Critical Thinking, Dialogue, Thinking

The Opposite of Twitter

This week I deleted the Twitter app from my phone.  It probably won’t stick.  I will find myself wanting to know what folks are saying or what is prompting the “arguments” that are taking place in the media and in grocery store checkout lines.  Nevertheless, I have deemed this particular communication format to be an anger-accelerant and not healthy for our society.

This is not my usual way. As a media ecologist, I have a habit of examining all new communication platforms via plusses and minuses or winners and losers.  I consider the concerns Socrates expressed about the invention of writing (no one will know anything if they just look it up), and remember that I still like books. I consider the observations of Marshall McLuhan who suggested that we focus on the medium instead of the message, and the analysis of Susanne Langer, who detailed propositional (emotional) vs. presentational (logical) forms, and think what they might make of today’s media environment.  I review Neil Postman’s argument that television redefines public discourse in such a way that prioritizes amusement over analysis, and consider how that has been heightened when everyone interacts with that “entertainment” format. I have always taken cues from their observations, and tried to reflect deeply on how our shifts in communication environments may be changing us. I don’t just dismiss things.

As social media took over the world, I took just such an approach. As my children and I dove into Facebook, I did not just worry about the bullying that could occur there; I also looked at the connections that were maintained over distances and time that once were lost to geographic changes.  The dangers of the algorithms are real, but there are some redeeming qualities. As I pondered Instagram, I observed that although it is well used by influencers hawking products, it is also a fun place for families to share updates on children, grandchildren, travel, etc.  But as I observe what is happening with Twitter, well, I am out.

Here’s the thing, Twitter encourages all of us speak in headlines.  For newspapers, radio, and television, headlines are meant to be a tease to get you to learn more.  In all of those media, the art of the headline is to frame issues in the most heightened state of conflict or disagreement so that people will buy the paper or tune into your network (yes, they sell a product). Ostensibly, that follow-up step would lead to a greater understanding of an issue than reading the headlines revealed. This sometimes happened. As television and radio news moved into 24 news cycles (CNN, FOX, MSNBC), the agonistic tones intensified and, although the time allotted to the stories was significant, the snippets that most people heard were shout downs between commentators and guests, rather than a true exploration of the story.  Twitter doesn’t even try to get to the full story. It is only the shout down.

Last week I realized that even people that I know and love are behaving badly on Twitter.  They have embraced the format and tweet responses of outrage to everything that offends their sensibilities.  In the process, their tweets are promoting petty and divisive approaches to all topics.  Since I know these people to be smart and well read on the issues they tweet about, I must conclude that Twitter is the problem.  It is all sensational headlines with no opportunity for dialogue.

Now some of you might be thinking that Twitter could lead us to the dialogue, but I don’t think so.  It is not what it is designed to do.  It is the perfect response and distraction medium, keeping us engaged in the next tweet, with no time left for research.  Even those who do their research about an issue continue to communicate in this abridged and inflammatory way. There appears to be no real motivation to go into the details of a story in rational tones. No, this just won’t do.

In higher education, our job is to do the opposite of Twitter.  We are tasked with helping students (and ourselves) see the full argument, not these truncated and fallacious syllogisms. We must learn to dig in and uncover as many assumptions as we can. Then we must examine the supporting and contradictory evidence before forming an opinion or drawing a conclusion. This is where true argument and debate live.

True argument (as opposed to shouting matches) is what we should be fostering at all levels of education, because if we don’t do it, there will be no opportunity to develop these skills in our citizens. There are just too many distractions outside of our halls. The world is facing serious questions about how to organize our efforts around climate, poverty, mental & physical health, economy, equity, etc., and answering those questions will require reflective, evidence-based thinking. This thinking cannot be achieved through Twitter.

So, I’ve deleted the app, for now.  I may go back and figure out how to use it as a teaching tool, or even better encourage its use for poetry. But for now, I want to live in the opposite world where thinking still has a chance.

 

Thinking

Doing Less

At WCSU, and many of the colleges and universities in the Northeastern US, this is just about the fifth week of classes. Faculty have found the rhythm of this version of their courses, having had the chance to get to know a new group of students. Students have grown accustomed to the expectations of this semester’s professors, and most are busy juggling those expectations in four to six classes. In other words, we have settled into the fall semester.

As always, the launch has been a whirl.  As an administrator, I too face the long to-do list and I have to adjust to the rhythm of due dates and meetings.  There are new curricula and policies to review, organizational practices to reconsider, and a looming crisis or two always lurking in the wings.  As I consider the best way to accomplish all that is on my plate, I wonder, can I do less?

This is a question I learned to ask many years ago when I was still teaching.  One particular lesson comes to mind. In 2004, when I moved from teaching undergraduate to graduate students, I carried with me a set of assumptions about graduate level work that focused on quantity. My assumption was that we should cover a book per week and write reflections on them at the same frequency.  This was what I experienced in many of my graduate classes, so I was just building on that experience.  It was awful.

In trying to replicate the experiences I had in graduate school, I had not taken the time to evaluate the lives of my students and my ability to support them.  I had allowed an imagined ideal graduate school experience to drive course design, rather than weaving the goals for learning into a series of well-constructed assignments and conversations.  It took about three weeks, but I learned the error of my ways and regrouped.

The process of discovery went like this:

  1. Students were providing responses to discussion prompts that revealed a less than careful reading of the material.  I suspected this was because there was not sufficient time to complete it.
  2. Students were having trouble meeting all but the most high stakes deadlines (turning in weekly reflection papers).  Again, there was not enough time to do everything, so the students were prioritizing based on weight of the assignment in relationship to the grade in the course.
  3. I was unable to give feedback on the reflection papers before they were finished writing the next one. The turnaround time was too short.  This did not seem fair to the students.

Observing all of this, I reconsidered the whole experience. First, I reduced the assigned readings.  When I was in graduate school, I think the assumption was that students were not working, so completing that weekly reading load was achievable. The conditions of students in graduate school have changed, and now most are working. If I wanted true engagement, I could select only what I thought to be critical works and then provide a list of recommended readings related to the course. After all, the books were readily available and the critical works would provide a framework for any follow-up reading they might engage in later. Now we could read less and discuss more.

Second, I reimagined the writing assignments.  Instead of weekly reflection papers, I constructed more focused assignments to help students develop the critical reading and writing skills I felt were essential in a foundational graduate course. In other words, I scaffolded the learning goals of each assignment, building new skills with each one. This allowed me to reduce the number of assignments and gave me the chance to provide clear and timely feedback, so that students could incorporate that guidance into their next paper. The reflections were reserved for our discussions.

In the end, I cut the reading and writing lists for this graduate class in half. I believe our ability to meet the learning goals for the course doubled.  Instead of skimming, rushing, and reacting, we all had a little more room to think, reflect, and ask the questions that would help us grow. Simple, right? Starting with the end goals in mind is certainly a basic idea in curriculum design.  Considering the environmental influences that might get in the way of those goals, also just a good idea.

But can we go a little further?  Have we designed for the end goals of a university degree from this perspective? I know we do it in places – majors/programs have learning outcomes, general education has learning outcomes, career services has internship targets, academic success programs are focused on retention as some measure of impact–but is the whole thing woven together around some coherent goals?  I am not so sure.

So today is Rosh Hashanah, a time to reflect on the year that has passed and the year to come, and although the academic year has just gotten into full swing, I see this day as an opportunity to pause and refocus our efforts. In its simplest sense, this turning of the year asks us to think about how we might be a little better.  As I take this pause, I want to be a little better at looking at the whole of the university experience and think clearly about the goals of that whole. I suspect that if we work together to define our overarching goals, we may find that we can develop plans to meet them by doing just a little less. We’ll see.

Shana Tova everyone!

 

Innovative Pedagogies, Thinking

Project 100

Last week I focused on the notion of slow education as a counter to the high-speed culture that surrounds us.  I suggested that we shift away from the impulse to cover lots of material and toward a more reflective exploration of ideas. There is nothing new about my proposal.  It neatly describes a old fashioned seminar approach to learning.  Before we had access to every book ever written, we had to make do with a little less.  This, perhaps, inspired more selectivity in the assignments and more time for discussion.  Sounds like slow education to me.

However, those old-fashioned seminars were generally populated by the lucky few who had experienced a robust K-12 education, raised with the assumption that they were “college material.”  Those students had been preparing for seminars their entire lives.  Much to the betterment of society, we are inviting many more students to college these days. Not all have had this preparation for slower thinking.  Even those who did have access to great schools and college-preparatory programs did not grow up in a reflective culture.  The students in front of us were raised for bytes and speed. We need to teach our students how to do slow education.

So, I’ve been thinking about how to assist students in the transition from quick summaries, multiple choice exams, and “passing classes” to the slow, reflective learners we want them to be.  I am not so far removed from the habits of young (and not so young) adults that I don’t know that this is a big shift. We can’t expect our students to jump into slow education.  They need help learning to learn differently. This leads me to an idea I have been trying to figure out for a few years now.  I call it Project 100.

Project 100 is the idea that we should design our 100 level courses to intentionally transition students from passive to active learners. Instead of putting students in survey courses that go over the high points of anthropology or psychology or history, let’s design 100 level classes focused on doing anthropology or psychology or history.  Most universities already have “doing” courses, but they tend to be reserved for the major, and only after the introductory surveys.  I think we have it all wrong.  Putting students in survey courses in their first year of college just asks them to receive information, no matter how hard we try to engage them. These courses give a clear message to be passive. So, let’s ditch the survey course (or rather, save it for the 200 level and revise the goals) and ask our first year students to dive in to doing.

We can do this in any discipline–biology, business, art, or sociology–it really does not matter. We just have to help our students experience the joys and frustrations of developing a research question and then attempting to answer it.  Instead of relying on surveys of a field, let’s organize the first year of college in such a way that our students become amateur scholars (detectives?) empowered to drive the curriculum themselves, by virtue of collaborating with peers and faculty in the development of research questions.

We could then re-map the first year so that students complete a balance of these 100 level doing courses in STEM, Social Sciences, Humanities, and the Arts.  We’ll save a little room in the schedule for some of the disciplinary foundations students will need (theory for our musicians, anatomy and physiology for our nurses, etc.), but the rest of the first year will simply focus on this kind of question driven learning that puts education in the hands of the students.  Toss in an FY orientation class and students should be fully transitioned from passive to active learners by the end of the first year.

Now, I bet you are wondering… is this still slow education?  Sure.  To do this kind of active, question driven class, we are going to have to abandon lists in favor of discovery.  We will take the time to develop a research question with our students, first intuitively, then by exploring some scholarship related to the topic. Then we will be focused on figuring out how to answer that question (introductory methods only).  We will be unburdened by the notion that we need to cover the history of a discipline and free to dig into just one idea.  There will be lots of work, to be sure, but the work will be limited to introductory tools and methods. This will leave lots of time to discuss ideas and tools, test them, and even toss them out when we fail to see their value.  All we have to focus on is helping our students discover ways to answer the questions they have devised with us. If we are really lucky, we will all leave with next questions in mind.

If we do it right, our students will leave their first year of college confident in their ability to lead discussions, collaborate with others, wrestle with new ideas, and capable of forming questions. They will not know a lot of detail about any particular discipline, but they will have foundational tools for learning that can support them as they begin to grapple with theory and history. Those foundational tools are exactly what our students need to bring to those nice, slow seminars, don’t you think?

 

 

Higher Education, Innovative Pedagogies, Thinking

Slow Education

Well, it isn’t at all newsworthy to observe that it was a very warm weekend. Here in the Northeastern United States we experienced temperatures hovering around the 100-degree mark, which is hot even for July. Fool that I am I do not have air conditioning in my home.  I really prefer unconditioned air whenever possible. Genius that I am I live in a home shaded by trees and next to a lake.  It was plenty hot at my house, but we sat in the shade, sipped our various iced beverages, and did what the weather required…we slowed down.

Like a school closing blizzard in February, I confess, I revel in the luxury of just giving in to nature’s forces and not doing whatever I had planned to do.  Ambitions fade away in the face of temperatures too high or too low to navigate.  Instead, I am forced to just be.  Every time this kind of day happens, I am reminded just how wonderful that just being can be. Indeed, for me this is the very condition necessary for new ideas grow.

This week’s slowdown has reminded me of Neil Postman’s, Teaching as a Conserving Activity. This publication from 1979 was Postman’s re-imagining of arguments made in his earlier work, Teaching as a Subversive Activity. Though some saw this follow up as a reversal, it wasn’t really.  As Postman put it “Education is best conceived of as a thermostatic activity” (p. 25), offering a counter-argument to the direction of the culture in which it resides. He goes on to say,

 The thermostatic view of education is, then, not ideology-centered. It is balance-centered…Its aim at all times is to make visible the prevailing biases of a culture and then, by employing whatever philosophies of education, to oppose them.   In the thermostatic view of education, you do not “hold” philosophies. You deploy them

Now you may think this an interesting thought given all of the discussion of ideology on our campuses and the current state of political discourse, and it is. But I am thinking at a higher level of abstraction.  The strongest biases at work in our culture right now are fueled by our technological and media environments. These environments argue for speed and quantity.  We want more information, more entertainment, more action, and we want it fast.  We cannot have news feeds that have not changed in the last 10 minutes. It is exhausting.

We are not immune to this in higher education.  Our curriculum suffers from this impulse for more, more, more.  A typical liberal arts major once took up only a third of a student’s educational experience, leaving ample room for minors, semesters abroad, or even changing one’s mind about what to study.  Now liberal arts majors are approaching half of the credits in an undergraduate degree and changing majors is hazardous at best. 

We are also packing our degrees with other must haves–courses outside of the major that we require because we think students need them.  It is no longer enough to have general education requirements to serve as a foundation for college level learning and to insure students understand the ways questions are asked and answered in many disciplines. Now we want our students to take particular general education classes, further limiting their options to make decisions about their own learning.

Our classes are also in an interesting state.  Not all, of course, but many classes include an amount of reading and work that might be fine if it were a student’s only class, but in a typical full-time load it is impossible to finish. We are mirroring our hectic culture by saying read more, read faster, go, go, go.  Not enough time? Skim and get the highlights a la our news feeds. 

It is just too much.  Our fear of missing some important idea (FOMI?) is leading to an educational experience that fosters stress, shallowness, and a lack of reflection.  If we keep adding to the lists of things our students have to know, how will they ever master some of the fundamentals? When will they have time to learn from mistakes? Where is revision in their learning process? And how will they ever have a moment of insight?

Let’s slow down.  Let’s do a little less and see if we can all learn a little more.  Let’s remember that revision, reflection, and repeated engagement with a few ideas are the building blocks that will prepare our students to navigate the sea of ideas they will encounter after graduation.  Let’s remember that important dates and facts are readily available in digital resources everywhere, but the ability to engage and argue with them productively is in no way intuitive, so we should spend our time on that. Let’s be realistic about how much anyone can really do in a day, a week, or a semester and design for that.  

Let’s be that counter-balance to the larger cultural narrative that privileges quantity and speed.  Let’s focus on creating an environment that gives all of us time to think and remember how much we can learn from struggling with just one idea.  Let’s do slow education. 

 

 

 

Higher Education, Thinking

Spring Cleaning

This morning I awoke to the welcome sounds of birds.  They’ve returned to the neighborhood, adding to the mix of voices that accompany my morning coffee and email routine. I have zero vocabulary for identifying birds (I call my friend Felicia when I really want to know), but what I can say is that I recognize the repeat visitors and the warm weather their return signals.

Waking to those voices always brings a sense of relaxation and joy.  We’re in the final weeks of our spring semester, the celebratory rituals have begun, and even though I don’t have summers off, the relaxed rhythms of the warmer months beckon. We’ve almost made it through another year.

Then it happens…. Ahhhh,  there’s so much left to do!  There are plans in progress that are yet to be finished.  My goals for the year are only half-way done.  My hopes for completion seem foolish at best.  And that’s just me.  My faculty and students are having the same moment multiplied by 1000s.  How do we get it all done?

Well, we can’t.  So let’s just accept that. But there is value in this moment of panic.  It provides an opportunity to evaluate the goals we set and consider adjustments for the future.  Were all of those goals worth it?  Do they get at the heart of what we wanted to do?  Are there too many? Too few?  It is time for a little spring cleaning.

As I adjust my list to something more reasonable and perhaps attainable, I am thinking about curriculum design. At universities, much of the curriculum is considered without reference to the whole.  Although departments work together to develop shared goals in the form of course descriptions, outlines, and learning outcomes, the courses themselves are mostly developed in isolation.  Faculty bring their talents to a topic, interpreting it through their particular lenses, with little thought to what else a student might be learning.  And, although the overall path through a degree is strictly defined in some majors (usually in STEM disciplines), in most cases the path is only encoded as far as course levels and a few pre-requisites, with the rest being experienced as a series of topics to be pursued and then, well, mostly forgotten.

This reality leads me to think about our students lives.  Project due dates are looming, with a generally pile up of research and exams and presentations for the end of the month of April.  How will they get it all done? How will they fully benefit from the creativity and insights of the faculty if we are piling on with no concern for that end of semester reality?

Here’s a thought.  Let’s do a little less.

We can start by looking at our syllabi and asking the question, what did I truly want to accomplish in this course?  All indicators suggest that the details of our courses fade as students leave for their next semester’s work, so what should they take with them?  Looking at what you planned, right at this moment when the fast slide to the finish line begins, what might you omit next time?  What is not essential to the things you’d like your students to carry forward? When you find it, write it down for next year.

Then let’s do a little reorganizing.

Remind yourself that a) your students are in three to four other classes, all with readings, assignments, and exams weighted toward the end of the semester and b) feedback is a really good thing for learning.  How might you reorganize the material that is essential, so that less of the big stuff is saved for the last weeks of the semester?  How might you make time for feedback and revision? Write it down for next year.

These are small steps, to be sure, but if we start to ask these questions regularly, we might be able to de-clutter our lists, creating just a little more room for honest engagement with ideas.  Let’s not equate academic rigor with a quantity of readings or assignments.  This just leads to skimming and superficial encounters with important concepts and texts.  Let’s not think that the most important measure of learning is a single large assignment, but build in the shorter building blocks that give room for improvement. Let’s not think of our courses in isolation, but consider the totality of a student’s schedule and find ways to weave that into our planning.

You see the world is full of information and we are all adept at touching the surface of ideas.  But to get to the small moments that can build real understanding, we need more time. Universities need to create that time in our schedules and our curriculum as a counter-balance to the abundance of information and experiences at the touch of our fingertips. We need to make room for thinking.  So in the spirit of spring cleaning, let’s sweep away the excess and do a little less.

We might even find it brings us joy.