I love teaching. I have returned to the classroom. I am co-teaching a course I taught regularly before entering higher education administration. We decided, the chief academic officer and I, that we both should be doing more of what the institution is dedicated to.
There is a standard trick question that is asked of candidates for academic jobs, at least at the more elite campuses (and virtually all law schools regard themselves as research-oriented): "Why do you want to go into teaching?"
An answer emphasizing teaching, such as, "I taught fifth grade after college, before I entered graduate school, and I enjoyed that so much," is incorrect according to the conventional wisdom.
Faculty who pride themselves on being scholar-teachers, as distinguished from teacher-scholars, want to hear, "I like teaching, and I'll do a good job of it. Perhaps I could share with you, however, my research agenda. . ."
Then the savvy applicant proceeds to outline a series of articles, books, and other work to span a career, presenting her Big Idea in its many forms.
That is a caricature of course. But it is only slightly exaggerated.
I have always wondered why we cannot adjust the balance. Our schools exist only because we are able to attract students who wish to learn. They pay the tuition, which in turn pays the bills. They might portray them as consumers in more pointed terms, and I do not begrudge them.
Very few colleges could sustain themselves as think tanks given over to the production of original scholarship, exclusively. Only those with the most sizable endowments or best record of obtaining grants might be able to do that, and even then they would benefit from a community that included apprentices training to join them.
In our era, much of what a chancellor, dean, president or other leader of a school must do is "institutional advancement." That is a fancy term for fundraising. An understanding of, respect for, and participation in teaching is a pre-requisite to this "development" work. A person who disdained teaching and teachers is a person who is contemptuous of students as well, and they will not succeed in asking for material support.
As much as my teaching is meant to demonstrate commitment to our primary constituency, our current students, I have to admit I have another reason for doing it. I enjoy it.
That is not a vice. To the contrary, I hope everyone we hire for the faculty takes pleasure in explaining to others the subject of their investigations. Otherwise they should not enter the profession. They might balk, as we all would, at the measurement of their effectiveness, but it also is important when they are being compensated for the task that there be some assessment of success -- as is the case for most workers in most fields.
Yet the more experienced I become as a teacher, the more convinced I am that my own efficacy has more to do with pedagogy than anything else. What I mean is that I have to know the subject, but whether I can impart it depends on my technique as a teacher more than the expertise in my head. It requires that the students believe I am interested in their future, as much my mastery of technical doctrine. The correlations could run in the direction opposite assumptions: students are skeptical, as they should be, if I appear to care primarily about my own projects.
They also care about aspects of teaching I would not have imagined, before I had this role. They want, as they deserve, a syllabus that is arranged with care and class sessions that cover what is scheduled. Enthusiasm counts, but organization counts even more.
Yet I conclude as a contrarian. Notwithstanding my support for teaching, which if any stronger would imperil my ability to lead the type of school I head, I must champion my colleagues in their research. (In a later essay, I will discuss in detail the importance of research, both protected by academic freedom and sponsored by society in material terms.)
There are intrinsic reasons to value intellectual inquiry. After the Enlightenment, one would not have thought it necessary to state the proposition. Progress is based on discovery. The production of knowledge has always been bound together with the dissemination of knowledge, and neither could continue with the other.
There also are instrumental reasons for the sentiment. The research enhances our reputation, which is what attracts the students (whether they are aware of the cause-effect relationship or not).
Professors are privileged in the classroom, but vulnerable outside it. They are authorities who command respect, placed behind a podium because they have something to share that compels the rest of us to pay attention. But they are threatened too, as bullies would mock nerds earlier in their lifetimes.
We have come quickly to a point that many would doubted possible: people openly doubt the value of higher education. We can show it is worthwhile. But that means realizing we must do so.