Written by Jeremy S. Adams |
Thursday, March 31, 2022
Classrooms have become emotive enclaves of a stark student-centered universe. This pivot towards the teacher-cum-protector role has colossally diminished the authority of the everyday classroom teacher because it has transformed the way students look at us. They are difficult to impress these days because the things that once commanded respect and imbued authority—intellectual achievement, virtuous behavior, classroom dynamism, prodigiousness, substantive life experiences—no longer attract the high regard they once did.

“I learned ancient Greek just so I could read Aristotle in his own language.”
It was early in the fall semester of my freshman year of college and we were reading a passage from Aristotle’s Politics in a political philosophy seminar. In addition to learning Aristotle’s view that man “is a political animal,” this divulgence from my young, first-year professor was neither a verbal thunderclap nor a haughty declaration. It was an offhanded remark, uttered as a trivial aside. As usual, he radiated confidence without the slightest hint of ego. His mastery of Greek wasn’t a topic of conversation among my classmates and no one ever mentioned it again. And yet, almost 30 years later, I can still recall experiencing a subtle pulse of enthrallment.
Granted, it did seem a little odd to my 18-year-old self. Was Aristotle so earth-shattering and profound he merited this type of Herculean effort? I was too ignorant at the time to be impressed. I didn’t know until much later how much harder Greek is to master than Latin, with its mercurial alphabet, foreign declensions, unique conjugations, and Byzantine rules of grammar. I now understand why people devote years of their lives in pursuit of this particular linguistic treasure from antiquity. And not just to read Aristotle. Goethe considered Homer to be superior to the Gospels.
Of course, not all the teachers from my youth were this impressive. Most were forgettable. Teachers try to make an impression, but as the decades pass most of our teaching moments are mentally tucked away into a few fleeting images. Our students might remember who wrote the Federalist Papers or how to write down the Pythagorean theorem, but that doesn’t mean they remember the moment they learned it or who taught it to them.
Still, most teachers radiated a genuine sense of authority. Children, by and large, once looked to their elders for answers to their most important questions. They did so for a simple reason: adults were recognized as depositories of guidance, or even wisdom. They knew what a youthful mind needed to master because they, too, were once young. In the course of life, adults had fallen in love and knew about rapture, longing, and the many ecstasies and agonies of the heart. They had made friends and lost friends and occasionally eulogized their friends. Many fought in bruising wars, marched against injustices, and still sensed the goodness of American idealism. They climbed mountains, walked trails, read dense books, memorized impactful poems, and knew what it meant to aspire and dream. They had first-hand experience with frailty of the body, myopia of the mind, and hubris of the spirit. They could detect the difference between true leadership and empty demagogy. They knew what was truly important, what was genuinely frivolous, and appreciated the scarce commodity of time.
As they aged, these adults sensed the seriousness of life. They recognized answers were “out there,” in the nectar and lemon juice of life, in the grasp of adventure and endless engagement—the answers were never found in the monotony of petty amusements or the prison of mindless distraction. But most extraordinary, if these adults happened to be teachers, they drew on their lives to bring the classroom to life. This is what the best teachers always do.
There are extremes, of course. When famed Yale English professor Harold Bloom died a few years ago, it was fondly remembered that he had all 10,000 lines of Milton’s “Paradise Lost” committed to memory, word for word. Conservative political theorist Harry Jaffa supposedly had a memory that was nothing less than encyclopedic, capable of retrieving long passages of dense texts from books he had read decades earlier.
In my own educational journey, there were plenty of impressive teachers who radiated authority without having to master ancient Greek or memorize the entirety of a canonical text. My freshman English teacher in high school, who also happened to be my father, could diagram complex sentences and had long sections of Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar memorized. Many of my professors in college were respected scholars in their academic fields. The president of my university was a world-renowned expert in the work of Danish existential philosopher Søren Kierkegaard. Authority was not in short supply.
Which is why I remember feeling a strong and buoyant desire as a student to impress these men and women. I wanted to contribute meaningfully to a class discussion, or write a cogent paper, or elicit a laugh during office hours. I wanted more than just a good grade or empty praise; I wanted them to see me as substantive, praiseworthy, and laudable. I wanted to earn their approval and affirmation, not because it was owed, but because it was freely given. I would have done almost anything to avoid disappointing them. As Adam Smith wrote in the Theory of Moral Sentiments, “To a real wise man, the judicious and well-weighed approbation of a single wise man gives more heartfelt satisfaction than all the noisy applauses of ten thousand ignorant though enthusiastic admirers.”
A Sinister Replacement
Modern education has replaced authority with empty adoration. It now encourages “ignorant” and “enthusiastic” admiration of children who frankly do very little to earn it. We have a lot of “noisy applauses” but precious little “well-weighted approbation.”
What caused the death of authority in the classroom? The answer is really quite simple: both the teachers and the students. In the time since I first started teaching over two decades ago, a radical reformulation has taken place in our midst.
The educational universe has slowly tilted away from its original mission of transforming and improving the inner fiber of young people. It used to be understood that because life is difficult, because success is fleeting, because relationships are enigmatic, and because our bodies and minds constantly disappoint us, a good life requires strength in all of its forms—moral, physical, intellectual. It is why character is destiny. It is why high expectations are a blessing. Life is tragic, yes, but that doesn’t mean it has to be a tragedy. We can successfully confront the world by improving ourselves.
While certainly not as important as the home or the chapel, the classroom used to be an important ingredient in the shaping and eventual ripening of a young person’s inner nature. Until quite recently, the world and the broader universe itself were considered fixtures to confront, not canvases to improve.
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Martin Luther had a role to play in the reformation as a seed planter. Luther wouldn’t live to see many of the fruits of discussions he had helped begin. He wasn’t a “finisher” in the reformation, he was a starter. He was used tremendously by God to restore and reform the church. Luther’s importance can be still felt today by anyone who participates in a community of Christian faith that seeks to rely on God’s Word rather than anything else as the highest authority in the church. 

It’s October! Which means it’s the season of cider, pumpkin spice, and the glorious changing of forest colors. It is also the month when the European Reformation began.
There were many people, men, and women, that God used to shape the Reformation era in European history. During this time an entire continent experienced a tremendous struggle and opportunity to seek the Lord through his Word.
One of the most recognized people of the reformation era is Martin Luther. Luther, more than any other individual is recognized as the catalyzing force which launched the reformation. When marking the period of the Reformation, October 31 is remembered as the day the Reformation began.  On that day in 1517, Luther nailed a document containing 95 statements of question and critique of the Roman church.
Protestantism is a direct result of this movement that began in 1517. Whether you are Congregational, Baptist, Presbyterian, Methodist, Anglican, Pentecostal, Episcopalian, Lutheran, or non-denominational, your historic roots have been influenced and shaped by the Reformation. Even if you are a part of the Roman church if you have ever read or heard anything from the Bible in your own native language that is only a reality because of the Reformation.
While only the most bookish of Christians will know any of the particulars of Luther’s 95 theses, it was the actions Luther (and other reformers) took that formed the memorable and ongoing legacy of the Reformation. More important than any of his individual 95 points, was the collective work and effort to point the church back to the scriptures.
While doctrinal distinctions abound among protestants, these smaller internal distinguishing points are only present because of a much larger action.
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When we are ready to post on social media, He sees our motives, He sees our content, and He sees the way we communicate this content. If we are true believers, this awesome awareness will make it our chief concern to please Him in all that we do (2 Cor. 5:9), knowing that we will give an account at the judgment (2 Cor. 5:10). This includes giving an account for our words (Matt. 12:34–37). When we genuinely believe this, we are as conscientious about what we type as we are about what we speak. 

The internet, and especially social media, has changed the world. It has also changed us. Do not think that this is a blanket condemnation of social media. I am on social media, so to call judgment on its use would be condemning myself. Social media has become such a normal part of everyday life; it is simply the air we breathe. Not only is it normal, but it can be used for good purposes. It can be a valuable tool for communication, it allows us to keep up with our friends and loved ones, and some Christians use it to winsomely communicate God’s truth.
Regardless of how individuals choose to use social media, the non-negotiable for Christians is that we always use it righteously. I suggest that it is not easy. I am convinced that electronic communication, especially social media, makes it even harder to communicate righteously. It is hard enough to keep our communication righteous when we are communicating verbally (Proverbs 10:19; James 3:2). There are several reasons this is true.
Reason 1
We are prone to make a mental distinction between what we say and what we type. Scripture, however, directly connects what one says and what one writes. God holds Himself to this very standard. For example, in Galatians 3:8, Paul, inspired by the Holy Spirit, writes that “…the Scripture…preached the gospel to Abraham beforehand.” He makes no distinction between Scripture (the written Word) and God’s audible speech. When we make a thoughtless, unwarranted, and perhaps unarticulated distinction between what we write and what we say, we are not careful to apply Scriptural principles to our use of social media.
Reason 2
Social media communication is not checked or directed by nonverbal cues present in other forms of communication. As someone has quipped, “Technology giveth and technology taketh away.” For example, when speaking in person with someone, you can pick up body language that indicates that this conversation is not being well received. Perhaps the look on their face makes you realize that they are losing their temper. Even if you are speaking with someone over the phone, you may hear sighs, a change in tone of voice, or the person may get very quiet.
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