A philosophical theory of professorial passion
With the Latin American Studies debacle of the past couple of semesters, a few humanities and social sciences professors have taken the stage in some less-than-flattering spotlights.
Professors are blamed, sometimes deservingly, for causing discontent among their students and their peers. People around campus talk a lot about problems they have with distribution and minors, and students often get frustrated to learn that the distribution buck stops at their professors’ willingness — or lack thereof — to engage in Rice bureaucracy. Amidst this winter of discontent, students and faculty alike rarely take time to reflect on the positive impact Rice professors can have on their students.
Professors who specialize in small-group seminars and active office hours at Rice seldom get the recognition they so thoroughly deserve. But for the next few hundred words, I want to reverse that trend. This column is dedicated to one of those pillars of Rice’s schools of humanist studies. His name is Mark Kulstad, and he has two great passions in this world: Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz, and his students. Kulstad has taught philosophy at Rice since 1975, and he chaired the department during the first Bush’s presidency. Since I arrived at Rice, he has been the department’s undergraduate major advisor, and he was the first philosophy professor I ever had.
Kulstad’s enthusiasm in that first philosophy class, a survey of the later history of the field, was absolutely irresistible. He flew across the chalkboard, spilling clouds of dust and praise for the natural philosophers of the early Modern period. He narrated the problem of Descartes’ evil demon with the tongue-in-cheek ease of Mark Twain and the intensity of a hungry Labrador puppy. The combination of straightforward explanation and pleading for participation enraptured the class, and as we students walked out of the classroom, we would whisper to each other our guiltiness about not reading the assignments closely enough.
As the semester went on, I expected Kulstad to drop the act. The passion he brought to every class seemed exhausting: He occasionally lost control of his chalk, his gesticulations, or the volume of his voice in the midst of a rapturous retelling of Berkeley’s idealism or Hume’s theory of the passions.
But when I began visiting Kulstad during his office hours, I realized he had not relented in his feverish performance because there was no act to drop. I have never quite been able to get over how much this man simply loves teaching philosophy, or how rewarding it is to find myself on the other end of that infatuation. His eagerness is literally infectious, and I was particularly susceptible.
I have been plopping down in Kulstad’s office chair a couple of times each month since that first philosophy class, and my motivation to pursue my own doctorate in philosophy always rekindles itself before I leave. The conversations I have from that chair often begin as chats about classes — although not necessarily his courses — but the talk is easily diverted from curricular worries. I have found invaluable counsel on switching majors, dealing with life as an undergraduate and selecting graduate programs from my seat at Kulstad’s desk.
The moral of these stories is that one man at this university has changed the course of my life and he has kept me going on that new course. When I walk out of the Sallyport in a few months and point my diploma in philosophy toward graduate school, I will know exactly who to thank — and I will wave a tearful goodbye to his office as I go. And with all the passionate professors that populate Rice’s humanities and social sciences departments, I am fairly sure I will not be the only one mourning the loss of a mentor. So thanks, Professor K, and thanks to all the professors who devote their lives to changing those of their students. I hope I can join you someday.
Julia Bursten is a Lovett College senior and former Editor in Chief.
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