Teaching Philosophy

Every student and instructor hopes to have a joyful, immersive experience in the classroom. The trouble is how to make that happen consistently and reliably. Through trial and error, talking to colleagues, and research on effective pedagogy, I’ve made great strides as a teacher over the last decade. I’ve figured out what makes students want to think and talk about philosophy, an experience that is as delightful as it is rewarding. Consistently strong teaching evaluations and high enrollments in my courses speak to my ability to effectively engage and support learners.

The course that most influenced my development as a teacher was the very first course I taught, Introduction to Philosophy, which was a required course. I was just out of graduate school, and many of my students came to philosophy with skepticism. I had to figure out how to cultivate and sustain interest while maintaining rigor in content and discussion. I developed several strategies for the student who took my course because she had to. Suitably adjusted, these strategies have translated well to other courses, including my online courses. 

I bring an equity mindset to my teaching. Employing the principles of Active Learning, I use short lecture bursts as scaffolding for guided discussion, while in-class activities support student dialogue and peer-learning. I write out questions and an outline by hand before each class. I write these up again on the classroom whiteboard. I do this for three reasons. First, I get better at framing things each time around. Second, the material is something I can hold in my mind for the duration of class. Finally, I’m spontaneous and active in presenting the material, which commands attention and facilitates participation by modeling a skill I hope to foster: thinking on one’s feet in dialogue with others. 

I also employ the methods of Universal Design for Learning. I use supplemental materials and media as alternative modes of learning and inviting points of entry. For instance, when I teach Kant’s view that we are responsible for the consequences of our lies, I show Wile E. Coyote painting a tunnel on the side of a mountain. By presenting a false picture of reality, he seems to bear some responsibility for the outcome (of course, Road Runner passes through unscathed). 

A guiding principle of inclusive teaching is that we cannot leave student success to chance – for instance, we shouldn’t assume that students come to us with effective study skills or knowledge of the ‘hidden curriculum.’ In line with these principles, I build structure into every element of course design. I articulate learning goals that are SMAART (specific, measurable, active, achievable, relevant, and transparent). I communicate these goals and expectations in the syllabus as well as in person. Making full use of Canvas, I post reading guides and prompts for focused writing and reflection. My handouts help students review and synthesize material, and I hold review sessions and extended office hours before assignments and exams. 

I employ both formative and summative forms of assessment, adopting a ‘coaching’ model to formative assessment by offering frequent, ungraded, or low-stakes assignments, and prompt, regular feedback so that students have many opportunities to improve before undergoing more summative forms of assessment at the middle and end of a course. I also demystify assignment expectations by providing clear rubrics and examples of good student work. Where appropriate, I employ different forms of assessment for a variety of learning styles so that no student is excluded from showing what she knows. (When Socrates attacks writing, I ask students if exams should be written or oral. It’s always a lively discussion.) 

Diversity and disability statements send a welcoming message and signal the expectation that we uphold a climate of mutual respect in the classroom. We determine a set of ground rules for participation and decide how we’ll navigate difficult conversations and disagreements. I also solicit anonymous feedback from students throughout the semester to identify barriers to inclusion. 

Reducing anonymity is another way that I infuse social equity and inclusion in my classroom. I get to know students starting the first day of class, learning their names by the third day, even in courses with enrollments of thirty or more students. I introduce myself, our subject matter, and why I’m interested in philosophy. And because I arrive early to write up the lesson plan and exit only after students have left, students have many informal opportunities to talk to me. Finally, I’m a champion of “student hours” (office hours), which usually need to be demystified. 

Another way I reduce anonymity is by incorporating the student experience in lecture and discussion, which fosters what some refer to as a ‘cultural democracy’ in the classroom. I constantly seek student input as data for understanding and exploring our topic. This generates interest and engagement, but I also get to know my students, and they get to know each other, which creates space for them to express and assert aspects of their identity. 

I’ll note the effect of doing this when I taught Philosophy of Action. Class participation had started out lopsided. All but one student was a senior, and students had long since sorted themselves into their respective peer groups. By the third week, I’d managed to foster a classroom culture in which every student felt comfortable volunteering an example from their own life, and by the end of the semester my students were imaginatively taking up contributions from their peers in the course.

These strategies instill a ‘growth mindset,’ the idea that understanding (say) philosophy, and becoming one of its practitioners, is achievable. By showing students how to view and evaluate the subject matter of philosophy through the relatable data of their interests, preferences, and experiences, they come to see that philosophy – sometimes described as ‘thinking in slow motion’ – is something they can do. And by infusing social equity and inclusion in my classroom, I give my students a sense of being seen and recognized as equal to the challenges of our work together.  

There is a motto, ‘disturb the comfortable and comfort the disturbed,’ that I often think about when I design a course or prepare to teach a class. Some students are burdened by adversity and the trauma of violence and discrimination. Others may arrive in 'comfort,' perhaps unaware of a harsher reality that is the lived experience of some of their classmates. I teach with these two audiences in mind. For instance, I try to provide students with ‘mirrors and windows,’ first, by reflecting diverse identities and communities in course content, and second, by appealing to the diverse range of experiences and backgrounds my students bring to the classroom.