A jokingly uttered stray remark threw
me, the other day. It was said during a tenth grade Literature class, first
thing in the morning. We had just had a rather heated round of argument among
the students on whether a character in a story (a Chekov story, if that’s
important) could be judged less harshly because he felt terrible pangs of
conscience while contemplating a murder or should be damned for contemplating
murder at all. The matter hadn’t been settled, but we all had (kind of) agreed
to disagree.
It was at that point that the class
asked for a two-minute break, before moving on. That was customary, since I do
make a habit of giving breaks. Then they asked if they could snack during the
break. That, too, was customary. Very often I allow my students to eat during
breaks – can’t have them dreaming of food instead of focussing on Chekov. In
fact, at a workshop on improving one’s effectiveness during teaching, I once
saw a video of an ‘ideal’ class atmosphere where every student sat with his
sandwich and soda, relaxed, sated, and so, able to focus.
But that’s a digression (and a debatable
topic). To get back to my Literature class that day, initially I refused them
permission to eat since I felt it was too early in the morning – rather soon
after breakfast time. The students, of course, convinced me that they needed
the food, so I eventually gave in. Then came the shocker, when a student
casually remarked, “You are the only teacher with whom we are so gentlemanly
and ask for permission before eating – because we know you usually allow us to
eat. In other classes, we just hide our food and eat, anyway.”
I stared at him in disbelief. He grinned back. And this
brings us right back to the topic of ethics.
Does one ask for permission only when
assured of a positive answer? Is the possibility of a negative answer simply
solved by breaking rules?
Before damning students, I tried to see
if I could find the same principle (it’s ironic to call it a ‘principle’,
really) applied to adults, as well – about more serious matters than grabbing a
bit of a sandwich in class.
I found, it does. Only, we call it the
‘need to know’ principle. The boss will not understand if we tell him that we
need to stay home to catch up on playing with the kids one day, that the
parent-child relationship really needs urgent repair work. So the boss need not
know about our reason for not reporting to work – a bout of food poisoning will
do fine, instead. Would a pick-pocket ask for permission to take someone’s
wallet, if he knew that the answer would be positive?
Life, of course, offers her own little
jokes and irony. Soon after the class, back at my desk, I was mulling over the
remark, when another student came in to ask if he could have a word with me. He
had been discussing various community service plans (as a part of his project)
with me over the last few days, and he had at last come up with an idea. “Shall
I organise a lecture series on ethics in various professions, and wrap up the
series by forming a code of ethics for our students to pledge allegiance to,
and follow?” he asked.
We do live in a brave new world, after
all.
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