How to Not Annoy Your Class

By Colin Relihan Slowly Losing My Mind

“It is better to keep your mouth shut and appear stupid than to open it and remove all doubt.” – Mark Twain

Unfortunately, not everyone at Georgetown follows this advice. Whatever happened to speaking plainly and succinctly? Whatever happened to speaking to the point? I know that we have all amassed erratas of knowledge that allow us to ramble esoterically on some subject or another. Such knowledge also allows us to toss advanced terms and phrases into our speech. These erudite phrases make us feel good. They make us sound intelligent.

Of course, there’s a difference between sounding intelligent and actually being intelligent. Shocking, isn’t it? Nevertheless, this point needs to be driven home every so often.

Sometimes, we (myself included) get so caught up with grades and with impressing our professors that we forget why we’re here: to get an education. Unfortunately, nobody learns much from the sound of his or her own voice. Perhaps it’s time to turn down volume on that chatterbox of yours and listen to someone else for a change. Even though you may know everything there is to know about the existentialism of Kant or the foreign policy of Angola, the person two desks behind you may have something they can add to the conversation. Didn’t your mother ever tell you to listen to the other children?

To further illustrate my point (and just because I enjoy singling out people who annoy me), I’ve included three profiles of self-important classroom speakers, types which you may have seen in one of your classes. These types may actually describe you. The lesson: If any of these sounds like you, stop.

Latinum ad nauseum obnoxium – Doesn’t everybody love Latin? Some people do. They love it so much, they feel the need to throw a Latin phrase into everything they write or say.

On one hand, a knowledge of any language is wonderful. To understand another culture, to read it, to speak it or just to learn it for the sake of learning are all great reasons for learning Latin, Greek, Chinese, etc. On the other hand, spouting out sentence fragments in the high-brow language of your choice in order to impress a classroom is not as great a reason.

This is true for any language. For instance, the next person I hear using “Zeitgeist” in everyday language loses a kidney. The only reason people implant such phrases in everyday speech is so they can feel superior to their “non-Zeitgeisting” friends. As much as the intern-happy and résumé-building atmosphere of this university may suggest otherwise, gaining a sense of intellectual superiority is not the purpose of education. So, cut the cura personalises and the je ne sais quois and treat other students on this campus as what they are – equals.

Philosophy name-droppers – Undoubtedly, you have heard someone in one of your classes begin a comment like this, “You know, I’ve read Plato, and .” Blah, blah, blah. Congratulations, you’ve read Plato. Want a cookie?

The same thing applies to philosophers as to languages – they’re great to learn, but when someone delivers their enlightenment in this fashion, blatantly and pompously, it really doesn’t help anything – the discussion, the class or anyone else. The only thing name-dropping prefaces increase is the speaker’s ego.

If you have something to say, say it. If the only way you can make something you have to say sound important is by affixing a achiavelli or Kierkegaard-approved sticker on it, then perhaps what you have to say isn’t all that important.

By the way, this applies to other similar commentary introductions as, “Well, I’ve been to Greece, and.” or, “Well, I’ve studied the history of Guatemala since the age of five, so.” Again, if you have something to say, say it. If not, use the $30,000 you pay to go here to hire yes-men to listen attentively to your blatant self-promotion.

“. Don’t you think?” – Picture this: In class one day, one of your professors opens the floor to questions. One student raises his hand, gets called on, and starts talking: “Communism in Eastern Europe . blah, blah, blah . leads to social instability . blah, blah . and of course Poland was no exception . incessant blah, blah . Don’t you think?”

First of all, that’s not a question. It’s a long-winded statement with a paltry attempt to tack on a question at the end to keep that person from looking like a fool. Too late. Instead of allowing another student to ask a question, a question that might actually help someone understand the subject matter, our Lord of the Talk here decided his mouth was more important than the minds of the 40 or 50 other students in the class. Unless you’re a president, a congressman or the professor, your overwhelmingly verbose commentary is not that important. If you truly feel the need, tell the professor your grandiose thesis after class but let everyone else learn in the interim.

I’m not saying that people who do these things are not intelligent. They are. In general, everyone at Georgetown is bright.

That’s just it. We’re all intelligent. So, being intelligent, we should all know by now that people learn more when they advance and broaden the discussion. People learn more when what they hear increases their understanding of the world, not the ego of the speaker.

So, before you throw a habilis dominus ex factus est or a, “Of course, as you all know, as Hobbes said in `Leviathan’,” or even another pseudo-question into a conversation, think: Are you helping anyone, or are you just exalting your own delusions of grandeur?

Slowly Losing My Mind appears every other Tuesday in The Hoya.