How do we arrange the chairs?

A few thoughts on the Socratic classroom

Anyone who practices public speaking knows that content is only one component. Body language, pacing, pausing, tone, and movement matter just as much. In classroom teaching, where public speaking, presentation, and engaging in Socratic dialog are daily routines, there’s another vital consideration: How do we arrange the chairs?

I’ve been reading Seth Godin’s blog ever since my business partner, Adam, shared it with me several years ago. It’s a concise, insightful daily read. One of the best things I’ve learned from Godin is that 5 people is the magic number for a small group:

In my experience–I’m sharing a hugely valuable secret here–you score a big win when you put five people at tables for four instead. Five people, that magical prime number, pushes everyone to talk to everyone.

- “The secret of the five top” by Seth Godin

There was a period in my career when I was responsible for facilitating retreats, seminars, and conferences for large groups of teachers and administrators. The “secret of the five top” was a game-changer, and it made me keenly aware of group dynamics. This has influenced how I approach my work leading various meetings, retreats, and seminars – and what I do most often of all: classroom teaching.

Consider one classroom. It has rows, columns, a podium, and a screen at the front. There’s a clear hierarchy – a central focal point: the teacher, who stands in front and above, likely “speaking to.” Now consider the circle. The teacher is seated with the students – literally at their level. A teacher, but also a fellow learner. Some in my field will roll their eyes at this conceit, because “collaborative learning” and “Socratic circle” sound like cute entries in the lexicon of gobbledygook comprising edu-speak. Except that it works too well to be cute or trendy. And there’s nothing new about it, either.

When I run my class as a “Socratic Seminar,” (or “Harkness Table,” or whatever you want to call such things) I aim for a blend of structure and agility. This can be elusive, but it yields the kind of intellectual freedom you want at the core of a liberal education. That means the circle can’t just be a rambling free-for-all. It requires a thoughtful prompt, written responses to which must be submitted in advance of discussion – including citations where needed. This trains students to gather evidence to support opinions. Often, it relies on a structure of limited contributions – typically, each kid gets to speak three times, either offering an original perspective or responding to someone else, using up some kind of token each time. This trains them to curate their thoughts, and focus on quality over quantity.

It isn’t easy to get right, and it doesn’t happen without push and pull. But it’s not as hard as you might think, and students overwhelmingly respond well to it. I’ve experimented with different forms of assessment over the years, ranging from a highly-structured rubric to an “everyone-gets-full-credit” approach. Like almost everything, the golden mean prevails here. I’ve found the best results happen when the Seminar is not intimidating from a grading standpoint – but when it’s not a freebie, either. One approach that seems to work especially well is an assessment model that combines an objective, content-knowledge component (e.g., multiple choice) with a seminar, where the “test” is worth 70% points and the seminar is worth 30%. This blend of objective and subjective enables meaningful assessment of both knowledge and understanding – and better yet, it makes for what educators call a “formative assessment,” wherein the measuring mechanism is itself a deep learning opportunity.

Like most things, how you set up a classroom is a both/and proposition. There’s a time for rows and there’s a time for circles. It depends on the subject, the topic, the students in the class, and any other number of variables. Sometimes, the straightforward structure of rows and columns is more practical, and in some cases, necessary. But most of the time, I prefer a circle in my classroom – or at least something close. Airplane windows are rounded for a reason. One older design used square windows. Cracks emerged at the structural stress points where the corners met the fuselage. I find that the circle is often a far stronger shape for much of education, too – for all kinds of reasons, our “digital disconnect” not least among them.

Which brings forth an interesting question for all of us: Are we using rows in other aspects of our professional or personal lives, when we should be using circles? On the contrary, are we too enamored with the dynamism of circles to acknowledge where the less exciting but more formal structure of rows and columns would serve better?

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