Teaching In a Coat and Tie

I teach in a coat and tie.  Never in my career have I been required to do so, nor am I making a fashion statement.  As far as that goes, my sartorial selections are quite traditional, e.g. navy jacket with tan or grey slacks, blue tie with grey jacket and navy slacks, and so forth.  My reason for how I dress to teach each day is rooted in one of the most fundamental aspects of my teaching philosophy, the importance of modeling.  If anyone is having visions of me as a runway model, please stop.  That is not what I mean.

I am speaking of what the historian Livy meant in the preface to his Ab Urbe Condita.  He begins his 142-book history of Rome from its founding to the death of Drusus in 9 A.D. by stating his desire that his readers pay close attention to quae vita, qui mores fuerint, the life and habits of life that once were.  Cicero had earlier said something similar in his speech Pro Archia, an ostensibly defense oration that was more of an encomium on learning.  He asks rhetorically, "Quam multas nobis imagines--non solum ad intuendum, verum etiam ad imitandum--fortissimorum virorum expressas scriptores et Graeci et Latini reliquerunt?"  "How many images have both Greek and Latin authors left us, not only for gazing at, but also for imitating?"  (Pro Archia, 14)

What do an ancient Roman historian and statesman-cum-philosopher have to do with how I dress to teach high school students?  They both speak to the importance of models of behavior.  I dress as I do because that is how my dad dressed.  He had been an elementary teacher before I was born, but as I grew up I knew him as an elementary school principal.

Norman Perkins, Principal of Galena Elementary School, 1968-1991l

This picture, which was converted into a painting and hung in his school when he retired, represents the image of my dad that I saw every day when he came home from work.  It was a professional look, one that conveyed respect for his job as an educator and the people with whom he worked.  When I began teaching at a middle school in Kansas City, his was the model for my own apparel.  In fact, it was not until years later that I realized why I had made the dress decisions that I had.  At the time it was simply the natural thing to do.

Surely, you must be thinking, this cannot be the point of this blog post.  There must be a more significant purpose to this, and indeed there is.  Cicero and Livy were right.  Imitation is far more than a form of flattery, sincere or otherwise.  It is a foundational principle of learning, and this is part of why Cato the Elder's definition of an orator, quoted by Quintillian in Institutio Oratoria 12.1.1, was "Vir bonus dicendi peritus."  For both Cato and Quintillian, the ideal orator was not merely a person skilled in speaking, but a good person skilled in speaking.  It was not enough to learn phrasing and breath control and all manner of rhetorical devices.  These cannot exist in a vacuum but must be used by particular human beings, and what kind of people they are matters as much as the abilities they express.  The Stoic philosopher Seneca gave voice to this in his Epistle 88 when he suggested that rather than spending a great deal of time to earn the title o hominem litteratum, o well read man, "Simus hoc titulo rusticiore contenti:  O virum bonum!"  "Let us," he argues, "be content with a more rustic title:  O good man!"

Perhaps this is the reason that imitation of the true, the good, and the beautiful is rarely discussed in schools of education or in professional development conferences.  We have always, even in Seneca's time, distanced ourselves from that which smacked of the rustic because of an urban prejudice that values the supposed sophistication of the city over anything else.  It is helpful, as with any prejudice, to forego judgment until one has examined all sides fully, and once this is done regarding imitation of the good person, it will become clear why this should be a foundational educational principle and not merely a quaint rustic notion best forgotten.

Simply put, we do not like hypocrites.  We are unlikely to take seriously the advice to quit cigarettes if it is given by our chain-smoking doctor.  Once again, it is Seneca who speaks to this in Epistle 52 and summarizes the idea by admonishing his readers, "Eum elige adiutorem quem magis admireris cum videris quam cum audieris."  "Choose a guide whom you admire more when you see him than when you listen to him."

As a teacher I am called to a certain nobility of character.  Since I am a Latin teacher, that character should reflect the nobility and beauty of thought and creation expressed by the best of the ancient Greeks and Romans.  Teaching involves incarnation.  It is not enough that I dictate facts that students could just as easily and possibly better glean from a text or online source.  I must embody what I teach, for it is the witness of my life that will produce the most memorable lesson.  For a fuller discussion of this, read George Steiner's Lessons of the Masters, one of the finest books on what truly transpires between teachers and students.

Yet I am not a teacher first but rather a follower of Jesus Christ.  As a Christian I am called to follow my Father's example in far more significant ways than I did in patterning my professional dress after that of my earthly father.  This, of course, would be impossible if God were merely an abstract deity, an idea, a notion developed in the collective human mind over centuries.  Our Father is real and in the most basic, etymological sense of that word.  Those questioning this with the challenge that they have never seen Him join the ranks of Philip, the disciple of Jesus, and Christ's response to him applies today.

Philip said to him, "Lord, show us the Father, and it is enough for us."  Jesus said to him, "Have I been with you so long, and you still do not know me, Philip?  Whoever has seen me has seen the Father.  Hw can you say, "Show us the Father?"  (John 14:8-9, ESV)

I hope, at the end of the day, I have done more than just dress as Norman Perkins once did as the principal of an elementary school in southern Indiana.  My goal as a Christian teacher is to model, however imperfectly, my life on that of my Father in heaven, and this each of us can do by looking to the fullest representation of Him the world has seen, Jesus Christ.

Outlawing Tire Irons

Abigail Walthausen has written a brilliant piece sure to anger some, as most brilliant pieces usually do.  She has dared to defend the classroom lecture.  Take a moment and catch your breath.  Yes, that's right.  She defends the classroom lecture.

As she points out, the lecture has drawn fire for years now, eventually giving rise to the ludicrous dichotomy between the "sage on the stage" versus the "guide on the side."  Yet she cites several articles and studies that suggest the lecture can have a meaningful place in education, but more on those in a moment.

Walthausen's key statement is, "If the community of educators has agreed to value student learning styles, why not allow adults the freedom to play to their own strengths as well?"  Let's consider that.  I have never understood why, especially in a time that embraces diversity in all things, we would rule off the table certain techniques or approaches.  The quick answer, of course, is that lectures can be boring, soporific to the point where students fail to learn anything.  The problem with this response is its lack of logic.  I find a tire iron quite helpful when changing a flat tire.  Now, it can be used to bash in someone's head or smash a window in a burglary.  In other words, it can be put to a bad use.  That, however, is no reason to outlaw tire irons.  As Walthausen points out, the lecture can be quite good, the perfect instrument even, when put in the hands of a master lecturer.

To push another analogy, I collect and use fountain pens.  I find them elegant and a delightful connection to a bygone era.  I would under no circumstances force everyone to use them.  I realize that others may prefer a ballpoint, a roller ball, or even a good old #2 pencil.  Teachers are adults, often well-educated ones.  Surely we are capable of determining for ourselves which method of instruction is best in a particular circumstance and should not have one particular tool, in this case the lecture, denigrated or removed from our choices simply because some do not know how to use it well.

In an article Walthausen cites by former Indiana University professor and general secretary of the American Association of University Professors, Mary Burgan observes that "students benefit from seeing education embodied in a master learner who teaches what she has learned."  She continues,

It is in this context, it seems to me, that teachers are irreplaceable as models of knowledgeable adults grappling with first principles in order to open their students' understanding. Indeed, surveys have shown that such modeling is critical in students' responses to their teachers: The two features of an individual instructor's pedagogy that most engage undergraduates are control of the material and concern with students' understanding of it. No matter how recondite or obscure the ideas may be, the phenomenon of a grown-up person capable of talking enthusiastically and sequentially can show students how they themselves might someday be able to think things through.

The modeling of how a human being thinks and explores the world is one of the vital roles that a teacher plays, a role eloquently examined in George Steiner's Lessons of the Masters.  Steiner's book should be required reading for anyone entering the profession of teaching or presuming to talk about it.

Another article Walthausen cites is by Dr. Richard Gunderman, also of Indiana University. In it, he sets for the purpose and the look of the ideal lecture.  "The core purpose of a great lecturer is not primarily to transmit information. The real purpose of a lecture is to show the mind and heart of the lecturer at work, and to engage the minds and hearts of learners.  A great lecturer's benefit to learners extends far beyond preparing for an exam, earning a good grade, or attaining some form of professional certification. The great lecture opens learners' eyes to new questions, connections, and perspectives that they have not considered before, illuminating new possibilities for how to work and live. Without question, it also helps learners who pay attention earn a better grade, but it manages to make the topic take on a life of its own and seem worth knowing for its own sake, beyond such narrow, utilitarian advantage.  Great lecturers often share responsibility for solving ... problems with learners, working with them in real time to find a solution."

I have been fortunate to know great teachers who utilized the lecture format as a master violinist wields a Stradivarius.  This method makes its way regularly into my own classes, not as the dry and dusty talk that some have suffered through, but, as Gunderman sees it, as an opportunity to work with students in the shared journey of discovery that is true education.  I know the effectiveness of this method, for it has produced deep and passionate conversations and writings, both between my own teachers and me and between my students and their magister.  When these happen after class, after school, through email, on Facebook, and often at a remove of several years, you can be certain in a way no multiple choice test could confirm that true education has taken place.