ON TEACHING PHILOSOPHY TO UNDERGRADUATES: BEST PRACTICE?
We can use this page to leave comments and banter our ideas.
Here are my original comments from a Facebook exchange hosted by Jeremy Pierce.
Jeremy Pierce with Sophia Pierce:
"Why do my English teachers tell us that you can't write an essay overnight while then expecting us to write essays in a half hour on our exams?"
Steve HaysYes, in-class essay tests subvert the point of an essay test. It shouldn't be a test of how fast you can think and write and try to organize your thoughts under pressure, but how well you understand a topic. Your ability to analyze it. A take-home essay test is the way to go. Jeremy PierceOr do it in class but give them time to do it properly. Bruce Meyer: Or make the topic small enough to do a decent first draft in fifteen minutes. This question raises a good objection to in class essay exams, and I for my part don't test with them. But I do lean heavily on outside of class essays submitted electronically (to be checked by SafeAssign), for the sole purpose of having students HAVE an opinion and then to ARTICULATE A CONTRARY opinion; and then I encourage them to rewrite their essay if the contrary position they came up with persuades them, in which case they make the old contrary position their new "I say that" position. Bruce Meyer: Continuing: I read that a study somewhere (on the internet so it must be true!!) said that good multiple choice tests do a snapshot assessment of the student as do essays, to 95% accuracy. The source of my opinion here (the study I browsed) seemed credible at the time, and if anyone challenged me (enough for me to care) then that study could be found. But the claim has intuitive sense to me, so I felt ok to go with it. // If there's an off-FB discussion that you other persons (Jeremy Pierce and his readers on educational strategies) could continue this discussion on--optimal ways of teaching philosophy to undergraduate non-academic-professional philosophers--I would be much interested. I could even host it on my blog, beinghumaninfaithartscience.blogspot.com. I'll go set up a page to receive comments that we can expand on--just in case anyone is interested.
C.S. Lewis "tried his hand" at Science Fiction (The Perelandra trilogy), Children's Stories (The Chronicles of Narnia), and retelling ancient myth (Till We Have Faces). J.R.R. Tolkien "tried his hand" at Fairy Stories , thus The Lord of the Rings.
I may be writing comic strips, comic books, crime thrillers, and songwriting in folk styles. We'll see what comes of these.
Frank's been living since the time of the presocratic Greeks. He takes on various guises in different lives, different centuries and eras. And he always lives as a true member of society in which he finds himself. This is 1948, and Frank is a private eye, but still always is watching out for the lost souls, waiting to call them to repentance. The difference between God's justice and man's justice is clear to him, and he knows what is more important.
When I wrote this, I deliberately tried to use every cliche in the book. It's fun to write cliches, but not a good plan in general. So suspend the editor in your mind and just enjoy to ride.
Here is the first draft of an argument between the private detective Frank Angelicus and a yet unnamed femme fatale, shamelessly lifted from the heart to heart scenes at the end of The Maltese Falcon. Here's the scenes, to get the vibe.
https://youtu.be/wPT49WXC0Zo
Here's Frank Angelicus. I hope you enjoy it.
Ch. 2
Frank knew trouble when he smelled it. And how. That girl is trouble. Opening a can of worms, that’s what she was doing.
Gosh, Frank, I just don’t know what happens to me sometimes. I try so hard to be a good girl, but the boys, well, the boys seem so sweet, and I just want to make them happy, and…
Listen sister and I mean listen up. You’re on the fast track to nowhere and I mean fast and I mean now. You gotta shake loose of that monkey on your back. Now don’t go telling me that you don’t what I’m talking about because you do, and that’s for sure. Lose the drugs and lose the needle. Drop the heroin, it’s a hot potato and you don’t even know that you’re burning your hands.
Oh my gosh Frank, you used to be so much fun. Now you’re talking just like my old Sunday school teacher, Miss Alice. She was, sigh, so nice, and she smelled so pretty…
Don’t go Miss Alice-ing me, Little Liza From the Farm. We’re not in fly over country anymore. You can’t go around sticking your fork in the sockets and expect to not get burned. Life is too short for that fooling around. Hang up on that sentimental jazz and do what I tell ya. Do ya see what I’m talking about? Listen to me, sweetheart! Do you see what I’m talking about?!!
Oh, Frank, Frank, she sobbed. I can’t bear to hear you talk that way. I can’t just stop and be a good girl. I’m not on the farm any more. I’ve been bad. I’m spoiled. I’ll never be anything but somebody’s rag doll, and I know it. Isn’t it enough? I’m spoiled, and I’m used up, and I’m ugly, Frank.
She cried for mercy from Frank through her tears. She was a sweet young thing, a tender and delicate flower. A whispy breeze from Iowa with a two timing back heel, ready to spin her around at the first sign of a hard body and sweet line. Frank isn’t going for it though. He knows better. He’s seen one too many babe trapped in nice feelings, one too many sweethearts of the rodeo fallen from grace to know that they think they’ve sinned so badly that even God couldn’t keep them from sinking.
They were all sure they were the Unsinkable Titanic, in their fancy skirts and low cut necklines and a way to open any door they want. They were all so sure that nothing would cut them down to size, because nothing could. Nothing could stop them. But the naïve waifs get taken for a ride, used up one side and down the other.
Then they are so proud. They think that they are too good to need Jesus, and then they think that they’ve sinned so much that Jesus couldn’t save them.The proud daughters of Eve, they think they are all so special.But they aren’t, not at all.There’s nothing in there that a miracle wouldn’t cure.And there’s nothing so good and sweet and fresh from the farm that isn’t so corrupt that a beggar with two cents worth of truth couldn’t tell was destined for the pit of hell if she didn’t turn around and find the grace of God.
Listen to me, sister and listen good. I’m only gonna tell you this once. You’re lost, and there’s no two ways about it. But the lostness didn’t start when you was shootin’ up the horses, and it didn’t start when you were being some loser’s punching bag, and it didn’t start when you sold your sweet skin for some extra handicap at the big city races. No, it started when you was suckin’ on your mama's milk, and you yelled because you wanted it now, and you wanted it your way. You the sweet little baby who couldn’t do wrong, but you were born in pride and emptiness and you’ve been sucking up the milk of God’s goodness as if He owed you, just cause you’re you.
Oh, Frankie, (sob) Frankie…
And that’s not all. Remember all the sweet and good things you done? Did you think you were so good and swell for all that? Remember the time you made some home canned relish for old Mrs Graber down by the river? You thought you were doing something special didn’t you? We were just twelve or so, but even then clutching at straws, holding on to a spider web, it’s a wonder that you didn’t go sliding into the waiting jaws of hell right then. You were—I was, we all were—born in this bitterness and we were all just disasters waiting to happen--don't you see?
But Frank (sob) why did God do that? Why did God make me so bad? (sob) I didn’t want to be bad, I just couldn’t help myself.
I know, babe, I know. It’s nothing special with you though. And it’s not God’s doing. You remember when that lady from the city moved into the house for troubled girls, and she had that baby with the handicap, because of the drugs she was using?Do ya, babe?
Yeah Frank (sob) I do.
Well that’s the way it is for us. It wasn’t the kid’s fault now was it?
No, not really.
No, babe, it wasn’t the kid’s fault, not at all. Well, it was—but not in the way you might be thinkin’.
I did a little time of sitting before God quietly to think through some dilemmas.
Here's what I found. It's kind of abstract, but I'm trying to describe how I thought through the disconnected ideas, to try in prayer to hear what God might be saying. This is a lot like what happens when you try to hear a prophetic word, after which you have to match it with scripture. But when you're in the moment of listening, it's like following a dream. Prayer, meditation and scripture study all go back and forth. Scientific thought and philosophy is like this sometimes too.
I tried to start out with asking what has been going on with music in my life. In the time of prayer and quietness, I saw connections. One thing leads to another. There's a natural branching of ideas led to friendships and human connections. As I quieted myself and just tried to trust God to lead me to make connections, I saw these things. There would be a dense network that centered on related, repeating patters, with peers, intimate relations, comics, schoolwork and reading, playing guitar and other music, having an aesthetic appreciation of music of different kinds, and trying out different projects, trying to do different things, pursuant to taking various initiatives.
I was expecting to find moments of shame that have locked me in or kept me down, but nothing of shame came to the surface. Quite unexpectedly to me.
What did emerge, on reflection, is that the primary feature of all the positive emotional aspects of life experiences is the exercise of my will to bring something about. Good things would happen in the trail of taking initiative, even very small good things in the course of life, as well as very large cumulative projects taking years and much support from other people.
I'm reminded of the parable of the Talents. The master gives the servant a supply of talents, and says in so many words, I'm trusting you with these--go out there and see what you can do with them! Try this, try that, try the other thing. Just launch out in good faith, you'll see what works, there's no shame in trying thing. You're smart, you'll figure it out. Just, go do something.
The emergent observation, the apparent result of this experiment in quietness, is that it doesn't really matter what the subject is (repeating: whether it is developing peer relationships, or intimate relationships, or involvement with comics at any level, involvement with music at any level, or the execution of projects at any level); but that what decisively does matter is the exercise of my will to make something happen. And the clarity and unmixed attention and effort that I bring to the purpose to which I am attending, whatever that purpose might be; that clarity, attention and effect will yield (one may expect, even plan on) success in life, and happiness in life, and success at my purpose. I will accomplish the thing that I'm trying to do, one might expect, and there will be a lot of satisfaction and happiness both for me and people attached to me.
I was trying to get the experience of "quietness before God" down into words while I still remembered. So if it's a difficult to understand, that makes sense. If you're interested, I'll discuss these things in a personal conversation, if you ask. Thanks so much.
Note to the reader: To fully appreciate the argument and enjoy the page, follow the links and watch the videos.
Here's a fine fix.
Start out with suspicion of erotic pleasure being the same as sin, an a priori nay-saying toward touching and feeling. Here's to you, Journey.
But ... but... Song of Songs. I mean, Really.
I don't think the whole truth about the ins and outs of falling in love has been told more truly than by Meatloaf. Doubly blessed, barely seventeen and barely dressed. Well, it's not Shakespeare. But Shakespeare doesn't get much airtime these days.
Then there is the whole truth about that One Special Moment. The Senior Prom, we danced till three, and then you gave your heart to me.
The other side: Skip ahead just far enough to see hard times in the rearview mirror. Thank you, Orleans. https://youtu.be/XrPnBkjdaFM
The Bob (Dylan) and his amorous exploits, early in life.
Bob also wrote a testimony to the fact that it doesn't get better simply because you get older--(voiced by the Lonesome Cowboy Himself, Willie Nelson).What Was It You Wanted?
Do you need anything? What problem can I fix for you? Tell me what you want!
Being "anxious/avoidant" in personality sets one up to believe that there's no such thing as emotional, sexual love--in the way of deep and intimate reciprocity that secure/autonomous folk experience.
Here is something about anxious/avoidant personalities and anxious/ambivalent (aka anxious/resistant) personalities. [As always, Wikipedia is a usually fine starting point for further research, not a place to stop.]
The Bible spends, oh, maybe zero amount of time and energy trying to straighten out the anxious/avoidant lovers in our midst--may be a tiny amount in a circuitous fashion. It spends tons of time and energy on restraining the Meatloaf crowd. And much time celebrating the Orleans perspective from their video above.
Makes me think that in the Bible's perspective, anxious/avoidant love is not really that big a deal, since we die by the time we're forty, which is long enough to live to do the right thing by "decision not emotion," have progeny, and pass on to our eternal reward. (Thank you anyway, but no thanks-- Self-growth.com--but there are a lot of born-again sites with the same approach.)
But now we live longer and need to find something. We need love.
You want Decision Not Emotion? I'll give you some damn decision not emotion.
Page one of the Relationship Agreement is taken from the free, multi-page template at Sample Templates.com. https://www.sampletemplates.com/business-templates/relationship-agreement-template.html
Actually, I suspect this latter approach could work well for the rare obsessively organized and industrious, and introverted couple, where both parties love each other and express that love, accountant-like, in spreadsheets.
Apologies for not illustrating this blog with Shakespeare and classic references and illustrations. I just reached out my metaphorical hand and used what was at arm's length. Sigh, Romeo and Juliet, Leaves of Grass, and 16th Century Italian Poets. Thank you for all your good work. Maybe next time.
