My Teaching Philosophy

I understand the liberal arts classroom to be something of a microcosm of the wider liberal arts university. The principles of liberal arts education, held and promoted by the university, should be illuminated in the classroom: a commitment to knowledge—both general and particular; the development of rational thought and critical reasoning skills; a commitment to cross-disciplinary engagement. The most helpful metaphor I can offer to illustrate how I envision the undergraduate, liberal arts classroom is that of a dinner party.

Both dinner parties and classrooms come to fruition only as the result of diligent and rigorous planning. To do too much is to risk overburdening your students, while to do too little is to risk the integrity of your work. A middle ground must be struck in the planning stages—one that attends to the central themes and figures you wish to introduce your students to, but which simultaneously contextualizes the material within the wider framework of a liberal arts education. For example, in preparing a course like Introduction to Christian Ethics, one must attend to the central themes and figures in the Christian ethical tradition, while recognizing that not every theme and figure can be covered if the desired introduction to ethics is to be achieved. One must flavor the course with themes and figures that will entice students to pursue their studies further, while also inviting them to reflect on their own voice in the wider, liberal arts conversation.

Once the semester begins, the facilitator’s responsibilities do not so much change, as compound. As the metaphorical host of this dinner party, the facilitator must dexterously balance the various responsibilities s/he takes on: making students feel at home in the classroom, providing guidance and structure for the course, and all the while being attentive to the individual needs of each ‘guest’ you encounter. The task of introductions—between one’s students and the figures from the tradition you have elected to engage—falls to the facilitator, and this becomes one of the most important responsibilities the facilitator can have. This being said, these introductions do not, and cannot, constitute the full picture of the academic encounter. An attentive facilitator—like an attentive host—provides not only the space for these important initial introductions, but also suggests possible topics of discussion to get the conversations going. Having students cold-read St. Augustine or Immanuel Kant, for example, will not produce the careful and nuanced encounters such figures requires. It is the task of the facilitator to contextualize such an encounter by assisting students in understanding the historical and conceptual space from which each figure speaks. Successful classroom conversations are the result of well-facilitated introductions.

The facilitator—like the host—must also be attentive to the kind of gathering s/he has before them. There is a particular ethos that is unique to the liberal arts classroom: the conversation should always be moving, and new ideas and topics of conversation should always be discussed. It is not the facilitator’s task to control the students’ conversations, but rather the task becomes redirecting the conversations when they go astray and supplementing them when they begin to lull. The goal of these encounters should be the opening of students’ thoughts and practices to new ideas and new encounters; not the closing off of thought and action. A facilitator should not, for example, pursue conformity of thought in the classroom, but rather encourage students to entertain contrasting viewpoints. A gathering of likeminded individuals can be enjoyable, but a gathering of individuals embodying and expressing diverse perspectives can be transformative.

Finally, at the end of the course, the facilitator must reflect, honestly and constructively, on the successes and shortcomings of the event. What worked, and what did not work? What did students respond to and what did they appear ill prepared for? Direct feedback from students—through either an official course evaluation or a set of evaluative questions prepared by the facilitator—is the most constructive way to improve on any course—and there is always room for improvement. Only after these conversations have been had, and due reflection has been given to the compliments and the critiques, can constructive action be taken to ensure that lessons learned in one course carry over into future courses. A successful classroom, like a successful dinner party, depends on the ingenuity and hospitality of the facilitator, the well-facilitated, eager, and informed conversations among students, and the creation of a comfortable, yet constructive, space conducive to both transformative intellectual discourse and hospitable interpersonal interaction.

My pedagogical approach to ethics, religion, and theology emerges from my desire to facilitate an engaged, interdisciplinary, and praxis-oriented approach to embodied, transformative education. The standpoint from which I speak in the classroom, then, is the standpoint of praxis. The articulation of this standpoint comes from the Catholic ethicist and theologian Johann Baptist Metz, who argues that any ethical endeavor, any theological endeavor—and, for myself, any pedagogical endeavor—must navigate between the two hermeneutical pillars of praxis: theory and action. In the classroom, a perduring commitment to both theory and action is not always easy to achieve, but insofar as my research and scholarship embody this praxis-oriented approach, my pedagogy, too, embodies the strategies and techniques of this commitment.

While the importance of theory in any intellectual endeavor is well recognized within the academic community, it is increasingly the case that, in the classroom, an argument must be made for why theory matters to our every-day lives. In my experience, students—quite legitimately—often pose the question: ‘This may work in theory, but not in practice. We live in the real world. Why does this matter to us?’ The question cuts to the heart of any praxis-oriented pedagogy and, therefore, requires a response. Mine comes in two forms: the direct and the indirect. The direct response to this question is that action without theory is irresponsible, and theory without action is irrelevant. This response, however, is complemented—indirectly—in and through the design, organization, and evaluations of the courses. The importance of theory cannot be overstated, so I organize the material in my course around the theoretical questions that frame the subject matter. Throughout the semester, students are introduced to thinkers and theories alike that ask them to consider the different ways in which different people—in different times, places, and contexts, and with different perspectives, life experiences, and social/political/economic locations—have responded to the same theoretical questions. “How would Immanuel Kant respond to the question of moral identity?” I ask. Then: “How about Thomas Aquinas or Toni Morrison or Judith Butler?” Same question, yet the identification of, and engagement with, different theorists pushes students to reflect on the different theoretical standpoints each adopts, and the consequent differences that arise between their positions. I encourage my students to consider the implications, effects, and relevance of these differing standpoints when they consider whether or not theory plays a significant role in the day-to-day activities of their lives.

One tool I use for evaluating the effectiveness of this pedagogical approach comes in the form of an engaged final exam. Particularly when it comes to evaluations in introductory level courses, a wide swath of material must be addressed and evaluated in a way that both allows students to demonstrate comprehension and engaged, critical thought. In my Introduction to Christian Ethics, the structure of the final exam offers students the chance to showcase both what they have learned, and how they would apply it to contemporary situations. Throughout the semester, I use a course-specific Twitter handle to share with students different articles, essays, videos, etc. that I believe offer a reflection on, or a response to, a contemporary ethical dilemma. When it comes time for the final exam, I select a few articles—perhaps three or four—from the pool of articles we have amassed on the course Twitter account, and inform students that their final exam will consist of applying the theoretical arguments we have been discussing and analyzing in class to the ethical challenges presented in the selected articles. The final exam instructions—as well as the articles—are presented to students prior to the exam itself—giving students time to develop their responses in light our course readings—and when it comes time for the final exam, students arrive ready to put down on paper a deliberative, ethical response to a pressing contemporary question. The theory is applied to practice.

When it comes to the second hermeneutical pillar of praxis—action—students often find themselves more at home. To a certain extent, this makes sense: oftentimes, the more action-oriented elements of a given course will impact them more immediately and remain in their mind’s eye more clearly over time. Nevertheless, I remind students that a truly effective, praxis-oriented approach to learning involves both action and theory. One way I chose to emphasize this was through designing a course—in this case, Introduction to Christian Theology—around the development of students’ skills in both oral argumentation and performance. As an instructor, I see that my students often have opportunities throughout their undergraduate careers to develop and hone their writing skills. The same, however, cannot always be said of opportunities for them to develop and hone their skills in oral argumentation and on-the-spot critical thinking. Therefore, I designed my course to do just that. Many students were initially uncomfortable with this arrangement, but—as I explained—the skill of writing an argumentative paper is well attended to within the wider context of liberal arts education. The skills of on-the-spot critical thinking and oral argumentation, however, are not. Yet, these very skills will be of immediate importance to students when, for example, they are in their first job interview. Through oral exams, as well as class discussion, students were challenged to offer clear, persuasive, and comprehensive arguments for the positions they held. If students did not critically interrogate the theoretical foundations underlying their positions, they would not have been able to convincingly argue for, and defend, their choices and actions. The oral evaluations were designed to encourage students to think critically and responsibly about both the form (theory) and content (action) of their positions. Despite initial misgivings, students found this exercise conducive to both learning the course material and developing a professional skill.

The learning process, however, goes both ways, and I learned a valuable lesson from my students in this course as well. In order to prepare my students for their oral exams, I dedicated one session per week exclusively to discussion. For the first few weeks, I simply left this day open for group discussion, without any structure or planned activities. My expectation was that students would come to class with written questions for discussion based on their readings of the course material. While students did come to class with written questions, it quickly became apparent that the lack of structure on these days was, in fact, becoming an impediment to my goal of discussion and the students’ goal of learning the material. As a class of first semester freshmen, my students had not yet developed the skills for making the most of this un-structured time, and these ‘discussion days’ turned into ‘lecture while sitting in a circle’ days. After some reflection, I began to adjust my approach to these class sessions, and decided to provide them with a more organized, concrete structure in order to facilitate discussion. In this situation, there was freedom in limitation. Class discussion improved once students had something concrete within which to situate their voices and views. Structuring discussion days—something I had deliberately avoided doing when originally designing the course—turned out to be immensely helpful for my students and for myself. It is a practice I will continue to make use of when I teach this or similar courses in the future.

These experiences have taught me that a praxis-oriented pedagogical approach is a tremendously effective way to engage students in integrative, collaborative learning. It demonstrates for students how course content can, either factually or heuristically, benefit their overall education, while also allowing them to discover how they might embody and enact this education beyond the limits of their undergraduate experience. My students learn that either theory or action taken alone will never be sufficient for truly transformative education. Taken together, however, theory and action form a praxis-oriented approach through which students can effectively and responsibly encounter the world. For myself, as an instructor, a praxis-oriented pedagogical approach to learning has proven to be genuinely effective for, and conducive to, both formative and transformative education.