TEACHING PHILOSOPHY
Teaching is an art, and the best teachers are gifted in teaching in the same way that John Constable was gifted in painting. Teaching skills, however, are not always innate, and we may struggle to become effective teachers because we are rarely taught how to teach — developing instead what skills we do have largely through a sort of scholarly osmosis. Probably the most useful teaching advice I have received was that “You can’t teach them if they’re not there, and they’re not going to be there if you’re boring.” I try very hard not to be boring.
I initially returned to university to study pre-med. As an option course I took Introduction to Philosophy — a course that I found really… irritating. The content frustrated me and I couldn’t wait to take another class to be equally frustrated by an entirely different set of things.
And thusly was I turned to the dark side!
My passion for teaching philosophy comes from my passion for philosophy. I am especially passionate about teaching Introductions to Philosophy and Ethics, given their importance in 'switching on' (or, depending on your perspective, irritating) students. If you can get them in the 101s, then they’re hooked for life and the hard work is done; and from there on in, the study of philosophy offers a student an unbounded opportunity to chase the topics which impassion them. My job in this melee is no small undertaking: it is at once to incite the student and yet also become their trusted envoy.
Students are generally motivated to learn, and they have a near-boundless desire to succeed. As their teacher, it is my job to help maximise their success. Yet exactly what the student needs from me depends largely upon the student: some need inspiration, others need a mentor — and others just really, reeeally need. to. pass. this. course! With this in mind, I consider my primary role in teaching to be accessibility. I am told that I have an informal and disarming teaching style; this is intentional, as it helps students feel at ease and motivates them to talk.
The teaching philosophy of a colleague is governed by the notion that knowing things is a deeply wonderful experience. He is right. However, as a philosopher I believe that knowing that there are things you don’t know is somehow more motivating. Our drive to learn comes, not from the enjoyment of knowing things, but from the desire to know what you don’t know; so when I teach, I try to give my students as much freedom as possible to find out what they don’t know. Students must forge their own new and unexpected connections — and they need space to explore them. Accordingly, I teach only what episodic knowledge is demanded by the course and focus the balance on cultivating (and directing) their tendril-chasing and windmill-tilting.
It is not the lauded publication of some trivial matter in philosophy for which (most) of us shall be remembered, but for having gently nurtured and guided a student’s thirst for knowledge. How this is best achieved is the subject of much debate. My approach is to generate enthusiasm for the material by helping each student feel like an active and valuable part of the class, and to develop one-to-one relationships with students in an effort to advance open debate. Hearing a student’s voice and valuing their input helps them feel comfortable and lets them know I care. In Socratic humility, I believe that professors of philosophy rarely improve the world directly — it is simply our honour and duty to light-the-lamp in the student who will.