In my first post to this webspace, I noted a desire for this website to do a number of things: host research projects, connect to writing samples, offer course materials, and maintain a professional portfolio. It is doing that, but I thought I might make it a bit easier to navigate. (There is a navigation menu at the top of the page, but not everyone seems to find it amenable to use.) So, if you are looking for
On 21 August 2018, Francesca Gino’s “Need More Self-Control? Try a Simple Ritual” appeared in the online Scientific American. Gino opens her piece by asserting a problem to address–lack of self-control, particularly as related to eating–and notes its persistent study by scholars and entrepreneurs. She then notes several previously attempted solutions to the problem and their deficiencies before pivoting to her central idea: ritual offers a path to self-control. The piece then offers a simple, working definition of ritual and references Gino’s previous work on rituals, explicating the methods and results of two studies she helped to conduct. A warning about over-reliance on ritual follows, succeeded by a brief explanation of how the observed effects may come to be. Gino’s piece concludes with connections to lived experience and a return to the chocolate cake mentioned in the piece’s opening, a closure that seems in good taste.
I forget how Gino’s piece came to my attention, although I am likely to put it forward to my students as a useful example of expository writing; it moves well and reads easily, and if the conventions of citation are not those I am obliged to require of my pupils, they are excellently done within the context of the piece’s presentation. Aside from such use, though, and from allowing a groaner of a joke in its summary, the article has strangely stuck in my head.
Ritual is commonly associated with religious practice and with group identity, as Gino motions toward near the end of her article. I am not a person of faith, as I have pointed out, and it has been some time since I was part of a group other than my family that has been around long enough for rituals to develop. (And I seem to set aside quite a few of those my family practices, as well, much to my parents’ consternation at holidays.) Yet I am also, in the event, somewhat superstitions–perhaps not in the ways enumerated by Stevie Wonder, but still beholden to practices that have little real effect. I will not leave a cup of coffee, once poured, undrunk, for example, and I always leave the porch-light on when someone–anyone–who belongs in my house is away from it. (Admittedly, that last is useful at night.) And I am always sure that the last thing I say to those I love is that I love them–not that it would help them or me not hurt were it the last thing they heard me say.
I do find myself nagged by unease when I neglect to do such things, so perhaps I would be the kind of person who would benefit from enacting some small ritual before I eat. To develop one ex nihilo seems somehow silly, though, so I am not sure what kind I would employ. I am already far sillier than I ought to be, and I do not think anyone is well served by my being sillier yet.
Continuing on from the previous week, students were asked in discussion to work through summarizing a source and investigate reliability of online sources. They were also asked to sit for an online APA quiz, to complete a “pulse check,” and to draft a topic proposal and tentative outline for their course project.
The course roster showed 27 students enrolled, a net gain of one from last week; most participated in one or more online discussions during the week. An online office hour was held on Monday, 10 September 2018; no students attended.
Students are reminded that the third office hour will be tonight, Monday, 17 September 2018, at 6pm Central Daylight Time. Students are also reminded that the following assignments are due before the end of day (Mountain Daylight Time) on 23 September 2018:
Discussion Threads: Presenting Ideas and Annotated Bibliography Practice (3 posts/thread, rubric online)
Course Project: Annotated Bibliography (due as a Word document in APA format)
On 5 June 2018, Adam Harris’s “Here’s How Higher Education Dies” appeared in the online version of The Atlantic. In the piece, Harris makes the case that higher education, as an industry, has passed its peak and appears to be on a slow decline. He grounds his assertion in Bryan Alexander’s 2013 work, noting that Alexander’s predictions appear to be coming true and discussing reasons they seem to be so. Harris then explicates the problems to colleges and universities of declining enrollment (mergers and closures of programs and schools, further increasing adjunctification), as well as possible remedies (outreach to non-traditional students). He also notes that while some schools will be relatively insulated from coming changes, others will have to adapt to survive. Harris ends with a small gesture towards hope, citing Alexander’s own ideas about institutional viability, and the putative irony of institutions of learning suffering amid a glut of available information.
It is true that Harris’s article took some time to find its way in front of me, and I accept that my comments about it will be affected by that delay. Too, they will be affected by my continuing disentanglement from academe–a process that is not complete (and will probably not be so long as I continue to benefit from my minimal engagement); I readily admit that my experience of higher education has left me with decided attitudes about the whole endeavor. But I do not think that higher education has reached its peak–perhaps a lesser peak on the way to its full summit. There is still too much reliance on the kind of credentialing higher education offers and too much resistance to that in enough areas that the kind of saturation “peak” seems to require when used in other arenas for it to apply, I think. And there is still more room for adjunctification, though I worry about pointing it out for fear of prompting it.
There is also still more understanding that there can be another way in education for it to be really “peak” (though I am not entirely happy about that phrasing, I’ll admit). Even in the online, “career-focused” class I am teaching now, with students who are explicitly and specifically working towards degrees so they meet requirements for jobs, I have students–and more than might be thought–who either know or are open to knowing the pleasure or learning for its own sake and of looking into areas of endeavor removed from their professional concerns. The adult and non-traditional students I teach, while knowing and acknowledging that some of what they are asked to do is asinine for any group of students or not appropriate for them as for 18-year-olds straight out of suburban secondary school, understand that what they study outside their majors is helpful for their lives outside their careers–whether as part of their putative civic engagement or their personal, non-remunerated enrichment. They still have some sense of education as an inherently worthy goal, whatever the grade in the course–at least some of them do.
Peak higher education is not a thing in itself, but a symptom of a greater disease, and that symptom has still not spread enough to kill the patient. Yet.
On 19 August 2018, Anamnestes published “The Vegan Religion.” In the piece, Anamnestes discusses the results of Kalel’s admission of not wholly upholding veganism in her personal life, despite vlogging about it extensively. The author relates the admission to confessional aspects of religion, particularly Roman Catholicism, using the parallel to critique veganism as a religion and offering it something of a corrective for its fundamentalist tendencies. The author brings personal experience into play to help secure the parallel, making for an interesting piece with which to think and a useful comment on puritanical strains that appear in unexpected places.
Anamnestes is another blogger whom I know in real life and whom I esteem greatly. (I am using the blogging name instead of the meatspace name out of respect for the person; if the person wants the words under a pseudonym, then I will discuss them under such.) The current piece adds to that esteem, certainly, not least in providing a perspective I had not considered–although it is one that makes quite a bit of sense once pointed out. Being from central Texas as I am, I read “religion” as a term as bound up with particular strains of evangelical Christianity and their oft-annoying proselytizing–something often associated with vegan and other communities that ostensibly orient themselves around ethical and health issues. And, with that connection established in my mind, the rest slotted into place nicely.
That I had not made the connection before being prompted is, perhaps, an artifact of my own background and history. Though I have been a member of a church, I have never been particularly observant–and to claim to be a person of faith now would be disingenuous at best. I am not, therefore, the sort of person who is likely to see religious parallels–which makes work as a medievalist more interesting, since one of the old standbys is to look at medieval art as a gloss of or commentary on religious doctrine or material. I can do it, of course, but it is not a first option for me, something I am sure that my work elsewhere more than suggests.
Reading Anamnestes’ post, I find myself wondering what it would be like to have that kind of grounding–not because I long for it in itself, certainly, but because there are things it would make easier for me, professionally and likely personally, and I am lazier than I ought to be. And perhaps I am a bit envious of the access to community such offers, even as I am repulsed by the kind of reactions discussed in the post and what prompted it. With that, I am more familiar than is comfortable (though I admit to deserving some of it, if not most; I know well what I did and who I was). In reading, though, I find that I would like to be more familiar with some other issues, as well–even as I know I will not be.
While it might seem somewhat odd to offer a report of activities for a class that does not actually meet, some running commentary seems in order for even a wholly online class. To that end, the following:
During the first week of the session, students were asked to introduce themselves and to work through developing a topic for the session-long course project. Instructor comments on the latter were offered in the hopes of prompting deeper consideration and more engaged, authentic work.
The course roster showed 26 students enrolled; 19 participated in online discussion during the week. An online office hour was held on Tuesday, 4 September 2018, adjusted from the normal Monday meeting due to a holiday; one student attended.
Students are reminded that the second office hour will be tonight, Monday, 10 September 2018, at 6pm Central Daylight Time. Students are also reminded that the following assignments are due before the end of day (Mountain Daylight Time) on 16 September 2018:
Discussion Threads: Summarizing Sources and Internet Reliability (3 posts/thread, rubric online)
Course Project: Research Proposal and Outline (due as a Word document in APA format)
Information Literacy and APA Format Quiz (due online)
On 19 August 2018, Eric Weiskott’s “Formalism Is Historicism” appeared on his own website. In the piece–a short, fast, easy read–Weiskott notes reasons for addressing the terms in his title before offering quick-and-dirty definitions for both formalism and historicism–the first looks at literature as literature, while the latter looks at literature as a result of other circumstances. He then asserts that the two approaches, often held to be in opposition, are essentially the same, grounding his assertion in a series of readings he references at the end of his piece and the simple fact of his study of English poetry, which itself abrogates the division between formalism and historicism. He offers what he calls speculation to conclude the piece, noting that the perceived tensions between formalism and historicism are fundamentally internal political matters and that the two categories cannot be defined except in terms of each other.
This is not the first time I’ve written in response to Weiskott, to be sure. (Witness here and here.) As I’ve noted, it’s a pleasure to read what he writes, and it’s more of a pleasure to see his working around concepts that his students–whom he obliquely references in the opening of his piece–will likely have to grapple with, themselves. Seeing their professor still working with ideas and how to better understand them–for those of his students who do see it; not all students research their professors–is likely to help the students handle their own difficulties in handling materials. It should help them feel less foolish for not understanding; so holds one line of thought.
When I’ve taught, though, I’ve always worried about exposing my own uncertainties and failures of understanding–in part because I remember being a student, expecting professors to know, and feeling my respect for them lessen when they did not. (I still did what I was supposed to do, of course, but there is a difference between compliance and enthusiasm I believe many people understand.) I have tended to expect people to react like I do (which I know is a failure of thought, and I try to do better, but I know I have much more to do in that regard), and so I have tended to think my own students will react to me as I did to my own professors. While I am getting over it at this point, I do still have concerns with my legitimacy at the front of the classroom, and I admit to not being brave enough to expose myself quite so openly as Weiskott seems to do. (And I am aware of the irony of writing such a thing in a venue students have told me–and occasionally shown me–they peruse.) What I arrive at, then, is that Weiskott is braver at the front of the classroom than I–as I am sure many are. Whether I will continue to be in the classroom long enough for that to matter, though, is an open question.
Continuing a practice I most recently iterated at the end of the May 2018 session at DeVry University in San Antonio, and following closely the patterns established in previous practice, comments below offer impressions of class performance among students enrolled in ENGL 062: Introduction to Reading and Writing during the July 2018 session at that institution. After a brief outline of the course and selected statistics about it, impressions and implications for further teaching are discussed.
Students enrolled in ENGL 062: Introduction to Reading and Writing during the July 2018 session were asked to complete a number of assignments in quick succession. Many, and the weightiest, related to the overall course project; others were homework meant to practice skills used in the workplace and in later stages of the course project. Those assignments and their prescribed point-values are below, with relative weights shown in the figure below:
Homework (a developed paragraph, a summary and response, and two essays in two versions each)- 370/1,000 points
My Reading Lab (reading skills and reading level assessments)- 300/1,000 points
Discussion Posts (three posts in each of two graded discussion threads weekly)- 280/1,000 points
Reflection on Progress and Plan for Improvement- 50/1,000 points
As before, most assignments were assessed by means of rubrics provided by the institution. Some few were assessed on a percentile basis from standardized testing conducted as part of University-wide course requirements.
The section met on Thursdays from 1800-2150 in Room 107 of the San Antonio campus of DeVry University. Enrollment was low–only two students as the class began, dropping to one before the class ended–so presentation of students’ statistics is inappropriate; there are insufficient numbers to allow either anonymity or the extraction of useful data.
Teaching so small a class had its benefits, certainly. I’ve got a fair amount of experience as a tutor, so I was able to operate the class as a sort of extended tutorial, though my tutorials are usually more responsive and flexible than a prescribed assignment sequence allows. I do have to note that the relatively low workload made for an easier time of things for me, and I am not ungrateful–particularly given that the next session looks like it will ask quite a bit of me (I’m only teaching one class, but it has 28 students in it as I write this–and it’s a wholly online composition course). In all, it catered to my strengths, and I feel I did a good job of it this time around.
I still appreciate having had the chance to teach again, and I once again look forward to having others in the new session and in sessions yet to come.
I have a daughter who is, as I write this, enrolled in a preschool program in my hometown. She recently got promoted within it, moving up from one class to another (insofar as a preschool has classes–but I may well be ungenerous in making such an aside), starting with a new teacher after having many good months with one whom my wife and I respect and whom my daughter flatly loves. But it wasn’t until we got her home on her last day in the old class that she realized she’d not be with that teacher anymore; she cried, and I nearly did so alongside her. Even as I write this, I feel myself tearing up as I think about her doing so–and I’m not given to weeping.
I have confidence in the teacher with whom my daughter is now enrolled, but I have great respect for the one who worked with her these past months; my daughter has grown much under her tutelage, and I am pleased to see it happen. Her sadness at leaving makes sense to me–I have felt similar things in the past–and I have worked to help her be happy again, to look forward with hope and anticipation to new challenges and experiences. How well it has worked, though, I do not know, for I know that my daughter sees much in me that I would not reveal, and I know that I find it a bit strange to have such feelings about teachers as my daughter seems to have had about the one she recently left.
Altogether, I spent 24 years enrolled in formal schooling, and I’ve worked partly or mainly in education since 2006. Much of my life has been spent in the classroom, and many or most of my memories concern it. There are some instructors I remember fondly, certainly, although I am not in contact with them as much as I perhaps ought to be; there are more, though, on whom I look back with much less joy. In neither case do I recall being particularly sad about moving on from one to another, although I will admit that my memory for such things is not as good as it is for other things entirely, nor have I looked back over the journals I have tried to keep for notes about it. To see my daughter emote about such, then, seems a strange thing to me.
In all honesty, she often presents me with strangeness. She looks on the same world I do, but her view of it is unlike mine. There is enough similarity of perspective that she can communicate it to me, of course; she is my daughter, and I work to be active in her life, and we partake of some of the same loves. But there is much that is different, too, and not only in those parts of her that come from her mother; every day, it seems, she shows us something for which we had not thought or known to look and which we realize upon the seeing that we had needed. Perhaps I needed to see such joy reflected by her tears and to feel my own well up alongside them, an offering poured out to mourn I know not what.
Discussion was meant to address questions from the previous week and earlier before turning to summative thoughts about the course. Time to complete the assignment for the concluding week of the course was to have been offered.
Class is reminded of the upcoming assignment:
Homework: Reflective and Planning Postscript, due online as a Word document in APA format before the end of 1 September 2018
The session closes at the end of the day on Saturday, so all work must be submitted by then to be counted.
The class roster listed one student enrolled, unchanged from last week. None attended, assessed informally. No student attended the most recent office hour.
A fair number of the posts I make in this webspace concern my somewhat conflicted departure from academic life. My various responses to Erin Bartram (here, here, and here), my reflections on my expatriate status, certain of my bits about my office spaces (this and this come to mind), and a couple indulgences of nostalgia (here and here), among others, speak more or less openly about facets of my departure from a line of work and career path for which I had imagined destined. At the same time, posts such as my continuing “Initial Comments” pieces (of which the most recent is here), my class reports (which I’ll not link at the moment), and others bespeak my continuing engagement with and immersion in the structures of formalized higher education. (That I do so much to make references in my writing also marks me as a trained academic, I know; who else but a professor or a wanna-be prof would make so many notes in a single sentence?)
Clearly, then, I have not made a clean break with my former life, even if I have (largely) reconciled myself to the notion that I’ll never be a full-time scholar. Instead, I maintain a part-time contingent position at DeVry University in San Antonio,Note and I keep in mind the notion that I might pick up the occasional class at another school (though that does not seem likely in the near future or a more remote time). And while I do not give to that position the kind of fervor that I gave to similarly contingent positions in the past, I do still pursue it diligently, spending time and effort in preparing lessons and coaching students along; I still treat it like a job I mean to do well, if less because of a commitment to the profession than because of a commitment to well those things that I set out to do, whatever they may be. The effect is similar; I do more than I probably ought to do for my students.
Most, however, will note that it is not the work done in the classroom that makes a person an academic. Indeed, there is an unfortunately prevailing animus against the work of teaching and those who pursue it as their primary avocation; in addition to Shaw’s adage, there is too much disregard in higher ed for the work of those who teach younger students, and the promotion and retention of scholars is far more reliant on what happens outside the classroom than within it. But even in such areas, I seem to be holding on to an academic identity; I retain affiliation with several scholarly societies, participate in academic conferences, and, in at least some small ways, try to contribute to intellectual discourse. And it is not just in this webspace that I (flatter myself that I) do so; I still send off to journals and presses, hoping that I’ll find my way into print and others will use what I have done.
And there is one other thing: I never do enough. One of the things that academe traditionally inculcates into people, particularly “good” students, is a sense of insufficiency. There is always someone smarter, always someone doing more and doing it better; there is always more to be done. That sense lingers with me yet, despite my working one full-time and several part-time jobs and writing here and elsewhere (here and here, among others) and attending to the domestic and emotional needs of my family. If there is one part of academic life that will linger with me, I think that will be it; it seems to be among the few things that translates well into the “real” world.
Note: I acknowledge that there are critiques to be levied at my employment by a for-profit institution. I may well address them in another post to this webspace; for now, they would be a bit of a distraction. Return to text.