Osler's Razor

This week I gave a talk to the faculty at the University of Tulsa's law school. This is something we profs do-- it is good for everyone, because the speaker gets to bounce ideas off fresh ears, and the faculty get to hear something new and interesting (one hopes). At St. Thomas, Joel Nichols and Ben Carpenter have put together a great program of the same type.

In these situations, I do a lot of preparation. I get my materials together and re-read them, I outline my talk and then refine it, and I put all my materials in just the right order, so that I can refer to each in turn as I proceed through the talk. I print out multiple copies of my outline, and take the precaution of emailing it to myself in case the printed version gets waylaid. Once I am at the venue, I carefully go over it all again, make some margin notes to fill in gaps, and make sure that the papers are all set up on the podium well before I speak.

Then I get up and give my talk and don't look at those materials at all.

It's not that I memorized it-- in fact, I often veer completely away from what I had planned to talk about. I'm not good at memorizing, actually.

Setting out my process, I admit that it sounds silly. Why prepare all those materials if they won't be used?

I suppose the reason I do all that, that I have to do all that, is because it is this routinized process that grounds me in my subject and assures me that I know the up and down of the topic I am covering-- death penalty, sentencing guidelines, commutation, civil discourse, gay marriage, abortion, giving a sermon-- whatever it is, I am centered in that topic once I have set those papers down on the podium.

There are two spiritual components to all this.

First, one reason that I allow myself to be extemporaneous is because my greatest hope is for a "Holy Spirit moment," when something greater than me or the audience arises (and it often is from the audience, not me)... an idea or perspective or silence that is more profound than anything I came in with.

Second, it is humbling. When I speak from notes, I come off too much as the "expert," the one who does the talking and none of the listening. I want my audience to see the very real doubt in me, moments of weakness, a stutter-step building to something else-- I want them to see someone who still can learn, rather than just teach. I am well aware that my own thoughts are unfinished, unripe, unperfected-- and to honestly present them I need it to sound that way.

Sometimes, it works, and we are all the better.