Besides being the dean, Dr. James Ruebel was one of the people who'd given me the scholarship I so badly needed in order to come to Ball State. And he was the distinguished co-professor of my six-credit classics course, the professor who was truly a teacher, who explained the Odyssey in such a way that somehow Homer's words made sense. He was the professor who asked the kinds of questions that made you think deep thoughts that made you want to keep thinking. He was the kind of professor you automatically respected, the kind of person you wanted to please.
But he wanted our class to watch a film whose ratings for violence and language conflicted with my conservative standards for media. I didn't want to watch it, and I told him so, and why. Of course, I did this in an email, the least confrontational medium of all. I hoped for an easy answer.
The reply that came was an invitation to meet him in his office in the second floor of the Honors College. He said he would respect my feelings, but he wanted to hear them explained.
And so I went: a nervous 19-year-old prepared to be peppered with questions about my faith and lifestyle. What I remember of our conversation is that it was far from accusatory. Dr. Ruebel asked questions to hear their answers. He listened, and though he didn't agree, he respected my beliefs. I left his office eager to do the make-up work we agreed on.
It has only been recently, as I've pondered this experience from 5 years ago, that I realize how precious Dr. Ruebel's behavior in that situation was, how characteristic it is of him, and how badly needed it is in the world today.
Though we viewed movies and morals very differently, and though he was far my superior in every way, Dr. Ruebel did not wield his authority like a weapon. Instead, he listened. He respectfully questioned. He explained his perspective. He showed his frustration at times, but he did not impose his will on mine.
Dr. Ruebel knew that thinking amounts to something, and lasts longer than the words that communicate it does. When conversations are kept civil, grounded in an appropriate balance of verified facts and analyzed feelings, they allow their participants to learn in ways that no other kind of discourse ever will.
Because of Dr. Ruebel, I thought about what I might have been missing by not watching that film. I honestly re-evaluated my standards and ultimately learned how to better articulate them. I also pondered his perspective and what it might be like to live life in his shoes. I learned. I grew.
And, so, Dr. Ruebel accomplished his calling. Even without the content of whatever the rest of the class saw in that film, he gave a classical training. He taught me - and so many other students and people over the course of his tenure as teacher, professor, and leader - to consider, and to be considerate.
I share this story in honor of my Honors College dean, along with a plea for a more peaceful planet: As we go about interacting with people and ideas that are different from us, may we remember Dr. Ruebel and strive to emulate his critical thinking, tolerance, and love.
