The best advice I ever got from another teacher: don't put the date on your syllabus. Once you do that you now have no choice but to go back in and, at a minimum, edit the damn thing. But, no date means no changes means one less thing to have to worry about at the beginning of the term. That's the trouble with good advice though-it's only good if you actually listen to it.
All of which is a preface to say that I had to put together a variety of syllabi this year, as I do every year, and like every year, I spent a lot of that time with my teeth clenched, muttering invective after explicative after vituperative1. I mean, my supervisors are going to ignore them, my students are going to misplace them, and even I will never remember what's on them. And yet we soldier on, not because we’re told to but because we, too, need to know what’s supposed to happen in class.
In an ideal world, one where teaching is so well-regarded that the few brave teachers who voluntarily take on more than one classroom hour per week are regarded as heroes who sacrifice their own health and sanity for the greater good... Sorry, I got lost in the fantasy for a moment. In an idea world where teaching is so well-respected that the standard salary is enough to put a fleet of luxury cars in every teacher's multi-million dollar garage... Let me try this one more time: in an ideal world, the syllabus is a master outline of the class plan.
Here's our usual go-to source for definitions, Merriam-Webster:
a summary outline of a discourse, treatise, or course of study or of examination requirements
Yup. Makes perfect sense. Only syllabus, as a word, shouldn't exist.
Syllabus comes to English in the 17th century through a clerical error. The clerks in this case being the scribes tasked with translating Cicero's Ad Atticum. According to legend the OED via Etymonline, the book contained a Greek word, sittybos, which the scribes recorded as syllabus. Later scholars assumed the misprint was correct (not unlike students reading a poorly proofed syllabus) and just rolled with it. This led to two things:
First, a couple centuries’ worth of writers have stood their ground and decided that rather than correct the original error, they'd double down and make the plural form follow the grammatical rules for Latin; in Latin, a word that ends in ~us gets turned into an ~i. Cactus, cacti, alumnus, alumni, succubus, succubi2. So, naturally, syllabus-a made-up word resulting from a transcription error, becomes syllabi.
Second, syllabus (and syllabi) went through the usual progression of meanings and nuances to end up where it sits today. Originally, it referred to a table of contents, specifically for lectures (as might be given at a university). Its meaning then broadened to include topics to be studied in classes. Eventually we arrive at its modern usage where it's more than an outline, not as deep as a curriculum, but something in between. Only…
Here's where I go on record as opposing Merriam-Webster3.
In our definition above, M-W describes a syllabus as a summary. Which, sure, that's true. But. A syllabus, when designed well, is a hell of a lot more than just a summary. A good syllabus means having clear objectives for both teacher and learner. It means having easily understood and even more easily followed directives for most classroom situations. It means giving students the information and access they need to design and participate in their own learning. And, sure, somewhere at the end we can toss in a calendar with accompanying notes on what material will be studied that class. In an ideal world, every class would have a syllabus that gives the student everything they need to know in order to succeed in that class.
Unfortunately, we don't live in that ideal world. In this world, teachers are underpaid and overworked and barely have time to write an adequate syllabus, much less a good one4. In this world, teachers are so pressed to attend to so many matters for each individual student that course design often takes a backseat to merely making sure that desks are occupied and the students occupying them still have a pulse. Teaching, in short, is hard and anyone who tells you otherwise is selling something.
It's easy to give practical, cynical advice like "don't put the date on your syllabus." But for any teacher who actually gives a shit, it's advice that's really hard to follow.
Deep breath.
So as not to end on such a downer of a note, here are a couple fun facts about syllabus and syllabi:
Syllabus is a prime example of word possessed of a ghost etymology, in other words, a word that comes about because of a mistake in translation, transcription, or transliteration.
Syllabi is an example of a hypercorrection-attempting to apply a grammar rule to a given word even if it doesn't deserve it (words never deserve this kind of linguistic corporal punishment but it's a cruel world).
Finally, if you want to annoy the pedant in your life, syllabuses is considered "correct" English by both the Chicago and Oxford style guides5.
Stay curious,
Joel
For an extremely NSFW version of what this might sound like, I recommend Blink-182’s take on George Carlin’s Words You Can’t Say on Television
What? Don't look at me like that. You know what the words mean.
Bury me with kind thoughts and pretty flowers.
Ask me how I know.
Bite me octopuses. You're freaking octopi and you know it.
Well, this is a pinnacle of joyous writing among many previous towering peaks. Love your work, Mr Neff! Did you know that multiple Elvises are jokingly referred to as "Elvii" and that Toyota has decreed that a fleet of Priuses may be dubbed "Prii"?