In the following, insert 'The Lord' or 'Holy Order Man/Prophet' where appropriate in place of 'professor' - you'll know where. It's how I think about adding to the scriptures. I know it's a bit long - 6 short paragraphs - but my sentiment - exactly. I've done my best to express my thoughts in non-scriptural terms. It's a metaphor but I think it makes sense. Thoughts?
The Professor’s Prerogative: Defining the Course, Setting the Standard
In the realm of higher education, a fundamental principle governs the structure of university courses: the professor holds the authority to determine the materials and texts that form the backbone of the curriculum. This prerogative ensures that a course remains a coherent, focused exploration of a subject, guided by the expertise and judgment of the instructor. While students are free—encouraged, even—to delve into supplementary resources for personal enrichment, the syllabus, lectures, and exams are tethered to the materials prescribed by the professor. The notion that students should have a democratic say in adding outside material to the official course framework, simply because they believe it merits inclusion, undermines the integrity of this academic structure.
The professor’s role as the architect of a course is rooted in their specialized knowledge and experience. Universities appoint faculty members based on their credentials, research, and ability to distill complex subjects into a digestible, structured format for students. When a professor selects a textbook, a set of readings, or a series of lecture topics, they do so with an eye toward creating a cohesive narrative that aligns with the course’s learning objectives. These choices are not arbitrary; they reflect years of study, professional insight, and an understanding of what foundational knowledge students need to master the subject. To allow students—who, by definition, are still learners in the field—to vote in additional material risks diluting this carefully curated framework with content that may be tangential, redundant, or even misleading.
Consider a practical example: in a course on introductory biology, a professor might choose a widely respected textbook that covers cellular processes, genetics, and evolution in a clear, systematic way. A student, perhaps inspired by a popular science article or a trending documentary, might argue that the course should include a specific theory or case study they find compelling. While their curiosity is commendable, the professor must weigh whether this addition aligns with the course’s scope and goals. If every student were granted the power to nominate material for inclusion, the syllabus could quickly devolve into a patchwork of competing interests, lacking the depth and focus necessary for meaningful learning. The professor’s authority ensures that the course remains a guided journey, not a free-for-all.
This is not to say that students should be discouraged from exploring beyond the assigned materials. Universities thrive on intellectual curiosity, and professors often welcome discussions sparked by outside sources. A student who reads a novel theory, uncovers an obscure primary source, or stumbles upon a provocative critique can bring these discoveries to class, enriching dialogue and deepening their own understanding. But there’s a critical distinction between personal exploration and the official course content. The former is optional and self-directed; the latter is mandatory and professor-defined. Exams, assignments, and grades hinge on mastery of the prescribed materials—not on a student’s ability to lobby for their preferred texts.
The resistance to this structure sometimes stems from a broader cultural shift toward democratization and personalization. In an era where information is abundant and opinions are amplified online, it’s natural for students to feel empowered to challenge authority or demand a say in what they learn. But education is not a consumer product tailored to individual whims; it’s a disciplined process shaped by those who have already navigated the field’s complexities. A professor’s choice of materials isn’t a gatekeeping tactic—it’s a roadmap, designed to lead students toward competence and, eventually, independence in their thinking.
Of course, professors aren’t infallible. A syllabus might occasionally reflect biases, outdated perspectives, or a narrow focus that could benefit from critique. Students have every right to question the choices and engage in reasoned debate during office hours or class discussions. But questioning is not the same as voting. The classroom isn’t a democracy; it’s a mentorship, where the professor’s expertise sets the parameters and the student’s role is to absorb, analyze, and build upon that foundation.
In the end, the professor’s authority over course materials strikes a balance between structure and freedom. Students are free to roam the vast landscape of knowledge on their own time, but the syllabus remains the compass—drawn by the professor’s hand—that ensures everyone reaches the destination together. To blur that line risks losing the very thing that makes a university course distinct: a deliberate, expert-led path through the wilderness of ideas.
"Behold, I speak unto you as if ye were present, and yet ye are not. But behold, Jesus Christ hath shown you unto me and I know the things you do." (Mormon 4:5 CE) The Holy Order writers of the Book of Mormon had a thought about what to include based on knowledge others don't possess. -- he can ask and get an answer but is on the errand of the Lord. He's not innovating!!
Anyway, for what it's worth -
Signed
John The-Not-So-Beloved
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