This is an old teaching 
philosophy from several years ago.  I've used the mantra "don't be an 
asshole" a few times lately, when I felt particularly annoyed by certain
 behaviors from my students.  I thought I'd dig this back up.
 
  
Writing
 this statement was inspired by a conversation I had recently with an 
undergraduate who was preparing for a career in cooking instruction. 
“What advice do you have for an aspiring teacher?” he asked me. Given 
our very different fields, it was clearly important to think beyond the 
strictly sociological (“always teach theory and methods as one”), and 
even beyond the arts & sciences (“bravely embrace seemingly new 
traditions”). What could I tell this young person about teaching that 
would apply as well to him—a chef who teaches others how to cook—as it 
does to myself as a teacher of sociology?
  
 
  
“Do
 yoga,” I told him. We were sitting outside of our classroom, before an 
8:40am class, having both arrived very early. I had just come from a 
6:30am yoga class, and my gym bag was sitting next to my course 
materials. I took up yoga during my first year as a professor and have 
found it to be indispensable for classroom preparation. First of all, on
 days when I have an early class, going to yoga first means that I’m not
 starting my day by facing 50 undergraduates. Students are a generally 
amicable group, but each day presents new challenges for them and for 
me, and I don’t want to face these challenges straight out of bed. I 
need time to get centered. Yoga also prepares me for the physical 
demands of teaching. My muscles get stretched, my spine comes into 
alignment, my neck and shoulders relax and my breathing becomes deep and
 intentional. As a consequence, I am both calm and authoritative in the 
classroom. My posture is powerful and I have the energy I need to move 
about the classroom and engage all of my students. Finally, the closing 
postures of my yoga class prepare me spiritually for the day. 
“Experience the effect,” my yoga teacher says. “Visualize yourselves 
having a wonderful day. Think of one positive thing that will happen 
today and carry that with you.” I frequently imagine a classroom of 
engaged learners at that point (though my intentions are also directed 
at friends, lovers, family members, and world peace), and later I do my 
part to make this intention a reality. 
  
 
“Do
 yoga.” My student seemed both amused and disappointed. “Anything else?”
 “Yes,” I replied. “Don’t be an asshole.” The philosophical principle of
 not being an asshole is more complicated than it sounds; which is to 
say that being an asshole comes scandalously easy. Given the power that 
teachers wield in their classrooms and in the lives of their students, 
the opportunities for assholery are ample. 
 
At
 minimum, “don’t be an asshole” is a mantra. I repeat it in the back of 
my head during pedagogical moments (teaching, holding office hours, 
answering emails from students) and roll it to the front of my head at 
key times. “My paper is finished but the printer in the student lab is 
busted. Can I email it to you after class?” Well, I have a no late paper
 policy. And you, the student, are solely responsible for ensuring that 
you are able to complete and submit your assignments by the deadline. 
But then, don’t be an asshole. “Okay,” I say. “Make sure you send it by 
4:30, so that I can print it before going home.” (I recognize that for 
some teachers, in some classes, and in some contexts, the above 
circumstance could have produced very different results without the 
teacher earning the label of asshole. But for me, for this course, and 
in this circumstance, not being an asshole meant recognizing that it was
 easy enough for me to print this short paper later in the day, and that
 my students have widely variant access to personal printers, and that 
sometimes the printers in the labs really do go haywire.) The mantra 
saves me from making justifiable but needlessly mean decisions that only
 serve to alienate students from the curriculum. 
 
But
 “don’t be an asshole” is more than mere mantra. It’s also a pedagogical
 theory that implies a host of policies and practices, several of which I
 summarize below. 
 
Om 1: Respect the Material 
The
 curriculum is what draws the teacher and students together, whether the
 course is required or an elective. An instructor who seeks coolness by 
labeling portions of the material as bogus will only inspire students to
 treat the course as bogus. But this can be tempting for those of use 
who teach courses in which part or all of the subject matter is in 
fields where our expertise is limited. To combat this, we need to 
embrace the opportunity to gain new expertise.
Conveniently,
 this puts us in the position of being students alongside of our 
students—learning a new area together. In my first semester of teaching,
 I was assigned two sections of a course on ethnicity, a subject I had 
never actually studied. Though daunting and difficult, I read several 
books to prepare myself and selected as the primary textbook a history 
of ethnicity in America. This allowed me to study the important 
historical components alongside my students, while my lectures provided 
the sociological elements with which I was more comfortable. The point 
is that the knowledge produced by a course can transform the lives of 
students by exposing them to new ideas and giving them new skills—and as
 such, that knowledge should never be degraded or belittled. When 
students say the readings are difficult, the concepts complex, the 
papers time-consuming, and the tests hard, the appropriate response is a
 hardy “Amen!” 
 
Om 2: Hold High Expectations of the Students 
Students
 may sign up for a course because they think it’s a gut, but proving 
them right produces neither good course evaluations nor engaged 
learning. Students are capable of reading at a high level, so long as 
they are set up to be good readers. (We do this by anticipating 
challenging vocabulary, making links across readings and lectures, and 
contextualizing the ideas.) Students are capable of high level 
discussions. When I pose an open-ended question and a student responds 
with a reply that misses the mark, I don’t pretend otherwise. I just say
 “Nope, that’s not what I’m looking for,” and I help him to see why. I 
also ask him to help me in posing the question better. Students are 
capable of writing high-level papers, although they will need some 
preparation for writing within the discipline—preparation that makes 
clear what standards the teacher is using. I grade papers more on 
argument than mechanics, but spelling, grammar and syntax are important 
both in their own right and for their capacity to clarify meaning. So I 
comment a lot on these word-level and sentence-level issues because I 
expect students to write excellent papers. These writing standards are 
explained on my syllabi and reinforced with in-class writing workshops. I
 consistently find that by using high standards for student writing, the
 quality of writing consistently improves across the semester (usually 
from a C average on the first paper to a B average on the last paper). 
When students are not challenged—when expectations are low—they tend to 
conclude that the teacher is an asshole. And I tend to agree. 
 
 Om 3: Everyone is an Intellectual.
Om 3: Everyone is an Intellectual.  
This
 is a claim I borrow from several sources—Antonio Gramsci, Henry Giroux,
 bell hooks, and Patricia Hill Collins. The premise is that humans are 
by nature intellectual creatures (a rare biological universal that I 
will concede). We all become experts at something, whether it’s 
academics, family life, sports, popular culture, auto mechanics, 
electronics, or any of a number of possibilities. As it happens, I am a 
sociological intellectual. Some of my students share this expertise with
 me—and I treat them all as amateur sociologists—others are experts at 
other things. But the classroom is filled to the brim with intellectuals
 and each member should be engaged as such. 
 
Om 4: Respect Time and Money 
Though
 class participants share huge reserves of intellect, we do not all have
 the same access to time and money. I try to acknowledge this with 
careful and responsible course planning. I won’t select a textbook if I 
don’t anticipate using at least 80% of the text. Textbooks are 
expensive, for reasons that I think are beyond the control of 
publishers. But out students should never pay that price needlessly. 
Required texts should be thoroughly incorporated into the curriculum and
 alternatives such as web postings should be used whenever possible and 
appropriate. 
 
Respecting
 time demands a thoughtful consideration of the curriculum and 
assignments. I list on my syllabus—under the heading ‘Responsibilities 
of the Professor’—an expectation that I will provide fruitful 
information and skills. For my graduate students, this means that they 
will not write course papers, but instead will submit the first draft of
 a scholarly article. I then work with them in submitting these papers 
to conferences and preparing them for publication. As a midterm 
assignment, I ask them to submit either a publishable annotated 
bibliography or a lecture outline for use in an undergraduate course. 
 
For
 my undergraduate students, respecting time means that each of my test 
questions is held accountable to a larger sense of the big picture. 
Before finalizing the test, I re-examine each question and ask myself 
“why does knowing this information matter?” If I cannot answer that 
question for a given item, it has to go. 
 
Respecting
 students’ time also means attention to small details like showing up 
for class on time, never holding students after the scheduled end-time, 
making sure that I’m prepared, not abusing the opportunity to send 
emails, and confirming that classroom technology works (still a big 
struggle for me). But here’s a small detail that has become a big issue 
for me—I promise to return all papers within one week of receipt. I do 
this to respect student anxiety about their work and to capitalize on 
the opportunity for students to learn from returned assignments. 
Sometimes it is incredibly difficult, and I must admit that I have 
broken the promise. The first time I broke the promise, I baked a batch 
of chocolate-chip cookies, as a sort of apology (I also apologized 
verbally in class). The second time that I broke the promise, I gave my 
students a lengthier window for paper revisions. (As a policy, I don’t 
apologize in a way that compromises the material, say by giving an extra
 credit point or dropping a reading.) These apologetic concessions help 
to affirm to myself and my students that the basic principle—respecting 
time and returning assignments promptly—is very important, even as I 
accept that I am human and cannot live up to every standard. 
 
I
 also expect students to respect my time. I state on the syllabus it is 
the students’ responsibility to show up for all classes on time, and to 
be on time for all scheduled meetings outside of class. Further, I state
 an expectation that they will be prepared for all classes and that they
 will ensure their ability to submit all assignments on time. In 
practice, I am flexible with many student circumstances—unexpected 
difficulties arise and I don’t want to be an asshole—but I also don’t 
tolerate asshole treatment from my students. 
 
Om 5: Don’t Obscure the Information 
In
 this age of anxiety about grade inflation (perhaps I should say this 
age of grade inflation, but I think the jury’s still out on that), it 
can be tempting to ‘fix’ grades by making the questions obscure—two 
steps away from what the students found in the readings and heard in 
lectures or discussions. It seems to me that this is a really sad 
mistake that misses our basic calling to educate students. I try to 
present the information in the clearest possible terms, and to make it 
seem real through the use of life-based examples. I give my students a 
review sheet for tests that comes darn close to directly stating the 
test questions. But this is not spoon-feeding. We deal in difficult and 
complex concepts. The material is sufficiently challenging when 
presented in a straight-forward manner. I feel far more comfortable with
 being a demanding grader because I know that I have presented this 
material as clearly as possible. The difficulty of the material has, 
thus far, prevented any situation in which I might be deemed a grade 
inflater, and yet students do not accuse me of being unfair either. 
 
Om 6: Diffuse Unearned Power and Seek Earned Strength 
This
 concept comes from Peggy McIntosh’s investigation of white privilege, 
in which she suggests that white people, like all people, should feel 
empowered in their everyday lives. But their empowerment should be 
derived from earned strength—their skills and training—and not from 
unearned power, specifically their race. She lists the many ways that 
whites benefit from their race on a daily basis—ways that they are often
 oblivious to. The concept applies broadly to a number of areas. In the 
classroom, I want to be a powerful and authoritative teacher, but I want
 that authority to come from my knowledge of the material, my skills as a
 teacher, and my commitment to my students. I don’t want authority to 
come from a title in front of my name or a particular classroom 
demeanor. I am proud of my doctorate—I worked hard for it—but I didn’t 
earn it from my students. So I don’t ask them to call me Dr. Kidd. They 
call me Dustin, just as everyone else in my life calls me Dustin, and I 
call them by their first names as well. I also don’t particularly dress 
up for class. I dress professionally, but still somewhat casually 
(trousers, yes, but no tie or jacket). I’m not trying to be ‘cool’ or 
act like I’m one of the students. I am the professor, but I earn that 
authority through professing the wisdom of my field, not through a title
 or a tie. And I actively discuss this distinction between unearned 
power and earned strength in the classroom, so that my students are very
 aware of why they are calling me Dustin and why I wear no suit. 
 
 Om 7: Be Kind to Yourself
Om 7: Be Kind to Yourself  
By
 ‘yourself’ I mean myself. I do not abuse myself in my role as a 
teacher. I work hard, but not too hard. I make sure that I am actively 
engaged in my relationships, my research, my personal and physical 
needs, and my spirituality—never sacrificing these areas of my life to 
the demands of teaching. Frankly, that would just make me a worse 
teacher. I am sure that I would be an asshole then. I design my syllabi 
carefully to fit the ebb and flow of my own life. I try to avoid 
collecting assignments in more than one class on the same week. If I 
have to break my promise of returning papers within one week of receipt,
 in order to stay sane, I do so—and I simply explain my difficulties to 
my students and apologize for letting them down (I find that students 
are happy to forgive, if given the opportunity). In being kind to 
myself, of course, I also ask that my students be kind to me. I think 
this reasonable, and I return the favor by trying to respect the ebb and
 flow of their lives—avoiding major assignments around holiday periods, 
respecting the ways that their own religious beliefs conflict with the 
academic calendar, and so forth. 
 
Om 8: Admit to Mistakes 
I
 am a big believer in the power of apologies and forgiveness. Clearly, I
 have already alluded to this belief earlier in this statement. I 
experienced this most powerfully when I was still a graduate student and
 serving as an adjunct faculty at the University of Virginia. I had a 
class scheduled to meet early on the morning of September 12th, 2001. I 
have never been so profoundly aware of my own lack of wisdom as I was 
that week. In my sadness and confusion after the morning events of 
September 11th, I decided that I would still hold class the next day. It
 was a terrible class. I had a lecture that was well-prepared, but I 
just wasn’t present in it. Attendance was low as well. I didn’t even 
acknowledge the events of the previous day. I think there could have 
been lots of good reasons for holding class that day, but I didn’t lay 
claim to any of them. My reasons—stubbornness and confusion—were wrong. 
On the last day of class that semester, I finally got up the nerve to 
apologize. On my final evaluations, in addition to some comments 
indicating that students were actually glad to be in class that day—were
 other comments thanking me for the apology and outright forgiving me 
for the mistake. As teachers, we often feel that our students want us to
 be perfect, but we only feel that way because we invest so much into 
making them think we really are flawless. As I said earlier, students 
have deep wells of forgiveness that we draw on too rarely—not because we
 don’t make mistakes, but because we don’t admit to mistakes. 
 
Om 9: Make the Changes that Need to be Made 
We
 don’t inherit perfect disciplines or perfect curricula. To me, this is 
most clear in the ways that our material is dominated by men, economic 
elites, whites, heterosexuals, and the nondisabled. As a teacher, I can 
either reproduce these discriminations, or I can transform them. I never
 studied queer theory, but when I was first assigned to teach social 
theory I knew that queer theory had to be included. So it was up to me 
to survey the field and to present it to my students. When I was a 
student, my classical social theory classes never included works by 
women. But women have obviously long held innovative ideas about 
society, so it was up to me to find and teach these theorists and 
theories to my students. I am a terrible candidate for this kind of 
transformative work, but as the teacher in my classes, I am the only 
candidate. 
 
 Om 10: Communicate
Om 10: Communicate  
Assholes
 don’t communicate. Teachers need to communicate. Communication comes in
 many forms, from a comprehensive statement of course policies in the 
syllabus to thorough feedback on assignments. Good communication begins 
with a clearly stated course purpose and a list of course goals. These 
should be presented in class and listed on the syllabus. Such 
transparency allows students to make the best decision about whether the
 course is appropriate for their own goals and purposes. One of the most
 important ways that I communicate with my students regards the 
participation component of my courses. This aspect of the course is very
 important to me, and it is crucial for student understanding of the 
material. Students are often intimated by this grade, and I suspect it 
often seems like something that is just made up at the end of the 
semester. To avoid this concern, I give my students a midterm 
participation feedback form. On the form, I list the many expectations 
that I hold for student participation. The form provides them with an 
estimation of their grade so far, and it indicates which of the 
expectations they should focus on in order to improve the grade. 
 
I
 also use evaluations as a form of communication. I hold an evaluation 
about a third or halfway into the semester. The evaluation questions are
 simple—what helps you learn in this class, what hinders your learning, 
and what suggestions do you have. The feedback from these forms is typed
 up, and quantified in various ways. Quantifying the results helps me to
 put it in perspective. I might feel very upset about a particular 
comment, but the quantification reveals that it was an isolated concern.
 The results are shared with class, including a strategy for how I will 
respond to the feedback, and a request for how I want them to respond. 
In addition, I provide my own evaluation of how the course is going so 
far. 
 
The
 issues of cheating and plagiarism raise some important questions about 
communication. On the one hand, I don’t want my students to cheat by 
accident because they don’t realize that a particular action constitutes
 cheating. On the other hand, I don’t want my students to miss a good 
learning opportunity—such as sharing their papers with each 
other—because they are afraid that it might be construed as cheating. 
The best way to avoid these dilemmas that I have found is to state a 
clear policy of what constitutes cheating on each assignment. This gets 
beyond the vagaries of the generic code of conduct and clarifies which 
actions are encouraged and which are forbidden. 
 
Finally,
 I state clear communication policies on my syllabi, indicating how and 
when to email me, when to expect a response, when it is okay to call me 
at home, and how often I expect students to check their email. 
 
Om 
These
 ten Oms should not be confused for being a teaching philosophy. They 
are rather, a teaching philosophy statement; a lengthy introduction to a
 short teaching philosophy: do yoga and don’t be an asshole. My 
philosophy is premised upon these two commands. The second is like the 
first. Not being an asshole is, in many ways, the root of yogic 
philosophy. Kind people everywhere are yogis in my eyes—whether they 
exhibit this kindness by feeding the poor or by conducting thoughtful, 
careful research into issues that matter. To my readers, my students, 
and kind people the world over, I close simply... 
 
You have read this article  with the title May 2013. You can bookmark this page URL http://celebrityapprenticey.blogspot.com/2013/05/yoga-and-dont-be-asshole.html. Thanks!