Over the last ten years, I have done most of my teaching in one of the largest and most diverse cities in the United States. During this time, I have personally taught fifty-eight courses and served as a teaching assistant for thirteen more. This allowed me to practice communicating the humanities to virtually every type of student, and it gave me the opportunity to experiment with a variety of teaching styles, assignments, and syllabi. I believe teaching is a crucial service to the next generation of citizens, and over years of experience, I have developed an approach that serves my students well.
My teaching is animated by two goals. On the one hand, I believe it is essential to engage my students’ feelings, so that they remember the material and understand its relevance in their lives. On the other hand, I want them to think critically about the subject matter, so that they can appreciate the wisdom of those that came before them, define themselves, and transcend their circumstances.
To serve the first goal, I look for an emotional hook for everything on the syllabus. If a theory true, how would that matter to my students? An example might help to explain this: at the beginning of my ethics courses, I often start by explaining why it is worth studying ethics in the first place. Students are sometimes skeptical. Everyone has a conscience that tells them whether something is right or wrong, so what’s the point in taking a class on it? To motivate our exploration, I like to introduce examples that my students often have terrible cognitive dissonance about. I show them an adorable video of my dog, Herbert, and ask: how would you feel about me if you found out that I had eaten Herbert this morning? Disgust, shock, horror! Now I have the hooks in. But I also want them to think critically about the question at hand: why are we studying ethics? So, I poll the class: “how many of you think it’s generally acceptable to eat animals?” Routinely, most do, and I highlight the apparent contradiction in the attitudes they just expressed, asking them to suggest some justifications that might reconcile this inconsistency. At the right time, I explain that this process of reflective equilibrium is exactly what philosophers are doing when they practice ethics. We, right now, are practicing ethics. Now that they have seen just how chock full of contradictions their consciences are, they can appreciate why they need careful, logical thought to reconcile these contradictions. These two elements—hooking a student’s feelings and getting them to think critically—define my teaching style.
I depend on a variety of activities and assignments to accomplish these pedagogical goals. I often host group discussions, where I assign a portion of a text to each group and help them work out the major themes or arguments together. I routinely give short, technology-assisted pop quizzes to ensure that students are keeping up with the reading and paying attention. I also give students many short, low-stakes writing assignments throughout the semester. This lets me gauge who is doing the reading and helps convince students that they are capable of writing about complex philosophical issues. I also work with students to scaffold their papers, giving them very detailed prompts and weeks of feedback before I grade their final papers. Throughout the semester, I make myself available to students who want more individualized feedback and discussion.
My journey in philosophy has been defined by both a yearning for meaning and a demand for good reasons. I love guiding my students through that same journey, helping them discover a more authentic self and develop a more coherent worldview. Because every class helps me reconnect to this mission, teaching has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.
Click here to view student and faculty evaluation summaries for my many years of teaching, as well as a few syllabi from classes I have recently taught.
My teaching is animated by two goals. On the one hand, I believe it is essential to engage my students’ feelings, so that they remember the material and understand its relevance in their lives. On the other hand, I want them to think critically about the subject matter, so that they can appreciate the wisdom of those that came before them, define themselves, and transcend their circumstances.
To serve the first goal, I look for an emotional hook for everything on the syllabus. If a theory true, how would that matter to my students? An example might help to explain this: at the beginning of my ethics courses, I often start by explaining why it is worth studying ethics in the first place. Students are sometimes skeptical. Everyone has a conscience that tells them whether something is right or wrong, so what’s the point in taking a class on it? To motivate our exploration, I like to introduce examples that my students often have terrible cognitive dissonance about. I show them an adorable video of my dog, Herbert, and ask: how would you feel about me if you found out that I had eaten Herbert this morning? Disgust, shock, horror! Now I have the hooks in. But I also want them to think critically about the question at hand: why are we studying ethics? So, I poll the class: “how many of you think it’s generally acceptable to eat animals?” Routinely, most do, and I highlight the apparent contradiction in the attitudes they just expressed, asking them to suggest some justifications that might reconcile this inconsistency. At the right time, I explain that this process of reflective equilibrium is exactly what philosophers are doing when they practice ethics. We, right now, are practicing ethics. Now that they have seen just how chock full of contradictions their consciences are, they can appreciate why they need careful, logical thought to reconcile these contradictions. These two elements—hooking a student’s feelings and getting them to think critically—define my teaching style.
I depend on a variety of activities and assignments to accomplish these pedagogical goals. I often host group discussions, where I assign a portion of a text to each group and help them work out the major themes or arguments together. I routinely give short, technology-assisted pop quizzes to ensure that students are keeping up with the reading and paying attention. I also give students many short, low-stakes writing assignments throughout the semester. This lets me gauge who is doing the reading and helps convince students that they are capable of writing about complex philosophical issues. I also work with students to scaffold their papers, giving them very detailed prompts and weeks of feedback before I grade their final papers. Throughout the semester, I make myself available to students who want more individualized feedback and discussion.
My journey in philosophy has been defined by both a yearning for meaning and a demand for good reasons. I love guiding my students through that same journey, helping them discover a more authentic self and develop a more coherent worldview. Because every class helps me reconnect to this mission, teaching has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.
Click here to view student and faculty evaluation summaries for my many years of teaching, as well as a few syllabi from classes I have recently taught.