Category Archives: Uncategorized

Checking in on the Experiments

Michael Beltz, Department of Philosophy & Religion, University of North Dakota

At the beginning of this semester, I decided to change some of the aspects of my teaching methodology. Instead of changing components of my teaching in a random manner, I set out to address and correct some specific problems that I have encountered in past semesters. I also hoped to address some of my own teaching deficiencies. Below, I will focus on an analysis of three changes I implemented. Now that we are to the middle of the semester, it is time to assess whether these experiments are showing signs of success and whether they have led to any unintended consequences.

Problem meant to be addressed: I have found, over the past several years, that I am not especially good at learning students’ names. However, most of the teaching literature in higher education indicates that students perform better when faculty take the time to learn their names.

Core idea of the solution: On the first day of the semester, I had each student fill out a placard with his or her first name and first initial of his or her last name. At the start of each class period, students are expected to pick-up their placards and have them visible from the front of the classroom and visible to the rest of the class. At the end of each class session, students leave their placard at their desks, and they are collected by me for distribution during the next class period. The core idea behind this approach is to provide me with constant reminders of the student’s name. This should help me learn the student’s name more efficiently, refer to each student by his or her name in a more meaningful manner, and to have a stronger immediate connection between the quality of comments made by the student and their subsequent grades. At the same time, by having students’ placards developed during the first class period, no class time would need to be spent by me learning the student’s names through repetitive role calling.

Results and observations: The solution was implemented this semester has yielded some unexpected results. It turns out that I feel that I actually know fewer of my students’ names than I knew at comparable times in previous semesters. However, the students, themselves, may not be aware that I do not know their names. When each student has their name in front of them during the majority of my interactions with them, I am easily able to address each one by name and establish a sense of positive connection. The problem is that before I refer to any student by name, my eyes in variably glance to his or her placard for reassurance. In short, this solution has done exactly the opposite of what it was intended to accomplish; knowing that I always have the students’ names available to me means that I never spent the hard work at the beginning of the semester to memorize the student names. Equally problematic is the fact that their placards have their first name and first initial of their last names. Because I never am reinforced by their last names, whenever I need to recognize their last names (like on deficiency reports, etc.), the names seem as foreign to me as they did on the first day of classes.

Having made these observations, it turns out that I would not declare this experiment a failure; it turns out that this approach has had a major unintended beneficial consequence. This semester, the number of students that arrive late to my classes is significantly lower than in past semesters. This low rate of tardiness seems to be a product of the placard system. Since students need to collect their placard at the beginning of each class from a collection at the front of the class, there is a strong disincentive for tardiness. Any student that is late ends up standing at the front entry of the room finding his or her placard. Thus, a student cannot sneak into a classroom unnoticed by the instructor or their peers. Without ever having to address tardiness directly to the class, after the first week of classes, the number of late students has dropped to a negligible number.

Problem meant to be addressed: As occurs in many lower-division courses, students tend to rely heavily on how the instructor interprets primary texts. In the context of ethics, this means that students generally learn the history of ethics and the development of ideas, but struggle being able to see ethical problems and have a difficult time applying ethical theories to novel situations.

Core idea of the solution: For one of my courses, “Ethics in Health Care,” I carved out one class period a week (a third of my total class time) for students to explore ethical issue on their own. The class is divided into analysis groups of five or six students. These groups explore 50 pages of primary source material each week (in this context they are exploring two journalistic accounts of health care decision makers). The students are each expected to bring 2 discussion questions each week and the instructor provides five discussion questions. These class periods consist entirely of the groups discussing their questions and thoughts on the ethical issues involved. At the end of each discussion period, each student is responsible for submitting a short summary of the discussions relating to their discussion topics.

Results and observations: In many ways, this experiment has been a great success. After the initial few weeks, the students in this class have taken to this type of project. Even without direct guidance for how to be successful, each group rapidly developed strategies for how to approach the texts and how to discuss the ethical themes in the books. In six of the eight groups, the students engage in the discussions to such a level that they do not get to each student’s second questions. The groups hold each other accountable and engage in ethical analysis that is closer to most medical ethics analysis. Individuals and groups must make sense of the subject matter themselves, rather than having analysis strategies and answers provided by outside sources. The individual students’ work has shown a strong willingness to try to use the discipline’s methods in novel circumstances. At the group work level, the results are even stronger. Since groups have been given limited guidance on how to reach consensus or compromise for ethical issues, the groups have developed their own understandings of what ‘compromise’ and ‘consensus’ mean for ethics and how to reach group conclusions. None of this came immediately to the individuals or the groups, but the rate of progress has been more rapid than I had anticipated.

There does seem to be a negative unintended consequence to this approach. By defining one day a week as time for students to work through issues as a group, students seem much more passive during the other class periods each week. In the past semesters, this course had involved quite a bit of full class discussion of cases and ethical issues. This semester, students seem like they cannot wait to talk on the group day, but are quiet the rest of the days. I suspect that this is a result of how the class time is framed. When one day a week is set aside for students’ voices to be heard, this implies that the other days student voices may be less welcome. While this is not true, the students’ perception of how the time is to be used does seem to have affected students’ understanding of the course.

Problem meant to be addressed: I want to provide positive incentives for students to contribute to class discussions. I also want to provide short-term incentives for students to be properly prepared for each class period. However, I recognize that not all students feel comfortable discussing personal ideas within a large classroom environment. Equally important, I want to avoid creating incentives for students to ‘participate’ in class discussions in an uninformed manner.

Core idea of the solution: To deal with this problem, I decided to change the way I talk about student engagement and participation in my classes and my syllabi. I have relabeled all ‘participation’ components of the courses as ‘engagement’ components. At the beginning of the semester, I spent some time discussing the difference between ‘participation’ and ‘active engagement.’ This included examples of when participating in a discussion is not engaging other students or ideas from the textbooks. I talked about how people can engage with the course material and discussions, even if they do not participate. These discussions focused on student concerns, and allowed them to talk about these issues in the first week of class, rather than having them distributed in a top-down manner.

Results and observations: The experiment has been a complete success. Across my classes this semester the shift to engagement points has significantly improved the quality of discussions. A higher number of students contribute to the discussions, and those that contribute tend to have their ideas more closely connected to course concepts (as opposed to emotional responses based on no evidence). Students seem to have embraced the idea that quality is more important than quantity. My observations at this point are too anecdotal to reach general conclusions; for example, it is possible that the strengths I am seeing are a product of the specific students I have in my classes this semester. This is unlikely, though, because the benefits cross lower-level and mid-level courses and cross majors and non-majors. A more likely possibility is that the reframing of the course language was not the causal factor. Instead, the results could be based on the fact that I spent more time and energy in the beginning of the semester discussing proper engagement and incorporated the students’ frustrations and perspectives.

Reflecting on my First Year Teaching at the University of North Dakota

Michael S. McGinniss, Assistant Professor, University of North Dakota School of Law

As I have pulled up along the riverside of my journey as a first-year assistant professor at the University of North Dakota School of Law, I have been reflecting upon the trials (no pun intended) and the triumphs of teaching and learning in a new world of challenges and opportunities. It does not seem possible it is now almost one year since my wife, fifteen-year-old daughter and I drove west from our longtime home in Delaware to stake out a place for ourselves in the Northern Plains. I have taught much, learned more, and feel much wiser from these experiences.

My professional background before coming to UND was in the field of lawyer regulation and the enforcement of disciplinary standards as counsel for the Supreme Court of Delaware. So I bring to my teaching a powerful sense of the importance of holding law students accountable as they learn and grow in preparation for their roles as lawyers and the awesome responsibility for the lives and welfare of others that comes with those roles. In each of my classes this year (Professional Responsibility, Evidence, and Conflict of Laws), I established class-related rules and expectations for my students, and communicated as clearly as I could what they would need to invest of themselves in order to succeed in these courses. I made a point, however, of doing so in tandem with a clear expression of my goals for their learning, and of the specific importance and impact learning the material we would study would have for their futures as professionals. The comments from students that have been most meaningful to me so far in my teaching at UND have been from those who said I had succeeded in communicating that I care deeply about their learning, have helped them understand the connection between what they were learning and their futures in the legal profession, and respect and value them as individuals.

In order to begin accomplishing the goals I set for myself as a teacher, it has been indispensable to me to have had such strong support from my new colleagues at the UND School of Law. In fact, it was my clear sense of this spirit of collegiality and common purpose among the professors that was a key element of my decision to come here—and I was very happy to find that my hopes were not only realized but exceeded. I had taught elsewhere for several years as an adjunct professor prior to joining our faculty. In doing so, I had developed some understandings about myself as a teacher, including my passion for this work and an awareness of my strengths and my areas of most need for growth. I knew I had much still to accomplish and much still to learn. This past year, I have collaborated more times than I can count with both senior and junior faculty at the School of Law. I have obtained valuable advice about subjects such as course preparation and planning, classroom policies and procedures, pedagogical methods and choices, balancing the demands of multiple academic obligations, and many others. It has benefitted me to draw on their approaches and experiences as I have formed and refined my own identity as a professor at UND.

I also found invaluable opportunities to learn about and extend myself into the broader UND community through the Alice T. Clark Scholars Mentoring Program. Having the chance to meet and interact regularly with other new members of the UND faculty from across campus was a true pleasure and a reward in and of itself. Each monthly session of the Program was a treasure-trove rich with information and ideas designed to support our success as junior faculty in teaching, scholarship and service. The exposure to information and insights from faculty and administrators at all levels of seniority at UND was an educational and formative experience for which I am truly grateful.

My sincere thanks go out to all who have lent their caring hands to help and offered their wise words to teach and support me in this first year of a great professional and personal adventure.

A Note from the Archives: Planning an Archival Field Trip?

Curt Hanson, Head, Elwyn B. Robinson Department of Special Collections

The Elwyn B. Robinson Department of Special Collections, located on the 4th floor of the Chester Fritz Library, contains many resources that are useful to teaching and research in multiple disciplines.  The resources are available to the public and carefully curated by a great team of archivists whose knowledge of the rich collections and people skills make it a great place to introduce any class to research with original documents.

In just the past few years, I have spoken to a wide range of different classes on campus about our collections and the methods scholars use to construct arguments from original documents:

History 240 has been visiting Special Collections for decades!  Students in this course gain an introduction to archives and primary sources, while also utilizing archival material to answer real questions asked by former Special Collections patrons.  Dr. Bill Caraher is the most recent 240 professor to witness my sharp wit and non-stop discussion of the two most important things in life: the Minnesota Twins and the Minnesota Vikings! But on the serious side, the partnership between History 240 and the Special Collections has lasted for many years and our collections provide a unique opportunity for history undergrads to experience real archival material and research practices.

The usefulness of the archives to programs on campus goes far beyond just the Department of History:

Art: Professor Lucy Ganje regularly brings a class from the Art Department to examine and compare the illustrations, text, and provenance of the Gutenberg Bible (sadly, it is only a replica!) with the White Bull Manuscript, perhaps our single most important document.

Educational Leadership:  Dr. Deborah Worley’s History of Higher Ed classes have made great use of the UND Archives in recent years.  They have researched diverse subjects, including athletics, enrollment, and student life.

I have spoken to Anthropology courses about the critical similarities and differences between museums and archives, to Information Technology courses about the basics of records management, and to English 110 classes regarding historical perspectives and the importance of incorporating primary resources into the research process.

In several cases, bringing classes to Special Collections has led to unforeseen consequences for faculty members.  Dr. Caraher is editing the unpublished autobiography of the Department’s namesake, Dr. Elwyn B. Robinson.  Dr. Crystal Alberts in the Department of English has worked closely with Special Collections to digitize documents from the Nuremberg War Crimes Trials, as well as the University of North Dakota’s Writers Conference.

Special Collections is a true gem of the campus, and I am ready to assist faculty in both their teaching and research wherever I can.   I also will try to limit my discussion of the Twins and Vikings (but if you bring it up, you have been warned)!

 

Leaving the Classroom Behind:Teaching and the Public Humanities

Jack Russell Weinstein, Department of Philosophy and Religion, University of North Dakota

In the last two years, I have become immersed in the public humanities movement, the attempt to bring philosophy, history, literature and other related arts out of the classroom and into the general public. For me, it took the form of founding and directing the Institute for Philosophy in Public Life (IPPL), a partnership between UND and the North Dakota Humanities Council. We have a radio show, a film series, a blog, a lecture series, an annual magazine, and a fellows program. With all of this in mind, Bill asked me to reflect on the difference between teaching in the classroom and teaching towards the general public, a task that is made more difficult by the fact that I am reluctant to consider any of my IPPL work as “teaching” at all.

While many in the general public like to learn, very few of them feel comfortable being taught. Once out of school, people like to consider themselves autodidacts, and nothing alienates them more than a person who imposes classroom structures upon a conversation, speaking to them as if they’re students and implying some sort of intellectual superiority. Most people associate school with homework, hierarchies, and lack of voice, and while for many, college was a better experience than high school, university life is still associated with grading, tests, and stress.

Furthermore, while college is voluntary in some cultural sense, the commitment to be in a classroom and the consequences of non-participation provide pressure to, at minimum, be present for class sessions. There are no such motivations in public philosophy. Every decision to listen to an episode of the radio show, every choice to read a blog or an article, every physical effort to attend a film or a lecture is a unique and discrete commitment to choose inquiry over other pleasures. Certainly, a classroom has its distractions, but community-based philosophy competes with television, sports, dinnertime, pornography, family, sleep, walking the dog, getting stoned, surfing the internet, working out, and everything else you can think of. We are just one option among an infinite list of things to do, and to make it worse, people most often listen or read when they are coming down from the day, not revving up.

IPPL therefore has to attract and motivate both those who are already interested in philosophy and, given a very narrow window of opportunity, those who can be persuaded that they will be interested even though they don’t know it yet. Thus, much more than in the classroom, I have to make philosophy interesting, relevant, and compelling. I have to sell the subject the way that I would sell a used car. But even then, given the nature of active learning, I can’t sell with smoke and mirrors, up-sells, or use dishonest advertising knowing that I can forget about the consumer once he or she has bought the product. I have to continually sell and resell, proving time and time again that philosophy is still relevant, that it is still interesting. This I do by slowly revealing what I believe to be the truth: that philosophy touches all of our lives and helps us to understand ourselves and our world better. I can’t offer a book by Plato with the promise that Republic will solve someone’s marital problems, but I can, very gradually, use inquiry to help people reflect on their decisions and their values.

Philosophy is about us. It’s about people we know and places we live. It’s about sex and death, fear and revelation, authenticity and actualization, individual failure and desires. It fills in the pictures of what we want and who we hope to be, and while I can show this in the classroom using a syllabus, good discussions, wisely chosen texts, and ever-developing student/teacher relationships, with public philosophy I have to find some way to give people a glimpse of all these possibilities as quickly and succinctly as possible. The ideal public philosophy event is synecdochic, a revelatory glimpse of the promise of a twenty-five hundred year-old discipline. A perfect event is a bit like a first drug deal – we give you this one for free because we know that you’ll get hooked, hoping that you’ll come back on your own, a regular compelled by an inner desire for more.

But just as I’m not teacher in this context, I’m also not a drug dealer. Neither am I the wizened old philosopher who has come down from the mountain or dared entered the cave to lead the ignorant through the darkness. I’m a huckster, a playmate, the guy who offers the promise of something new, something exciting. I hope it’s something hip but I’ll settle for being a pleasant distraction. I aim to be the mythical guy you might want to share a beer with, but hope to be someone with whom you’d enjoy a nice stroll, chatting away while you notice how the leaves have turned color or the water seems very high this year. Eventually, maybe, you’ll want to go to a museum with me and share your thoughts on a painting, consider my point of view to modify your own, and dare the joint project of embracing the avante garde, that object d’art that makes you uncomfortable but compels you to it all the same. But I admit, I’ll settle for the beer and see what happens next. Just getting you on the stool next to me is hard enough.

When I took IPPL outside of academe, I gave up the animosity I feel, as a professor, to those who would describe philosophy as a “product.” The humanist in me may bristle at the idea of my students as consumers, but the P.T. Barnum knows that once I leave the classroom, the only road to success is philosophy as entertainment, inquiry as sport. The only road, that is, until, the seeker has been sucked in, and philosophy does its magic. Once the discipline has our audience in its grasp then it’s my job to stand out of the way, to let their brains do the selling, and let their souls (in Aristotle’s sense) cultivate their inquisitive virtues.

No matter how hard we try, as teachers, we can’t stand aside. We give permission to our students to work without us, to discuss and debate while we remain silent, but they always feel our watchful eye, and a good teacher always knows when a word, a look, a nudge will bring the class back on track. Public philosophy does not have the luxury of power relations. It is and can only be a suggestion.

So, why would someone want to do this? What motivates a person to move from the structured comfort of the classroom to the uncertain anarchy of the marketplace? For me, it was biographical. I had always had an interest in public philosophy. I had a few relevant fellowships and a handful of interdisciplinary publications, but there was no urgency until the summer I finished my sabbatical. I had been pretty unhappy with some aspects of my professional life and I knew that things couldn’t continue the way they were. My department is small and dysfunctional. It never offered me the intellectual, research, or social cultures I wanted. I had a great travel life, teaching internationally, and presenting at colloquia around the country, but that was elsewhere, not at UND. The classroom was all I had to look forward to. I also knew that my family and I were probably in North Dakota for the duration of our careers. I missed the excitement of New York City, the possibility of what might be around the corner, the intensity of the unknown. Finally, I tired of the posturing and pretensions of professional philosophy. While I love writing for scholars, and I get energized by deeply informed and disciplined debate, I could no longer tolerate the live-by-the-rank-of-your-publisher mentality that permeates my most conservative of disciplines. Additionally, I can’t abide the incessant whining that philosophers do about being misunderstood. We are an insular people yet we blame others for not knowing or valuing our work. I had tenure. I could afford to experiment.

The public humanities offered a new kind of community. It’s a challenge that forces scholars to justify our research, not to skeptical university administrators who seek to trim budgets, but to people who are all asking the same questions: what am I doing and is my time being well spent? What are you doing and does your life make mine harder or easier, more or less interesting? Are you a threat? Am I a threat? Should I be? How can I be happy? How can I make the world better, safer, more hopeful for my children and for the people I love? These are, of course, all the questions of philosophy but ironically, people don’t use philosophy to answer them. IPPL aims to give them the option.

So, my recommendation to the newer faculty who might have an interest in this sort of thing is to keep an eye open for opportunities to engage the general public. Dabble for fun, enjoy the sport. But wait until you are more established, tenured and tired, and looking for a new challenge, because then you can try it out with impunity. (The public humanities do not fit into traditional job assessment structures. My department and I have had major disagreements as to where in my contract IPPL work fits. We eventually settled on a mixture of administration and research, but some of my colleagues are suspicious and won’t consider public philosophy anything but service.) But when the time is right, I encourage you to try it out. See if it makes your job better. The irony is that although my comments here are about how public philosophy is unlike being in a classroom, those differences are about the respective audiences. For me, being a public philosopher has been more like school than anything I have experienced since. I know less, I am more insecure, and my projects are infinitely more tentative than anything else I have done since I started teaching full-time.

But there’s something else too. Not quite two years ago, I found myself in Velva, North Dakota, eating pie with Clay Jenkinson, host of public radio’s The Thomas Jefferson Hour, a person whose work I have admired for many years, and Brenna Daugherty, Executive Director of the North Dakota Humanities Council, someone who would become both a tireless supporter of IPPL and a dear friend. The three of us were killing time before giving a presentation to sixty people at the Velva public library. We walked onto the street, laughingly trying to determine where Eric Sevareid’s childhood’s home was, and I was overcome by a tremendous realization. I was doing my job and I was having fun! I had a community, a group of interested interlocutors, and a challenging mission, and I was having fun. I hadn’t expected that. It was nice.

The Teaching Blogosphere

If you read this blog, chances are that you read other blogs like it.  So I thought it would be a useful exercise to crowd-source some of the more useful teaching related blogs on the web.

The three blogs that I check most regularly are:

Tomorrow’s Professor Blog aggregates a great selection of online teaching articles each day.  It’s a great daily review of what’s new across the web.

Prof Hacker has recently moved to the Chronicle of Higher Education’s webpage.  It deals with much more than just the “hacking” or technology aspects of teaching to include professional advice, productivity tips, and even recipes! 

Not to be left out, Inside Higher Ed, offers the daily Technology and Learning Blog which covers ground similar to Prof Hacker with maybe a slightly greater emphasis on technology.

Finally, I’d be remiss not to mention Mark Grabe’s Learning Aloud blog which provides a nice array of personal technology tips with an eye toward their use in the classroom.

This is just a small sample of the vast teaching related blogosphere.  What blogs do you read to keep up with recent developments in teaching?  Let’s work to create a list of teaching blogs that you find useful as a resource.

Post your favorite blogs in the comments section!

Happy Thanksgiving Thursday

Thank you to all our readers and contributors for making Teaching Thursday so successful. We’ll be back next week!

Teaching Thursday: Critiquing the Three Year Solution

Joan Hawthorne, Assistant Provost for Assessment and Achievement, University of North Dakota

Lamar Alexander, a senator from Tennessee and former U.S. secretary of education, has become an outspoken and articulate advocate for a change from business-as-usual for higher education. His latest proposal, highlighted as a cover article in the October 26 issue of Newsweek, is that colleges and universities should provide a “three-year option” for well-qualified, intrinsically-motivated students who want to save money by graduating more quickly.

At some level, it’s hard to disagree with his proposal. And, in fact, many students do manage to graduate in three years. Realistically, those students need to arrive on campus with a clear academic focus which remains constant during their course of study. They must enter college with a strong level of preparation, usually including either college or AP credits. And they must be willing and able to take consistently heavy course loads, which likely will make paid work unmanageable.

This last caveat, of course, makes the whole notion out of the question for many UND students, regardless of motivation or preparation. Students in heavily sequenced majors may also find that a three-year path to graduation is impractical. So perhaps an engineering student or a nursing student would struggle to complete the necessary courses (in the required sequence) in three years, but a student majoring in English or psychology perhaps could.

Should UND – and other universities – be developing and “selling” this option to prospective students in all majors?

The prospect of saving as much as 25% of the cost of a college degree has undeniable appeal for students and their parents. But Alexander offers other arguments in favor of his proposal as well. For example, the physical plant of a college is a tremendously expensive resource which is seriously under-utilized for months of every year. The per-student cost of education could conceivably drop considerably if campus buildings were more fully used. And more students than ever will continue on to professional or graduate degree programs, meaning that the bachelor’s degree will be only a first step in their college education. The arguments in favor of shorter degree programs can be compelling.

But there are counter-considerations as well. For example, most students don’t arrive on campus with a clear focus, and some may try out several possible majors before settling on one. Despite the widespread availability of AP courses and college-in-the-schools programs, many students arrive on campus under-prepared for a successful transition to college. Other students couldn’t attend college at all if they didn’t work many hours each week to supplement their financial aid package. Perhaps most important, the traditional “college experience” provides students with a relatively safe environment in which to explore and grow (via friendships, service and volunteer opportunities, extra or co-curricular activities, part-time employment, study abroad and other travel, internships, or any of the other myriad experiences and opportunities available) in ways that could not have been planned. College classes, credits, and majors are reflected on a student’s final transcript, but what gets learned through this hidden curriculum or co-curriculum may be even more valuable than what was learned through a particular program of study.

Even the resource utilization question is more complicated than it first appears. Although classroom facilities are under-utilized from May through August and again during the traditional holiday break, faculty time is fully utilized for much more of the year. Without “down time” from teaching, many faculty would be unable to complete the scholarship which is often a job requirement – and which itself yields benefits to taxpayers and other stakeholders.

And, realistically, reconfiguration of faculty and staff time and institutional spaces would be cost-effective only if a ready supply of students were available to keep classrooms fully occupied. But many institutions (and not only those in demographically-challenged North Dakota) already scramble to maintain a steady flow of in-coming students. Generating enough new students to fill classrooms additional hours of the day and months of the year would be a major challenge.

If, as a result of all these challenges, moving to a three-year college system is untenable except for a very small percentage of students, then it becomes difficult to argue that a major campaign to create and market three-year degree options is economically justified.

For me, the appeal of reexamining conventional degree programs is more intriguingly articulated by Robert Zemsky, a professor at the University of Pennsylvania, in a five-person “debate” over higher education which appeared in the Newsweek pages immediately following Alexander’s cover article. Zemsky points out that adding three-year programs as simply “another option” would likely be cost-prohibitive. He goes on to argue, however, that making three-year degree programs the standard would not only bring down costs but also “make us rethink everything instead of just rethinking along the perimeter.”

“Rethinking everything” is a genuinely intriguing notion. What if prospective students and their high school teachers knew that students would truly need better preparation in order to be successful in college? What if they knew that college-bound students would need to complete the equivalent (by today’s standards) of at least a semester of college-level credits – maybe including a higher level math course, a higher level writing course, some amount of foreign language, and advanced credits either in a social science (perhaps history or economics) or a science (biology or chemistry) prior to high school graduation? How would that change affect what could happen on a college campus?

What if students understood (as is in fact becoming the case in many fields) that the three-year degree program would be essentially a program of “liberal arts” study albeit with a strong emphasis in math and science, arts and humanities, or social sciences – all prior to a two-year intensively focused professional master’s degree crammed full of career-specific courses? What if a dramatic change in institutional norms forced faculty and administrators to rethink assumptions, reconsider intended learning outcomes, and restructure the curriculum? If we really started from scratch, would our new degree programs and institutions look like the old ones?

There are many indications that it may be time to think differently about higher education: the technological revolution which has changed our communications, the post-World War II revolution which meant that colleges became about educating the masses (for jobs) rather than the elites, the economic revolution in which entire job categories appear and disappear almost overnight, the shrinking-world revolution which means that fewer people than ever live and die within the confines of a single geographic area, the multi-tasking revolution which has us texting and googling while listening. Our system of higher education was born before any of these changes, and it has survived them with only tinkering around the edges. Had the university been invented today, to deal with contemporary students and challenges, it likely would have looked far different than the campus we know.

Higher education is a huge and ultimately conservative endeavor; systemic change comes slowly. And I side with those who love the university and value what it represents. I don’t really want to throw it out and start over. But I fear that, as proved to be the case with General Motors, too much entrenchment is unhealthy for a system.

So if looking seriously at a three-year program of study would force us to re-examine our assumptions, then I’m all for it. If a new paradigm for higher education would allow universities to more effectively educate in a changing world, then I favor it. Bring on the conversation, and let’s see where it takes us.

Teaching in the Sun: Managing Fatigue

Bill Caraher, Assistant Professor, Department of History
Crossposted to Archaeology of the Mediterranean World and Pyla-Koutsopetria Season Staff Blog

One of the key challenges that we face on Cyprus is managing the fatigue of students and staff.  Our archaeological project often spends over 8 hours a day in the sun working on our trenches, processing pottery in the museum, or visiting other ancient sites.  Most of students (and staff) come from mild climates like central or western Pennsylvania or North Dakota.  By the end of the first week of work, the effect of the sun, work, hours, combine with the lingering remains of jet lag to produce a very tired cohort of students.  Despite the fatigue, the students and staff have to keep pushing in their rigorous schedule if we hope to accomplish our research and pedagogical goals.  In general, the students enjoy the rigor.  Our site is beautifully situated on the south coast of Cyprus, the trench supervisors are an exceptional lot, and there comes a feeling of comradery from working together long hours in the field.

The downside of this, of course, is that as the students become more tired, they become less susceptible to learning.  This goes for staff as well.  There is just enough of the macho ethic in archaeology that staff work beyond their maximum fatigue levels and become less effective both as excavator and teachers.

It would be easy to simply suggest that we take more time off or ease back on our schedule just a bit, but the students have traveled quite a ways and paid a good bit of money to experience both the culture and history of Cyprus and gain experience as excavators.  So, every time that we consider cutting back on the “contact hours”, we worry that we are shortchanging the students.  As the students become more fatigued, of course, the quality of contact hours decreases.  There is some threshold beyond which it is not useful to keep the students in the field working under the argument that we are doing it to provide them with the fullest learning experience!

This challenge of balancing work load and actual learning has made me think of how we organize our classes during the regular school year.  For example, at my home institution, University of North Dakota, it is fairly common for students to take many credits above the typical 15 credit work load.  This puts pressure on the students to function at a relatively high level even under significant stress from their increasing workload.  While the visible evidence for the fatigue is more striking when students are doing archaeological fieldwork, the fatigue and stress experienced during the academic year is no less real.

The issue that arises, of course, is where is the threshold where students can maximize their experiences on a project or in a class, while still functioning at a high enough level to appreciate it.  If you push too hard and the students break down, tempers flair, and decision making (a key aspect of archaeological fieldwork and learning) unravels.  If you don’t push hard enough, you’ll leave experiences and work on the table.  To make matters more complex, some students and staff can go at maximum intensity for weeks on end, while some break down after only a week of the stress of working and managing a complex group of students and scholars.

Today is the end of our first week in the field and while we planned on going into the field all afternoon, it is clear that the students (and staff!) need some time off to recover from the first full week of excavating.  We’re going to work for a half day today and then take most of Sunday morning off.  Our GPR (Ground Penetrating Radar) team arrives later today…

Coming soon…

Welcome to Teaching Thursday an exciting new project supported by the Office of Instructional Development at the University of North Dakota.  Check back soon to see what all the excitement is about…