It goes way back. Maybe Socrates said it first.
Much more recently, on April 18, Terry P. shared his #1 Rule of Proffie Life: "Don't care more about their education than the snowflakes do." Then, on May 16, Contingent Cassandra quoted Beaker Ben's immortal words: "Don't care more about their educations than they do." And on June 4, I humbly referred back to Terry's rule while confessing that I have indeed sometimes cared more for the student than he did for himself--which left me wondering whether or not I was an insane fucktard for having done such a thing.
Alas, on June 29, I felt that the words of the somewhat estimable Tenured Radical granted me absolution:
"I found myself interrupting a student last year who was on thin ice in one of my classes, as s/he apologized profusely for the numerous lapses that appeared to be leading to an F: 'If you fail this class, I will consider it my failure, not yours....'"
Her failure, not her student's.
Q. Was she right? Is there something to be said for unrequited and uncompensated compassion? Is it good to bear the responsibility of caring more for a student than he cares for himself? Or, for those of us who have been administrators, shall we sometimes care more for the faculty than they do for themselves? Is there a place for martyrdom? Shall we hold ourselves more responsible for the well-being of those we supervise than they themselves do?
A.______________________________ [I am reminded of Martin Buber.]
Once, many moons ago, when I was still young and naive, a student wrote in her evaluation of my teaching "Professor Clarissa's problem is that she cares too much."
ReplyDeleteI'm proud to report that I have learned my lesson. Today, I really, honestly, truly don't give a flying . . . anything. (I don't know how acceptable profanity is on this blog.)
The semester before last, I failed 19 out of the 70 students in my class. Since I didn't care "too much" (or at all), they gave me spectacular evaluations.
Lesson learned: well, I'm sure I don't have to spell it out.
P.S. In the Soviet Union, where I was born, the main teaching principle was that a student's failure was a teacher's failure. Bad students did not exist. Only bad teachers did.
The failure of an entire class to learn might be the instructor's fault, the success or failure of individual students isn't.
ReplyDeleteSultans: I used to think that, too. Until I met the class I had last semester, that is. . .
ReplyDeleteAs an educator with 21 years of experience, I can't bring myself to believe that their collective failure was my fault.
@Clarissa: "I don't know how acceptable profanity is on this blog." We think it's fucking rude.
ReplyDelete@Bubba: "Is there something to be said for unrequited and uncompensated compassion?"
In general? Absolutely. In Buddhism, this is a key to a sense of peace and happiness. It's about helping others to not suffer and about feeling sympathetic joy in helping them to become successful, without getting attached to them in a sentimental way. I think this is the core of any good teacher.
That said, a good teacher also provides a significant challenge that the student has to work to overcome; and offers guidance. Tough luck if the student refuses to work or to accept guidance.
"Is it good to bear the responsibility of caring more for a student than he cares for himself?" Again, yes, but not about grades. Sometimes I care more about whether a student lives or dies than that student apparently does. I do what I can to help students who appear depressed get to Health Services for a psych evaluation (partly because my teachers in high school simply mocked me for my symptoms of depression). Would it be my responsibility if the student committed suicide? No, but I'd wonder if I'd done my best.
"Shall we hold ourselves more responsible for the well-being of those we supervise than they themselves do?" Not if it's about grades. I'm with Sultans and Clarissa on this.
I had been thinking it was originally Ben's rule. And then I thought maybe I was wrong. But I did a little bit of research (i.e. used the search box), and the first use I can find on this blog does, indeed, come from Ben, in the comments on this Feb. 28 post . A quick google search reveals one similar but subtly different usage in the Chronicle forums on Apr. 21 (see "polly_mer," a few comments down; sounds like folks who read there do occasionally read here, as well): "Don't care more about the students' success than they do." I didn't run all the way through the google results for ["don't care more about" than](which seem to include a lot of commentary about whether pet owners care more about animals than people, and a certain amount of discussion of patriotism," but the formulation is less common than I would have expected. There does seem to be an earlier, similar software/engineering aphorism, coined and/or promulgated by someone named Donald E. Gray in a Jan. 29, 2000 post , and dubbed "The Passion Principle": "Don't care more about solving the problem than the other person does."
ReplyDelete(Don't mind me; I'm a literary/textual scholar with some very old-fashioned tendencies. Also, I've finally taught myself to create links without looking up the format every time. Small victories, small victories).
I have a responsibility to do the best I can to teach. I don't have a responsibility to make them learn.
ReplyDeleteThere's nothing wrong with compassion--I have compassion for a lot of the students who do poorly in my classes. But they all still get the marks they earn.
As far as the substance of the question goes, I think Eskarina pinpoints a key problem: too often, when we're talking about a student's "success" or "failure," we're talking about his/her grade in a particular class. That seems to be the case in the Radical's discussion, which I, too, read a while back, and inwardly cringed (all the more so because I often agree with her). I think the war/teaching parallel may have been partly responsible for the problem, since soldiers have a very, very strong incentive to master the principles they're being taught -- survival -- and a draconian "outside examiner"/"high stakes test" -- the enemy/war itself (I've more than once thought that if people were shot at dawn for apostrophe errors, students would figure out the rules pretty quickly). I also note that the Radical tells the student "I explained that I was interested in teaching hir as much as I possibly could in the time remaining, and that we would develop a program to do that," which -- appropriately -- does not equal "I promise I will find a way to make you pass." Finally, I can't help noting that the Radical teaches at a SLAC, which promises a relatively low student-teacher ratio, and lots of individual help. Those of us at schools where the per-course cost of education is lower, and the student-teacher ratio higher, almost have to take a different approach, or risk physical collapse, burnout, etc. I'm not sure either approach is better or worse in some universal sense; it probably depends on the student, and even the student's stage of life/psychological development. I am sure that expecting faculty (especially contingent faculty) at research-oriented schools to deliver the kind of individual attention available at some SLACs is neither ethically appropriate nor practically feasible.
ReplyDeleteWhat I like about Ben's/Terry's aphorism is that, at least to me, it implies a view that goes beyond the individual class: that the student's education is, in fact, broader than success or failure in a particular class (or attainment of a certain degree or diploma at a certain time), and that, sometimes (and especially in the case of students who've had insufficient experience with making, and taking responsibility for the consequences of, their own decisions), a student can learn more from failing a test, or a class, than from being cajoled or coached to do what it takes to pass it.
Of course, that implies that, even when we hand out failing grades, we *are* caring about our students' educations -- which I think is true (and ties back to Wombat's observations about what is considered acceptable these days in athletic coaching vs. classroom teaching )). So maybe it's more a matter of *how* we show we care (or even how we can, at any given moment, show we care, given our institutional positions, individual temperaments, etc.), than whether we care?
Every now and then a student gets back in touch with me and tells me that they finally understand that my refusing to reward bad work or waive a penalty or whatever actually was a form of caring. That phrase "tough love" may be a cliche', but there's something to it.
ReplyDeleteSome years ago my syllabi and approaches to my courses had been heading in the direction of "dont care more than they do." Once that had become a fairly solid theme on RYS and now here, I really started to take it to heart. The classroom setting is not unlike any working relationship where both parties had better bring something to the table in order for it to be fruitful.
ReplyDeleteI do my part in earnest. I prepare my lectures well, I select readings that supply appropriate grounding in the topic, I foster discussion in class, I encourage students to make use of my office hours for anything supplemental.
Their part is this: come to class prepared (see the syllabus), focus attention (no texting, no fucking around on FB), contribute thoughtfully to discussion, do their work and hand in their stuff according to schedule.
I really don't care what's going on in their lives. They will never know what mayhem is going on in mine. When we gather at the appointed time in the class, that's what matters. If their lives are fucked, they can withdraw. If my life is fucked, I'll probably soldier on and they'll be none the wiser.
I usually care more about the subject-matter I teach than they do; I don't work commission, so I can't make it my job to care more about their performance than they do.
ReplyDeleteI care that my classes are well planned and that I give them the tools to succeed. It is definitely not my fucking problem if they fail to make full use of those tools. And I definitely don't give an industrially raised pig's smelly ass about their grades.
ReplyDeleteThat said, I am a fucking bottomless pit of tender compassion and human understanding towards the little rat-fuckers. When they come to me with their sad little faces and their tragic little stories, I tell them, "I am truly sorry to hear that. And let me reassure you right now that just because I gave you an F doesn't mean I think you are a bad person. Now get the fuck out of my office."
I think if caring too much comes at the personal expense of the proffie, then there's a problem because it's unbalanced. I've seen colleagues who care too much go off the deep end over one too many snowflake experiences. I've had days when I've ranted on here because of caring too much.
ReplyDeleteIf the proffie can handle caring too much, then no problem; bring on the compassion. I've had quarters where I've cared too much, and my blood pressure has skyrocketed and my family has called me "grouchy" and I've had to tune back to save myself... if it comes down to my health or my students' survival, I CAN care less.
That said, I think anyone on here probably cares more than they want to admit, or else they wouldn't be bothered by snowflakes.
It's ironic that this question came up today. I just left class stewing about how I've failed my students.
ReplyDeleteFinal papers are almost due, so today was a peer review day. I stuck around after class officially ended and offered to skim over the papers of any student who felt like getting a bit of extra help. Of the scant handful of students remaining (the class barely made, and then it suffered massive attrition), two-thirds of them had me read their papers. One was good. The others? Some barely competent, others wretched. I left feeling as if I'd wasted their money and doomed them to failure.
Then I started thinking clearly. We went over this stuff in class. We did build-up assignments. We did practice exercises. I gave them a detailed "what to look for" peer critique prompt. I've already talked to all of them and given individual feedback. And this is a summer session, with all of the students taking at least one other course.
So sure, I feel compassion for the students, and I do feel badly that most of the students either can't or just plain didn't put the ideas into practice...but I can't and won't flagellate myself. All I can do is say, "Well, that didn't work so well. I'll just have to tweak it for the next time," and move onward.
In theory, I suppose there are professors who teach so terribly that they are responsible for their students' failures.
ReplyDelete(But are they going to be the same professors who blame themselves? Shirley not.)
I think a balance has to exist. If I see something is not working for a student, then as the professor I have an obligation to examine the situation carefully. If, for example, several students don't do well on an assignment, I might look for patterns in what they did to see if there was an issue in my instructions or the way I taught the concept. It's part of my job to notice these things. If I've made a mistake, I do what I can to set things right for them and refine things for the next time around.
ReplyDeleteOn the other hand, if the problem is that the students ignored clear instructions, didn't read the syllabus, or put personal matters before school but expected leniency, I can't take responsibility for that. It comes down to each party holding up his or her end of the deal.
So what do we do with bad papers? I provide scaffolded paper assignments leading up to something big, detailed prompts (always an analytic frame for a text of their choosing, never a pre-digested topic or text), sample papers, a chance to revise for a better grade and office hours. Still, the majority of them are terrible. I always feel like I am making a mistake, somewhere, somehow, but I never know what it is. Expectations too high?
ReplyDeleteDr. Mindbender, this is indeed ironic--same thing here--I just left the last class of the week wondering if I failed my students.
ReplyDeleteI did a workshop for the paper, I provided a template, I had them staple all old assignments to the back of the paper so my comments from there were right in front of them...still, too many of them did horribly. Yet some did well. Super well. Which leads me to believe I did indeed do well, in terms of preparation / tools / explanation / guidance.
I DO want to reach them all though!
Anyway. Yeah, I'm posting my real name this time. By the way Southern Bubba, sounds like you teach Philosophy. Me too! Wonder if I know you...
@Karla: I don't remember what my field is, but my subfield is underwater Wittgensteinian equestrian basket-weaving. It's a highly specialized interdisciplinary subfield in which "water polo" takes on a whole new meaning. Don't ask me how I get my grants.
ReplyDeleteEnglishDoc said it. We can lead these here horses to water, and provide clear instructions on how to drink, but the swallowing is up to them.
ReplyDelete"So what do we do with bad papers?" Assign Fs.
Keep the expectations high, and take consolation in the fact that teachers and parents have have been ranting about students being lazy since the dawn of writing, around 5,000 years ago.