In his fine memoir, simply entitled Teacher, Mark Edmundson recounts how he was careening towards a kind of dead-end future in his working-class hometown in Massachusetts until he was impacted by one teacher who made all the difference in his life. One of Edmundson’s more important observations has to do with what he calls the the “Mr. Chips-Robin Williams myth” of the infinitely kind teacher, the one who knows everyone’s name, is a source of constant good humour, and “most of all adores—and is adored by–his students.”

But Edmundson, who from unpromising beginnings went on to a distinguished career as a Professor of English at the University of Virginia, argues that there is another kind of teacher who may be far less appreciated at the time but, in the long run, prove to be as crucial as the teacher in the “all-benevolent mode.” Such teachers are not necessarily the students’ friend or confessor. They can antagonize the student at times and even create discomfort. But in the words of Ralph Waldo Emerson, sometimes the best another can provide us with is not so much instruction as strong provocation. As Edmundson points out, “our mythologies make us forget that the great teacher is not always a bringer of sweetness and light…a great teacher is not necessarily a friend, much less a facilitator. He can be a spiritual antagonist and a goad as much as an ally.”

In today’s cultural climate, an Invisible Hand pushes all educators towards being the “nice” teacher. The idea of making any student unsettled—because of the simple fact that contrary ideas challenge our built-in comfort zones—is too often anathema in today’s educational universe. The plan is to “facilitate” and to “interact”, make sure that students are “comfortable”, and “not stressed.” Avoid conflict, do not go down the road to confrontation. In a way, do anything but teach. And while I’m all for progress and happiness-can one say one is against these things?—there is a heavy price to pay for real growth if all interactions have to be comfortable.

Greg Lukianoff and Jonathan Haidt have chillingly described the pressure on teachers to fall in line and avoid, to lengths of unimaginable absurdity, anything that could conceivably upset anyone, anywhere. Examples of "microaggressions" that could offend students include this supposedly controversial notion: "I believe the most qualified person should get the job.” The authors note that "during the 2014–15 school year, the deans and department chairs at the 10 University of California system schools were presented by administrators at faculty leader-training sessions with examples of microaggression," and, remarkably, the "qualified person" comment made the list.

There are situations in fact, where discomfort can upend the very subject one needs to teach, and even alter the vocabulary that is intrinsic to the discipline. In 2014, Harvard law professor Jeannie Suk Gersen wrote: “Imagine a medical student who is training to be a surgeon but who fears that he’ll become distressed if he sees or handles blood. What should his instructors do? Criminal-law teachers face a similar question with law students who are afraid to study rape law…Student organizations ask criminal-law teachers to warn their classes that the rape-law unit might “trigger” traumatic memories. Individual students often ask teachers not to include the law of rape on exams for fear that the material would cause them to perform less well. One teacher I know was recently asked by a student not to use the word `violate’ in class—as in `Does this conduct violate the law?’—because the word was triggering. Some students have even suggested that rape law should not be taught because of its potential to cause distress.”

The casualties of all of this sensitivity in the end will be none other than the future victims of sexual assault and rape. Left without a lawyer to defend them because no one wanted to take the course in law school, victims may end up receiving less representation than the perpetrators who preyed on them. This may sound apocalyptic and hyperbolic, but as Professor Gerson observes, “About a dozen new teachers of criminal law at multiple institutions have told me that they are not including rape law in their courses, arguing that it’s not worth the risk of complaints of discomfort by students. Even seasoned teachers of criminal law, at law schools across the country, have confided that they are seriously considering dropping rape law and other topics related to sex and gender violence. Both men and women teachers seem frightened of discussion, because they are afraid of injuring others or being injured themselves.”

It does seem difficult to envision running a course on rape law without…you know…mentioning rape. But because students may wish to alleviate distress at all costs, and seek out those teachers who might “protect” them from such discourse, the result will be very safe classrooms in which the messiness of real life has been expunged. That may feel soothing in the short term, but I don’t think anyone could claim this as an educational ideal.

Comfort may be a yearned for state amid the stresses of Western living, but it is the enemy of real learning because it works against what should be the ultimate telos of all teaching: illumination followed by transformation. Hence, good education has always worked best in opposition to comfort; it seeks to unravel buried ideas and challenge accepted dogmas. It cannot let the student rest happily if such tranquility comes at the price of examining where the truth may lie and whether such truth can aid in reconstructing one’s purpose and path in life.