Similar expressions may explicitly distinguish art from science. For example, sometimes people say "The practice of medicine is an art, not a science" or "The practice of medicine is an art, not an exact science." We speak of the healing arts. Such expressions seem to be simultaneously praising and evasive. They are praising in that an art involves "a skill acquired by experience, study or observation,"[1] it involves a mastery, a faculty of executing well what one has devised, and this mastery is especially associated with things that we consider good or valuable, such as the art of making friends, or with aesthetic objects.[2]
On the other hand, calling the practice of medicine an art seems evasive in the sense that art involves something "fuzzy," "elusive," "hard or impossible to pin down," "unanalyzable."[3] Furthermore, the practice of medicine is often thought to be an art in the sense that it is subject to individual variation; it is not formulaic, hence not an exact science. The same medical treatment may not work for two individuals with the same diagnosis. This elusiveness in the practice of medicine tends to carry with it additional ideas that it involves a "gift," or natural talent; that some people just "have" it; and, finally, that it cannot be taught. We might visualize the linguistic associations of "the practice of medicine is an art" with equal distributions.
When people say that teaching philosophy is an art, many of the same associations seem to cloud around the expression, but the distribution of the association clouds is shifted. In my experience, when people say that teaching philosophy is an art, they are less likely to be acknowledging either the skill and the mastery involved, or the individual variation. They are more likely to be referring to its being elusive, difficult or impossible to explain. In general, they seem to treat it as a gift or a natural talent and they do not think it can be taught. Thus, they avert their eyes and sigh.
I want to say that the teaching of philosophy is an art, or a set of arts, but I don't mean by this what many others seem to mean. I believe that teaching philosophy is an art in the sense that it involves skill, mastery and production of a valuable thing.[4] I believe that teaching philosophy is an art in the sense that it needs to be sensitive to individual variation. And while I agree that parts of the art may be fuzzy, difficult, and perhaps impossible to explain, and while it can involve a gift or a natural talent, especially now, since we spend so little energy teaching it, I believe that it can be taught to a far greater extent than has been developed so far.
2.
I have previously - probably to some of you here - described the teaching
of philosophy as an intriguing interplay of elements with partial parallels
in the various arts. My earliest and most sustained analogy is with sculpture.
For me, for example, designing a course before the semester starts - choosing
the topics, organizing the instruction, developing the exercises and assignments,
deciding on a grading system - is a piece of conceptual sculpture. It involves
chiseling out and giving an initial shape to a set of ideas. Then, together,
the students and I continue to shape the ideas and refine the design throughout
the semester.
The lecturing part of teaching has one parallel in theater arts. It involves, for example - and here is an element that many teachers of philosophy overlook - setting the stage: putting the ideas in a context and against a background. It includes both the oral and the kinesthetic presentation of ideas - the use of words and the use of body language. The lecturing part of teaching also has a parallel in the overlap between play writing and storytelling: the development of mystery and suspense, the use of drama and comedy, and the sense of timing in the story/play/lecture.
And lately, I have come to think of my role in classroom discussions as having a parallel with orchestration and conducting. We even say that we are conducting classroom discussions, but we give the metaphorical possibilities of that expression very little further thought.
The parallels between teaching philosophy and these various arts are partial and imperfect. Nevertheless, they serve their purpose if they move us from the mastery of ideas - which is what most of our graduate training is about - to the mastery of the presentation of ideas. Part of the art of teaching philosophy is mastering the skills involved in presenting ideas.
3.
An objector might appear here: "But haven't you made a mistake? We
do learn to present our ideas in graduate school."
"Yes," I answer, "but to whom?' That is a crucial question. In general,
we discuss and argue ideas with fellow graduate students and professors,
we write a thesis or dissertation for a committee of professors, and scholarly
articles for the professional community. In short, we learn to present
ideas primarily to fellow philosophers, to people already caught up in
the profession, to people already trained or in training.
Our students for the most part aren't like that. They do not have the
training or the expertise we have. They may not have, yet or ever, the
commitment we have. Probably the most common mistake that is made in teaching
philosophy is that people fail to realize the implications of their training
in philosophy. It is not that people forget that they have been trained.
They remember they have an undergraduate degree, probably with a major
in philosophy, and some graduate experience and a degree. But they fail
to realize how their training has affected them. After all, it happened
gradually, over a variety of courses and an accumulation of years.
One kind of significant change which occurs in our training as philosophers
is the expansion of our conceptual range in our chosen area. It is not
unique to training in philosophy, but a normal part of becoming educated,
experienced or expert in an area.
Research on concepts and concept development suggests that the primary learning and usual use of concepts occurs at m, the middle range.[5] Education and/or experience provides opportunities to learn more specific concepts in that domain and also more abstract ones.[6] To give an example, we may early on know a maple tree from a pine tree. With additional education and/or experience we can begin to differentiate kinds of pine trees (white pine, Jeffrey pine, Limber pine) and also understand more general principles about deciduous trees and conifers.
The same kind of phenomenon happens over and over again. For things we do not know well we tend to have a middle range understanding of the concepts and their relationships. As we become more knowledgeable in that area we can make better and better distinctions and also understand more general ideas and principles that are involved. If we don't know much about women's gymnastics, for example, we might know that the women compete on four events -vault, bars, beam and floor - and that the highest score wins. If we do gymnastics, or become a serious fan, we can tell a fill-in from a full-out, and we might also know which is more difficult and the various rules for deductions.
As we become trained in philosophy we also increase our conceptual range. We know more examples, make more distinctions, look for counter-examples, know the technique of imagining objections and creating responses, and so on. We know more specific ideas and we have specific techniques. We also know more abstract things - general concepts like the categorical imperative or the utilitarian maxims. This expansion in conceptual range happened over the course of our education in, and our experiences with, philosophy, but now it seems natural. When we walk into the classroom, however, conceptually where are our students? For the most part they have a middle range understanding of concepts and their relationships (what in philosophy we sometimes call "person in the street" views). Furthermore, they may not know certain conceptual strategies. What has become natural to us, and is reinforced in our presentations to other philosophers, is not necessarily, and, in fact, is probably not natural to many of our students.
To take a small, but important example. Philosophers in the Western
analytic tradition are trained (perhaps not explicitly) to find counter-examples,
the cases or examples that will show that a claim is false. For many philosophers
in this tradition, finding counter-examples becomes "second nature," automatic.
It turns out, however, that most people in an abstract (read: context-free)
or an unfamiliar domain do not look for disconfirming cases.[7]Some people
may have learned the trick, but most people have not.[8]
Part of the art of teaching philosophy, then, is presenting ideas to
students
, to people who, in general, are less knowledgeable and less trained than
ourselves in philosophy. This means that we cannot just assume we can go
into a class and present the ideas that excite us in the way we understand
them. (Have you ever gotten weird looks from your students when you ask
whether tables and chairs really exist? or how we know that? Have you ever
gotten blank stares when you made fine distinctions that delighted you
?) Instead, part of the art of teaching philosophy is to find out where
the students are and to start there. This matches research in cognitive
psychology which shows that learning is improved when students can connect
new knowledge with what they have previously learned.[9] For beginning
students this will probably be in the middle range somewhere. Then the
teaching/learning task is to expand the students' conceptual range and
their strategic repertoire.
This last point is important. I believe that in addition to teaching the ideas of philosophy to students, we also need to articulate and teach the tools and techniques that are part of our repertoire as trained philosophers. For example, we should teach students about searching for counter-examples, if they don't already know. Too often, I think, we focus on the ideas (the declarative knowledge) and forget to teach the skills involved (the procedural knowledge). We tend to assume that students already know how to do something, or will pick it up by some process of "osmosis". Some do and some will, but others will give up. Furthermore, in teaching the tools and techniques of philosophy we should allow opportunities for students to practice and get feedback, and we should encourage methodological reflection, so that students become aware of the strengths and limitations of these tools and techniques.
Thus, part of the art of teaching philosophy is presenting philosophy , its ideas, and its tools and techniques, to students .
4.
At this point I look to Leonardo da Vinci for both inspiration and
help.
Leonardo da Vinci: famous during his lifetime; a legend within 50 years
of his death. I am not going to try to sort the legend from the life, but
call upon his legacy.
In a notebook Leonardo advises:
"It is indispensable to a Painter who would be thoroughly familiar with the limbs in all the positions and actions of which they are capable, in the nude, to know the anatomy of the sinews, bones, muscles, and tendons so that, in their various movements and exertions, he may know which nerve or muscle is the cause of each movement and show those only as prominent and thickened, and not the others all over [the limb], as many do who, to seem great draughtsmen, draw their nude figures looking like wood, devoid of grace; so that you would think they were looking at a sack of walnuts, rather than the human form, or a bundle of radishes rather than the muscles of figures."[10]
Leonardo: observant of the surface details, curious about the causes. His curiosity led him to his famous - at his time, infamous - studies in anatomy. His observations and understanding gave us pictures of hands, of bodies, of faces.
The quality of Leonardo's pictures leads me to wonder: wouldn't we be better teachers if we were, like Leonardo, more persistently observant and curious about our own students as learners? As teachers we are engaged in an interaction with our students, but in the description of whether they are doing well or doing badly, understanding or not understanding, how much detail do we actually notice? And how much do we really know or try to find out about their learning processes? I worry that our classes come and go, like so many rats, or - in Leonardo's words - radishes.
There are consequences of Leonardoesque curiosity and study. One of them is the recognition of variation. In the passage quoted earlier, knowing "which nerve or muscle is the cause of each movement" allows the painter "to show only those as prominent and thickened, and not the others all over." In any given movement, some muscles are contracted while others are not. The painter who knows anatomy will be able to capture this difference. In a related passage, Leonardo states:
"The painter who is familiar with the nature of the sinews, muscles and tendons, will know very well, in giving movement to a limb, how many and which sinews cause it; and which muscle, by swelling, causes the contraction of the sinew; and which sinews, expanded into the thinnest cartilage, surround and support the said muscle. Thus he will variously and constantly demonstrate the different muscles by means of the various attitudes of his figures, and will not do, as many who, in a variety of movements still display the same things in the arms, back, breast and legs. And these things [the uniform displays of muscle contraction] are not to be regarded as minor faults."[11]
Similarities and differences. Careful study and observation will show us both. Without study, however, we tend to recognize and represent similarity. The point is important for Leonardo, and it is not just a point about anatomy. Leonardo's famous picture of the "squared off man" is often misunderstood. It is taken to show that all human figures can be drawn in mathematical proportions. For Leonardo, however, it is a first approximation. In another passage he warns:
"...for a man may be well-proportioned, or he may be fat and short, or tall and thin, or medium. And a painter who takes no account of these varieties always makes his figures on the one pattern so that they might all be taken for brothers; and this is a defect that demands stern reprehension."[12]
To see the difference that this attitude makes consider Leonardo's Old Man With Water Studies.This person of our world. It has been said that Leonardo would follow a person with an interesting face - all day, if necessary - in order to get a good enough look at it to draw it later. Curiosity, observation, understanding, individuation are behind the power of Leonardo's art.
As teachers of philosophy we are concerned with presenting philosophy to students. I think, however, we tend to direct our attention and curiosity to the ideas and, sometimes, to the techniques of philosophy. But if we became curious about our students, if we began to carefully observe and try to understand their learning processes (maybe even their lives), we would be be struck, I believe, like Leonardo, with the similarities, but also with the variations in strengths and strategies. I predict that curiosity, observation and understanding of our students as learners will add effectiveness to our teaching.
We find this work already begun in the fields of psychology and education.
What I have found useful over the past two years as a skeleton for understanding
students as learners are: (a) Howard Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences
and (b) the ongoing debate about learning styles/preferences. I won't say
much about either of these, except to point the way for further curiosity.
In his book Frames of Mind, Howard Gardner argues that because
(1) science involves advancing a hypothesis and then testing it, and (2)
that science never gives the correct and final answer, "it becomes necessary
to say, once and for all, that there is not, and there can never be, a
single irrefutable and universally accepted list of human intelligence."[13]
In the rest of his book he uses a variety of data from psychology, neurophysiology,
and evolution to support a theory of multiple intelligences. He includes
on this list of intelligences the following special competences: (1) linguistic
intelligence, (2) musical intelligence, (3) logico-mathematical intelligence,
(4) spatial intelligence, (5) kinesthetic intelligence and (6) personal
intelligences, both (a) intrapersonal intelligence and (b) interpersonal
intelligence.
Under linguistic intelligence Gardner places the ability to use language to explain ideas and the ability to use language to influence others. He also recognizes that some people are especially adept at using language to reflect on language itself and others use language as a mnemonic device for remembering information. The poet is Gardner's paradigm of a person with linguistic intelligence, because the poet has the ability to control the syntax, meaning, and sound of language to convey ideas, images and emotions. A person with musical intelligence, in contrast, understands and controls sounds and rhythms nonverbally to communicate with others. The paradigm for this category is the person who composes music.
A person with a logico-mathematical intelligence is very good at symbol
manipulation. Among the features of this kind of intelligence are (1) "the
love of dealing with abstraction, (2) a dedication to rigorous thought,
(3) a skepticism - an unwillingness to accept anything that is not proven,
(4) the ability to make and manipulate patterns, and (5) skill with long
chains of reasoning."[14 ]
Spatial intelligence, on the other hand, involves understanding the
form and relationships of objects, not symbols. Spatial intelligence is
connected with the capacity to perceive, recreate, and transform one's
perceptual (primarily, visual) experience. Artists who draw or paint realistically
show this kind of intelligence, as do people who can are good at shape
rotation and other, more difficult, transformations.
The core of kinesthetic intelligence, meanwhile, is the ability to control one's own body skillfully. For Gardner, the paradigm example of a person who is kinesthetically intelligent is the mime, who, through controlled behavior creates meaning. Dancers, athletes, artisans, inventors, instrumentalists and actors are others in this category.
Finally, there are the personal intelligences. One kind of personal intelligence, intrapersonal intelligence, is the ability to focus inwardly, to be self-aware and to use this inner information well for guiding one's own behavior. Another kind of personal intelligence, interpersonal intelligence, is directed outwardly and involves "the ability to notice and make distinctions among other individuals, and in particular, among their moods, temperaments, motivations and intentions."[15] People who have an outer personal intelligence may use their understanding of others with the intention to control them, as charismatic cult leaders do, or they may use their understanding of people with the intention to help others, as counselors, teachers and ministers do.
Gardner's theory of multiple intelligences is fairly widely incorporated into educational materials and curriculum planning, at least in the pre-college grades. More controversial is the debates about learning styles and/or preferences.[16] The claim is that people not only have special competences, but that they also learn differently from each other. If it is even true that people learn differently, are these ways of learning styles or preferences? Are they quite set for individual learners or are they subject to change?
There are several different theories of learning styles. The one that my university uses differentiates learners into auditory learners, visual learners, and kinesthetic learners. On this system, auditory learners get their information primarily by hearing it; visual learners get information primarily by reading; and kinesthetic learners get their information primarily by movement. When one begins to use this system, one finds that the categories are quite "rough and ready" and there are interesting intersections and overlays. For example, there are students who like to learn by doing role-plays. These students are learning in a mixed auditory/kinesthetic mode. Some visual learners learn by writing as well as reading and they would be visual-kinesthetic. Furthermore, the categories do not seem to be complete. There are students who learn by drawing (images) rather than by writing (words). It is obvious that there is much more to be investigated about learning.[17]
In terms of Gardner's list of multiple intelligences we can see that
Western analytic philosophy[18] is primarily logical-mathematical and linguistic.
When we are trained in Western analytical philosophy we develop these competences.
And it is part of the reason we often feel more comfortable with students
who already have good language and reasoning skills than with students
who don't.
The learning tasks of Western analytic philosophy are highly verbal,
somewhat kinesthetic, and not terribly visual. We ask students to read,
which is visual, but usually books without pictures, graphs, diagrams,
etc. We ask students to write, which is kinesthetic, but again usually
without pictures. And we ask students to discuss ideas by means of dialogues
and debates which is auditory-kinesthetic. Western analytic philosophy
centers upon words. We think that this is normal, and it is, for us. But
not for everyone. It is, I think, the basis of that comment we often hear
from students who are struggling with philosophy, "It is just semantics."
We tend to dismiss that comment, or argue against it, but suppose that
we really listened to it instead. It may be a signal that the student is
not a verbally-oriented student and needs another way to access and incorporate
the ideas of philosophy.
Returning to Gardner's list, I think that studying philosophy
is often geared toward personal inner intelligence: towards understanding
of ourselves and developing a strength of being. However, if we look again
at Gardner's list, with an eye towards teaching philosophy this
time, we see that according to Gardner, teaching involves the development
of outer personal intelligence - the ability to be sensitive to other people,
"the ability to notice and make distinctions among other individuals."
The training in philosophy as a discipline does not emphasize this inter
personal aspect, but as teachers of philosophy we need it.
I was glad to read that the latest APA statement on teaching philosophy
recognizes the interpersonal nature of our work. In the section on teaching
assistants it states that for all students (graduate or undergraduate)
who serve as graders, discussion section leaders and even instructors
"it is imperative that they be given such roles only: (2) when they have been carefully assessed and found qualified for the particular responsibilities in question, in terms of their command of the spoken and written language of instruction, the course material, and the interpersonal dynamics of their assignments." [19]
It is good to recognize that teaching is an engagement with students and that it involves interpersonal dynamics, and it is good to recognize that people who teach should be qualified in these dynamics. But the statement leaves unspecified what makes one qualified for these "interpersonal dynamics" or how one learns it. At this point the interpersonal skills are left as a "gift" or a "natural talent." We could do more more to think about the qualities and skills that are important here, and to teach them. For example, a better understanding of the dimensions of conversations and practice at improving communication - things that I began to learn as a mediator, not as a philosopher - links a linguistically-based theory with an interpersonal set of skills. I believe this understanding and experience would benefit teachers of philosophy.
The categories of intelligence and learning are still very fluid, and others may be added or others may be more appropriate. At the AAPT conference, for example, someone suggested adding the categories from Women's Ways of Knowing , which strikes me, a strongly interdisciplinary learner, as a good suggestion. There is much more to be curious about, and much more we need to understand about teaching and learning. What I believe we can say, however, is that teaching philosophy involves presenting philosophy to students . It involves interpersonal interaction. This interpersonal interaction, in turn, involves a sensitivity to the variations in people. Teaching philosophy is not:
(1) presenting philosophy to just the people who already have, to some
extent, the
logical-mathematical and linguistic competences
Nor is teaching philosophy
(2) presenting philosophy as if our students had those skills
(ignoring whether they
really do or not)
I believe that a large part of the art of teaching philosophy is presenting philosophy to students, some of whom may be like ourselves and some of whom may not be. Thus, I believe that a large part of the art of teaching philosophy, like the art of practicing medicine, is presenting philosophy to individuals with individual differences as well as similarities.
5.
I am suggesting that we develop the fine arts of teaching philosophy. Just as the fine arts traditionally include language, music, the visual and the designing arts, I suggest an explicitly multi-modal approach to teaching philosophy that will engage different learners. Certainly understanding words, concepts, ideas and their logical relationships is central to our endeavor. Part of the art of teaching philosophy, however, is to make philosophy more accessible and comprehensible to individual learners, and we can help students gain philosophical skills and understanding by consciously activating their competencies and learning styles/preferences. While we already have some multi-modal presentations as part of our teaching repertoire in philosophy, there are still tremendous opportunities for expanding our teaching strategies to complement our students' learning styles. Here are some ideas.
We already connect philosophy with some visual images in teaching logic. Venn diagrams, truthtrees, and truthtables are visualizations of logical structure. Several philosophers enjoy collecting and using cartoons in their teaching. Movies are also a good visual resource. Some recent, student-suggested, movies that I have found especially effective are: A Few Good Men , The Shawshank Redemption , and Lorenzo's Oil for critical thinking classes, Romeo & Juliet , And The Band Played On and Murder in the First for introductory ethics classes, and Like Water for Chocolate , Kiss of the Spider Woman and The Mission for philosophy in literature. Local drama productions are another resource. A philosophy in literature course of mine, for example, compared and contrasted the philosophical messages of two theatrical productions, Sartre's No Exit and Wasserstein's The Heidi Chronicles . Pictures by Dali, Escher, Magritte and Tansey often generate philosophical discussions. And I recommend David Perkin's The Intelligent Eye for ideas about how to use art to promote critical thinking.
I, myself, have not really pursued the connection between music and philosophy, so I am glad that others, like Joel Aubel, have done some of this.[2]0 Most of my ideas connect music with epistemology. In a seminar about the frontiers of epistemology, for example, we listened to, and discussed The Goldberg Variations in conjunction with essays in Goodman and Elgin's book, Reconceptions in Philosophy . Moreover, in discussing Kant's philosophy, there is, of course, Strawson's argument about a sound-world. Furthermore, my dissertation on Kant used an analogy with Chomsky's deep structure to explain the categories, schematism and principles of pure understanding in the Critique of Pure Reason . About the same time, Leonard Bernstein connected Chomsky's linguistics to music. Thus, it should be possible now for one to complete a three way connection between Kant's philosophy, music and language.
A different sort of connection between philosophy and music would be to use Kenzaburo (the father, the Nobel prize-winning novelist) Oe's A Personal Matter and Teach Us to Outgrow our Madness with Hikari (the son) Oe's music to raise questions about our ethical commitments to our children and ourselves. And finally, to pick up a question from earlier in this essay: will skills in listening to music and appreciating different themes and orchestral voices help us listen better to the voices in our own classrooms? Are there overlaps between conducting music and conducting discussions?
Verbal-kinesthetic connections include group work, discussions, dialogues and debates. Many of these techniques have been common practice in teaching philosophy. We could take them further, like Tasha Rushing has done, creating role-plays and drama production.[21] Computer discussions and notebooks contribute to the verbal-kinesthetic dimension of philosophy. Nonverbal-kinesthetic activities can also help us convey some philosophical ideas. Andy Young, for example, has used an exercise with modeling clay to help students understand Wu Wei and I have used a nonverbal exercise with paper to connect students to insights in Zen Buddhism.
Visual-kinesthetic activities in philosophy include making or having students make outlines (more linguistic), mind-maps[22] (more visual), and other graphic organizations of information for philosophical ideas. One could also suggest that students draw a picture or make model to "capture", or alternatively, to investigate, some philosophical idea or nexus of philosophical ideas. Having students produce philosophical movies also involves them visually and kinesthetically. In the near future we will have virtual reality experiences that may help us sort ethical issues and practice decision-making.
Group work, peer reviewing and peer editing help students develop constructive interpersonal skills. One cooperative learning technique that is especially good is the modified teaching jigsaw. In this sort of activity students have group support in designing a lesson plan and individual experience in teaching others.[23] As philosophy teachers we could also focusing on the meanings of conversations, in addition to the meanings of written passages. This would help raise awareness of the variety of communication styles, and controversies that arise because of these mismatches in these. Mediation as part of a critical thinking course is a powerful way to help students develop interpersonal problem-solving skills.
Since I am committed to making philosophy understandable, exciting and practical to a wide range of students, I have done many things to make philosophy more accessible. In 1990 Peter A. French generously helped me make an instructional video for my critical thinking classes. The inspiration for this video came from the work of Eleanor Rosch and other cognitive psychologists on what is called "typicality effects."[24] The video highlights the idea that many of the examples that we have or give for concepts are not only typical, but have become "frozen" or stereotypical. In the video I introduce a new critical thinking technique, "exampling", which questions the typical example and generates organized sequences of additional examples to enrich our understanding of the concept involved.[25] Video is an excellent medium for conveying this strategy because the eye picks up sequences of examples very rapidly.
A second piece of my work which I have found useful is making models for philosophical ideas. I now have models for passages in Spinoza, Leibniz and Kant. My Kant model involves a puzzle, called a Philosopher's Knot, which was donated by a student of mine. There is a glass ball inside a complex structure of wooden pegs and the structure is held together by a string. The idea of the puzzle is to take the structure apart and then to get it back together again. On my model, however, I have placed red and purple string around the pegs. I use this to illustrate the Kantian position "Without sensibility no objects would be given to us, without understanding no object would be thought. Thought without content are empty, intuitions without concepts are blind.[26] In this model, the wooden bars are to be considered concepts and the red and purple yarn that holds the bars in place are the intuitions of space and time. This is a way to visualize how concepts and intuitions work together, and that as tempting as it may be, we cannot extend the concepts (pegs) beyond the intuitions of space and time (the yarn). Further, I imagine ourselves as inside, in the position of the clear ball. We experience the world within the complex of concepts and intuitions, and cannot extricate ourselves from it.
Finally, I am particularly intrigued with my latest research which connects Descartes as natural philosopher to sophisticated developments in perspectival art of his time. I originally developed this visual analogy to explain some of Descartes' puzzling remarks about imagination in works like the Rules and the Optics . It appears now, however, that there may be more to the connection than just a useful analogy. It is difficult, however, to get this published because philosophical journals are not generally set up to produce pictures with the text. This shows us once again how deeply linguistic and nonvisual the philosophical tradition is.
6.
I have used Leonardo as an example from art to help me articulate some of the art of teaching philosophy. I have used his perspicuity and curiosity, his recognition and acceptance, even celebration, of variety and diversity. Actually, I think there is even more we can learn from studying Leonardo - about practice, about patience, about being broad and adventurous, about being detailed about what needs detail and fuzzy about things that are in the background. We can even learn from Leonardo's failings - yes, he had some - as well as his successes.
By means of this workshop I wish to introduce the idea of actually studying and using the fine arts to discuss the art of teaching philosophy. And by "fine arts" here I mean to be as all inclusive as possible. As the Oxford English Dictionary says, while "fine arts" is often now restricted to the arts of design as in painting, sculpture and architecture," in its widest use it also includes "poetry, eloquence, and music."[27] Furthermore, I mean to include on this list all of the arts, in all of the forms and places in which we find them. I mean to include arts as they appear in practical, everyday forms - to include, as Alice Walker taught us, "our mothers' gardens." [28]
Leonardo would appreciate this inclusive sense of art. He himself was multi-modal. He moved back and forth easily from the visual (drawing and painting) to the spatial and kinesthetic (designing and building), to words. He was also an accomplished musician.[29] A modern biographer, Bramley, notes that "Painting, according to Leonardo, was 'silent poetry.' His task was to transpose the Scriptures, to tell the story - the drama - through the gestures, attitudes, and the physiognomies of the characters."[30] Indeed, Leonardo develops the descriptions of apostles in "The Last Supper", as Bramley suggests, like a "theater director" would.[31] Leonardo writes:
" One who was drinking and has left the glass in its position and turned
his head towards the speaker.
Another, twisting the fingers of his hands together, turns with stern
brows to his companion. Another with his hands spread open shows the palms,
and shrugs his shoulders up his ears making a mouth of astonishment.
Another speaks into his neighbour's ear and he, as he listens to him,
turns towards him to lend an ear, while he holds a knife in one hand, and
in the other the loaf half cur through by the knife. Another who has turned,
holding a knife on his hand, upsets with his hand a glass on the table."[32]
Furthermore, the practice of art was different in 16th century Italy. Art that was purely decorative and art that was more practical were mixed. Verrochio's studio, where Leonardo was trained, was a workshop which took not only orders for paintings and sculptures, but also for practical everyday items. "A painter would gladly decorate wooden chests or china for weddings, coats of arms, headboards, caparisons for horses or weddings, canvas for tents; designed patterns for embroiderers, weavers and ceramicists. The goldsmith or sculptor (who might double as an architect) welcomed opportunities to manufacture pieces of armor, candelabras, bells, capitals for pillars or pieces of furniture."[33]
But I know from work on examples, that we often start with some examples, rather than others. I also know that, if we are not careful, these typical examples can become stereotypical and block our thinking, rather than open our minds to new ideas. Leonardo happens to be an excellent first example, but he is not the only one from whom we can learn. There are many artists, and many things that we can learn from them, once we have the idea to look in that direction at all. Perhaps the next time you go to a concert or a museum, admire a building or a garden, pull on a handknit sweater or use a handsewn quilt, you could ask, "What is there about the artistry of this that might give me insight into the art of teaching philosophy?"
Teaching philosophy is an art. We can nod in agreement, but we do not need to avert our eyes and sigh. We can, instead, be proud. Teaching philosophy involves skill and mastery. And while some of the art is elusive, difficult, or perhaps impossible, to explain, and while some of it involves talent, other parts of it can be learned. We can learn, for example, that teaching students is not the same as discussing ideas with fellow graduate students and with professors. We can learn more about interpersonal dynamics and we can develop interpersonal communication skills. We can learn multimodal ways for presenting information. And if we can learn these things, there is the possibility that we can also articulate them in order to teach others.
7.
I wrote this address to try to articulate what I now believed about teaching philosophy and the art involved in it. I wrote it to share, so that other teachers of philosophy might learn from this and take it further. I firmly believe that we should teach the teachers what we have learned about teaching. Sometimes reinventing the wheel may be useful - you might get a better wheel [34] - but often it is unnecessary.
But I also wrote it to honor the AAPT. Since its beginning the AAPT has been dedicated to improving the teaching of philosophy at every level. Since its beginning the AAPT has believed in, and provided a forum for, sharing information about effective teaching. Since its beginning the AAPT has recognized teaching as an interpersonal activity and requested that presentations about teaching be formatted in terms of workshops rather than papers. It was appropriate that the AAPT stress interpersonal interactions, and these have energized us every two years.
I also wrote this to honor all of the people who have come to the conferences over the years. There are many fine teachers of philosophy who have come to the conferences willing to share their ideas and learn new ones. Many have already questioned the logico-mathematical-linguistic boundaries and have developed new ways to present philosophy; many have already understood the need to be prepared to teach diverse learners. These messages reverberate in the daily discussions and echo from conference to conference.
I also wrote this address to thank the people I have known through the AAPT. It was a hot, sticky summer day in 1988 at Hampshire College when I registered for my first AAPT conference. When I found out that my daughter - then 8 - would be sleeping on a mattress on the floor without bedding, Roz Ladd - who didn't know me from anyone - quickly offered her sleeping bag from her car. I felt welcomed; I felt overwhelmed. The next morning, still not knowing many people, I sat down with a group of people at breakfast and was immediately involved in a great discussion about teaching. I found out later I was sitting with Nelson Pole, then AAPT President, and Phil Hamlin, and Terry Bynum, both of whom went on to be AAPT Presidents. Over the years - Bloomington, Burlington, Montreal - AAPT people have been friendly, generous and gracious. Thank you very much!
Finally, I thank the AAPT for its role in my professional development. In 1988, with great trepidation, I brought my first work on analogies and models to explain Kant and Spinoza; in 1990 I tried out a prototype of what would become my instructional video on exampling; in 1992 I brought my student-publishing project, the idea of which was then picked up and carried further by Ed Thompson; and in 1994 I did a workshop on what I call "explore projects". In fact, it was a comment from that workshop about using Gardner's Frames of Mind which led to the last two years' search to understand learning processes better. The AAPT has been a place where commitment to teaching philosophy was understood. The AAPT has been a place where I felt encouraged and inspired to continue. I thank you for giving me, and my ideas, a philosophical home.
Teach Well!
Endnotes:
1Webster's Seventh New Collegiate Dictionary , (Springfield,
MA: G. & C. Merriam Company, 1967), p. 49.
2The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary , Vol.
I. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1971), p. 229. Art does not have to
be associated with the good, the valuable or the aesthetic. The Oxford
English Dictionary records the following title by De Quincy "On Murder,
considered as one of the fine arts" (1839). Loc. cit .
3Webster's, op. ci t, p. 49.
4I will not pursue the point here that teaching philosophy is an art
in the sense that it produces a good. I think that that is an idea many
of us believe, and yet we could have lengthy, if not endless, debates about
it.
5 A short summary of this research can be found in Robert J. Sternberg's,
Cognitive
Psychology , (San Diego: Harcourt Brace College Publishers, 1996),
pp. 299-300 and in George Lakoff's, Women , Fire and Dangerous
Things: What Categories Reveal About the Mind (Chicago, The University
of Chicago Press, 1987), pp. 31-38. What I am calling "middle range" has
been designated in psychology as the "basic level". Calling this level
"basic", however, causes some confusion because "basic" in this sense means
the one most widely used, not the one which is most specific.
6 Loc. cit .
7 For a discussion of some of the problems people have with conditional
reasoning, see Richard E. Mayer's Thinking, Problem-Solving, Cognition
, 2nd. ed. (New York: W. H. Freeman and Company, 1983), pp. 138-151.
8If you want to find out if your students search for the disconfirming
case, you can try what psychologists call "the four card selection task."
In this task the subject(s) are presented with four large cards. Each card
has a letter on one side and a number on the other. What the subjects see
is: A D 4 7. The subjects are given the following statement, "If the card
has a vowel on one side, then it has an even number on the other." The
subjects are asked with respect to these cards, which card or cards definitely
need to be turned over to prove the statement true or false. [The A card
has a 2, D has a 6, 4 has an e, and 7 has a u on the other side. Most subjects
will say that the A and 4 cards need to be turned over; but the correct
answer is A and 7. Subjects do better on the task when more familiar "permission"
contexts, like drinking alcohol, are used.]
9Richard J. Riding, "Adapting Instruction for the Learner", Psychological
Aspects of Learning and Teaching , edited by Kevin Wheldall and Richard
Riding, London: Croom Helm, 1983), pp. 95-100.
10 Leonardo DaVinci, The Notebooks of Leonardo Da Vinci , edited
by Jean Paul Richter, vol. I (New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 1970),
488, p.245.
11Ibid , 489, p. 245.
12Ibid , 503, p. 252.
13 Howard Gardner, Frames of Mind : The Theory of Multiple
Intelligences (New York: Basic Books, Inc., 1983), p. 60.
14 paraphrased from Gardner, Ibid , pp. 138-9.
15 Ibid , p. 239.
16 See, for example, Anne Chambers Lewis, Learning Styles: Putting
Research and Common Sense into Practice . Arlington, VA: American Association
of School Administrators, 1991.
17Adding to the complication, learning styles or preferences may vary
not only with the individual but also with the task at hand.
18 I qualify these statements to Western analytic philosophy because
that was how I was trained and what I know best. I speculate, however,
that some Eastern philosophies are different - perhaps still inward, but
more kinesthetic and non-linguistic. In these philosophies the doing, be
it mediation or living, is important, and words, rather than clarifying,
get in the way. If this is right, it may account for the success that Andy
Young reports in his article "Teaching Wu Wei Using Modeling Clay" Teaching
Philosophy , 19:2, June, 1996.
19"APA Statement on the Teaching of Philosophy," APA Proceedings
, 69:2 11/95, p. 98.
20 Joel Auble, "Philosophy in Song", The American Association of Philosophy
Teachers' 11th International Workshop-Conference on Teaching Philosophy,
Norfolk, VA: Old Dominion University, August, 1996.
21Tasha Moehle Rushing, "Student-Written Philosophical Dramas: A Practical
Pedagogical Technique", The American Association of Philosophy Teachers'
11th International Workshop-Conference on Teaching Philosophy, Norfolk,
VA: Old Dominion University, August, 1996.
22 Tony Buzon with Barry Buzon, The Mind Map Book: How to Use Radiant
Thinking to Maximize Your Brain's Untapped Potential , New York: Dutton,
1994.
23In my teaching jigsaw I create a matrix: each student has both a
letter and a number (e.g. 1a, 1b, 1c, ..., 2a, 2b, 2c...,etc.) We begin
in number groups. The students in a number group work together to create
a lesson plan to teach a particular topic. Then we reconfigure into alphabet
groups. Now each alphabet group has (usually) one from each number group
(1a, 2a, 3a etc.). The person who represents group 1 in each alphabet group
teaches group 1's lesson; the person who represents group 2 in each alphabet
group teaches group 2's lesson; etc. ( If there are two of the same number
in the alphabet group, they team teach the material.)
24 Eleanor Rosch, "Principle of Categorization", Readings in Cognitive
Science: A Perspective from Psychology and Artificial Intelligence
, edited by Allan Collins & Edward E. Smith (San Mateo, CA: Morgan
Kaufmann Publishers, Inc., 1988), pp. 312-322. See also Sternberg, op.
cit , pp. 297-300 and Piatelli-Palmarini, ""The Principle of Identity
and the Psychology of Typicality", Inevitable Illusions: How Mistakes
of Reason Rule our Minds , translated by Piattelli-Palmarini
and Botsford ( New York: John Wiley & Sons, Inc., 1994), pp. 147-158.
25Betsy Newell Decyk, "Using Examples to Teach Concepts", Changing
College Classrooms: New Teaching and Learning Strategies for an Increasingly
Complex World , edited by Diane F. Halpern & Associates (San Francisco:
Jossey Bass, 1994), pp. 39-63.
26 Immanuel Kant, The Critique of Pure Reason , translated by
Norman Kemp Smith (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1929), A70/B95.
27The Compact Edition of the Oxford English Dictionary ,
Ibid ., p. 221.
28Alice Walker, In Search of Our Mothers' Gardens , San Diego:
Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, Publishers, 1983.
29Serge Bramley, Leonardo: The Artist and the Man , translated
by Sian Reynolds (New York: Penguin Books, 1994), p. 113.
30 Ibid ., p. 277
31Loc. cit .
32Leonardo Da Vinci, Notebooks , Op. Cit ., 665, pp.
346-7.
33 Bramley, Op. Cit. , p. 66.
34Will Hively, "Reinventing the Wheel" Discover , (August 1996),
pp. 58-68.
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