The highlight of my undergrad was when, in a class on group theory with Aner Shalev, a student raised their hand to ask a question: ``Is this group finite?'' the student asked. Of course it was, all of the objects were finite, as it was a first course on group theory after all. Aner, however, paused for a brief moment, turned around, and, with his clear, yet soft voice, declared: ``Everything is finite.'' We all knew what he meant, yet somehow, while the statement finished echoing around the room, the entire class lifted their heads for a moment, and breathed a sigh. Everything is finite. The moment lingered in the air, as we all felt our humanity connected through this one universal truth. Then the moment was gone. Back to the isomorphism theorems.
When I was a first-time instructor, I thought for a long time about all of the characteristics in teachers that I disliked. Stubbornness, impatience, and unaccomodating came to the top of my list. I then thought about the characteristics that I liked. I liked it when I felt like I could be friends with the professor, or when I was unafraid to speak up. I liked being able to see the human behind the professor.
So I sought to model myself after these ideals. I declared in my syllabus that I will treat my students as human beings. I tried to advocate for the students when I could, and I spent time before each class talking to the students one on one. I asked them how they are doing, what they like about the class, and what they didn't. When a clicker question was too hard, we'd scrap it. If students asked, I would try to accomodate.
I felt the rewards within the first few weeks. The lectures were in the active-learning style, meaning that the majority of the lecture was dedicated to students working in groups to further their understanding of the content. This style of teaching is notoriously, and provably unpopular with students, yet in my class, it was working great! My attendance was high, and my students were engaged. Students called me by my first name, and from what I could tell, my students were comfortable in my class. All this for an 8:00am class!
So I know some of the pros of being a ``softie'': better engagement, a welcoming learning space, and more approachability, all leading to an increase in learning, and a positive (as opposed to stress-inducing) learning environment. Students aren't afraid, and when they aren't afraid, they are willing to explore and learn.
I later realized just how comfortable they got, when, on a day of a chemistry mid-term, some students outright spent the class working on chemistry instead of the course materials. It was for these situations exactly that I made my education choices. I let it slide. I'm not just a regular prof, I'm a cool prof. Should I not have done that? What did the other students think? What were the cons of my approach? Of course, I thought of The Prince:
The more insidious problem with leniency is the inherent bias in it. For the students who are outgoing, talkative, and in the teacher's radar, the extra attention and friendliness is a boon. For the students who are out of the teacher's reach, this is at best a neutrality, and at worst a detriment to their learning. Of course, in a small class, the teacher can pay attention to every student, and no one loses out on precious expert-interaction time, but in a class of 200 students, like mine, there were bound to be students who fell through the gaps. Not only that, but to the students who do fall through the gaps, the friendliness might look like preferential treatment; a special club of A+ students that the teacher loves chatting with.
There's also a discriminatory problem: similarity bias. We tend to respect, listen to, or think highly of people who are similar to us. We get along with people who, in some way or another, share similar traits to us. What does this mean about the students who fall through the gaps? It probably means that they are not middle-class white males, but women, minorities, and students who come from a lower socio-economic class than the average course instructor. It is very easy to start a feedback cycle: the teacher wants to show the class that they are relateable and easy-going, so they try chatting up to people. The conversations that click are with those who are similar to the teacher, thereby distancing those who are not. These students don't attend class as much, and the teacher sees a high percentage of their students are lively and interactive. The teacher does not see the students who don't show up.
At the time of writing, it's deep into a pandemic, and everyone is doing online learning. On the online learning platform, with students being random floating heads at best, and simply names at worst, the similarity bias may be dampened. On the other hand, the level of interaction (both student-student and student-instructor) is dampened as well. Can one really demonstrate one's humanity in an online classroom? Can the entire class laugh together about something silly in class? My name is Assaf Bar-Natan, and apart from that, I present fully Canadian, meaning that in a classroom, I'm just your average white guy. Yet online, my name is potentially foreign, scary, and oftentimes misspelled as the scarier version: ``Assad.'' Do I benefit or lose out from the impersonality of online learning?
I don't know exactly what feedback cycles or similarity biases happened in my class. I simply don't have the data. No one does. I also don't know if the potential pros outweigh the potential cons. I do know, however, that there are a few things I think can help these problems. The role of an active-learning classroom is to bring together students, and to create miniature communities within the larger classroom setting. I can prevent students from falling through the gaps by using student support networks to fill in the gaps. In a perfect classroom, an ignored student should always be able to get help from their peers. This is why I strive to never interrupt students talking -- their time together is sacred, and needs to be respected. I also think that it's important to be honest with onesself as an educator. Students will slip through, and when they do, it is the teacher's job to chase after them. I want to be aware of my biases, and correct my mistakes, before they become another dropout.
I taught two courses with a focus on humanity and compassion, and I plan to continue doing so. Approachability was something that I struggled with in the past, and, though I may be overcorrecting, the philosophy of leniency is helping me with that. Strangely, this outlook has also made me more patient. I learned some skills that translate well into the non-teaching world, and even if I end up being a push-over teacher, at least I will have learned something from it.