English

I grew up in the Central Valley of California, mostly playing football, basketball, wiffleball, and golf. When not playing a sport of some sort or watching cartoons, I read a lot of Mark Twain, Nietzsche, and Mad Magazine (probably in that order). I found a volume of the Philokalia (a collection of monastic/mystical writings) in a closet and read Saint Maximos Confessor’s Four Centuries on Love. Looking back, I can see the profound effect this had on me. Then I read Shakespeare and was truly never the same. I was a terrible student and still think it’s funny that I have a Ph.D.

14th-Century English literature, the Pearl-Poet and the English mystics in particular; medieval biblical narrative/narrative exegesis (Old and Middle English); the work of René Girard and Emmanuel Levinas.

Anglo-Saxon and Medieval British Literature. Most students are pretty unfamiliar with medieval literature, most of it being filtered through movies and various pop-culture media, fantasy literature, or, even worse, the 19th Century. They are usually quite impressed with the sophistication and nuance of the poetic and theological insights of the age, and are even more taken aback at just how unserious these medieval poets could be. I especially love teaching 14th-century literature in the course, a time in which poets became conscious that English could function as a legitimate literary language, and that they could compete with, and even surpass, their literary models in Italy and France. The students seem to walk away having a much deeper admiration for their mother tongue. I also taught a year-long seminar on the works of Fyodor Dostoevsky. Indescribably amazing. 5,000 pages of Dostoevsky can be a bit of a slog, but so worth it. Spending a year with Dostoevsky reminded me of the famous quote by Saint Silouan the Athonite: “Keep your mind in hell and despair not.” When we concluded our final class, everyone kind of looked blankly at one another, somewhat in a daze, and I thought, “What a long, strange trip it’s been.”

I do have one favorite story, but it’s one I’ve witnessed countless times with many students. Watching a student discover the inexhaustible mystery of literature, indeed of language itself, is the chief reason I love to teach. There exists a moment in reading literature when the scales fall from one’s eyes, and one starts to see the words anew, literary connections flying in from all directions. One’s heart is overfilled, and the mind is set afire.

You’d be amazed at how wildly quirky people can be—students and professors alike, even a certain squirt-gun toting college president. One morning at 7:30 a.m., three students barged into my office and sang me a wonderful folk song with an accordion and violin accompaniment.

The rigors of study here are worth it. The key thing is to enjoy it. Take classes that sound interesting, that take you out of your comfort zone, that intimidate you. Don’t take too many credits, and don’t spread yourself thin. You will truly relish classes when you can immerse yourself in the material. This takes patience and focus.

That I can say to them “just follow your conscience,” and know that they will do exactly this, and know that they will do the right thing. Their diligence, their intelligence, and their goodness repeatedly humble me.

jjackson@hillsdale.edu