Editor's Introduction: Ethics, Celebrity, and the Representation of Teaching in the Profession

This issue of Pedagogy opens with Gail Stygall's examination of a specific instance—the struggle over the unionization of teaching assistants at the University of Washington—that crystallizes the ongoing question of the journal itself: What is the relationship between praxis and theory? That is (to paraphrase Marianne Moore on poetry), how do the "real toads" of our everyday professional lives thrive in the "imaginary gardens" that are our theories?

As editors, we struggle with our own toads. In his series of columns as the new editor of PMLA, Carlos J. Alonso has identified many of them; in particular, we were struck by his discussion of the move in the profession away from refereed submissions and toward solicited ones. As Seth Lerer argues in his letter included in one column, "Now it is not acceptance but solicitation that marks achievement—you know you've made it when you're asked for an article" (Alonso 2001: 10). Though Alonso points out some of the difficulties faced by PMLA that might account for the recent makeup of its issues, we find Lerer's concerns compelling, because they highlight the tension between the culture of celebrity that permeates our field and the desire of editors (and, we believe, of the profession as a whole) to see quality scholarship reach its audience.

This tension is not easily resolved when even editorial practices such as double-blind peer review—a traditional mark of equality and merit—are still open to debate. Most readers will have seen Stanley Fish's (1988) critique of this practice some years ago, and even at the 2001 Modern Language Association (MLA) convention, on a panel sponsored by the Council of Editors of Learned Journals, Critical Inquiry's W. J. T. Mitchell forthrightly dismissed it. If we disagree, then, on fundamental questions of practice, we should begin by thinking about the ethical position from which we wish to operate, by articulating the theoretical goals toward which we believe that scholarship—in this case, pedagogical scholarship—should work.

To illustrate, a story: At MLA 2001 we began our presentation by remembering another time that we had spoken together at an MLA meeting. In 1997 we were part of a roundtable discussion, organized by the Division on the Teaching of Literature, called "Critical Pedagogy and Its Discontents" (something of a misnomer, since "critical" pedagogy was not exactly in focus during the session). At that time the journal was in its infancy—basically, we had a vision and an editorial board. Imagine the scene: the room was packed; people had been drawn by the topic and the opportunity to hear some fairly well-known figures in English studies (we'll call them "stars") talk about teaching, of all things. And we were there, too.

The discussion was meant to be informal: each panelist would offer about five minutes of remarks, and then the session would be opened up for discussion. We had carefully prepared our comments on the need to create a discourse on teaching across English studies, particularly the need for a journal that would bring a range of voices together. Two reactions stick out in our memories: no audience member directed a question to either of us during the discussion, and afterward we were cornered by some audience members who, waving the handout that listed our editorial mission and our board (full of, yes, stars), asked just how "critical" we intended to be and, if we did indeed embrace critical pedagogy, why we had so many older, established scholars on our board (as evidenced by this particular panel). Where was the diversity and cutting-edge quality our mission statement argued for?

In some ways these two reactions are contradictory—and emblematic of the struggles that we have experienced editing Pedagogy. This scene highlights what we have come to see as ethical issues in representing teaching in academic publications...