Teaching and Managing

BY PROF. D. S. SARMA ¹

(Principal, The Pachaiyappas College, Madras)

The other day a friend of mine gave me this casual advice: "If you teach well in your institution," he said, "you can after all benefit only one or two classes. But if you manage your institution well, all the classes in it will be benefited." This remark has set me thinking about teaching and managing, I have some experience of both–but much more of the former than of the latter. I have been teaching for the last thirty-four years, but managing only for the last four years. People say that a teacher’s life is a dull, unambitious one. But somehow the ambition of my life, even when I was a small boy at school, was to be a teacher. Some of the teachers themselves think that their lives are too monotonous. But my trouble has always been that I was not able to make my life as monotonous as I should like. I am not ashamed to say that I love monotony within certain limits. For instance, I should like to go on a walk every day and return home as well at the same hour and minute. I should like to go to bed at night and rise in the morning punctually at the same hour and minute. But I have not been able to do it. I have not been able to reduce my daily routine to a perfect piece of mechanism. It is said of Kant, the German philosopher, that his life was singularly uneventful, that he rarely traveled beyond his native town, and that when he went on a walk people set their watches. To me he is an ideal teacher.

There is a well-known hymn in the Rig Veda with the refrain–Kasmai devaya havisha vidhema, what god shall we adore with our oblations? Let us suppose that every teacher in all the schools of our Province asks himself this question–What god shall I adore with my oblations? What answer will he give? Shall he say, "The proprietor of my institution is my god," or "The Headmaster of the institution is my god," or "The parents of my pupils are my gods," or "The pupils themselves are my gods"? Well, loyalty to the proprietor, loyalty to the Headmaster, loyalty to the interests of parents and pupils are all excellent things in their own way, provided the teacher could feel and show them without losing his self-respect. But there is, I think, one loyalty which includes all these and transcends them, one loyalty which is our primary concern as teachers–and that is loyalty to the subject that we teach. Once we are loyal to our subject, love it before anything else and take delight in spreading a knowledge of it and in adding to that knowledge if possible, all other loyalties will follow. No good teacher is ever satisfied with the knowledge he has of his subject saying, "This is enough for teaching my class!" The moment that this sense of satisfaction steals over him his teaching becomes ineffectual, however lucid and impressive it may be. For the success of a good teacher lies not so much in the clear exposition of a subject as in the creation of enthusiasm for it. Clear exposition draws attention rather to itself, whereas enthusiasm draws attention to the subject. A teacher may be confused, may have faulty expression and a clumsy manner, but if he has great love and enthusiasm for his subject, he will do far more good to his students than your so-called impressive teacher, whose clear exposition too often proves to be the shining tomb of knowledge. I confess I have great searchings of heart whenever I am complimented by my old students on my impressive classes. For I hold that good teaching is like the ‘gentle rain from heaven’ which makes every little plant grow in its own place, according to the law of its own being and put forth its best. It should not be like the impressive snow-fall which in northern latitudes comes down flake upon flake and covers the whole ground and every vestige of life on it with a shining white mass. I am not undervaluing the gift of clear exposition, especially on the part of a teacher in the lower classes, but I am trying to point out that there are other gifts which will ultimately be of greater value to our students. Enthusiasm for knowledge is more valuable than the ability to communicate knowledge. It is like character. It leaves a permanent mark on the student. Its effects are not immediate. Nor do they always become tangible. The influence works silently. And some day, unknown to us and in undreamt-of places, it gives birth to something which may accelerate the pace of the spirit. If the influence of character is felt in the long run in the rise of good citizens, the influence of love of learning is felt in the rise of sound scholars. A teacher must have infinite faith in both.

It is often to a teacher’s sorrow that he becomes a manager or an administrator. The experience is like the descent of night upon his soul. Forhe soon finds that he has to say good-bye to the love of his heart, namely, his subject. He will hardly find time to keep abreast of knowledge, while there are a thousand insidious things corrupting his mind. First of all, as the head of an institution he becomes a public character and is expected to be present at various functions for which, if truth be told, he cares very little. Secondly, he has to do every day a hundred trivial things which require no brains at all but only constant vigilance and an infinite capacity for suspecting his fellow men. Thirdly, power is apt to corrode his soul and make him think highly of himself, make him dictatorial in manner and tempt him to use force where persuasion is probably the better way. Fourthly, he will frequently have to harden his heart and say ‘no’ to pupils and parents who come to him with all sorts of impossible and unreasonable requests. And, above all, he is called upon, not seldom, to solve problems which arise out of the imperfections of his brother teachers in the institution. It is only then that he realises how his own defects of character must have set problems to his erstwhile Headmaster or Principal. He then realises to his shame how he did not in former days fall into a line with others, how he was unwilling to bear any addition to his burdens, how he was slow in carrying out instructions, how he did not take sufficient part in the extra-mural activities of his institution, how he sought his own convenience rather than that of the institution when he applied for leave, and how he did not sufficiently understand the difficulties of the head of the institution. Happy is that school or college where all the teachers love and respect their administrative head and work in harmony with him and where the latter in his turn is fair and just and courteous to all. I know of many such institutions in this Province. But, unhappily, there are also institutions where the Headmaster has to confess, "It is not the boys that give me trouble, but the teachers," and institutions where the teachers have to say of their head, "Such and such are his favourites and they carry tales to him." I am afraid that in this country we have not yet realised that one of the elementary facts to be observed for the successful running of an institution is that it is possible for two men who dislike each other personally to co-operate in a public cause which both of them have at heart. Some years ago, in one of the colleges of Southern India, the Principal and one of the Professors on the staff had quarreled and had not been on speaking terms for more than a decade. But the wonder of it was that no one in the institution outside the circle of their intimate friends knew anything about it. So closely did they co-operate in all things, so loyally did the Professor carry out the Principal’s instructions, and so justly did the Principal deal with his colleague. But these were Englishmen, and that made all the difference. And that explains, I may say, without exaggeration, the difference between the history of England and the tragedy of India–a tragedy which repeats itself everyday, not only in our educational institutions but also in our political parties. We teachers are never tired of saying to our students that they should cultivate the team spirit, that they should not play for their own hand and that they should loyally follow their leader. Well, example is better than precept.

I have thus mentioned some of the sorrows of a teacher turned manager or administrator. But I must in fairness say that administration has its compensations. For one thing, it puts one’s character to test. It gives one an opportunity to see how far one’s ideals are practicable. It brings one a wider knowledge of human nature. It makes us realise that if men are not so good as we thought, they are not so bad either, and that, constituted as we are, if we try to perfect an institution beyond a certain point, we run the risk of wrecking it.