that exploration, mistakes and missteps are all part of learning. We must resist the temptation to drop the “in pursuit” and focus only on the “understanding,” as if learning amounts to nothing more than the dogmatic piling up of facts.
The pursuit of understanding emphasizes the dynamics of learning, which necessarily expands our abilities to comprehend a broad range of perspectives and experiences. Most importantly, the pursuit of understanding pushes us to ask what sort of human each of us wants to be in relation to others. Our future together relies on being forever in pursuit.