Perhaps the best place to look at Terror Management Theory on a personal scale isn’t in the worldly examples we talk about in class, but rather in our class environment itself. Whether we’re talking about mortality directly or circling around it through conversation of climate change and world strife, one could argue that our class content serves as a continuous series of death reminders.
What’s the result? Well, we see it every class session. People strongly assert their values, speak with fervor, and often try to sway others to their own beliefs. This isn’t a bad thing – it simply means that the role of contemplative practices is especially crucial and has the potential to have a great impact.
Contemplative practices break open an environment full of seemingly-endless existential pondering. During our first practice, after a class period that overwhelmed me in ways my calculus and biology classes never have, I let myself simply let go of an obsession with thoughts. I treated them like clouds moving across the sky and found a peace that I often lose when engaging in difficult conversations.
When we spend so much time thinking and talking about death in our class, contemplative practices offer a time to decompress. It feels like a reversal as we move from brain to body. Contemplative practices ground me. When life’s larger questions and existential dread become too much, our class contemplative practices give me the space to focus on my body rather than my thoughts.
For some people, perhaps the practices are about an appreciation of the mind, thoughts, and thinking. I personally find the most peace when I let my mind do what it wants and focus rather on the physical space I occupy in the world. We spend most of our class time leaning into our thoughts and thinking deeply about the world. Then through contemplative practices we’re away from the structured, analytical thinking we bring to class discussions. I feel my presence in our classroom and always am in a better mental state to connect with my classmates afterwards.
Contemplative practices ease the jarring effects of death reminders. In practices, I don’t feel the pressure to prove my world views and cling to social beliefs, but rather a sense of stillness in appreciating my presence in our world. I’m not pessimistic about the future or fighting against an overwhelming sea of issues. For a precious moment, life is as it is.
Sofia,
Your post is so beautiful; I think it captures the tranquility that contemplative practices facilitate for so many of us inside (and outside) of the classroom.
I particularly enjoyed your note about how much time we spend thinking and talking about death in classes and the effects this can have on students. I think back to my four of years at UW and the constant bombardment of death-related material I consume, especially because I am an LSJ and Political Science student. It makes sense that the more students consume this material, the more they are exposed to and internalize it. Moreover, we often burn these images into our minds for the sake of rote memorization or relaying it on a test – even horrific historical lessons that create massive amounts of inner turmoil.
Your post makes me think about how students may manifest class lessons in our bodies in ways we are not even cognizant of. For many students, we leave the classroom, do our homework, and then turn off our brains. We don’t connect our personal selves to our academic selves and in doing so, compress all educational material, regardless of its dark nature. Over time, I wonder how much build-up this creates our bodies – how much of the material do we “hang” onto – both physically and mentally?
I’ve read countless studies about how the material we consume/the experiences we are subjected to can manifest in the body and it seems like the lessons we learn in the classroom are no different. For anyone interested in replying – have you ever noticed after a particularly hard lesson a heavy feeling in your body, an unstable temperament, or any variation in behavior or well-being? Do you think you’ve ever harbored a lesson without realizing it?
Sofia,
Your post is so beautiful; I think it captures the tranquility that contemplative practices facilitate for so many of us inside (and outside) of the classroom.
I particularly enjoyed your note about how much time we spend thinking and talking about death in classes and the effects this can have on students. I think back to my four of years at UW and the constant bombardment of death-related material I consume, especially because I am an LSJ and Political Science student. It makes sense that the more students consume this material, the more they are exposed to and internalize it. Moreover, we often burn these images into our minds for the sake of rote memorization or relaying it on a test – even horrific historical lessons that create massive amounts of inner turmoil.
Your post makes me think about how students may manifest class lessons in our bodies in ways we are not even cognizant of. For many students, we leave the classroom, do our homework, and then turn off our brains. We don’t connect our personal selves to our academic selves and in doing so, compress all educational material, regardless of its dark nature. Over time, I wonder how much build-up this creates our bodies – how much of the material do we “hang” onto – both physically and mentally?
I’ve read countless studies about how the material we consume/the experiences we are subjected to can manifest in the body and it seems like the lessons we learn in the classroom are no different. For anyone interested in replying – have you ever noticed after a particularly hard lesson a heavy feeling in your body, an unstable temperament, or any variation in behavior or well-being? Do you think you’ve ever harbored a lesson without realizing it?