The Rediscovery of Character

By DAVID BROOKS

New York Times (March 6, 2012)

The obituaries for James Q. Wilson, the eminent social scientist, generally emphasized his “broken windows” theory on how to reduce crime. That’s natural. This strategy, which contributed to the recent reduction in crime rates, was his most tangible legacy.

But broken windows was only a small piece of what Wilson contributed, and he did not consider it the center of his work. The best way to understand the core Wilson is by borrowing the title of one of his essays: “The Rediscovery of Character.”

When Wilson began looking at social policy, at the University of Redlands, the University of Chicago and Harvard, most people did not pay much attention to character. The Marxists looked at material forces. Darwinians at the time treated people as isolated products of competition. Policy makers of right and left thought about how to rearrange economic incentives. “It is as if it were a mark of sophistication for us to shun the language of morality in discussing the problems of mankind,” he once recalled.

Wilson worked within this tradition. But during the 1960s and ’70s, he noticed that the nation’s problems could not be understood by looking at incentives. Schools were expanding, but James Coleman found that the key to education success was the relationships at home and in the neighborhood. Income transfers to the poor increased, but poor neighborhoods did not improve; instead families disintegrated.

The economy boomed and factory jobs opened up, but crime rates skyrocketed. Every generation has an incentive to spend on itself, but none ran up huge deficits until the current one. Some sort of moral norms prevented them.

“At root,” Wilson wrote in 1985 in The Public Interest, “in almost every area of important concern, we are seeking to induce persons to act virtuously, whether as schoolchildren, applicants for public assistance, would-be lawbreakers or voters and public officials.”

When Wilson wrote about character and virtue, he didn’t mean anything high flown or theocratic. It was just the basics, befitting a man who grew up in the middle-class suburbs of Los Angeles in the 1940s: Behave in a balanced way. Think about the long-term consequences of your actions. Cooperate. Be decent.

He did not believe that virtue was inculcated by prayer in schools. It was habituated by practicing good manners, by being dependable, punctual and responsible day by day.

Wilson lived in an individualistic age, but he emphasized that character was formed in groups. As he wrote in “The Moral Sense,” his 1993 masterpiece, “Order exists because a system of beliefs and sentiments held by members of a society sets limits to what those members can do.”

Wilson set out to learn how groups created a good order, why that order sometimes frayed. He worked patiently and meticulously. The phrase “we don’t know” rings throughout his writing. He was quick to admit ignorance in the face of knotty social problems.

When Wilson started talking about character, he was surprised that many in the academy regarded him as an archconservative. Why should character talk be conservative? But he accepted the label and responded gracefully. Some conservatives in the academy respond to their isolation by becoming combative and extreme. Wilson’s rule was that conservatives should respond by being twice as productive and four times as nice.

In “The Moral Sense,” he brilliantly investigated the virtuous sentiments we are born with and how they are cultivated by habit. Wilson’s broken windows theory was promoted in an essay with George Kelling called “Character and Community.” Wilson and Kelling didn’t think of crime primarily as an individual choice. They saw it as something that emerged from the social psychology of a community. When neighborhoods feel disorganized and scary, crime increases.

Over the years, Wilson argued that American communities responded to the stresses of industrialization by fortifying self-control. Thanks to the temperance movement, for example, adult per-capita alcohol consumption fell from 7.1 gallons a year to 1.8 gallons a year between 1830 and 1850.

But America responded to the stresses of the information economy by reducing the communal buttresses to self-control, with unfortunate results. Occasionally, when there was sufficient evidence, Wilson recommended policies that might reverse this slide. In one 1998 Public Interest essay, he promoted ideas to strengthen the family: create publicly supported, privately operated group homes for teenage mothers; increase adoption; investigate ways to increase preschool programs; create a G.I. Bill for young mothers — if you take care of your kid now, the government will pay for training later; create a religious United Way fund to increase the role of religion in American society.

Wilson was not a philosopher. He was a social scientist. He just understood that people are moral judgers and moral actors, and he reintegrated the vocabulary of character into discussions of everyday life.

Billy Cundiff and The Art of Manning Up

BY MARK RADCLIFFE 

The Good men project

The other night, more than 25 million people watched the NFL AFC championship game end in infamy as the New England Patriots narrowly defeated the Baltimore Ravens.

Did the game end with a triumph of sporting brilliance? A testament to human willpower? A staggering display of athletic prowess?

No. Sadly, it was mostly decided because one guy made a lousy kick.

It was the kind of kick we’ve all screwed up much more badly at some point. In recess. In 3^rd grade. But this kick was screwed up by a guy whose sole job, unfortunately, it is to make great kicks in clutch situations. And despite the relatively easy field goal length of 32 yards, he just plum missed it. And instead of tying the game up, his team lost, and they missed out on going to the Super Bowl.

This man is Billy Cundiff.

And he’s probably got a tough few months ahead of him. Maybe longer.

And it must be said, I’m a Patriots fan. I grew up in New England, and after not seeing much success out of them in my youth, I’m ecstatic that this will be their 5^th time in the Super Bowl in 11 years.

But I didn’t want to see them win like that. Neither did most Pats fans. Hell, I swear I could even see some Pats players wincing in empathy themselves for the man who arguably cost his team a chance at a ring.

And yes, surely the Ravens and their fans didn’t want to see it end that way, either.

But most of all, Billy Cundiff probably sure would have preferred a different ending, too.

♦◊♦

There’s no shortage of stories in NFL history about kickers failing to make the clutch kick. It’s the stuff of folklore, even spoofed in movies like Ace Ventura. The kind of “whoops” you hope never happens to you. The kind that perhaps Buffalo Bills kicker Scott Norwood knows all too well. The kind that most of us commit at least once a week. But when there aren’t 25 million people watching.

The phrase “manning up” usually refers to facing a challenge in life, being bold, not backing down from a fight.

But there’s another kind of “manning up” entirely: the subtle art of recovering from a mistake, accepting responsibility and rebuilding oneself to try again.

We saw the beginnings of that kind of “manning up” in Billy’s post-game conference, as he acknowledged his blunder with calm humility. “I think we can keep things simple: It’s a kick I’ve made a thousand times in my career. I just went out there and didn’t convert. There’s really no excuse for it.”

He knew it was a horrible lapse in skill, and he owned it. The coaches and other team members like Ray Lewis all said the things that should be said, the things that are actually even true, that no one person can lose a game. That the real reason is that the whole team didn’t do enough. That you could point to other moments where someone else screwed up, but it simply didn’t happen in the final 10 seconds of the game.

But Billy knows most of the world won’t see it that way. A lot of people will blame him. Even if they shouldn’t. The competition might trash-talk him about it for years. Hell, he might trash talk himself about it for years.

♦◊♦

As someone who was a competitive ski racer for 10 years, I could relate. I know all about the sting of a momentary lapse in concentration. You can train all season long, for years on end, developing your strength and power, honing your reflexes, refining your technique, tuning your gear, and even put yourself in a first place after the first run. But in the second run, if you start thinking of victory too soon and hook a tip on the third gate from the finish and crash out? None of it matters at all. Some other guy wins and you go home with nothing.

You’ll think about it all season long, how you could have possibly let such a moment slip away. It takes a well-balanced mind to keep those demons at bay, to not beat yourself up, to forgive yourself. Because it’s easy to be a paragon of virtue when everything’s going your way. The true test of a man is when he finds himself face down in the mud.

Billy’s still got a good chunk of his career ahead of him. And it doesn’t have to end this way. This doesn’t have to be the moment he’s remembered for.

So while he’s clearly got a lot of experience “manning up” in the traditional sense in his life (he was voted a Pro Bowl kicker just last year), this one might be his biggest test yet of the other kind.

And based on his most recent post-game comments, I’d say it’s one I say he’s gonna pass. “It’s something that is going to be tough for a while,” he said. “But I’ve got two kids and there are some lessons I need to teach them. First and foremost is to stand up and face the music and move on.”

There are a lot of things a man could be concerned with after failing to deliver the goods in such a crucial moment: his team, his team’s fans, his PR image, perhaps his future contract negotiations. But instead, what’s on his mind most?

His kids. And that he’s got a responsibility to use this as a teaching moment for them, to show them how to get up off the ground and try again.

I can’t wait to see how those kids turn out, Billy. I’ll be rooting for you.

(Just as long as you’re not playing against the Pats.)

Not Bad for a Math Teacher

Those of you who divide the universe into words on the one hand and numbers on the other--and the world's  6.8 billion people into number folk on the one hand and word folk on the other--would have suffered a paradigm-shattering, world-view-reversing, soul-wrenching epiphany at the sight of Kayron Wright's seventh grade Ethics class today.

Mr. Wright teaches seventh grade math. Does this mean he's some kind of crazy mathematical genius who can figure, in a matter of seconds and doing only mental math, the probability of a UFR Oce copy jam given the time of day and the urgency of the last job sent? Sure it does.

But the kid has a way with words, too. Just listen to him string those syllables, words, sentences--whole dissertations streaming effortlessly from from the vastness of his intellect and simmering over the glowing coals of his conviction.  He's a freak of nature.

But most impressive to me was the way he uses those words to engage his students in discussion. Observing his class is like sitting in a forest of arms. Being called on by Mr. Wright is like winning the lottery. Every student has an opinion, and they all compete for a share of the spotlight.

How does he do this?

• The reading and the discussion are one. Ethics lessons generally follow the structure of read first and then discuss. Mr. Wright alters the structure, reading and discussing in the process of reading. He has a nose for the most controversial, surprising, or  engaging points of the text. He finds them, pauses, and questions. In today's story about a social worker who was mugged and then treated his mugger to dinner, there were many such hot points--like when the social worker hands his wallet over to the mugger and then offers his coat as the mugger was leaving the scene. "What?!" Mr. Wright thinks out loud. "Did I hear that right? He gave the mugger his coat and the mugger hadn't even asked for it? Is he crazy?" It turns out that the students don't think he's crazy, just extremely and uncommonly compassionate. They discuss this act briefly and get to why it is so extreme and so surprising. Then, they continue with the reading, with a very clear sense that we are not dealing with a typical mugging or a typical victim of a mugging. They are glued to the text.
• Mr. Wright is not afraid to put himself on stage. When his students reach the passage where the social worker and the mugger are ordering dinner at the social worker's favorite diner, Mr. Wright acts the part of the social worker. "Look, I know you just mugged me and you have my wallet and a big knife, but what can I order you for dinner?" No question necessary. No prompting needed. Every hand is up. Everybody weighs in on this scene.
• Interruptions are allowed. Hands go up in the middle of sentences, and Mr. Wright pauses. "You have a question?" "No," replies the student. "I have a story..." He tells two stories, the first of which is relevant to the text, a nice personal connection. The second is a bit of a stretch. "Let's get back to what's happening here in the diner." Mr. Wright keeps control of the discussion.
• Connect it back to the big picture. As the reading is coming to an end, he asks the students what this social worker has in common with Mohandas K. Gandhi and other stories that they have read in Ethics Class. Most of the questions Mr. Wright poses are not written in the lesson materials. He is off-script for most of the lesson (aside from attending closely to the reading provided). But he knows exactly where he wants to lead his students and he keeps the larger themes of this part of the 7th grade Ethics curriculum firmly in mind.

I have a feeling Mr. Wright could ignite a riotous discussion about doorknobs if necessary.

Top Ten Ethical Issues for College Freshman

The Big Q, Santa Clara University

Friday, June 10, 2011

You're off to college. You've filled out your roommate survey and ordered your "dorm in a bag" set, joined the Class of 2015 Facebook group from your school and maybe even thought about what classes to take. But there’s another way to be prepared: Imagine what you will do when you face “The Top Ten Ethical Questions for College Freshmen.”

What am I doing here? Let's be honest: A lot of kids are headed for college because it's the thing you do after high school. But you'll get more out of the experience if you think about why you're doing it: To train for a job? To be exposed to great ideas? To party? A bit of each? Your answers to these questions will form the kind of person you become in college.

Do my parents belong at college? Should your parents have a say in your choice of major? Do they have a right to see your grades? Can you ask them to call a teacher when you’re having trouble in a class or contact a dean if you have a disciplinary problem? Many parents want to be involved (especially when they’re paying the bill), but when is that reasonable guidance and when is it an intrusion? Now that you’re 18, aren’t you an adult with adult responsibilities?

Do I want to rush a fraternity or sorority? If you’ve been thinking about this question in terms of how to improve your social life, you may want to add an ethical dimension to your internal debate. By its nature, the Greek system is exclusive; some people don’t get in. Do you want to belong to that kind of group? What are the kinds of activities, social and philanthropic, that the different sororities and fraternities on your campus support. Do these match your values?

How will I interact with people who are different from me?Your decisions about how you will deal with diversity may start before you even get to campus, when you must decide whether to live in a racially or ethnically themed dorm. Or they may arise when you're invited to a "Ghetto" or "Fresh Off the Boat" or "South of the Border" theme party. How will you treat people from other backgrounds? How much do you want to move outside your own group?

My roommate is anorexic, a drug dealer, a World of Warcraft addict, an aggressive vegan …. You’ve heard the roommate horror stories. While you’re trying to figure out how to handle a difficult roommate, considering the ethical side of things may help. What kind of obligations do friends have to each other? What is the fair thing to do when two people have to share a space? What behaviors are so dangerous that you have to kick the problem up to the next level?

What about cheating? Okay, this is an oldie, but you may be surprised by the new variations it comes in once you’re in college. Your calculus teacher may encourage you to work collaboratively with your classmates on problem sets, but your chemistry teacher does not. Is it cheating to study with a partner in chemistry? When you’re assigned a group project the same month as you have to play in three away baseball games, is it cheating if you don’t do as much work as the other members of your group? You’re pre-med but you have to take an art history course; how bad is it to copy the homework for a class you’ll never use in your professional life?

Should I call the EMTs? More than 70 college students have died from alcohol poisoning since 2004, according to media reports compiled by CompelledtoAct.com. In some instances, their friends had hesitated to call emergency personnel because they didn’t want to get their drunk friend in trouble or because they themselves were underage and had been drinking. If one of your friends is in danger, will you call the EMTs no matter what the consequences may be?

Facebook posting or cyberbullying? In a recent study from Indiana State University, almost 22 percent of college students reported that they had been cyberbullied and 25 percent said they had been harassed through a social networking site. Is that comment you’re posting for all the world to see harmless gossip or are you going to be making someone else’s freshman year a living hell? And what does it really mean to be a Facebook "friend"?

Sex!!!??? Ethics is about how we treat other people. Nowhere is that concern more complicated than in the realm of sex. Of course many high school students are already sexually active (62 percent of seniors in a 2003 study by the Center’s for Disease Control). But college, where you live your everyday life out of the view of most people over 21, is different. Before you come to campus, think about the place you want sex to have in your relationships. And then get ready for the ways your resolution may be challenged by alcohol, loneliness, and what everybody else is doing.

How do I treat the people who work for me? In college, a host of people keep your campus functioning. There’s a guy who trims the roses, and a woman who cleans the common areas of your dorm, and a secretary who works for the bursar. Do you even acknowledge these workers when you pass them? Do you make the effort to get rid of the pizza boxes after the dorm meeting or separate your dishes from your silverware on the lunchroom conveyor belt? If you don’t, what does that say about the respect you have for the people who work for you?

A version of this article first appeared on The Huffington Post, May 3, 2011.

Posted by Miriam Schulman

"I Won't Put Myself In His Shoes"

Compassion can be a tough sell, especially to an 8th grade boy with a reputation to protect. He has to appear hard, unmoved by the suffering of others, ruthless in defense of himself and what's his. For him, a discussion in Ethics Class is just another part of a larger PR campaign. He has to stay on-message.

The 8th grade boy profiled above--we'll call him Andre--was the last to find his seat in Molly Stone's Ethics class this morning. He sat sideways, with his back turned to most of the circle. When the Do Now arrived in front of him, he scribbled something quickly and then put his head down on the table.

There was a brief discussion of the Do Now, and then a reading about a school bus driver who was able to help a troubled student come out of her shell during bus rides to and from school. The bus driver exemplified the 8th grade maxim for compassion: walk a mile in someone else's shoes. The discussion that followed began with an analysis of the bus driver walking a mile in the troubled girl's shoes. The conversation got more interesting--as it usually does--when the students brought it home to their experiences with others who, like the girl in the reading, struggle to connect socially.

Michael offered an anecdote about a boy on his bus with bad oral hygiene. Michael's intentions seemed much more comedic than ethical, and his audience was right there on board with him. Bad breath is funny when it happens to other people. But the source of the humor was not really the boy's bad breath. The boy was socially isolated. Nobody would talk to him. Everybody laughed at him. It was the boy's painful humiliation that Ms. Stone's advisory found so funny. Andre was laughing loudest.

Ms. Stone wasn't laughing. But she did not berate her students for laughing (as I was tempted to do). She did not express any disappointment at their reaction. She let them laugh. And then dug deeper.

"Okay, on the surface it's a funny story. But, can anyone walk a mile in this boy's shoes?"

"I'd probably just give him a mint." With that Andre inspired another round of laughter. All eyes eventually turned to Ms. Stone, who was waiting patiently to continue the discussion.

"But can you put yourself in his situation? What do you think it would be like?"

"No, I can't put myself in his situation." His tone was more serious now. He wanted Ms. Stone to back off.

"Let's take a different example, then." She returned to the girl in today's reading. "The girl with 'behavior problems' turned out to be quite happy on the bus mostly because of the way the bus driver and the other kids treated her. Do you notice that this happens in school? Do students who seem to have 'behavior problems' in some contexts behave well in other contexts? Does it have anything to do with the way others see them or treat them?"

Andre straightened up in his seat. He raised his hand. He wanted back in.

"Sometimes when a teacher gives me lots of demerits or sends me out--especially a new teacher--I think about how hard that must be to teach all of us. I mean, how hard it must be to be a new teacher at this school."

And as Andre went so went the rest of the boys in the group. They shared earnest stories of stepping into the shoes of others and the discussion took on a life of its own. Happy ending.

Andre and Ms. Stone clearly have a history. She knew exactly which buttons to press and which ones not to press. She could have jumped all over his antics and disengagement early in the discussion--and we all know she would have done that if she thought it would be fruitful. Instead, she gave him some space to engage on his own terms, confident all the while that he would make good use of the opportunity. He knew she expected him to, and she knew he wanted to.

We should be mindful that this approach would not work to re-engage all resistant students. Harder redirection is often necessary. But in this case, Ms. Stone relied on her knowledge of Andre and a relationship she has built with him over a long period of time, walking miles and miles in his shoes.

Schell Shines as Rhymes Busta

It is annoying that although we teachers deserve celebrity status, so often we lack real star power in the eyes of our students. We have the talent and grit but not the fame or fortune that lends credibility to people like, for instance, Busta Rhymes.

Busta Rhymes is a widely admired Grammy-nominated rap artist with 9 albums to his credit and millions of devoted fans worldwide. In 2006, he witnessed the murder of his close friend, confidant, and bodyguard Israel Ramirez. In a statement released to MTV, Rhymes expressed his deepest condolences for the loss of the man he described as "one of those rare friends you come across that you can trust your life with." Yet Busta Rhymes released no statement to the police investigating Ramirez's murder. He was there, he saw it happen, but he would not "snitch" even to put the man who murdered a close friend behind bars. It was not out of distrust of the police or the threat of retribution that Rhymes kept his silence. Rather, it was an effort to maintain his "hard-core" image that helped him sell his records.

Today, seventh grade Ethics teacher Gretchen Schell boldly took on Busta Rhymes with all his gold and platinum records and throngs of fans. It was a classic teacher v. celebrity showdown, except this one was even more rigged than usual in favor of celebrity. Not only did Ms. Schell have to take down Busta Rhymes but she also had to contend with the whole "stop snitchin'" street culture that so many of our younger students want so badly to identify themselves with.

Yet Ms. Schell did not flinch. After her students read the Busta Rhymes story, she calmly, matter-of-factly stirred the pot and then let her students do the talking.

"Well, maybe if it was a family member I'd talk to the police," began one student. We'll call him Caleb. "But for a friend I wouldn't. I don't snitch. It's just something I've been taught."

Some snaps and some nods, mostly from the boys in the group. Sheila had her hand up and by the look on her face, she has a counterpoint.

"How would you feel if the tables were turned? If your were shot or hurt or something and your friend was a witness? I know you'd want your friend to have your back. You'd want someone to pay the price for hurting you."

All eyes were back to Caleb. "I'd want someone to pay but not by the police. I'd want my friend to--"

"But that's just going to cause more violence." Sheila was not going to let him off the hook. "You know you would want someone to help you, so why wouldn't you do that for someone else?"

"I guess I would eventually have to tell to get it off my chest," admitted Caleb. "I wouldn't want to carry that weight."

Ms. Schell then focused the discussion on the choice Busta Rhymes made. "What should be more important to Busta Rhymes, his hard-core reputation or standing by his friend and his friend's family?"

"This reminds me of something Mr. Dobberfuhl wrote on the board," announced Jasmine. "Would you rather be famous for something bad or not be famous but be a good person?"

Nods and snaps signaled consensus. Busta Rhymes was busted. At least for the ten minutes that remained in Ethics Class.

But it's a start. In years past, Busta Rhymes has almost always won this one.

Henning Wins Despite Shaky Stuff

Teaching is often compared to playing baseball, but most people I've talked to get this metaphor all wrong. Most people compare teaching to hitting. When you absolutely kill the lesson you say that you "hit it out of the park." When your students are difficult you say that you have to take whatever they're "pitching" and try your best to put the barrel of the bat on it. Sometimes you can, sometimes you can't.

But this is all wrong. Teaching isn't like hitting. Hitting is much more passive than teaching. There's a lot of waiting, watching, and reacting that hitters do at the plate. Teachers don't have this luxury in the classroom. A good hitter carefully selects those pitches into which he will invest a precious swing. A good teacher can't be so choosy. She invests in every student.

Teaching is much more like pitching. Specifically, the teacher is like the starting pitcher. The starting pitcher is in control of the game. The decisions that the starting pitcher makes (certainly with the help and guidance of the catcher), and the pitcher's ability to execute these decisions, affect the course of the game much more than the decisions that any one batter makes. Similarly, the decisions that the teacher makes have a heavy impact on the way a particular lesson goes--almost always heavier than the decisions that any one student makes.

Major League pitchers report that they have their "best stuff" (their arm and all their pitches are performing at their best) about 25% of the time. When they have their best stuff, they are dominant and unbeatable. They report that they have "good stuff" (all of their pitches are generally working for them, though maybe not at their best) about 50% of the time. They can hope to keep their team in the game. The 25% of the time when a Major League pitcher does not have his good stuff... that's what really separates the great pitchers from the good ones.

A great pitcher can win even when he does not have his "good stuff." His curve ball hangs in the strike zone, so he knows he can't use it or he will eventually get shelled. His fastball does not have the usual zip, so he better be painting the edges of the plate, or it's batting practice. When the old reliable isn't working, a great pitcher finds another way to win.

8th grade Ethics teacher Greg Henning did not have his best stuff today. It wasn't his fault. He was working with a bad lesson. It was a brand new lesson for this year focusing on the story of George Washington Carver. It would have been a blockbuster lesson, except that the text, which should have brought the courage and resourcefulness of George Washington Carver to vivid life, was instead fairly dull--like a two-seam fastball with no action.

His students read it reluctantly, with a dreary monotone. They got it (thanks to some crafty real-time vocabulary support from Mr. Henning), but they didn't care much about it.

Henning battled through it, though, and kept his team (his students) in the game. Here's how he did it:

The text wasn't getting them, so he let the merits fly. They were all good, legit merits--an unusual and original answer, a brilliant use of textual evidence. As soon as he started throwing merits he got the crowd back into it. The discussion flowed much more enthusiastically.

He went off-script, adding questions of his own to the discussion. What fears do you think Dr. Carver would have felt? Raise your hand if you have ever felt these fears. When? Tell the story. Henning's students, as it turned out, were much more interested in talking about themselves than Dr. Carver.

Bur Mr. Henning did not abandon Dr. Carver. The text wasn't thrilling, yet he still recognized that it was important for his students to know Dr. Carver's story and to be able to relate their lives to it. So now do you see why this was difficult for George Washington Carver?

It would be great if every Ethics lesson provided enough inspiration right there on the page to captivate and motivate students, so that teachers would not have to work as hard as Mr. Henning to engage, energize, and provoke. But this is a quixotic fantasy. In reality, pitchers and teachers don't always have dominant stuff to work with. Sometimes they can win anyways.