March 23, 2003

Dear Friends

If you are receiving this email, it is because somewhere along the way you have expressed an interest or encouraged me in my pursuit of a doctoral degree in education. Perhaps it was the nature of my proposed dissertation topic, perhaps it was just that you believed my having a doctorate might open doors for me or give me credibility as I continued to write about educational issues. I believe you are entitled to know why I have taken the course of action that I have.

Friday (March 21) I submitted (electronically and by snail mail) my letter of withdrawal from my program of doctoral studies at Catholic university. As you may know, I took my comprehensive examinations in July, 2001. Upon the acceptance by the faculty the following Fall I entered candidacy, that is to say, I was officially All But Dissertation (ABD). Under the rules of the university, I was required within several years to submit and have accepted a dissertation proposal. This proposal would represent the first three chapters: the statement of the problem, the necessary literature search(es), and the detailed outline of the study I proposed to do. Upon acceptance of this proposal by the three members of my committee and two additional people appointed by the university, I would be able to seek permission from the human subjects committee of the university to do my study.

I had completed a 120 page proposal by January of 2002, but I was not completely comfortable with my topic, and my advisor wanted major revisions. As I wrestled with my topic I began to realize that I really wanted to change my focus. My advisor was on leave in the Fall of 2002 when I changed my focus. Without explaining in detail, I became very interested in how successful teachers addressed the affective needs of their students, how they were able to make clear to their students that they cared about them. Realistically, this change in focus was being driven by, or in fact partially causing, major changes in my own personal orientation. To explain, I will have to offer a somewhat lengthy explanation. Please bear with me.

In the Fall of 1963 I entered Haverford College as a 17 year old freshman at a time that institution was still officially Quaker. It was my first exposure to the orientation of the Society of Friends, especially the idea of George Fox (commonly viewed as the founder of the Quakers) that there is “that of God” in each person and it is incumbent upon us to seek to address that, no matter who that person is or what that person may do. I have during the ensuing four decades often found myself returning to the Quakers, to the silence of Meeting for Worship. I would clearly express my belief in that dictum of Fox, even if I would not always live up to what it represents.

I had never joined the Friends, even as I wandered through several other religions. And yet the influence remained strong in my life. It is part of the reason I have so often had a drawing towards the doing of service, whether in my paid work or as a volunteer. It is part of the reason the led me to abandoning my previous career in data processing and embarking upon the studies in 1994 that led to my current occupation as a teacher.

Returning to the issue of my dissertation proposal, among the things I read was the work of Parker Palmer, especially his book “The Courage to Teach.” The book has a focus that is at least in part derived from Palmer's personal life voyage that led him to the Society of Friends. As a result of reading this book I thought some about my own experience in the 1970's serving briefly as a teacher intern in a Friends school in New Jersey. About the same time I learned of the death of an acquaintance, Steve Cary, former vice-president of Haverford College. Steve had been a conscientious objector during World War II. Immediately after, he had been in charge of the relief efforts in Europe that won the Nobel Peace Prize for the American Friends Service Committee. As I did some searching about his background, I also encountered a piece he had written about why he remained a pacifist even after the events of September 11, 2001. This last sort of nudged me to begin periodic attendance at Quaker Meetings for Worship on Sunday Morning.

I need to step back for a moment. A number of years ago, when I was struggling to come up with a topic for a dissertation, my wife's closest friend, Dr. Ellen Strahlman Vogel, asked why I didn't just study myself, what I thought made me an effective teacher. Here I note that others regularly tell me what I good teacher I am, even though I constantly struggle with whether I am doing enough for my students. One cannot, realistically, study oneself for a dissertation. And I certainly did not qualify for the pool of teachers I hoped to examine, those who had been winners or at least one of the four finalists for the National Teacher of Year. Still, I had received awards and recognition for my teaching, both from administrators and from students, the later being far more meaningful to me.

I began to realize that I what I was really interested in was whether there was a relationship between seeing each student as unique, as having “that of God” in herself, and the recognition as effective and even outstanding. But I could not explicitly study that particular subject, which frustrated me.

I then realized that part of what drew me to that particular focus was an interest in improving my own teaching. As I reflected in my journal, what really drew me was trying to find ways of refocusing my own teaching, to reach more of my students. I think this last point is very crucial in my decision.

During the course of my doctoral program, I have at times had to shortchange my students. By that I mean that there was much time devoted to the reading and writing necessary first for my courses, then for preparing for my comprehensives, and finally attempting to put together my proposal. Sometimes the material with which I wrestled did inform and improve my teaching practice, and then it was exciting and energizing. When it didn't, it often engaged me intellectually, but I nevertheless felt somewhat drained and flat, and I realized that my teaching was illustrative of those feelings.

My department chair told me that to write a dissertation one has to really narrow one's focus. To write a good dissertation, I would have to give up all outside interests beyond my teaching. I would not have time to read in seemingly unrelated fields in a way that has been an important part of who I am. And since I believe that the most important part of my teaching is myself, that I attempt to be “real” with the adolescents who pass through my doors, to do so would be to cheat them.

As I contemplated the upcoming summer, I realized that I was strongly drawn to participating in seminars and workshops that might inform my teaching, and not really attracted to the idea of a singular focus on writing a dissertation. I almost did not enroll for the Spring term, doing so electronically on the last possible day. I finally met with my advisor, who instructed me to draft a one to two page abstract to demonstrate that I had the requisite focus to proceed. When I presented that to her, she informed me that I now had a road map to follow, and we began to lay out a calendar. I knew I could complete the dissertation and knew how I would be able to do so. The question became whether I really wanted to.

In the interim I had continued on my path of formal affiliation with the Quakers. I began to participate in the Library committee of my Meeting, where I was asked to write “reviews” of important books for our newsletter. This led to my reading Parker Palmer's “Let Your Life Speak: Listening for the Voice of Vocation.” I had read it before, but now I was reading it with the purpose of presenting it in a way that would make sense to others, that would draw them to explore it on their own. In other words, I was reading it as a teacher. And that is the key.

I have been told all my life that I have responsibilities for my gifts. I do not disagree. But far too often we allow both the nature and the use of our gifts to be defined by the perceptions of others. In my own case I was so insecure that I had to have external validation. This far too often led me to seek and/or accept positions for which I was ill-suited.

Let me return once again to the idea of Fox, that there is “that of God” in each person and it is that that we should seek to address. I realize now, that as I approach two months from today my 57^th birthday, it is time that I accept and cherish “that of God” in myself. Sometimes I have done so even without realizing it. Thus the program in which I have been enrolled is educational administration and policy studies, and yet I have studiously avoided taking the courses necessary to be certified as an administrator. I am, by God's grace, a teacher. I have no desire to leave the classroom for administrative responsibilities. I am willing to take on some additional duties that empower others to be better teachers. Thus I have informally mentored other teachers, and I served as a department chair for one year while teaching middle school. I am interested in addressing policy issues. I have over the years developed some ability to write and to speak. When I do so from a perspective rooted in my own teaching practice my words may have a positive effect. And here the knowledge and skills developed in the course of my doctoral studies will be useful: the several years of study have therefore not been wasted.

For me to follow any path that would diminish from my role as a teacher wold be to abandon my true vocation. And here some words from the Parker Palmer book that I so recently reviewed will perhaps illuminate my thinking:

“When I give something I do not possess, I give a false and dangerous gift, a gift that looks like love but is, in reality, loveless – a gift given more from my need to prove myself than from the other's need to be cared for. That kind of giving is not only loveless but faithless, based on the arrogant and mistaken notion that God has no way of channeling love to the other except through me. Yes, we are created in and for community, to be there, in love, for one another. But community cuts both ways: when we reach the limits of our own capacity to love, community means trusting that someone else will be available to the person in need.

“One sign that I am violating my own nature in the name of nobility is a condition called burnout. Though usually regarded as the result of trying to give too much, burnout in my experience results from trying to give what I do not possess – the ultimate in giving too little! Burnout is a state of emptiness to be sure, but it does not result from giving all I have: it merely reveals the nothingness from which I was trying to give in the first place. . . .

“When the gift I give to the other is integral to my own nature, when it comes from a place of organic reality within me, it will renew itself – and me – even as I give it away. Only when I give something that does not grow within me do I deplete myself and harm the other a well, for only harm can come from a gift that is forced, inorganic, unreal.” (pp 48-50).

In whatever years I may have remaining, my focus has to be on continuing to grow as a teacher. As I look back on my life, the only way I have ever been real is when functioning in love as a teacher. Functioning in love: seeing the other as absolutely unique, and addressing “that of God” in the other. It is from living and working in such a manner that conceivably I may have words to share on educational issues, through writing and occasionally through speaking. Absent that focus, the going back to the center of who I truly am, I would demonstrate a giving of that which I do not possess, I would burn myself out, and no title or congratulations from others for my supposed perspicacity would in any way counterbalance that.

Friends, I thank you for your patience in reading this far. This is written as an expression from the heart, from who I am. I have not gone back and edited it. The language will at times be uneven. The grammar and structure could well be improved. I have, hopefully, at least caught all the obvious typographical errors. I offer it in love, so that you may have perhaps some window into why I have made a decision that may on the surface seem incomprehensible: After all, I have come so far down the path of achieving the degree, I have made such investments of time and money, and others have also committed to me, from the University which gave me my scholarship to the professors who gave me guidance. But I have gained from my course of studies what I can truly use. To be sure some doors may remain closed because I lack the letters “Ph. D.” after my name. The addition of those letters would give no true additional weight to my words. If my life will not speak, then I cannot expect that my words will..

I am at peace with the decision that I have made. I acknowledge that it is not the decision that others would make in my place. But that is an important point. The others are NOT in my place, they are not me, as I am not them. All I can do is listen in stillness, examine my heart, and trust that what I am doing is genuine, comes from listening to and addressing that of God in myself.

I wish you all the best in whatever decisions you may choose to make in your own lives. I trust that I can accept and affirm you even when I do not understand. If you can, please accept what I have done is my best judgment, even if you do not understand.

In peace

Kenneth Bernstein