Honesty is, usually, the best policy. Could it be, however, that there are times when a good lie serves students better?
One student who thinks so recently shared his memories of his favorite liar. It's a short piece well worth the read, especially since it's written from a student's perspective many years after the fact. As an instructor, it's so rare to find out what lasting lessons students take away from your class. I sincerely hope the blog author sends a link to "Dr. K."
In any event, the basic premise is simple. Tell your students on the first day of class that you are going to tell at least one lie in every lecture. Their task is to discover what that lie is. At the beginning of the semester, you endeavor to make your lies as egregious as possible. As the semester progresses, you make the lies more subtle. My favorite anecdote was of the time the professor didn't give any inaccurate statements at all, but hinted that they had missed his fib and that they should go over their notes over the weekend to discover what it was. Only after they had given their notes a thorough review and suggested places where he might have gone wrong did he confess that his only lie was that he had told a lie. Positively fiendish! But then, they had a test coming up so it was a devilishly clever way to encourage them to study.
As remembered by this student, such an approach can be an effective way to increase student engagement. I also like the implications for teaching students valuable lessons in critical thinking. Too many students unquestioningly accept any information that comes from an authority. Although some of this could be chalked up to intellectual laziness, mostly it's because students are given far too few opportunities, especially as undergraduates, to discover that authorities don't always agree or don't always have all the right answers.
Another good discussion of this technique is Lubomir Tomaska's, "Increasing student involvement in lectures by error-prone talks," Biochemistry and Molecular Biology Education (2000) 28: 242-243.
Maybe it's time for me to start lying to my students. Then again, perhaps I already do...
Tuesday, February 26, 2008
Sunday, February 24, 2008
JSTOR: Mission vs. Reality
JSTOR, short for Journal Storage, is an online journal archive with the mission statement (emphasis mine):
"JSTOR is a not-for-profit organization dedicated to helping the scholarly community discover, use, and build upon a wide range of intellectual content in a trusted digital archive. Our overarching aims are to preserve a record of scholarship for posterity and to advance research and teaching in cost-effective ways. We operate a research platform that deploys information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. We collaborate with organizations that can help us achieve our objectives and maximize the benefits for the scholarly community."
This certainly seems like a noble enough venture. However, as pointed out in The Stingy Scholar, it seems JSTOR is defining the "scholarly community" in a very narrow way, to include only those working in academia with ready access to college libraries. This would seem in direct conflict with their proposed mission of facilitating "new forms of scholarship." It also doesn't seem cost effective to force independet scholars to travel to university libraries in order to access the archive, something that, in any event, seems terribly archaic in the information age. As such, I have to echo The Stingy Scholar's plaintive call to allow independent scholars in.
"JSTOR is a not-for-profit organization dedicated to helping the scholarly community discover, use, and build upon a wide range of intellectual content in a trusted digital archive. Our overarching aims are to preserve a record of scholarship for posterity and to advance research and teaching in cost-effective ways. We operate a research platform that deploys information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. We collaborate with organizations that can help us achieve our objectives and maximize the benefits for the scholarly community."
This certainly seems like a noble enough venture. However, as pointed out in The Stingy Scholar, it seems JSTOR is defining the "scholarly community" in a very narrow way, to include only those working in academia with ready access to college libraries. This would seem in direct conflict with their proposed mission of facilitating "new forms of scholarship." It also doesn't seem cost effective to force independet scholars to travel to university libraries in order to access the archive, something that, in any event, seems terribly archaic in the information age. As such, I have to echo The Stingy Scholar's plaintive call to allow independent scholars in.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
My Teaching Philosophy
I believe that learning is a journey. If this is so, then the role of a teacher should be that of a guide.
Within this context, I ask myself two questions when approaching a new course:
First, where do I want students to go? Obviously, this question has to do with learning objectives. What do I want students to know when they come to the end of my course and what do I want them to be able to do with that knowledge? However, when designing a course I think it's important to frame these questions within a broader context than simply my classes. Learning should be a life long endeavor and any class I teach is nothing more than one leg of a very long trip. A better way to frame these questions, then, is to focus on the students. What do students who take my class hope to learn? What skills can I impart that will help them on the rest of their journey?
Second, where have my students been? It may seem obvious, but just as a travel guide has to meet his clients wherever they happen to embark on the journey, an instructor must meet his students where they happen to be when they get to his class. Sometimes, a class may be filled with students with widely different backgrounds and that is, no doubt, a challenge. However, that is no excuse for leaving students lost in the woods. Moreover, it is no excuse for not taking those students as far on the journey as you can.
Once I have answers to these two questions, designing a course becomes a matter of getting my students from where they are to where they need to go in a way that is both challenging and engaging.
Of course, other questions naturally follow from this metaphor as well. One of the most challenging is, how do I convince my students to take the journey I have planned for them? One of the primary courses I teach is a service course. Most of the students signed up simply because it is required for their majors, not because they have an intrinsic curiosity about the course material. If I want them to do more than go through the motions, then, I have to work to show them that the skills they practice in my class will help them no matter where they may go professionally. Even when I am teaching a course for majors, though, I still find this a challenging question to address. I tend to use unorthodox teaching methods that can make students uncomfortable. Convincing students that, in the end, their discomfort will be worthwhile is a continual effort.
Another challenging question is, how do I convince students to carry their own bags? If I spend thousands of dollars on a package tour, it is probably not unreasonable to expect that part of that expense is to pay for someone else to carry my luggage. Unfortunately, many, perhaps even most, students view education as a commodity rather than a process. As such, many of them expect that once their tuition is paid, someone else should be doing all the hard work of learning for them. These students expect their instructors to distill all of the information relevant to the course into discreet, easily memorizable packages of information to be delivered to their brains in the most efficient means possible. Any information outside the bare minimum necessary to pass the final exam is wasteful in this "philosophy" of education. Real learning, however, does not happen this way. Education is not the simple transfer of information from one brain to another. Rather, learning is a transformation of the mind. Just as reading about weight lifting and watching a body builder work out will do nothing for a person's physique, reading about someone else's understanding of the material and listening to a talking head at the front of a classroom is usually not sufficient to learn. Learning is hard work. Learning is messy. Convincing students that this is a necessary part of the process is a challenge especially if, in their minds, they have paid someone else to make it easy.
Perhaps the most challenging aspect of this metaphor, however, is knowing when students have reached their destination. People take guided tours for many reasons, some for the sense of adventure, some for the camaraderie, some for beautiful vistas, some to learn new skills, etc. Everyone on the tour may follow the same path to reach the same destination, but what each person takes away from the experience is necessarily unique. Education is really no different. Even the most carefully crafted assessments are limited in what they can tell you about each student's personal journey in a course. Students who perform well in the class may have learned relatively little while those who earn relatively low grades may have improved their intellectual development tremendously. Moreover, the real measure of what students have taken away from a class is often in what they use much later in life. Not only is this something no final exam or term project can truly predict, oftentimes what leaves the most lasting impressions are those things that are not listed in the curriculum or in the course learning objectives.
Within this context, I ask myself two questions when approaching a new course:
First, where do I want students to go? Obviously, this question has to do with learning objectives. What do I want students to know when they come to the end of my course and what do I want them to be able to do with that knowledge? However, when designing a course I think it's important to frame these questions within a broader context than simply my classes. Learning should be a life long endeavor and any class I teach is nothing more than one leg of a very long trip. A better way to frame these questions, then, is to focus on the students. What do students who take my class hope to learn? What skills can I impart that will help them on the rest of their journey?
Second, where have my students been? It may seem obvious, but just as a travel guide has to meet his clients wherever they happen to embark on the journey, an instructor must meet his students where they happen to be when they get to his class. Sometimes, a class may be filled with students with widely different backgrounds and that is, no doubt, a challenge. However, that is no excuse for leaving students lost in the woods. Moreover, it is no excuse for not taking those students as far on the journey as you can.
Once I have answers to these two questions, designing a course becomes a matter of getting my students from where they are to where they need to go in a way that is both challenging and engaging.
Of course, other questions naturally follow from this metaphor as well. One of the most challenging is, how do I convince my students to take the journey I have planned for them? One of the primary courses I teach is a service course. Most of the students signed up simply because it is required for their majors, not because they have an intrinsic curiosity about the course material. If I want them to do more than go through the motions, then, I have to work to show them that the skills they practice in my class will help them no matter where they may go professionally. Even when I am teaching a course for majors, though, I still find this a challenging question to address. I tend to use unorthodox teaching methods that can make students uncomfortable. Convincing students that, in the end, their discomfort will be worthwhile is a continual effort.
Another challenging question is, how do I convince students to carry their own bags? If I spend thousands of dollars on a package tour, it is probably not unreasonable to expect that part of that expense is to pay for someone else to carry my luggage. Unfortunately, many, perhaps even most, students view education as a commodity rather than a process. As such, many of them expect that once their tuition is paid, someone else should be doing all the hard work of learning for them. These students expect their instructors to distill all of the information relevant to the course into discreet, easily memorizable packages of information to be delivered to their brains in the most efficient means possible. Any information outside the bare minimum necessary to pass the final exam is wasteful in this "philosophy" of education. Real learning, however, does not happen this way. Education is not the simple transfer of information from one brain to another. Rather, learning is a transformation of the mind. Just as reading about weight lifting and watching a body builder work out will do nothing for a person's physique, reading about someone else's understanding of the material and listening to a talking head at the front of a classroom is usually not sufficient to learn. Learning is hard work. Learning is messy. Convincing students that this is a necessary part of the process is a challenge especially if, in their minds, they have paid someone else to make it easy.
Perhaps the most challenging aspect of this metaphor, however, is knowing when students have reached their destination. People take guided tours for many reasons, some for the sense of adventure, some for the camaraderie, some for beautiful vistas, some to learn new skills, etc. Everyone on the tour may follow the same path to reach the same destination, but what each person takes away from the experience is necessarily unique. Education is really no different. Even the most carefully crafted assessments are limited in what they can tell you about each student's personal journey in a course. Students who perform well in the class may have learned relatively little while those who earn relatively low grades may have improved their intellectual development tremendously. Moreover, the real measure of what students have taken away from a class is often in what they use much later in life. Not only is this something no final exam or term project can truly predict, oftentimes what leaves the most lasting impressions are those things that are not listed in the curriculum or in the course learning objectives.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Another new semester
When I was a student, I always felt a tinge of excitement at the promise of each new semester. From buying books to finding my classes on a large campus, there was something magical about that first week.
As a lecturer, the start of each new semester is still an emotional time, but it is somehow much different. Instead of cracking open shiny textbooks filled with new intellectual adventures, I now dust off lecture notes that feel more like familiar friends. Instead of divining what I might be learning from the omens of a new course syllabus, I already know what the course is supposed to teach.
Even with this foreknowledge, though, I still get nervous at the start of each new semester. I may know the course schedule down to the smallest detail, but I still can't be sure how the semester will really unfold. Classrooms are idiosyncratic places and things that worked well in the past may fall flat with new students, new ideas that seemed brilliant in the planning stages may prove to be pure folly in practice.
Of course, some things never change. The start of a new semester for me has always been a time of self doubt. Even though I was a good student, I always felt a pang of uncertainty. I couldn't help but wonder if I had what it took to perform well in each new class. Now I wonder if I can still convey a sense of enthusiasm for a subject I've been teaching for years. I worry that I'm somehow out of touch with my students' interests and needs.
Uncertainty, though, is part of what makes a journey an adventure. Let the adventure begin!
As a lecturer, the start of each new semester is still an emotional time, but it is somehow much different. Instead of cracking open shiny textbooks filled with new intellectual adventures, I now dust off lecture notes that feel more like familiar friends. Instead of divining what I might be learning from the omens of a new course syllabus, I already know what the course is supposed to teach.
Even with this foreknowledge, though, I still get nervous at the start of each new semester. I may know the course schedule down to the smallest detail, but I still can't be sure how the semester will really unfold. Classrooms are idiosyncratic places and things that worked well in the past may fall flat with new students, new ideas that seemed brilliant in the planning stages may prove to be pure folly in practice.
Of course, some things never change. The start of a new semester for me has always been a time of self doubt. Even though I was a good student, I always felt a pang of uncertainty. I couldn't help but wonder if I had what it took to perform well in each new class. Now I wonder if I can still convey a sense of enthusiasm for a subject I've been teaching for years. I worry that I'm somehow out of touch with my students' interests and needs.
Uncertainty, though, is part of what makes a journey an adventure. Let the adventure begin!
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