Philosophy of Education in One Paragraph

For the past 25 years, I have professed English at a small, liberal arts university in Iowa. Like most such post-secondary institutions, it has sought ways to chamfer the sharp edge of the recent economic scimitar. My institution has, I think, taken an approach both prudent and wise. The prudent part: it has expanded its online and on-campus vocationally-oriented degree programs. The wise part: it has reaffirmed its commitment to the liberal arts. Compressed in the original definition of “liberal arts” is the idea that a course of study can be freeing (Latin: liber, free), empowering students to successfully transition from parochial and limiting perspectives to the sensitivities and flexibilities demanded by the world’s widening zone of complexity, a world at once increasingly diverse and increasingly interrelated. I believe the liberal arts can prepare students for all careers; indeed, even in those careers commonly construed as vocational, such as business and medicine, liberal arts coursework is being integrated into business and medical school curricula. As part of my institution’s reaffirmation of a liberal arts education, it has tasked a group of faculty with creating the College of Liberal Arts and Sciences (CLAS). A key question facing CLAS (or any college, school, or program for that matter) is how it can enhance student learning. What follows is my contribution to that discussion—an educational philosophy in one paragraph.

I assume certain fundamental skills underlie all learning, no matter the discipline. I also assume all learning is a matter of training, which is the only way of getting better at something. Now, assuming my assuming isn’t some slippery seed stubbornly impervious to the grasp of reality, I see a way to both make our CLAS distinctive and enhance student learning. If learning, real, genuine, take-it-with-you-into-the-“real world” learning, results from training, what should we be training students in? Intellectual depth. And how do we train students in intellectual depth? Through organizing our courses around teaching styles, assignments, and classroom activities that encourage reflection, research, reasoning, analysis, interpretation, and critique; that foster formulating questions, identifying assumptions, discerning implications/conclusions, and adopting multiple perspectives; that promote application (that is, can students do something on their own, as a result of our instruction, in novel circumstances) and self-evaluation (which, of course, students will need to be taught to do); and that emphasize writing, which ligatures thought and adorns it, making it doubly compelling. This kind of training is the biggest issue facing liberal arts and sciences (its reason for being, actually), and its source of academic excellence. One other thing: we should never, not once, even for a moment, forget that students have lives that far exceed our particular interests and that the shape and making of those lives have had, have, and will have far more impact on the men and women they are and will become than we will. The challenge to us all is captured in Prospero’s question to Miranda in Shakespeare’s The Tempest: “What see’st thou else.” We cannot transform students, not in the strict sense of the meaning of “transform,” but we can help them see the “else,” and in that small way (which is really a big way) maybe show them that instead of being swept along by events they have the means to wield the broom.