The Courage to Teach
“The best thing for being sad… is to learn something” — T.H. White
I never thought I’d be a teacher.
Growing up, I wanted to be everything else— A professional footballer, a rock star, an astronaut, an explorer, a (famous) writer, the emperor of the universe…
Teaching wasn’t something I thought about. My mother was a teacher. Dinner talk with the family always had something to do with economics, real estate, and religion.
I used to look down on teachers. Teaching seemed like something people resigned themselves to when they couldn’t cut it as a doctor, engineer, banker or lawyer. I bought into the myth that “those who can; do. Those who can’t; teach.”
I was wrong about teaching — Motherhood might be the only thing more challenging. The weight of responsibility, patience, and courage required of a teacher is no joke. Teaching can be an exhausting affair. The following quote on writing describes teaching in all its Sisyphean glory:
“Sometimes you have to go on when you don’t feel like it, and sometimes you’re doing good work when it feels like all you’re managing is to shovel shit from a sitting position.”
— Stephen King
Parker J. Palmer’s book The Courage to Teach fell into my lap by complete accident. I had been teaching for a few months at an English language school in Toronto and I felt stuck in a rut. Why wasn’t I pulling off amazing classes day-in, day-out? Was I incompetent? Who am I to teach these students anything, am I even truly qualified?
I internalized a lot of self-defeating attitudes and doubts. I was afraid to admit that I didn’t know if I was any good as a teacher. I was terrified of betraying my students’ faith in me by teaching them the wrong things. I hated not being perfect and I was scared of being judged as incompetent by my students and colleagues.
Deep down, I knew that the answer didn’t lie in cookie-cutter “teaching techniques”, nor did it exist in a trite “just believe in yourself.”
I was shackled by fear.
The Courage to Teach by Parker J. Palmer opened a whole new perspective on teaching. I learned that the fear I had was a normal feeling all teachers faced. I learned how to acknowledge and accept my ego and insecurities. Most importantly, I learned that there were people out there who believed what I believed — Teaching is not solely governed by the head or the heart. Teaching is a combination of both technique and character, and the essence of all teaching lies in the ceaseless exploration of truth, life, and love.
Teaching as character
“Good teaching cannot be reduced to technique; good teaching comes from the identity and integrity of the teacher.”
— Parker J. Palmer
This passage made me realize that The Courage to Teach was worth reading.
I was skeptical at first. I’d found the book on countless “ten books all teacher should read” lists and I was afraid it would be full of the same information repackaged into fluffy, emotional language. That was thankfully not the case.
The Courage to Teach is full of actionable lessons sprinkled with thought-provoking quotes on the art and heart of teaching.
“Good teachers share one trait: a strong sense of personal identity.”
— Parker J. Palmer
Like Socrates and the Ancient Greeks, Palmer encourages us to “know ourselves”. Palmer suggests that the key to great teaching is not just due to teaching skill or technique but through thoughtful inner-examination of our emotional, mental and spiritual lives.
A teacher dances in the dangerous intersection between personal and public life. Palmer emphasizes that while technique reveals who we are, the alignment of teaching and the self is the secret sauce allowing teachers to inspire, encourage and empower students.
Vocation: “The place where your deep gladness and the world’s deep hunger meet.”
— Parker J. Palmer
Palmer advocates joy and happiness as important indicators of great teaching. The implications are simple: If you’re not happy teaching, you shouldn’t be a teacher!
How do you tell if someone is meant to be a teacher? Deep gladness. Revolutionary, but true.
That was all new to me.
Embrace the fear and enjoy suffering, it’s normal!
“Whatever eventually blesses us may at first feel like a curse!”
— Parker J. Palmer
Some days I wake up and I’m terrified of teaching.
I’m worried I’ll do a terrible job. I’m worried I will say something silly or stupid or not know the answer to a legitimate question. My thoughts drown themselves in self-doubt and silliness.
Palmer stresses that having fear and feeling like an imposter is completely normal. Even after a teaching career spanning over three decades, he still finds teaching a nerve-wracking endeavor. The vulnerable anecdotes Palmer shares about both his successes and failures as a teacher highlight the fact that the fear never disappears completely. The key is not to deny our fears, but to try our best in spite of them.
“I will always have fear. I can choose not to be my fear.”
— Parker J. Palmer
Before reading The Courage to Teach, I was terrified of silence. I’d always prided myself on being a friendly, sociable fellow. Silence gave me the heebie-jeebies. I thought that silent students meant they were bored, unimpressed or had mentally checked out of my class. Parker stresses not to assume that silence equals a problem. In many cases, silence is actually a good thing — it could just mean that the students are engaging in challenging thought and are actively trying to solve a problem.
Crucially, Palmer emphasizes that we will have terrible teaching days, and that’s normal. Our students’ moods may have nothing to do with us as teachers. There’s no need to take everything personally. For all we know, a bored or disruptive student may simply be calling for help. Maybe they’re frustrated with something in the material or in their lives. Maybe what they need is not judgment, but an open heart, an open ear and someone who seeks to understand where they’re coming from.
Put students behind the wheel. Give them responsibility. Give them the ability to author their lives — it may produce results that counteract all of our preconceived biases and prejudices. Nobody is better than you and nobody is worse than you.
Suffering must be actively embraced because it expands our hearts.
Combining the head and the heart through a community of truth (subject-oriented teaching)
A subject is available for relationship; an object is not.
Great teaching is an eternal conversation. It contains discourse and never supposes ultimate certainty. For teaching to come alive, we must treat the subjects we teach as living. They are not just a dead collection of facts and theories. They’re living and breathing. Every student and every class brings new ideas and perspectives to the material.
Under this paradigm, a teacher-mistake in class is not a moment of embarrassment, but an opportunity to admit our shortcomings and to celebrate and engage with good teaching.
No teacher or student is more important than the material. Both teachers and students have direct access to truth. Their opinions are all important. We are all learners together.
An “objectivist” paradigm forces a teacher-centred class. It’s all about the teacher. This is a world where class-material exists as unattainable “objects”. A world where teachers are infallible experts and students are mute information-absorbers.
In this paradigm, a teacher-mistake breaks the myth of expertise. Students lose trust in their teacher, while teachers then overcompensate to protect their bruised egos.
What ends up happening? Egos run amok and an inability to engage in honest dialogue between teacher, student, and subject.
Loving life
“The great affair, the love affair with life, is to live as variously as possible, to groom one’s curiosity like a high-spirited thoroughbred, climb aboard, and gallop over the thick, sun-struck hills every day.
When there is no risk, the emotional terrain is flat and unyielding, and despite all its dimensions, valleys, pinnacles, and detours, life will seem to have none of its magnificent geography, only a length.
It began in mystery, and it will end in mystery, but what a savage and beautiful country lies in between.”
— Diane Ackerman
