Mentor: Another Word, Another Fashion Statement.

As we journey through life, we appreciate the assistance of others. We hope that, when necessary, either through a master plan beyond our comprehension or just through plain luck, we will run into good Samaritans, friends, and experienced colleagues who will be willing to help us. We all need wise and trusted counselors--which, by the way, is the definition of mentor. But where does the wisdom come from? And is trust an automatic attribute of those who declare themselves to be mentors? Are you wise because you have a job with authority? Are you worthy of trust because of personal assurances?

Even in the neighborhood where I grew up, even on the streets of Brooklyn, trust was something earned over time. People were thought to be wise because of what they said and did, not because of what they preached.

Once, we expected each generation to prepare the next out of a sense of responsibility and an appreciation for the continuity of life. Times have changed. In our profession, we often believe that new clinicians and new faculty members need mentors. And they do. But new leaders also need mentors. When we assume leadership roles in practice, education, or research, that is a new experience for many of us, and trusted counselors and advisors are needed. Where do they come from, and what are their attributes? Do we really understand what it means to be a leader in our profession, a leader who helps colleagues grow and flourish in their own way and along the paths of their own choosing? Or have we approached this responsibility the same way we have approached other areas of professional life?

As soon as the term "mentor" achieved social acceptability, courses on mentoring started to appear, and people began to promote themselves as mentors extraordinaire. Unfortunately, we spent little time discussing the philosophical underpinnings of this role, let alone how people must relate in order for the mentoring relationship to be deep and effective. We failed to consider the outcomes and even the criteria for what constitutes a good mentor.

The mentoring process has become commercialized. What was once considered to be an expectation of civil and moral behavior has now become an assigned task in employment settings and elsewhere. When personal expectations become employment criteria and when the emphasis shifts from a behavior borne out of personal commitment to a fashionable act, we put the continuity at risk. The responsibility of the haves to help the have-nots should not be a whim of fashion. Mentoring has become a popular topic, which is good, but if we wear our mentoring credentials like military ribbons, we forget about the value inherent in the act and pander to the current mood. If that mood should change, we could lose what was once a permanent part of our being.

When I hear people talk about mentoring, I often note that there seems to be a lack of understanding of the nature of leadership, the application of competence, and the use of moral authority, as well as a lack of the commitment that is needed between people to form bonds. Mentoring, in my view, does not consist of a laundry list of tasks. Instead, mentoring--at least in part--is a merging of spirit and shared aspirations. Mentors cannot be role models unless they teach through example and demonstrate sacrifice, because that is the way leaders show commitment and give meaning to the word "service."

The history of science (both basic and social) is replete with tales of mentors, as is the history of our profession. The fact that today we have inadequate numbers of these special leaders does not mean that we should just repackage our existing reality and use the word "mentor" like a mantra to summon up spirits who would do quickly what really requires time, effort, and commitment. Mentoring involves complex ideas that are not easily packaged in courses.

In recent years, words like "functional," "paradigm," "dynamic," and "significant" have been gutted of meaning; now we can add the word "mentor" to this evergrowing list. But some people still act as though the repeated use of the word, rather than the personification of appropriate behaviors, will change the World. It took a man of action like Ernest Hemingway to appreciate the limitation of words. When informed by biographer A E Hotchner that William Faulkner had chided Hemingway for lacking courage and for never using a word "that might send the reader to the dictionary," Hemingway replied (showing rare restraint), "Poor Faulkner. Does he really think big emotions come from big words? He thinks I don't know the ten-dollar words. I know them all right. But there are older and simpler and better words, and those are the ones I use."[1]

Hemingway's assertion that older and simpler words may have a value beyond that of flashy words provides us with a useful parable. To be old is not to be useless, and it is a very old idea that those who have achieved have a responsibility to the next generation. To fulfill that responsibility, a person needs to reach out to those who are beginning life's journey--to get to know them, to understand their aspirations, weaknesses, and strengths. Veterans also need to be committed and vulnerable: committed to the person they presume to affect, and vulnerable in sharing the experiences, failures, and feelings that they have accrued over years of professional and personal challenge.

Those who seek mentors should be wary--at least until Consumer Reports finds a way to publish a "buyer's guide" for people who need mentors. We can improve our ability to help others, but to begin this process of helping one another we must first look to our own resources. Learning to mentor is a lot like learning to teach. Not everyone who takes the course benefits, and there are many who never take the course but who are superb.

Perhaps the true path to success is not just in the doing but in finding those who can help us maximize our abilities. In that search, we should minimize our risks by focusing on the substance, not the fluff; the accomplishments, not the packaging; the achievements, not the proclamations.

References

[1] Hotchner AE. Papa Hemingway: The Ecstasy and Sorrow. New York, NY: William Morrow & Co.; 1982.