One of the challenges, or occupational demand, of being a researcher in academia is to simultaneously be an effective teacher/communicator. Pedagogy in science is manifestly different from scientific writing, though one finds frequent appeals to a loose correlation between the two (usually an artifact of specious reasoning rooted in biased and restricted sampling).
One common theme in both teaching and writing science is that, like in any other activity, practice and experience either makes you better or, over time, lends a certain amount of begrudging leniency to your own flaws and that of your audience. Nonetheless, there is a vital difference between the two. In writing, grappling with hanging infinitives, spurious articles, oxford commas, and chasing that elusive submission-ready draft happens in relative isolation. On the other hand, teaching plays out in front of a fresh audience with every single trial. To add to the associated insecurity, there is really no one to teach you teach! Unlike the situation in writing, astutely depicted below:
Given its unfortunately and inescapably exhibitionist nature, with students being both silent critics and potentially disapproving witnesses at each turn, developing a pedagogical style for instruction can be a rather tortuous journey.
I came across this rather interesting discourse describing the travails of being a teacher in the essay Writers, Intellectuals, Teachers by Roland Barthes. Barthes adeptly adapts the analogy of psychoanalysis to teaching. The surprise is the demolition of the usual fallacy of the more knowledgeable person being the analyst in this situation. The teacher is the one on the couch! Read below and commiserate.
---QUOTE---
How can the teacher be assimilated to the psychoanalyst? It is exactly the contrary which is the case: the teacher is the person analysed. Imagine that I am a teacher: I speak, endlessly, in front of and for someone who remains silent. I am the person who says / (the detours of one, we or impersonal sentence make no difference), I am the person who, under cover of setting out a body of knowledge, puts out a discourse, never knowing how that discourse is being received and thus for ever forbidden the reassurance of a definitive image - even if offensive - which would constitute me. In the exposi, more aptly named than we tend to think, it is not knowledge which is exposed, it is the subject (who exposes himself to all sorts of painful adventures). The mirror is empty, reflecting back to me no more than the falling away of my language as it gradually unrolls...
... I then feel coming unstuck piecemeal in front of everybody. Scarcely have I made the audience smile with some 'witty' remark, scarcely have I reassured it with some progressive stereotype, than I experience all the complacency of such provocations; I regret the hysterical drive, would like to retract it, preferring too late an austere to a 'clever' discourse (but in that contrary case it is the 'severity' of the discourse that would seem hysterical to me). Should some smile answer my remark or some gesture of assent my stereotype of intimidation, I immediately persuade myself that these manifestations of complicity come from imbeciles or flatterers (I am here describing an imaginary process). It is I who am after a response and who let myself go as far as to provoke it, yet it suffices that I receive a response for me to become distrustful. If I develop a discourse such that it coldly averts any response, I do not thereby feel myself to be any more in true (in the musical sense), for I must then glory in the solitude of my speech, furnish it with the alibi of missionary discourses (science, truth, etc.). Thus, in accordance with psychoanalytic description, when the teacher speaks to his audience, the Other is always there, puncturing his discourse. Were the discourse held tightly fastened by an impeccable intelligence, armed with scientific 'rigour' or political radicality, it would nevertheless be punctured: it suffices that I speak, that my speech flow, for it to flow away.....
... Such is the cross borne in every public act of speech. Whether the teacher speaks or whether the listener urges the right to speak, in both cases we go straight to the analytic couch...
---UNQUOTE---
Sigh!
One common theme in both teaching and writing science is that, like in any other activity, practice and experience either makes you better or, over time, lends a certain amount of begrudging leniency to your own flaws and that of your audience. Nonetheless, there is a vital difference between the two. In writing, grappling with hanging infinitives, spurious articles, oxford commas, and chasing that elusive submission-ready draft happens in relative isolation. On the other hand, teaching plays out in front of a fresh audience with every single trial. To add to the associated insecurity, there is really no one to teach you teach! Unlike the situation in writing, astutely depicted below:
Given its unfortunately and inescapably exhibitionist nature, with students being both silent critics and potentially disapproving witnesses at each turn, developing a pedagogical style for instruction can be a rather tortuous journey.
I came across this rather interesting discourse describing the travails of being a teacher in the essay Writers, Intellectuals, Teachers by Roland Barthes. Barthes adeptly adapts the analogy of psychoanalysis to teaching. The surprise is the demolition of the usual fallacy of the more knowledgeable person being the analyst in this situation. The teacher is the one on the couch! Read below and commiserate.
---QUOTE---
How can the teacher be assimilated to the psychoanalyst? It is exactly the contrary which is the case: the teacher is the person analysed. Imagine that I am a teacher: I speak, endlessly, in front of and for someone who remains silent. I am the person who says / (the detours of one, we or impersonal sentence make no difference), I am the person who, under cover of setting out a body of knowledge, puts out a discourse, never knowing how that discourse is being received and thus for ever forbidden the reassurance of a definitive image - even if offensive - which would constitute me. In the exposi, more aptly named than we tend to think, it is not knowledge which is exposed, it is the subject (who exposes himself to all sorts of painful adventures). The mirror is empty, reflecting back to me no more than the falling away of my language as it gradually unrolls...
... I then feel coming unstuck piecemeal in front of everybody. Scarcely have I made the audience smile with some 'witty' remark, scarcely have I reassured it with some progressive stereotype, than I experience all the complacency of such provocations; I regret the hysterical drive, would like to retract it, preferring too late an austere to a 'clever' discourse (but in that contrary case it is the 'severity' of the discourse that would seem hysterical to me). Should some smile answer my remark or some gesture of assent my stereotype of intimidation, I immediately persuade myself that these manifestations of complicity come from imbeciles or flatterers (I am here describing an imaginary process). It is I who am after a response and who let myself go as far as to provoke it, yet it suffices that I receive a response for me to become distrustful. If I develop a discourse such that it coldly averts any response, I do not thereby feel myself to be any more in true (in the musical sense), for I must then glory in the solitude of my speech, furnish it with the alibi of missionary discourses (science, truth, etc.). Thus, in accordance with psychoanalytic description, when the teacher speaks to his audience, the Other is always there, puncturing his discourse. Were the discourse held tightly fastened by an impeccable intelligence, armed with scientific 'rigour' or political radicality, it would nevertheless be punctured: it suffices that I speak, that my speech flow, for it to flow away.....
... Such is the cross borne in every public act of speech. Whether the teacher speaks or whether the listener urges the right to speak, in both cases we go straight to the analytic couch...
---UNQUOTE---
Sigh!
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