Teaching mindfully.

Heroism and Tragedy, Healing and Bereavement in the Student-Teacher Relationship

"You do not know this monster and that is the reason you are not afraid. I who know him am terrified." [1]

At the end of spring semester 2002, one of my students died after a long battle with cancer. I met Sylvia during my second year of full-time teaching, and after the first class session, she explained that she might miss class occasionally due to chemotherapy treatments but that she didn't want other students to know because she didn't wish to be treated differently. My husband had undergone a bone marrow transplant for a relapse of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma just two years before and was just beginning to recover fully after many complications. The problem of suffering was a primary subject of this introductory theology course, so between our shared experiences and the course material, Sylvia and I had several occasions to dialogue about her health, its impact on her husband and son, and her own and other's spiritual reactions to it. She faced her health, her treatments, and her faith journey with courage, what seemed to be unfailing confidence, and some frustration at continually being confronted with others' lack of equal spiritual maturity. (Some fellow students and church-goers had suggested that God must've given her cancer as punishment for some hidden sin.) At her memorial service on campus, every professor who spoke shared that their teaching relationship with her had included at least as much mutual learning and collegiality than mentoring.

Teaching relationships often seem to overlap with some journey of tragedy or healing in the life of the student, and sometimes end in bereavement. How do we partner with students and colleagues as they encounter tragedy, work through healing, and survive bereavement, especially as we ourselves are affected by these same human conditions? The relationship between the oldest known tragic hero of world literature and his dearest friend suggests a model. The late third- to early second-millennium BCE Assyrian Epic of Gilgamesh is the story of a historical third-millennium Mesopotamian king. "When the gods created Gilgamesh, they gave him a perfect body." [2] Though described as two-thirds god and one-third human, spiritual and social maturity didn't counterbalance Gilgamesh's physical perfection. He became arrogant and restless, so the gods created a wild man, Enkidu, to be his equal and companion. The tragedy seems to begin even before they meet, when Enkidu is civilized by wisdom (a woman), a transformation which leads him to weep and sigh, "I am oppressed by idleness." [3] This lesson seems to provide a useful warning to both students and teachers: Though learning leads to tragic self-awareness and suffering, once that learning process begins, idleness (or neglect of learning) will only create more suffering.

When the two companions prepare to battle evil, chaos, and the unknown, Gilgamesh's beautiful and wise mother Queen Ninsun counsels Enkidu and her son with authority: "Do not trust too much in your own strength, be watchful ... The good guide who knows the way guards his friend." [4] On the eve of the battle, Enkidu becomes anxious. "Keep beside me and your weakness will pass," Gilgamesh reassures him. "When two go together each will protect himself and shield his companion." [5] Ninsun and Gilgamesh's ...