Here We Are Now Entertain Us

Here’s Wikipedia’s Jimmy Wales, putting forward what might be the motto of the contemporary edutainment industry:

I was taking an advanced calculus class and my instructor was reputed to be a fabulous researcher, but he barely spoke English. He was a very boring and bad teacher and I was absolutely lost and in despair.

So I went to the campus tutoring centre and they had Betamax tapes of a professor who had won teaching awards. Basically I sat with those tapes and took class there. But I still had to go to the other one and sat there and wanted to kill myself.

I thought at that time, in the future, why wouldn’t you have the most entertaining professor, the one with the proven track record of getting knowledge into people’s heads?

We’re still not quite there. In university you’re still likely to be in a large lecture hall with a very boring professor, and everyone knows it’s not working very well. It’s not even the best use of that professor’s time or the audience.

I don’t want to argue that college lectures ought to be boring, far from it. I spend a great deal of time trying to engage my students and to make my subject matter — political theory, which some believe to be dry — seem relevant and exciting.

But I’m struck by the way that Wales really captures in such a short quote what so many students are looking for these days (incorrectly, I think).

First of all, Wales points out that his calculus professor barely spoke English; there’s no other justification given for Wales’ claim that the professor “was a very boring and bad teacher.” Speaking with an accent, not being “from here,” is a major complaint from students and, for some reason, it’s associated with bad teaching. I have a leg up on some of my colleagues simply because I’m obviously American and I speak in unaccented English. Does this make me a better teacher? Not necessarily, but the perception amongst students is that it does. I learned introductory German from a Chinese graduate student whose English was limited but whose German was not. Did I learn introductory German? I did.

Secondly, Wales notes that his professor was supposedly a first-rate researcher. He goes on to suggest that the professor’s time would be better spent on research rather than on teaching. In this case, perhaps; in general, I don’t think so. Great researchers are usually among the most effective teachers … even if you have one or two examples of bad teaching from your own education. Why? I knw that I’m a much more effective teacher because of the research I do, as I’m able to teach my students about the newest books and articles I’m reading rather than just teaching the same material over and over again each semester. If I wasn’t doing research, my courses would get stale.

Finally, and most importantly, is the central claim that the test of education is whether or not it’s entertaining. Wales asks, “why wouldn’t you have the most entertaining professor, the one with the proven track record of getting knowledge into people’s heads?” Is there evidence that the most entertaining lecture is the one that gets “knowledge into people’s heads”? Again, I’m not suggesting that a boring lecture is going to do the trick, but I’m arguing that entertaining students doesn’t necessarily equate with teaching them something. When I lecture on Kant, I don’t think I’m really entertaining my students. In my opinion, Kant’s Grounding for the Metaphysics of Morals doesn’t lend itself to entertainment; it’s a dense text that needs some serious explication. Now, I don’t speak in a monotone and I try to find relevant examples to help them make sense of the material, but I’m not standing in front of the class hoping that they’ll all have a great time; I’m standing there with the express purpose of teaching them about Kant.

And, in fact, I’m convinced that they’ve learned about the categorical imperative and about perfect and imperfect duties; they can thoughtfully write about these topics in their essays and convincingly answer questions about them on their exams. I could tell jokes or show a video, and then present a watered-down version of Kant’s theory; this would probably be easier for me. But I hold my students in fairly high regard and I believe they’re smart enough to know when they’re being entertained and when they’re being educated. If you want to learn about Kant, you don’t want to watch a video; and if you want to watch a video, you don’t really want to learn about Kant.

Do my students enjoy my classes? On balance, I think they do. I care about the material that I’m teaching and I care about whether or not students are learning it. That, I think, is why a lot of students like the classes I teach. Does this mean I’m entertaining them? Not necessarily. Liking something and being entertained by it aren’t always going to be the same thing.

A university isn’t Disneyland and professors aren’t Mickey Mouse.

You can have a ton of fun in a class that doesn’t challenge you or teach you anything, just like you can have a ton of fun at a theme park. But professors aren’t tasked with making sure you’re having a good time; we’re here to make sure you learn something.

Research!

My application for a Faculty Development Fellowship for next year has been approved!

Basically, this means I get to devote all of my time to research next Spring: No teaching or administrative responsibilities. While I’ll definitely miss my time in the classroom, the fellowship couldn’t possibly come at a better time. I’ve now completely finished revising and editing the book manuscript I’ve been working on for years and I’ll be able to devote all of my time to a new book project that’s been kicking around my brain for a couple of months now.

Having this sort of dedicated time is rare and I’m very grateful to my department chair, my dean, and everyone all the way the administrative chain to the president’s office here at the University of Nebraska for supporting my fellowship application. I’m very fortunate to have a job doing what I love but, in particular, I’m extremely lucky to work at a university that provides this sort of rsearch support to its faculty.

Teaching Sophistry

I’ve been encouraged to say a bit more about yesterday’s blog post concerning the Albany teacher whose students were required to write a persuasive argumentative essay from the perspective of someone living in the Third Reich about why Jews are evil and are responsible for the problems faced by Germany in the 1930s.

On the face of it, the assignment seemed so obviously problematic to me that I didn’t spend a great deal of time outlining the problem. This led a few people to comment that there’s something very valuable about being forced to think about an abhorrent position. Some claimed the value was that it made us more tolerant of unpopular opinions; some claimed it encouraged free thinking rather than repetition.

All of this would be true, I think, when we’re talking about making an argument that defends an unpopular or controversial position. I ask my students to write papers about Marx’s critique of Locke on property or Burke’s critique of the concept of universal natural rights. I think there’s real value in thinking critically about radical challenges to liberalism, especially insofar as finding ways to respond to or even integrate some of those challenging ideas can strengthen or improve the way that we think about our society and its goals.

I think there’s no value, however, in thinking critically about or defending a lie. And that’s the crux of this high school English assignment, which is — again — to write a persuasive argument about why Jews are evil and are responsible for a country’s problems. Those aren’t unpopular opinions; they’re just lies. And to teach young people that there are ways to persuasively defend lies is simple sophistry. It’s not an exercise in toleration or liberal education or anything else; it’s just a bad assignment that tried to be edgy or interesting and failed because it wasn’t thought out very carefully. The example was bad, certainly, but so was the pedagogy behind it, namely the whole notion that using propaganda tactics is a good way to teach persuasive writing.

To go one step farther, let me also add that these particular lies are incredibly pernicious ones; they are lies that led to genocide. And they are the sorts of lies that persist. In other words, you don’t have to travel very far to encounter people who hold this position (about Jews) or others like it (about other minority groups). It’s one thing to say we ought to allow people to believe and to even say all manner of things that we find unpleasant or wrong-headed; it’s quite another to say we ought to allow intolerance, hatred, and lies to be taught to our children in our schools. There’s no reason for us to tolerate that; it doesn’t make us better liberals to laud these sorts of mistaken exercises in the name of open-mindedness or free thinking.

One More Tip

Don’t email a professor you haven’t met to ask for a favor and address him as Miss or Mrs., as in “Hi Ms. Kohen.” If he’s like me, he probably won’t appreciate it.

There are two reasons:

1. He’s a man and there’s a faculty website with his picture on it. That you wrote to him and called him “Miss” or “Mrs.” suggests that, though you are hoping for a favor from him, you couldn’t be bothered to find out anything about him.

2. More importantly, most college professors hold a Phd; thus, they should be addressed as Dr. or Professor. This is why you also shouldn’t go with Mr. or with the professor’s first name in your email.

Of course, it’s almost always the case that female professors are called “Miss or “Mrs.” while male professors are called “Professor” or “Doctor” by students, both male and female, who aren’t certain about what to call them. And we could spend a long time deconstructing why that is … but, really, we can probably just safely say it’s bound up with sexist expectations that are apparently manifesting themselves in yet another generation.

A Helpful Reminder For Students

When sending an email to your professor to ask for assistance with the essay you’re writing, remember to begin with an appropriate greeting (such as “Dear Professor”) and to conclude with an appropriate closing (such as “Thank you,” followed by your name).

A message that says nothing more than “This is my introduction. Is it ok?” seems a bit rude.

A further note: Sending such a message at 11:30pm on a Friday night and then sending a second terse, one-line message on Saturday morning to inquire about why you haven’t yet received a response suggests that you need to seriously adjust your expectations.

The above is true of pretty much every interaction you will ever have with anyone who isn’t one of your buddies.