We'll call him Young Theophilus. You can think of him as my nephew. What's that? Well, he might really be my nephew. Yes, he has the same last name. Nephews often do. That doesn't prove anything. Yes, he teaches in the same field. My younger self? I didn't say that. No, I neither confirm nor deny it. What? No. I said no. You may as well stop asking; I won't tell you. Believe what you want. How young is he? Very young. Leave it at that. What? Yes, of course he has a Ph.D. How else could he teach here? But he's barely had time to remove his diploma from its shrink wrap. No, of course they don't really wrap them in — it was supposed to be a joke. Will you stop interrupting? Just listen.

Young Theophilus had just finished his third lecture ever. As he walked back to his office — his office, not a graduate student cubicle — he was feeling rather pleased with himself. Teaching his own course had turned out to be much easier than his own teachers had told him it would be. It was his personal variation on one of the required courses — a course no one else at Post-Everything University wanted to teach — a whole semester on human nature, morality, and the meaning of happiness. He had a free hand with the course, so he'd planned the semester around readings from the works of pagan and Christian thinkers from ancient times to the present.

Office hours were pretty easy too. Because nobody came. At least nobody had come the first day. Maybe someone would visit today. That would be fine. He was sure he could handle it.

He was just pouring water into the coffee pot — his coffee pot — and turning it on, when someone did come. In fact, five students came. He recognized them. He thought that he even remembered their names.

"Would you like to come in?"

The blonde girl, Alpha, asked "All of us at once, Dr. Young Theophilus?"

"Isn't that how you normally visit your professors?"

"We don't normally visit them."

"I mean, when you do."

"No. We usually come in one at a time."

"That seems inefficient," said Young Theophilus. "You might all be here to ask the same question."

"But we might not be."

"Well, then, let's find out. Alpha, what are you here to ask?"

She looked uncomfortable. "I'm not here to ask anything, sir."

"Then what are you here for?"

"To complain."

Surprised but not shaken, Young Theophilus turned to the skinny young man next to her. "Beta, how about you?"

"That's what I'm here for, too," he replied.

"Hmm. Gamma, Delta, Epsilon?"

"To complain."

"To complain."

"Um, to complain."

Young Theophilus raised an eyebrow. This hadn't been quite what he expected. After a moment, though, he brightened and said briskly, "You see, I was right. You are all here for the same thing. Come in, come in."

They all trooped in and sat down on the floor. "Why don't you take chairs?" he asked.

"Yours is the only one, Professor."

He looked around. It was true. The university hadn't supplied chairs for guests. He seated himself in his desk chair, but then he couldn't see them. So he stood up, walked to the other side, and sat on the edge of the desk, facing them.

He cleared his throat. "Now then. Let's hear your complaints. Shall we be orderly and take you in order? Alpha, that makes you the first."

"Well," she said, "I understand that you're interested in the subject, Professor. But why should I have to learn it? I just want to teach kindergarten!"

Nonplussed, Young Theophilus asked, "Beta, what's your complaint?"

"Well," he said, "the advice all these thinkers give about how to live is pretty convincing, but I doubt that I'll follow it, so why does it matter?"

Even more confused, Young Theophilus soldiered on. "Gamma?"

"Well," she said — the prefatory word seemed to be required — "these men you're having us read lived an awful long time ago, and the questions they're so obsessed with are a little out of date, don't you think?"

"Delta?"

Delta plunged right in without a "well." "It's just this, Prof," he said. "My beliefs are different than those of the authors, and so their arguments don't apply."

"Uh," said Young Theophilus.

"Me next?" said Epsilon.

Young Theophilus nodded mutely.

"On the first day of class you mentioned that you were Christian," she said.

"Are you complaining because I am, or because I mentioned it?"

"Neither. I'm Christian too. I just follow whatever it says in the Bible. So why should I have to study merely human reasoning?"

Young Theophilus began to see funny lights, and realized that he was about to have a migraine. "Thank you," he said to the five, "I'll think about what you've all said and get back to you later."

Later, when he felt better, he strolled over to talk with his friend, Young Loons. You can think of Young Loons as, hmmm, a nephew of my own friend Bob Loons. Young Theophilus and Young Loons had known each other only a few weeks, but had formed an immediate bond. They were both fresh from grad school, both new to teaching, and both, surprisingly, Christians.

"I thought I was teaching so well," Young Theophilus mourned. "In fact, I still think so. But my students aren't interested in learning anything. Are yours like that?"

"I don't know," said Young Loons. "How would I know?"

"The same way I know. What do they say to you during office hours?"

"Are we supposed to keep office hours?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"I guess I forgot." He pulled some kind of canteen from his hip pocket. "You look as though you could use a drink."

Shocked, Young Theophilus drew back. "I thought hip flasks existed only in cheap detective novels."

"What do you take me for? It's coffee."

"Oh. Black?"

"No. Latté."

"Two percent or skim?"

"Whole milk."

"No, thanks."

"Have it your way," said Young Loons. "Say, maybe this will give you some ideas. It's a booklet for new faculty from the Office of Teaching Effectiveness."

"Where did you get that?" asked Young Theophilus.

"It was in my mailbox."

"Do we have mailboxes?"

"Didn't they tell you?"

"I guess I forgot. What does it say?"

"Let's see. 'To nurture academic success, you must build the students' self-esteem.'"

"I thought it was the other way around," said Young Theophilus. "If you nurture academic success, then they'll have something to esteem themselves for."

"I'm just telling you want it says, Theo."

"What else does it say?"

"That you should empathize. Sympathize. Try to see the students' points of view."

Young Theophilus leafed through it. "Do you mind if I borrow this?" He took away the flier, read it several times, and thought over what it said. Several days later, when he thought he was ready, he sent messages to the five students through campus mail. What? Why didn't he e-mail them? This was a long time ago. They didn't have e-mail then. What? Yes, that's right. Latté came before e-mail.

Anyway, Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta and Epsilon showed up again during office hours, just as he had asked them too, and trooped into his office as before. This time he had chairs for them, though he'd had to "borrow" them from classrooms. Yes, I know that wasn't very honest. Yes, he replaced them later. Pay attention.

Young Theophilus cleared his throat, his mind intent on empathizing, sympathizing, and seeing their points of view. He'd build their self-esteem if it killed him.

Or them.

PART 2: DID IT KILL THEM?