Contact
Subscribe


What Makes Us Think That Exceptional People Are Exceptional Teachers?

Aug 1, 2008
By Ken.
Law Practice

As a society, we often assume that if someone is a master of a skill, they can teach that skill — perhaps masterfully. Hence retired athletes become coaches, great artists give master classes, and the famous get paid infamously for seminars.

Is it all bullshit?

What exactly makes us so sure that a master of a complex skill can convey that skill to others? What makes us think that a master’s particular approach will work for anyone else but that master? (Maria Callas had a very distinct voice and singing style; opera singers who try to ape that style might wind up sounding like they’re singing through a Campbell’s soup can.) For that matter, what makes us so sure that a master has a realistic grasp of what makes him or her masterful?

What makes me think about this? Famed trial lawyer Gerry Spence — who says he never lost a criminal trial in 50 years, culminating recently in the acquittal of Geoffrey Feiger — has a new blog, and has been writing about teaching trial lawyering. He’s got a lot of interesting ideas about the law that are well worth reading. Some of his ideas about teaching lawyers to be effective advocates are, well, creative:

The exercise for the day is silence—blessed silence. We met in the loft of the big barn at five o’clock. Once we entered the barn all was silent except for the instructions I gave. We should meet with Mother Nature. Every part of us came from her, and will one day return to her. We should go in silence and listen to her and see what, if anything she has to say to us.

. . . .

I instruct the lawyers, we call them warriors, for these warriors fight for the rights of people against the daunting power of corporations and government—I instruct the warriors to go into the hills that surround the ranch. Find a place that is yours, where you can see no other person—perhaps by one of the huge old rocks discarded by retreating glaciers, or down by the stream. Nothing here will harm you. The wild animals, the deer, the antelope, the coyotes, the moose—they are all friendly. Even the mountain lion is shy and will slip away to avoid the noise of your feet.

When they find their place they should lie down on the earth and listen. Perhaps there will be a message. Perhaps the warrior has something to say to Mother Earth. Perhaps the warrior will ask questions like: What is the history of my life? Who am I? Where have I been all of these years? What roads have I traveled? And, having heard the answers to those questions, perhaps he or she will have a better idea of the road ahead.

Then these lawyers will come in and have a silent breakfast. Not a word will be exchanged among them. And after breakfast they will meet again in the big barn where they will paint. Paint? Lawyers painting? They will be asked to paint who they are, to paint a portrait of their soul. They will find in that exercise something of themselves that most have never encountered. And they will paint in complete silence.

And so on, in that manner.

Now Gerry Spence’s effectiveness as a trial lawyer cannot be denied. But why should we assume that his ability can be transferred through teaching? Why assume his style would work for any but a few with compatible styles? For that matter, why should we believe that silence and communing with nature actually have something to do with effective trial lawyering, rather than concluding that these are things that Gerry Spence, for philosophical reasons, likes to believe are related to his success?

Someone with a career as long, varied, and successful as Gerry Spence will almost always be interesting to hear, and will usually have some valuable insights about his craft. But at some point studying under him — like studying under any master — drifts into the realm of hero-worship. If the master always wears purple socks before trial, who am I to question him that wearing purple socks is effective?

Last 5 posts by Ken

3 Comments
Tags

3 Comments

  1. Grandy  •  Aug 1, 2008 @9:36 am

    I was going to say no even before I clicked the “continue reading” link. Not only is it true that experts are in no position to teach, but they’re also often in no position to offer up critique/commentary. E.g., Joe Morgan. Morgan is a hall of fame Second Baseman, and one of the all time greats at that position. He’s an awful, awful baseball commentor. He offers bland and uninteresting commentary much the time, and then outright wrong commentary when he’s not doing that.

    A good example is Moneyball, a baseball book written about the approach Oakland Athletics GM Billy Beane takes to baseball. The book shows how Beane has set up the As to try and take advantage of perceived market deficiencies to acquire undervalued baseball talent, because Oakland doesn’t have enough resources to approach baseball the way teams from the North East can. Part of that approach is the A’s being very sabermetric savy – sabermetrics is a field of study that takes a very in depth look into baseball statistics to help make predictions. It’s been poo-pooed by much of the mainstream media (but it continues to gain traction), even though some incredible statistical work has been done that is invariably changing the game (it’s as often as not that you’ll see a commenter talk about On Base Percentage now, where the focus used to be on Batting Average even though it’s a much sillier statistic). But it’s really about Beane attempting to find value in areas where other teams were ignoring. The A’s started producing lots of hitters who had power and took walks, but didn’t fit the “toolsy” approach lots of other organizations favored (essentially, going after high caliber athletes, often ones who weren’t that good at baseball).

    Morgan harps and harps on Moneyball and treats the book like it’s some sort of paean to sabermetrics, when it isn’t. He hasn’t even read it, but he continues to take his stubbornly old guard approach to both the book and the game. It’s absurd.

    Morgan’s hangups are, perhaps, traditional. He grew up playing the game a certain way, thinks it should be played a certain way, and represents an old guard mindset. That kind of friction is everywhere – old and established versus new and different, but it definately goes back to the fact that the greats don’t necessarily make for much of anything beyond what they were great at. It’s a little different than Spence’s, what should I call it. . . “approach”. I think his is a classic case of “people not necessarily understanding why they are good at something”, or at least being unable to articulate what makes them good at something. Maybe Spence has lots of silly rituals that he believes are the source of his secret powers. It’s just as likely that the rituals serve to put him in an emotional place that’s perfect for the court room – calming himself and channeling his energy if you will. It’s unlikely that he got where he is because he’s got 27 different Power Animals.

    But what do I know? The cool thing about Zen Buddhism is that everything can be Zen if you look at it the right way.

  2. Clint  •  Aug 1, 2008 @1:14 pm

    Just like other things, teaching is a skill, and those that make exceptional teachers have to have a natural talent for it. A soldier that shoots the straightest doesn’t necessarily make a good drill sergeant, an excellent basketball player isn’t always the best head coach, and Fortune 500 CEO won’t always be a great business teacher.

  3. Clay  •  Aug 1, 2008 @4:48 pm

    On the other hand, trainers or teachers steeped in the pragmatic aspects of their profession are horribly obtuse in their conviction that they can teach anything. Like an MBA who thinks (and more – taught to think) they can lead any enterprise.

Leave a Reply

Allowed tags: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <strike> <strong>