I teach controversial subjects–those topics that most people are told to not discuss if you wish to be invited to holidays. In philosophy and religious studies courses we discuss the gambit of subjects that are inclined to get you uninvited to next year’s family festivities. Abortion? Yep. Politics, God’s existence, euthanasia, sex, race, drugs, and climate change? Those are discussed as well.

Of course we also discuss more *tame* subjects like the meaning of life, the nature of truth, beauty, reality, and knowledge. But even when discussing these issues, students are asked and encouraged to reflect upon their core values–those values that have been shaped by either their families or communities. So, even with these more abstract issues a student is bound to (and should) experience some level of cognitive dissonance.

The risk involved in these discussions is that a student may end up rejecting his or her own personal views, which are also the views of the community with which the student self-identifies. This can be an unnerving process and I’ve seen students have mental breakdowns, be shunned by their own families, and, yes, not invited to holidays.

A quick example is when I’ve taught environmental ethics and a student ended up becoming a vegetarian as a result of the class discussion (this is not a view that I force upon students, but just have them explore). As a result of the student’s newfound vegetarianism, the student was no longer invited to the holiday dinner–which comprised of a flesh-based meal.

I’ve observed that when students become aware of these social risks by seriously taking on the intellectual challenge of assessing  their own beliefs that they are reticent to engage the material in an honest way. I have also seen students who become frustrated that they have a tendency to shut down or even avoid class altogether. In fact, just yesterday, I had a student stop by my office to tell me she dreads coming to my class. She explained that she thoroughly enjoys my teaching and the class itself is not so bad, but that she could not bring herself to come to the class meeting. Interestingly, the topic we were discussing in class was on the meaning of life. I encouraged and invited her to come to class even though she felt that way, but she was committed to not attending.

So, what sort of management issues must I face in a philosophy or religious studies course? What I’ve found is that students are potentially triggered (to use millennial-speak) by the course content. (Students using a cellphone or laptop in my classes is no longer an issue–I can share the ways I’ve dealt with that). This is a problem for philosophy classes across the country. In fact, I’m facilitating a panel at the American Philosophical Association Eastern Division meeting on this very issue:

https://www.apaonline.org/page/TeachingHub2020CFP#facilitating

Simply because the materials I teach are potentially troublesome or triggering to students does not mean that I avoid the topics. The world is both troublesome and triggering. Classrooms are an opportunity to prepare students for the world. Therefore, we (as instructors) must assist students be prepared to navigate a troublesome world. So, I refuse to shy away from or not teach something simply because it is potentially upsetting to students.

In handling potentially triggering and contentious materials, there are a couple approaches I’ve adopted. First, I explain to them that philosophy offers tools of analysis that allows them to see different perspectives of an issue (again, critical thinking…not just using it, but teaching it).

I typically begin with Aristotle’s quote: “it is the mark of an educated person to search for the same kind of clarity in each topic to the extent that the nature of the matter accepts it…Each person judges well what they know and is thus a good critic of those things. For each thing in specific, someone must be educated; to one must be educated about everything” (Nicomachean Ethics, 1 1094a24-1095a).

The point of this quote being that students, in becoming educated persons, must become as clear as possible on a topic that they are wanting to discuss. Before they begin judging, critiquing, or assessing the topic being discussed they must first inform themselves about the topic to the best of their ability.

Now many students certainly believe that they are already in a well-informed position to determine the truth of a claim, but a quick round of Socratic inquiry reveals to students that they don’t really understand what they are discussing. For example, the question “What is the meaning of life?” seems to have a easy answer, but as soon as we dig in a little and ask “What do you mean by ‘meaning’?” Students are stuck–is it value, is it utility, is it function, is it purpose? Also, what sort of meaning is the right kind of meaning for evaluating whether or not someone does in fact live a meaningful life.

This is a helpful step to allowing students to at least be receptive to the idea that they do not know what the meaning of life happens to be. Yet, they seem to want to live meaningful lives, so how do we sufficiently answer the question?

This first step assists students to at least distance themselves from their own preconceived notions of what constitutes a meaningful life, which allows me to begin discussing the various theories on the meaning of life. By students realizing that they do not have a well-informed stance on the matter, they do not feel that their own personal views are being attacked. Instead, we get to treat the different theories as independent objects that can be dissected and evaluated.

The second step is tied to issues that may be more immediately triggering. In particular, in my medical ethics courses I discuss moral issues surrounding procreation, including abortion. This is particularly a touchy topic given the politicalization of the issue and the fact that many students may either have or know someone who has had an abortion. I do not ask students to share their own experiences and I do not even have them share their own views on abortion. Instead, I expose them to how philosophers have discussed the issue and have students assess those arguments. In particular, I include a debate held between Peter Singer and Don Marquis who take opposing positions on the issue.

The benefit of this approach is that students are able to see how we can discuss very contentious issues without having to throw chairs at one another or get emotionally heated. So, this is a good way to model the kind of discussions that students should be having when dealing with things that may lead them to become upset. Furthermore, I don’t have students discuss which person they agree with most, but, instead, I have students analyze the different arguments (using tools provided in creative thinking and logic courses). I then have students discuss the strengths and weaknesses of each argument. The benefit is that students begin reflecting on their own beliefs and assess what their own reasons may be for holding onto one position as opposed to others.

Overall, students will have to face difficult subjects. We have a responsibility to assist students cultivate the right set of tools for thinking about challenging materials without resulting in them being triggered. Sure, sometimes triggering can’t be avoided, but such is life…the world does not provide trigger warnings. By having students learn how to emotionally distance themselves from contentious topics and analyze them in a more concerted way will ensure that students are better able to think about the things that impact their own lives. Yes, this also includes thinking about the meaning of life.

There I was, a nervous graduate student facing a crowd of four-hundred students. Their faces dimly lit by the auditorium lights as the feedback echoed during my sound check. Only 22 years old, and somehow it was expected that I was to teach Critical Thinking (during my Teaching Internship to complete my Certificate in Teaching Critical Thinking and Logic) to students not much younger than myself. I was nervous as I approached the stage and grabbed the microphone. Even in my time as a lead singer of various bands I wasn’t this nervous. Somehow the thought that I was responsible for helping these students learn how to become better thinkers struck a chord of responsibility within. So, what had I done before taking the stage to teach?

I prepared, prepared, prepared, and then I prepared even more. Every fallacy and their Latin names, Venn Diagrams, each syllogism’s Medieval form, and the major philosophers who contributed to critical thinking were studied, learned, and memorized before that first day. Some might say that I was prepared. Some might say that I was even over prepared. They were both right.

Somehow I felt the pressure to not only present the syllabus and the first week’s materials. Instead, I felt compelled to inspire an appreciation for the importance of Critical Thinking (our present higher education culture is an indicator that there is room for improvement). Yet, I thought the best way to do this was to provide a “big picture” view of the way that Critical Thinking has developed from the early days of Aristotle to the later formal developments of Frege.

And so I taught. And, boy, did I teach. There I was, pacing the stage, enthusiastically waving my arms to illustrate key points, and making (what I thought were) humorous remarks to engage the crowd. And when I was done, only 20 minutes of the class time had passed. Now, this would not be so bad if the class was meant to meet for 20 minutes. But we were supposed to meet for an 1h15m!

There I was fumbling, my teaching mentor (Greg Tropea, RIP) observing me. When I looked to him, I expected to see him shaking his head in disappointment. But worse…he was laughing. I was mortified and the students looked worse than bored. I felt that I had failed and that I was not cutout for teaching. All hopes of inspiring others to care about the nature of reality, knowledge, and values were quickly dashed. So what did I do?

As I stared at the crowd of seemingly apathetic students, I asked “Does anyone have a question?” No one raised a hand. Silence. (Thankfully this was not during the day of smart phones–otherwise, I would have been staring at a sea of glowing faces.) Then, in the back, I heard a voice.

One of the TA’s ran over to the student with the microphone. The student’s voice echoed over the PA system, asking “Can we go?” I responded, “No.”

I then asked the student, “What is the attendance policy?” The student couldn’t respond (there was no attendance policy).

I then asked “How many exams are in the class?” Students began shuffling through the syllabus to look. Then a student raised her hand to respond. After a minute for the TA to run over with the microphone, she correctly responded “Four.” Soon, the students were sifting through the syllabus and began asking questions regarding assignments and grading expectations.

Then, a student asked “What is Critical Thinking?” The other students laughed. I responded, “That’s a fantastic question. What is Critical Thinking?” The students then began to quiet themselves as I could tell they were actually trying to come up with the answer (or at least the students in the front few rows). Soon enough, a student looked to the definition of ‘Critical Thinking’ written on the syllabus and raised his hand. He responded

Critical Thinking is careful goal-directed thinking, in which students will be taught how to avoid jumping immediately to conclusions, suspending judgment no matter how strong the evidence, reasoning from an unquestioned ideological or religious perspective, and routinely using an algorithm to answer a question. In other words, it is a skill in which students learn how to think about thinking while adopting the proper patterns of reasoning. 

Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy entry on “Critical Thinking”

I then asked, “Why would we want to do that?”

I had the students discuss the question with each other and soon the uproar of conversation filled the auditorium. I looked to my advisor, who was no longer laughing. Instead, he simply nodded his head in acknowledgement of the successful turn of events.

The students were able to discuss where they had difficulties communicating their own ideas; how they felt duped into doing something that they didn’t want to do; and how they did not know how to properly argue.

What had started as an apparent train wreck turned out to be an insightful discussion about the details of the course, but, more importantly, the course’s significance.

It wasn’t until about the fifth year of teaching that I came across James Lang’s book On Course: A Week-By-Week Guide to Your First Semester of College Teaching. While I had certainly developed better preparation skills, including how to not over prepare, I wish I had that book during my first semester.

I hope I’ll have an opportunity during this blogging series to talk about the day I tried to teach while wearing a tie.

For the past 6 years I’ve been engaging in the project of Living Like a Stoic for a Week. This is an international event. Why would anyone want to do that? I’ve already answered that question here.

For the past 5 years, I’ve been doing this project with other students to help them better understand the extent to which the Greco-Roman Philosophers provide us with tools for thinking about how to live well. More shameless self-promotion.

So, this year I decided to try my hand at Living Like a Stoic with students at Yavapai College. In large part, since I was already going to be taking on this activity by myself, I figured I could learn along with students. And that’s exactly what this activity is, it’s an opportunity to learn with students. My journey through philosophy, having been in college for over 15 years, has exposed me to many theories regarding the good life and what it means to flourish (that eudaimonia I mentioned in my last post), yet, I recognize that each of us has much to learn while we’re still alive. In many ways, we will never be perfect at living life, so why not continue to take on activities that will help us get a little better at it?

There seems to be a theme in my posts. While my last post dealt with the common sacrifices that both teachers and students have made, this one deals with our shared interest / concern with learning how to live well. That is the reason students come to college, right? They want to learn how to become better nurses, teachers, entrepreneurs, designers, artists, and…maybe even humans?

The Live Like a Stoic for a Week event has a different theme each year, ranging from love, emotions, professional lives, and the Meditations of Marcus Aurelius. This year’s theme was on happiness. But not happiness as that momentary feeling that comes and goes. Instead, Stoic happiness is what is obtained when one lives a virtuous life–a life that has those characteristics (e.g., courage) that aids someone in his or her capacity to fulfill his or her potential. The bummer is that according to the Stoics we can’t tell if we are happy. Only a virtuous person is capable of judging if we have flourished–and this can only be done once we are no longer living.

So, what’s the point? In some ways, to adopt Kant’s language, the Stoic conception of happiness serves as a regulative ideal. It is an ideal we have in place, asking ourselves “what would a virtuous life be like?” While we cannot really know what that life is, we can strive to obtain such a life. In doing so, we end up becoming better humans–more compassionate, caring, charitable, courageous, and, yes, even more happy.

What was involved? There were multiple events, including three evening lectures by YC faculty dealing with history, philosophy, psychology, and art. The highlight, however, was the morning meditation sessions that took place at 6am Monday through Friday. Why so early? Well, first off, what else are you going to do at that time? Sleep? 🙂 Second, the opportunity to wake with the stars allows you to wake with the sole purpose of improving yourself. You’re not waking to go to your job or the gym, you’re waking to focus on how you can live a better life. Third, it’s truly rewarding to begin the session when it is dark and finish with the rising sun.

So, I invite you to next year’s Live Like a Stoic for a Week, where we can learn from each other how to be better humans, while using the tools that have been provided for us since 300 BCE.

BTW…this is Andrew Winters. I was told to provide my name.