Defining Collegiality

Courtesy of gayprof. Some flava:

When it comes time to decide the course schedule for next semester:
Best: “I am willing to teach a mix of upper level and service-oriented courses. While I certainly have preferences about scheduling, I am willing to negotiated with my colleagues to insure that we have a wide distribution of classes throughout the day.”
Fair: “I have several courses that I teach over and over. They serve some basic requirements of the department.”
Bad: “I will only teach classes between the hours of nine and noon. Teaching a survey class is clearly beneath my intellectual talents. Besides, I have a political obligation to offer an incredibly narrow graduate course that only appeals to two students every year.”
Evil: “My class enrollment is by instructor permission only. That way I can make sure that only hot, fit students ever sign up. No fatties!”

When serving on a masters thesis or dissertation committee:
Best: “I read the entire thesis/dissertation. My goal is to provide strategies for the student to revise the work to the best of hir abilities.”
Fair: “I read the entire thesis/dissertation. My goal is to get this over with as soon as possible.”
Bad: “I read some of the thesis/dissertation. My goal is to show that I personally know a lot more about this particular topic than the student.”
Evil: “I plagiarized several chapters of this thesis/dissertation. Nonetheless, I will still vote to fail the student just because I can.”

and one that should be especially popular with readers of this blog: 
 
During the summer:
Best: “I drink a lot.”
Fair: “I drink a lot.”
Bad: “I drink a lot.”
Evil: “I drink a lot.”

The whole, quite extensive list, accompanied by some cool excerpts from Wonder Woman cartoons, a picture of Pope Benedict XVI, and another of a rattlesnake (it all makes sense in context) can be found here. 

Science, Humanities: Can't We All Get Along?

See image credits below*

The image at right has been wandering around the interwebz lately, and I must admit, on first glance, I kinda liked it.  Many of us humanities types are feeling a bit beleaguered lately, what with stagnant salaries; and an increasing tendency to equate "contributing to the mission of the university" with bringing in outside grants, and rumors that Teresa Sullivan was fired (before she was rehired) for not eliminating "obscure programs such as Classics and German" (these rumors may or may not be true, just as it may or may not be true that such programs, even if lightly enrolled, cost the university any substantial amount of money, since they're cheap to teach, and, what's more, at least in the case of UVA, include some endowed chairs; the main point here is that the rumors sounded all too plausible to many humanists).  From that point of view, anything that points out that the humanities can have value, even for those who major in science, is welcome.

But I also realize that there are major problems with the assumptions underlying the image's message, starting with the implications that scientists could not  figure out by themselves whether a particular project would be a good idea, and would not, left to themselves, be inclined to do so.  It seems to me that many scientists do very good modeling/predictive work, and have pretty well-functioning ethical/moral compasses to boot, with or without formal training in ethics, philosophy, or the like.  At the same time, I'm pretty sure that formal ethical/philosophical thinking can inform decisions about what scientific research is and isn't appropriate, and why, and that a knowledge of history (Nazi Germany, Tuskegee, the (literal) fallout from early atomic experiments, etc.), literature (a wonderful playground for tossing around "what if"s,, and understanding the vagaries of human nature), psychology, sociology, etc., etc. can be useful for scientists of various sorts.  Besides, as Luke Maciak (from whom I borrowed this copy of the image, and who provides some useful additional critique of it) points out, cloning a dinosaur might not even be a bad, or at least not a disastrous, idea, under the right conditions. 

Honestly, I don't think the sciences and humanities are at war.  In fact, the competition between the two disciplines (broadly defined)  that this image reflects, and helps to perpetuate, may be a sign that we're fighting with each other while our aspiring corporate overlords (who have no more respect for science that has no immediate profit-making purpose than they have for humanists who are not currently engaged in writing press releases, ad copy, and/or incomprehensible legal disclaimers) rub their hands in glee.

So, I dunno. Maybe this is sort of a late thirsty, or maybe it's just a reflection.  At least where I am, it's way too hot to fight, and, as I point out above, I think we'd be stupid to do so anyway.  But further reflections, comments, etc., are welcome below.

*Original image created by Rachel Leiker for the University of Utah College of Humanities. Color shift for CM courtesy of Leslie K.

Final Grading Misery

Minutes between the time I revealed final grades on the LMS and the time not one, but two, grade complaints landed in my inbox: <20

Percentage of those complaints that ignore information about grading prominently available on the syllabus, and recently alluded to in an end-of-the-semester email: 100%


When I will answer said emails: some time tomorrow. I'm going to bed now.

Aargh.  It wasn't a bad term, really.  Most of them did good work; a significant number of them did very good work.  But I am very, very tired of explaining why satisfactory completion of lightly-graded ancillary tasks does not magically turn B work on core assignments (the grades for which they don't, interestingly, question)  into an A in the class.

The syllabus does say that participation will be graded on a curve, with the median at B.  Also, I checked to make sure that enforcing this policy as written wasn't dragging anybody's grade below the level of their major written assignments.  It wasn't.  I could, of course, lower the weight of the ancillary assignments relative to the final grade, which would probably decrease the tendency to put too much hope in them as final-grade-lifters, but then they might not take them seriously.   

Or I could grade every little ancillary task on a formal scale, holding to the "satisfactory=B" line each time.    That might in some ways be clearer, and thus fairer, but it would be time-consuming, and  I'd be answering "why did I lose points on x" emails all semester long.  The idea that a student didn't lose points, (s)he just did work at the B level, rather than somewhere above that, is very, very hard to get across.  Answering the complaint emails at the end of the semester may just be a worthwhile tradeoff for getting to concentrate on more substantive matters during the rest of the term.  Maybe.  I'll sleep on it.

Update, c. 12 hours later: of the six grading complaint/inquiry emails I now have in my inbox, all are from students who earned a B+. Maybe I should just stop awarding B+s?

Sullivan on Online Education

I started to add this to the comments on marginalia's post below, but didn't want to hijack.  So, here's my favorite line from Teresa Sullivan's statement to UVA's Board of Visitors:

There is room for carefully implemented online learning in selected fields, but online instruction is no panacea. It is surprisingly expensive, has limited revenue potential, and unless carefully managed, can undermine the quality of instruction.

I agree completely.  I teach online, and like it, but only because, at least for the moment, I'm free to craft labor-intensive online classes which center around activities that allow students to discover concepts for themselves, practice skills, and interact regularly and intensively with each other and me.  The focus is not information delivery, and there's no mechanized assessment; feedback comes, in words written specifically for the particular student and/or class, from me and/or their peers.  The vast majority of the class materials are created, and all are chosen/curated,  by the instructor of record -- me -- and are updated in some way, from tweaks to wholesale revisions, every time I teach the course, based on what I observed in the last iteration.  The course is an evolving, organic entity, both during the term, and from term to term.  In short, it's an actual course, not a multimedia textbook with a few interactive elements.



Sullivan's statement (and a good compilation of other reactions to the BOV actions) is here . The Washington Post obtained and published an academic strategy memo written by Sullivan (which includes endorsement of online/hybrid education for particular practical/targeted, mostly non-glamorous, purposes) in early May.   Emails exchanged among members of the Board suggest that a sense of urgency about capitalizing on the reputation-building and (supposed) cost-saving potential of online education played a role in the decision to remove Sullivan. Amanda Krauss/Worst Professor (who I sometimes find a bit annoying, but she's in a position to provide an useful perspective here) has a  post up on the possibilities and limitations of MOOCs, and their connection to the UVA debacle.  There's also a very funny parody of the BOV's thinking up on Crooked Timber. 

More on the UVA Debacle

An article by UVA professor Siva Vaidhyanathan in Slate, especially the mention of "strategic dynamism," matches what a UVA-affiliated friend described to me yesterday (which may just mean she had read the Slate article by the time we spoke; the only difference I see is that she described more resistance by the faculty to the new budgeting model).  

Herewith some flava:

In the 19^th century, robber barons started their own private universities when they were not satisfied with those already available. . . .In the 21^st century, robber barons try to usurp control of established public universities to impose their will via comical management jargon and massive application of ego and hubris. At least that’s what’s been happening at one of the oldest public universities in the United States—Thomas Jefferson’s dream come true, the University of Virginia. . . . .

Strategic dynamism, or, as it is more commonly called, “strategic dynamics,” seems to be a method of continually altering one's short-term targets and resource allocation depending on relative changes in environment, the costs of inputs, and the price you can charge for outputs. . . .



The inappropriateness of applying concepts designed for firms and sailboats to a massive and contemplative institution as a university should be clear to anyone who does not run a hedge fund or make too much money. To execute anything like strategic dynamism, one must be able to order people to do things, make quick decisions from the top down, and have a constant view of a wide array of variables. It helps if you understand what counts as an input and an output. Universities have multiple inputs and uncountable and unpredictable outputs. And that’s how we like them. . . .

Both the Kiernan letter and Dragas’ shallow statements discuss the climate facing the university and all public universities in the United States. The problem is, everyone seems to discuss the fact that universities have too little money as if it actually were a matter of climate. . . .It’s not. It’s a matter of politics. States have been making policy decisions for 20 years, accelerating remarkably since the 2007 recession, to cut funding severely, shifting the costs to students and the federal government.  . . .So as tuition peaks and federal support dries up, the only stream still flowing is philanthropy. . . .The reason folks such as Dragas and Kiernan get to call the shots at major universities is that they write huge, tax-deductable checks to them. They buy influence and we subsidize their purchases. . . .

The biggest challenge facing higher education is market-based myopia. Wealthy board members, echoing the politicians who appointed them (after massive campaign donations) too often believe that universities should be run like businesses, despite the poor record of most actual businesses in human history.

Universities do not have “business models.” They have complementary missions of teaching, research, and public service. Yet such leaders think of universities as a collection of market transactions, instead of a dynamic (I said it) tapestry of creativity, experimentation, rigorous thought, preservation, recreation, vision, critical debate, contemplative spaces, powerful information sources, invention, and immeasurable human capital.