The transcribed letter below was written by Professor Harry G. Johnson to (then) graduate student Michael Mussa whose proposal for student evaluations of graduate courses at the economics department of the University of Chicago met with hostile reception. It is always a genuinely nice gesture for a senior professor to take time and effort to recognize a student initiative and this letter is a model of such a response. I presume the copy of this letter I found in Milton Friedman’s papers had been shared by Johnson with his colleagues.
Johnson first reflects on the nature of teaching in a leading graduate institution, concluding on the one hand that some bad teaching will be inevitable but that even the worst teachers could improve their (literal) performances. He then illustrates with his own course (the third of the three quarter sequence in Price Theory) followed by three examples from his own Cambridge training: D. H. Robertson, Maurice Dobbs, and Joan Robinson.
Pro-tip: the snap-shot of Harry Johnson comes from Robert J. Gordon’s very own personal collection “Photos of Economists”.
Johnson mentioned that Joan Robinson refused to hand out reading lists for her courses. For a rare Joan Robinson reading list: from Williams College 1982.
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From a Photocopy of a letter from Harry Johnson to Michael Mussa
May 28, 1969
Michael Mussa:
I’ve been reading the reports of the faculty-student advisory committee, in which your proposal for student evaluations of courses seem to have fared rather badly. Personally, I am more favorable to the idea than my colleagues seem to have been.
There are of course plenty of problems in defining the function of such evaluations; and at least in a place like Chicago teaching competence can’t be given much weight (a) because a large part of staff work is guiding Ph.D.s and conducting the workshops—i.e. research rather than teaching oriented; (b) because our courses ought to be not only teaching the accepted structure of knowledge, but exposing students to the frontiers of the subject, and this kind of material is often difficult to teach; (c) our competitive position as a leading world graduate school, which among other things determines the quality of the students we get and therefore the “externalities” our students obtain from each other, ultimately depends on the published scientific contributions of our faculty and not on their capacity to teach a particular course well at a particular time.
On the other hand, I do not share the view of some of my colleagues—both here and even more in England—that teaching performance is an absolutely fixed characteristic of the individual that cannot be altered by care and study on his part. Consequently I think that student evaluations can be useful to both the individual teacher and his colleagues, as guides to where some investment in improvement could usefully be undertaken.
One obvious point, with respect to which I benefitted from last year’s evaluation, is the course reading list. As a result of that evaluation, I took off the 302 reading list an article by Champernowne, the approach of which I wanted represented in the course, but which students considered too difficult for what they got out of it; instead, I now present the approach in very simple form. I also took off a number of readings on the poverty problem which were significant when the war on poverty started, but which now appear to have little substantive content. I now link the poverty material more closely to the general theme of the course.
I think that student evaluation of the reading list can be very valuable in indicating what readings are really useful and what are either too hard or too easy for the level of the course. An even more important function, which would be harder to devise, would be for students to suggest from their own current and previous reading of the journals and textbooks better sources for the main parts of the course. The literature is tremendous, and there is no easy way of searching it for the most useful contributions.
As to the teaching itself, it seems to me that there are two separate problems, each of them susceptible of solution by rational investment by the individual teacher. The first is organization of the material; this includes reading list and course organization, organization of the individual lecture and supplementation of the lecture by appropriate hand-outs of crucial data or pieces of analysis. The Chicago course-load is fairly light by most universities’ standards, and the purpose of the lecture I teaching rather than public virtuoso performance. There is little reason why a person who knows or is told that he is disorganized and confusing while on his feet in front of a class should not provide his students with the insurance of a paper version of what he meant to tell them. The second problem is that of personality. A teacher has to understand that in the classroom he is playing a role, which does not have to define or exhaust the full scope of his private personality; and he has to forego the tricks that people use in private conversation to defend themselves and preserve what they think is the respect of others. Specifically, it is not helpful to students to be exposed to an account of all the mental confusion that accompanied the first discovery of a new truth (especially if the truth itself never emerges). Nor does it help for a lecturer to use two methods of disguising uncertainty or insufficient thought in private conversation: (1) vehement assertion of a conclusion without adequate supporting argument; (2) dropping the voice just as the crucial point is reached, so that the audience doesn’t really hear what is being said (Margaret Reid picked me up on this trick when I first came to Chicago).
It seems to me that lecturers have a lot to learn from the acting profession in this respect: even if the lines are lousy, they deliver them with conviction. It also seems to me that student evaluations would help to tell lecturers that, however good the message they thought they were putting across, it was being scrambled in transmission and wasn’t reaching the students.
I would not pretend that everybody can be a good lecturer. All I claim is that most people could do better than they do, by recognizing their weaknesses and trying to correct them. Even so, you could well not get very good lectures.
I remember when I was a student at Cambridge, England. D.H. Robertson was Professor; he had had a lot of acting experience in his youth. He wrote every word of his lectures, and rewrote them every year. He delivered them well, but you had to listen hard and know a lot already to get the points. Yet he would never answer any questions from class; once a year, in the second-last lecture, he would ask the class for written questions; in the last lecture, he would read us his written answers to the written questions. Maurice Dobb, who was my supervisor and whose lectures I attended religiously out of a youthful enthusiasm for left-wing causes, also wrote every word of his lectures on socialist planning, and they were beautifully logical and well-organized constructions; but he read them in a flat monotone that rapidly depressed the audience, with the result that the beachhead of communism he established in Cambridge never got occupied by troops prepared to push on to a major assault on capitalism. Joan Robinson, on the other hand, always claimed she lectured as the spirit moved her, and refused to give out either a reading list or reference (apart from insulting remarks about D.K. Robertson, and favorable references to Keynes and Kalecki). In fact she said the same thing every year; but the students always got excited because to them it came as something new.
In my judgment, Robertson could have learned to answer the questions he could answer, and ask for time to consider the others; Dobb could have learned to modulate his voice to emphasize the difference between major points and supporting arguments; and Robinson could have been persuaded by student demands to produce a reading list. But it is quite likely that none of them would have changed their ways; and I doubt that Cambridge would have been well advised to fire them if they hadn’t.
Yours sincerely,
[signed]
Harry G. Johnson
Department of Economics
HGJ/sf
Source: Hoover Institution Archives. Papers of Milton Friedman. Box 194, Folder “194.4 Economics Dept. A-G”.
Image Source: Harry Johnson. Photo by Robert J. Gordon, Summer 1970 or 1971.