
Gregory Cooper
Law
Sir Thomas More: Why not be a teacher? You'd be a fine teacher; perhaps a great one. Richard Rich: If I was, who would know it? Sir Thomas More: You; your pupils; your friends; God. Not a bad public, that.
Robert Bolt, A Man for All Seasons
The mediocre teacher tells. The good teacher explains. The superior teacher demonstrates. The great teacher inspires.
William Arthur Ward
My teaching philosophy is quite simple — in fact, I am not even sure I would call it a “philosophy,” since it all comes down to a single fundamental principle: every student is different. Effective teaching starts with careful listening, keen observing, and a bit of empathy. Only armed with these tools can a teacher discover the best means of presenting a topic and the most effective way of responding to his students.
One of the things that is often lacking in teaching at all levels is the presence of teachers who are dedicated to students as individuals, rather than students as a class entity. While I do not suggest that teaching at the college level should be individualized, understanding one’s students is a necessary pre-requisite to being an effective teacher. In short, it’s impossible to be a great teacher — to really inspire — if you don’t know your students.
How might this play out in practice? Consider a class in Constitutional Law, for which I was a TA this past semester. If I know that a student is particularly interested in free speech issues, same-sex marriage, or the treatment of prisoners in Guantanamo Bay, I can attempt to bring these specific issues into our class discussions — that is, even when we may not be discussing these issues directly, it is the use of common points of reference and interest that can be the key to getting a student to understand a particular idea.
In fact, this approach goes well beyond just the substance of a class — indeed, the specific substance of a lesson is seldom what a student would cite when describing a great teacher. Just this past semester, I had a student with some special needs, due to both a learning disability and a psychological condition. This condition “flared up” during the semester, as paper obligations were building and exams were looming — and while this student was, of course, still held responsible for her obligations, we spoke at length about a realistic schedule and approach for her to take to her work. Indeed, our conversation had little to do with the course at times, meandering its way through her muddled thoughts, and my attempts to understand her difficulties. Had I not presented a willingness to discuss such matters from the outset of the course, had I not tried to foster a sense of empathy and collegiality, and had I not gotten to know this student, I doubt she would have felt as comfortable as she did coming to me. Yet, such a discussion was crucial to her educational success, unless the only measure of that success is her grade on the final exam.
Similarly, when I was teaching high school (before coming to Penn), I had as a student a young man who was struggling with recently diagnosed schizophrenia and mental illness, and he and his family were just starting to embrace the reality, and the depths, of his troubles. I worked with him constantly, helping him to discover his strengths, and to use these strengths to guide him through not only his education, but the entirety of his life in a school environment that didn’t seem quite prepared to “deal” with him. The point here is not that special treatment equals good teaching. It is simply that many teachers often overlook what makes their students more than just another class. The factors that contribute to (or detract from) a student’s ability to learn, style of learning, and approach to class are innumerable. For a teacher to look only to traditional indicia of academic achievement, while understandable from a convenience perspective, does little justice to that student’s quest for his own identity, both as a student and as a contributor to the community.
At the end of the day, teachers can and do teach from a distance. But as Ward might say, such teachers would never be truly great. When acting only as “explainers” of information, teachers miss a golden opportunity to serve in a meaningful mentoring relationship — to really inspire. Some students may not need any particular attention, and many students will often prefer the more hands-off instructor. But even the most accomplished academic cannot effectively communicate with his students without at least making an attempt to see them as individual people, with individual stories and individual needs. Only then can a teacher really realize his true potential, and only then can his students realize theirs.
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