In a recent interview, Tessa Woodward, the highly respected teacher-trainer
and author-editor, says,
I have some very strong beliefs about people and how people learn, and
about what language is and how it is learnt. As a basis of those beliefs
so my practice follows. If I take fundamental beliefs such as personal
dignity in the teaching-learning encounter . . ., then my tactics and methods
will flow from that and I will choose ways of working that harmonize with
those beliefs. (p. 5)
This year is the 50th anniversary of my university. Our motto is "Hominis
Dignitati" (For Human Dignity), based on the "belief that all
human beings are created in the image of God and entrusted by God with responsibility
for themselves, others and the world (campus document). Although I am not
a practicing Christian, I do find myself believing in my students' likeness
to gods--that these human beings warrant the respect and awe traditionally
associated with divine worship. At these times, I find I teach more effectively
and create community. I also like the active agency implied by this belief,
that we have the responsibility to do something actively to realize human
dignity. I suspect that operationalizing this motto is at least one of the
goals of our university's Institute for Religion and Culture, Institute
for Social Ethics, and Human Relations Department. I wrote the piece below
("A Best Kept Secret") for a Swiss language teaching publication
once and it speaks to these things in everyday teacher terms:
A teacher I know works enormous hours, with difficult students, huge
classes, poor materials, and grouchy administrators. Yet, she still has
huge amounts of energy. Why?
Well, she does tell people in passing part of her secret: "I love
my classes." But people interpret "classes" as "subject,"
when what she actually means is, she's in love with her students.
This isn't romantic love. It's like the love of a mother for her baby,
or Spielberg for ET--a marveling at the wonder of another life grappling
with its world, whether as literature, math, or the ABCs. Such teachers
have the ability to stand back in class and look at a troublemaker, or the
dunce of the class, and fall in love because the student is making an effort,
or perhaps rebelling. And when a teacher feels this awe, this respect, it
can't help but be communicated. It comes out of a teacher's pores, it's
in their energy. And students feel it. Feel that somebody knows they exist,
that maybe the subject isn't the most important thing in the classroom--they
are. And then they want to work. The energy multiplies.
I know it sounds kind of simple, but try it. Whadaya got to lose? You
wanna love your classes? Fall in love with your students. Marvel with wonder,
respect in awe.
Without love the rest may still get taught; with it the rest may get
learned. . . along with a whole lot of other things. (p. 35)
As in the above example, and as Tessa Woodward notes, behavior can naturally
follow beliefs. But sometimes it can get sidetracked by other values, such
as a good income, or loyalty to institutions despite their unethical practices.
That's when we need to seek out our higher level values and draw guidance
from them.
Being well-aligned with your values in your activities is how I interpret
Clarke et al.'s (1999) "coherence": It means you walk your talk.
Your beliefs are manifest in your behavior. The opposite is incoherence,
or schizophrenetic behavior, in which our activities conflict with the values
we hold. A teacher who says "Mistakes are OK" and yet emphasizes
error correction in class is confusing students. When institutions ask teachers
to act in ways that are inconsistent with their and their institution's
professed goals, both can become schizophrenetically out of alignment. The
mixed messages catch us in a double bind. We do battle within ourselves,
and within our institutions.
This happens even in larger systems. Finland, for example, has wonderful
social programs to help alcoholics and leads the field in alcohol-related
therapies. However, the government also has a monopoly on the sale of alcohol
and likes to make money. As a result, in Finland you may see two government
billboards side by side, one urging you to drink more, and the other not
to drink too much. The Finns are caught in a double bind.
In Japan, the Monbusho tells high school teachers to teach oral communication,
and yet their entrance exams do not reflect this change. Teachers are caught
in the midst of confusing messages. Do we do what the Monbusho says or do
we do our best to get our students into college? When institutions simply
use the rhetoric of values without acting upon them, then they engender
schizophrenetic activities that confuse practitioners with mixed messages
and restrain human development. Systems theory provides us one way of becoming
aware of these many messages and of noticing how they can create double
binds and confusion.
Coherently living our values in the classroom can provide students with
an optimal environment to show they are god-like. Coherence in institutions
reaches out for and develops our "human dignity" and offers us
opportunities for expanding our personal development. Acting upon these
higher values can enrich our daily activities with passionate intent and
purpose.
References
Clarke, M., Rhodes, L. Baker (1998). Lessons learned in
4th grade classrooms. The Language Teacher 22 (9), 25-27, 43.
Murphey, T. (1992). A best kept secret. English Teachers
Association of Switzerland 9, (2), 35.
Woodword, Tessa (1998). Following a philosophy of personal
dignity. (Interviewed by Merinda Wilson) Exploratio71s in Teacher Education.
6 (1), 5-9.
