Reading currents, watching waves

First exam of the semester, first set of papers, first signs of cheating, first plagiarism case--yep, the honeymoon is over. The bright, hopeful faces that sparkled in classrooms on the first day have been replaced by the faces of those bleak workers shuffling to their underground caverns in Fritz Lang's Metropolis--and that's just the faculty!

Today I've been subjected to papers claiming that certain authors "utilize the use of" something or other, and all that usefulness makes me tired. Tomorrow I'll utilize the use of utilitarianism when my honors class examines Mark Twain's "Two Ways of Looking at a River," in which he explains how familiarity with the river inured him to its beauty. He concludes:

No, the romance and the beauty were all gone from the river. All the value any feature of it had for me now was the amount of usefulness it could furnish toward compassing the safe piloting of a steamboat. Since those days, I have pitied doctors from my heart. What does the lovely flush in a beauty's cheek mean to a doctor but a "break" that ripples above some deadly disease? Are not all her visible charms sown thick with what are to him the signs and symbols of hidden decay? Does he ever see her beauty at all, or doesn't he simply view her professionally, and comment upon her unwholesome condition all to himself? And doesn't he sometimes wonder whether he has gained most or lost most by learning his trade?

Well, doesn't he?

I've looked so long into the river of students passing through my classes that I see them too often as obstacles obstructing my progress toward pleasure or bright  shiny surfaces hiding dangerous currents. Taking the long view, though, the plagiarists and cheaters and grade-grubbing plodders leave tiny wakes on a wide river sparkling with beauty and power and grace. 

May the waves pass us by, may our crafts stay afloat, and may we never lose sight of the river.