Ideological Rigidity (With a Side of Genre)(Adventures in Teaching)
Several semesters ago, I experienced what I’m going to call the indoctrination of young Americans. No, I am not necessarily referring to a specific political indoctrination, though one of the examples I will describe below falls along a left/right political spectrum. Rather, I am talking about the odd absence of critical thinking skills among college-age (or transitioning high school/college) students, whether derived from a neutered public education system or something else entirely. What I’ve discovered through my teaching in Florida is a hard shift to ideological rigidity, by which students verbally or mentally refuse to consider the multiple sides of issues about which they have already developed an opinion. I don’t want to suggest that this is an absolute ideological rigidity, though; there are always exceptions. However, when this rigid view of the issues rears its ugly head, it proves devastating to the ability to develop a relatively sound argument. In most cases, those with the most rigid ideological stances were less able to imagine counterarguments, even when the most obvious ones were available by a quick Google search, more likely to assert claims without evidence or reasoning, and less willing to engage with stances contrary to their own. Granted, what I’m saying is largely anecdotal, so take what I present here for what it is. To demonstrate what I mean, I’d like to provide the following examples: Example #1: Eating Dog Debate I have a tendency to intentionally stick students in groups in which they have to argue positions with which I know they personally disagree. Part of the reason I do this is to force them to use their brains to consider the other side of the aisle, as such discussions are necessary, I think, to understand the complexities of any given position. It is also about respect. You cannot possibly have a civil debate if you are incapable of showing respect to the other side (where respect is reasonable, of course). In all fairness, my desire to have civil debates in class is born from my increasing disinterest in the quality of ordinary conversation about just about anything. Even when discussions about relatively pointless subjects spring up, such as which science fiction TV show is “the best,” the discourse surrounding that topic has a tendency to veer towards rhetorical violence. My class debates, unfortunately, have not helped instill confidence in me that civil discourse is possible as a norm. Anywho. In this particular scenario, I put students into two groups: one would argue that eating dog was wrong, while the other would argue the opposite (they were reading this essay). One of my students emphatically said he would not take part in the debate because he thought eating dog was wrong. When I asked him why, he couldn’t say. That’s just what he thought. I pressed him further, and he still could not say. He just believed that eating dog was wrong. Only after I reminded him that I didn’t expect him to believe that eating dog is right by the end of the debate did this student reluctantly join in the discussion with his group. The result of the debate was about what I expected after discussing the issue with that student. The group with the most people set against eating dog found it nearly impossible to imagine the counterargument about why eating dog might be a good idea (note: I don’t actually agree with this, but I can understand the arguments people make in favor of eating dog). They struggled with basic facts such as nutritional value, cultural differences, food taboos, and so on. The opposite group also struggled, but they were more ready to argue from cultural value than their pro-dog-eating counterparts. After all, when you get right down to it, dogs serve all manner of purposes in our society, even beyond the basic function as a companion species. But they are also food sources in many parts of the world; as Foer notes in his essay (see above), we willingly exterminate millions of dogs every year, which means their potential nutritional value is wasted. But the pro-eating-dog group couldn’t think about these issues, though the anti-eating-dog group had its own problems (responding to arguments with emotion-driven claims). But because the who was tasked with exploring the value of dog as a potential food product couldn’t argue the position with which they were tasked, they lost the debate by a mile. Example #2: Drilling for Oil In another case, I put the same class of students into two groups: one arguing that we should drill for oil in state parks, and one arguing the exact opposite. This time, I intentionally stuck people into groups where they would be arguing from their own position on the issue, though there were a couple of students who didn’t care either way. The result? Pretty much the same thing. When challenged by their opponents on the matter of the environment, the pro-drilling group seemed unwilling to recognize the valid points lodged against them. Instead, they repeated the same claim over and over or dodge the question entirely. They had no response to the very real problem posed by drilling in general — namely, that it does not have a track record of safety, and so assurances that damage to public parks would be kept to a minimum fell on deaf ears. The anti-drilling group, however, didn’t have a response to the legitimate concern regarding the economy. They were certain that the nation would simply have to find other means of producing energy and that this could be achieved without any serious impact on the economy. When it was pointed out to this group that we had already reached a point at which a slow shift toward renewable fuels would be impossible, they resorted to the dodging/repetitive tactics. The latter group won the debate, largely because they backed up their claims with evidence more often than their opponents. However, both groups demonstrated a degree of intransigence that made debating