It should not be controversial to believe that growing up involves becoming stronger, becoming better able to withstand whatever slings and arrows life throws at us and to pursue our goals even against difficult challenges. Surely the college years can and should play an important role in that growing-up process.
And yet, too often colleges treat their students like hatchlings not yet ready to leave the nest, as opposed to preparing and encouraging them to fly.
There are a variety of policies and practices that give students what most of them seem to want, but not necessarily what they most need. Speech codes and trigger warnings are two over-protecting initiatives that have received considerable attention in the higher education press and beyond.
So much has been written about the problems with speech codes that there is no need to belabor the subject at this point. Aside from the legal problems they can present with regard to free speech issues, especially in public higher education, they presume that students cannot withstand, much less respond with vigor to, speech they find objectionable. They also serve as an example of how formal codes and policies are no substitute for shared norms and values concerning how people should behave with one another.
The trigger warning movement, which has offered another field day for those on the lookout for opportunities to ridicule colleges and universities, advocates alerting students in advance to anything potentially upsetting in materials required for a course. Above and beyond being forewarned, some students would presumably be allowed to avoid an encounter with such materials altogether. Aside from this being an insult to the intelligence and good sense of students and faculty members alike, it also threatens to spoil the thrill of discovery. After all, would all first-time readers of Anna Karenina really want to be told ahead of time that [SPOILER ALERT!!] Anna commits suicide by throwing herself under a train at the end of the novel.
And then there is the rash of speaker cancellations due to student unwillingness to be exposed to “objectionable” views from a guest to the campus. Part of this particular problem might be addressed by recognizing that an essentially ritual occasion like a graduation ceremony may not be the best venue for a controversial, as opposed to celebratory, message. That issue taken care of, it should be easier to push back on other occasions against students who are being overly selective in their defense of free speech.
Student reactions to displays of racial insensitivity and prejudice can be considered in this context. The persistence of racism in our society and on our campuses is most certainly disturbing and unacceptable. At the same time, while a couple of students hanging a Confederate flag in their dormitory window or some students sending anonymous offensive tweets should not go without some critical response, incidents like these do not seem sufficient to put an entire campus into a state of turmoil. Surely, that is attributing too much power to the offenders and displaying too much vulnerability on the part of those they would offend.
It is important to consider which institutional customs may be at odds with the task at hand. There is, for example, the practice that has become common of designating certain areas of campus as “safe spaces” for certain kinds of activities and identities. Such language goes above and beyond the informal establishing of preferred comfortable gathering spaces. The implication is that certain students, depending on their identities or preferred activities, are “unsafe” on other areas of campus. This magnifies the sense of personal danger out of all proportion and interferes with students’ appreciation of what it means to be in real peril. It is an obstacle to the development of authentic courage.
The exponential growth of professional student services staff – which, to be sure, has had its positive side – has played into a tendency toward what we might see as self-infantilization on the part of students, who are now in the habit of seeking formal institutional support and approval for the kinds of activities they used to be capable of managing themselves. The most unusual example of this in my own years as a college president occurred when a student came to me seeking institutional recognition for the group she represented, which, as it happened, was composed of students favoring safe, consensual S&M sex. I inquired as to why it was not sufficient that her group was not being interfered with by the administration. That was apparently not good enough for her: she wanted a blessing from those in authority. I declined to provide the blessing, preferring to encourage her to see that she could manage without it.
This support-seeking seems to be of a piece with the prolonged umbilical role that many students maintain with their parents into their college years, calling them several times a day on their cellphones. The parents, for their part, remain overly involved with their children – at least those parents whose life circumstances allow them to do so. And so we have socialization in reverse: rather than helping their offspring achieve adulthood, those who should be the grown-ups are living the lives of their children along with them. Parental over-involvement can make the institutional exercise of authority all the more challenging when it rises to (or descends into) litigiousness.
So -- whose responsibility is it to address this and other aspects of campus culture that stand in the way of students developing the kind of resilience and strength that they need in life? First and foremost, this job, like so many other tough and often thankless tasks, falls to college and university presidents. A job far easier to assign than to fulfill.
Those of us who have moved on to less complicated lives must at least have the good grace to feel their pain. The task, however, must be taken up if the undergraduate experience is to be what it should be. Where presidents lead, staff will follow – and so even will the faculty, if a persuasively argued connection is made to the essential purposes of the institution.
Here, then, are the questions that must frame a president’s response when one of those increasingly common eruptions breaks out on campus: How high does this measure on the Richter scale of crises? How can I respond in a way that plays to my students’ strengths as opposed to their weaknesses? How can this serve as an occasion to increase their wisdom and self-confidence? How will I help them to grow up?
To invoke the timelessly wise words of the Rolling Stones: If students can’t always get what they want, if we try sometimes, we might just find they get what they need.
Judith Shapiro is a former faculty member and provost at Bryn Mawr College and former president of Barnard College.
There is a large group of students — often overlooked — whose completion of college we need to better track and encourage: transfer students. We need to do a better job of collecting and following transfer students’ data and of instituting policies that help them to graduate, such as ensuring that their credits transfer. There are many reasons that these students deserve our full attention.
For several years there has been a national priority, set by President Obama, to increase the percentage of people in the United States who have college degrees, both by increasing the number of people who go to college and by increasing the percentage of college students who finish. The United States is now only 16th in the world in the percentage of young adults with college degrees, and the percentage of U.S. jobs needing college degrees is growing faster than the supply. We need to make sure that each college student completes. However, one of the largest subgroups of students — transfer students — is frequently being ignored.
That transfer students constitute a huge group is indisputable. As early as 1999, Clifford Adelman, then at the U.S. Department of Education, in his now-classic report "Answers in the Tool Box," was noting an “increasing tendency, overlooked in both policy and research, for students to attend two, three, or more colleges in the course of their undergraduate careers.” A 2012 study by the National Student Clearinghouse showed that approximately one-third of all students who began college at any level transferred at least once within five years.
The City University of New York (CUNY) provides a useful current example. At this urban university of approximately 240,000 undergraduates in 19 colleges, approximately 10,000 students transfer from one CUNY campus to another each fall alone. There are also many thousands who transfer in the spring, and many thousands who transfer out of and into CUNY. In fact, each year about two-thirds of all new students in CUNY bachelor’s degree programs enter as transfers. The result is that, at every one of CUNY’s 12 colleges that offers bachelor’s degrees, over half of the bachelor’s degree graduates are transfer students — the majority of graduates do not consist of students who started at those colleges as freshmen. So, when, on occasion, the CUNY faculty or administrators at these colleges talk about their college’s students as only those students who entered that college as freshmen, they are actually talking about a minority of their students. Many other colleges and universities around the country also enroll large percentages of transfer students.
In addition to the category of transfer students being very large, it deserves our focus for another reason. As shown in the National Student Clearinghouse Study, the largest proportion of transfer students consists of students moving from community colleges to bachelor’s-degree colleges. Community college students tend to be more racially and economically diverse than are students at bachelor’s degree colleges (the national percentages of students who are black, Hispanic, and from low-income families are 15, 14, and 26 for community colleges, and 11, 10, and 20 for bachelor’s-degree colleges, respectively). This pattern is true for CUNY as well, where black and Hispanic students are 10 percent and 18 percent of freshmen entering the most selective bachelor’s degree colleges, but 19 percent and 25 percent of the transfer students. And at CUNY, transfer students are also more likely than new freshmen to have been born outside the U.S., and to have a first language other than English. When you take into account that CUNY’s most selective colleges now admit far more transfer students than freshmen (e.g., 15,237 versus 7,260, respectively, in academic year 2013-2014), it is clear that CUNY’s transfer students are an important source of college degrees for students from underrepresented groups.
CUNY also provides a helpful example in understanding the multifaceted nature of student transfer. As is true nationally, the largest percentage of students transferring to CUNY’s five most selective college comes from associate degree programs at CUNY’s community and comprehensive colleges. By CUNY policy, students who need remediation must begin in an associate degree program at one of these colleges, which have expertise in providing remediation, which is needed by some 80 percent of CUNY new associate degree freshmen. Each year almost 10,000 CUNY students, having completed their remediation, transfer from a CUNY associate degree program to a bachelor’s degree program at a different CUNY college. In addition, many transfers to the five most selective CUNY colleges come from other, less selective, CUNY bachelor’s degree programs or from outside of CUNY. However, the huge majority (at least 84 percent) of new CUNY transfer students come from another CUNY college or are living in New York City or both. Thus, the most selective CUNY colleges serve as a destination for transfer students who entered college with relatively less preparation, but who subsequently showed themselves ready for rigorous advanced work.
This all means that, if we ignore transfer students, or, to put it another way, focus only on first-time freshmen who stay at a particular college, we are not only ignoring a huge proportion of college students, we are also ignoring a huge potential source of diversity among baccalaureate graduates, including many students who have recently proven themselves able to handle college and to receive a degree. If we ignore transfer students, we are continuing to disadvantage many students who have been disadvantaged all their lives.
Though it is true that many colleges — at CUNY and nationwide — have special programs for transfer students, examples of how these students have been ignored abound. A prime example is the national student database maintained by the U.S. Department of Education: IPEDS. This important data repository is the source of data for federal education policy purposes, as well as for researchers and policy makers all over the country. Each institution of higher education in the U.S. that provides federal financial aid is required to deposit specific data in IPEDS each year. However, one type of data that is not currently required for IPEDS is graduation information about transfer students, although IPEDS will start tracking some of this information next year.
Furthermore, when the U.S. Department of Education calculates graduation rates, these rates are currently limited to students who started and finished at a given college. The Department of Education is promising to release soon a new college rating system, but the new system cannot include anything about transfer student graduation rates until either IPEDS starts requiring sufficient data, or another data source, such as the National Student Clearinghouse, is used. It seems that we still need to heed Adelman’s 1999 advice: “When [a large percentage] of undergraduates attend more than one institution … institutional graduation rates are not very meaningful. It is not wise to blame a college with superficially low graduation rates for the behavior of students who swirl through the system.”
Similar to the U.S. Department of Education, other rating systems, such as that promulgated by U.S. News & World Report, also do not take into account transfer graduation rates. The graduation rate portion of the U.S. News ratings is based entirely on first-time full-time freshmen who go on to graduate from their original college of entry.
In addition to having programs specifically for transfer students, CUNY has perhaps been a bit ahead of the curve in terms of tracking and using transfer student data. Since 1999, CUNY has had an accountability system for its colleges, and among this system’s measures for each college are graduation rates of transfer students, in addition to graduation rates of students who started and finished at a single college. Further, in measuring graduation rates, CUNY looks at the rate at which its new college students end up graduating from any CUNY college, not just from the colleges that they first entered.
Another critical way to assist transfer students in graduating is to ensure that their credits transfer with them, and that the transferred credits count for what they were originally intended: general education, major, or elective credit. Several recent studieshave detailed challenges associated with credit transfer. To try to ameliorate such challenges, many states have mandated that some or all credits transfer among some or all higher education institutions in that state. This has not happened in New York. However, CUNY adopted its Pathways program in fall 2013. With Pathways, general education credits taken by students at any of CUNY’s 19 undergraduate colleges satisfy the same requirements at all 19 undergraduate colleges. Credits also transfer seamlessly for the first several courses in each of the 10 majors that have the most transfer students. All other undergraduate courses transfer as at least elective credit.
Even though CUNY is considered one university by New York State Education Law, required to have close articulation among its colleges, a principle upheld in two recent court cases, there has been much controversy at CUNY about Pathways. At CUNY it had sometimes been the tradition for faculty at a given college to decide the worth of all transfer student credits and to set the general education and major requirements for students at that college independently of any other CUNY college. As a result, many students were having significant difficulties transferring credits. This situation pitted the rights, or perceived rights, of faculty to decide student requirements directly against the needs of transfer students for support in completing their degrees.
The CUNY Pathways project can provide further understanding of why support of transfer students may be particularly important in ensuring higher education for disadvantaged students. There were two groups of students who particularly lobbied for the passing and effecting of Pathways: disabled students and LGBT students. Students in the first group pointed out that some of the financial aid that they receive as disabled students would not pay for a course that had to be repeated when a student transferred. So, in addition to dealing with any challenges associated with their disability, they had to find money to pay for the disallowed course. Students in the second group pointed out that they are particularly likely to transfer. The president of one LGBT organization told me that 95 percent of her organization’s members had transferred. She further explained that the LGBT status of some CUNY students, who often live with their parents and commute, can become a source of friction within the student’s family during college, resulting in the student having to move — and transfer.
Although some aspects of CUNY’s situation may be unique, there may be a general lesson to be learned from the CUNY example. Even though many students transfer for purely academic reasons (they develop a new academic interest not emphasized by their original college, they complete remedial work and show themselves qualified for college work at a higher level, they finish their associate degree and now want to move to a college that gives bachelor’s degrees, etc.), they may also transfer due to a variety of personal challenges, challenges that we do not ordinarily measure.
If we do not attend to the data concerning transfer student success (i.e., graduation), we cannot hold colleges and other relevant entities to task for that success. And that means that colleges and other relevant entities do not have any incentives to facilitate that success. Thus not tracking transfer student data has profound implications, and likely disadvantages the close to one-third of U.S. college students who transfer within five years of beginning college. Our focus should be on the overall goal — graduation — not on freshmen who take just one of the many possible paths to get there.
Each student has different needs. Even if our only goal is to increase graduation rates, it is our obligation to see that those individual needs are met. Without attending to transfer students’ particular circumstances as reflected in their data, without incentivizing colleges to help these students graduate and facilitating their credit transfer, increasing the United States’ percentage of young adults with college degrees will be far more difficult.
Alexandra W. Logue is research professor at the Center for Advanced Study in Education at the City University of New York Graduate Center.
“Success” means many different things. There are as many definitions as there are people (or students in this case).
“Student success” is the big push at colleges and universities across the nation, and this push is largely being forced upon colleges by state legislatures and federal bodies overseeing education. This well-intended goal has many definitions but generally includes a focus on having higher enrollments, more full-time students, students passing their classes (with high grades), and more graduates.
One aspect of this approach is that it tends to, at least sometimes, imply that students who do not graduate or who are not full-time are not successful. Not everyone needs a degree to do what they want in life. Not everyone ultimately decides they want a degree. Additionally, some students only want to take a few courses.
To me at least, “student success” in its ideal and highest achievement has been the hope or goal of students earning higher and higher grades. I always tell my classes I hope everyone earns an “A.” Any of my students can tell you that you have to really work for an “A” in my class. If 50 percent earn an “A”, it’s not because of grade inflation; it’s because they worked really hard for it.
Last night my dad (who is also a professor – I loved teaching and school so much, he decided to follow my steps) and I were discussing different situations we had with students. The conversation evolved into a discussion of the emotional costs of student success.
The basic thought is – and it seems very true from personal experience and experience working with approximately 2,830 students since May 2007 – that there are certain negative consequences to earning an “A” in a class, or especially to having a 4.0.
As someone who earned an “A” in every class as an undergraduate, I can testify to the fact that being an “A” student is lonely.
The “A” student can experience this loneliness because they are spending most of their time studying. Studying instead of partying, hanging out, etc. Additionally, there is a certain negative stigma attached to doing extremely well. The “A” students are labeled as nerds or geeks. People who have no life. People who are different.
Consider the following two conversations (at non-elite institutions, like those most students attend):
“Hey, Sam, What grades did you get this semester?”
“Did well. No big deal but got a 4.0. What about you?”
“Wow. Not that well.”
“Hey, Sam, What grades did you get this semester?”
“Got an A, two Bs, and a C. What about you?”
“Sweet. About the same for me.”
While these quotes are made up, I have seen conversations like this play out many times.
There are at least two implications for educators:
One, although we want our students to all do well, study hard, ask questions, and be 4.0 students, this is an unrealistic goal in a large part because of the negative consequences of making good grades. It is sometimes alienating, and it sets a precedent to continue studying really hard.
Two, for student success to be truly effective – carried to its logical and ideal ends – we need a culture that truly celebrates and embraces thinkers, studiers, questioners. Of course, all students are capable of learning the skills necessary to be the “A” student, but this is not what society or peer pressure really wants or rewards or even allows in some cases. Consider how the Culture of Beer, the Culture of Football, the Culture of Politically-Rewritten-History-Books, for example, and the anti-intellectualism generally therein is vastly different than the Culture of Intellectualism. Consider a world where there are commercials advertising an upcoming talk by a philosopher instead of the newest flavor of beer or the newest gun. The rhetoric of what we advertise speaks volumes to what we truly value.
So as we ask ourselves what we can do to help more students earn higher grades and ask ourselves what we did that caused so-and-so to not reach “their full potential,” we must recognize that at least some of the issues are systematic and institutional. The emotional costs of success are high, too much so for some.
Andrew Joseph Pegoda is completing his Ph.D. in history. He teaches at the University of Houston and at Alvin Community College. He blogs here.
Today’s college men, as a group, are not doing so well — in comparison with today’s college women and with college men of the past. Many men are simply not attending college at all; and of those who matriculate, they are not graduating in large numbers, again, as compared to women and to previous generations of men. Coming out of high school, they are not as well prepared for college. They are reading less than girls and less than boys of older generations. In fact, if college admissions were gender-blind, the vast majority of students at our most selective colleges would be women.
While at college, men are less engaged in their studies and in student life, and they receive lower grades and fewer honors. (Men in STEM courses, i.e., science, technology, engineering, and math, are the exception.) On campus, they exhibit higher rates of alcohol and substance abuse and commit more social conduct violations. College men use fewer student services and are more reluctant to seek help and attend support programs. In short, men are getting less out of their college experience, and they are not taking it upon themselves to do something about it.
All that may strike us as odd, or it used to. Now it seems to be on everyone’s mind, especially parents of boys. Even a recent issue of Scouting magazine (May/June 2013) ran a cover story on how to promote literacy among boys. Historically, though, we have tended to think of men in general as powerful and privileged, and it would be reasonable to expect college men to be higher-achieving. In a society that values education and where education is often the pathway to success for the middle class, it would make sense for men to be doing better, especially with the awareness that most of our older and more prestigious colleges — the very models of higher education — were established with men in mind.
What is stranger still is that, unlike the performance of other groups, we often struggle for an explanation of college men’s experience, their lack of success. Back in 2004, I expressed it this way in an article: “When the problem of the success of college women was first articulated, we quickly developed an explanation — sexism. And when the problem of the success of college persons of color was addressed, we readily found a similar explanation — racism. But when it comes getting at the underlying cause of the lack of success of college men, we seem to be at a loss.” When feminist, critical race, and other explanatory systems were developed, they relied, in part, on differences in power to explain the experience of women, persons of color, and other oppressed groups — in other words, the relatively powerless, and not the obviously powerful. That is where men’s studies can help: both in understanding why college men may be struggling and what we can do about it.
Men’s studies is an emerging field of knowledge concerned primarily with men’s experience, identity, and development throughout the life course. In so far as it focuses on what men are (social reality); what we think men are (stereotypes); and what we would like men to be (gender ideal); men’s studies could be described as the study of masculinities. Fundamentally, it studies men as men, and not as generic human beings. In his classic essay, “The Case for Men’s Studies,” Harry Brod said it best: Men’s studies is “the study of masculinity as a specific male experience, rather than a universal paradigm for human experience.”
Following from Brod, I wrote that a “men’s studies of college men would be a study of college as a specific male experience rather than a universal human experience.” In other words, instead of talking about students we should be talking about male students, female students, etc.
At bottom, what men’s studies teaches us, and where it can play a role in improving the lives of college men, is the fundamental insight that the totality of men’s experience cannot be explained by men’s power alone. True, objectively speaking, men as a group may still have power over women as a group; however, subjectively, individual men do not necessarily feel powerful, or behave as if they were in control. That is because many men engage in harmful, self-destructive behaviors linked to messages about manhood, or feel they do not measure up to the gender ideal, or are burdened by harmful stereotypes of what it means to be a man.
They are also socialized not to express their feelings, report symptoms, reveal their vulnerability, or otherwise deal in healthy ways with their emotions. And when it comes to learning, they learn at an early age that “school is for girls.” Masculinity leaves men feeling shamed and disempowered, suffering the negative consequences of their own notions of manhood and their own aversion to female identified values and attributes.
Worse yet, after steering men in the wrong direction, masculinity — insidiously and tragically — interferes with help-seeking behavior. No wonder so many men struggle in college. On campus, college women more likely to be sober and involved and men are drinking more — and more often — and are more distracted. College women in distress are more likely to seek out counseling centers or are referred by a friend, while college men become silent or act out. Informed by men’s studies, we can better design programs and services for college men, with men in mind. Hobart College, a men’s college where I am a dean and faculty member, offers a program for first-year men, Men’s Lives, which includes four mandated workshops on sexual assault prevention, men’s health and wellness, career and family, and diversity from a men’s perspective. We believe it has made a difference in the retention and success of our college men.
In closing, nothing I have said here invalidates or is inconsistent with feminist or social justice perspectives. On the contrary, most men’s studies work is “pro-feminist,” geared toward men, but compatible with best practices for college women. Men’s studies does not bash college men or re-privilege them, but, in the words of Victor Seidler, simply asks college men to take responsibility for their actions and make the right choices for college success. To modify a phrase coined by Adrienne Rich, the role of men’s studies is to exhort us to “take men students seriously.”
Submitted by Dan Butin on September 4, 2014 - 3:00am
With the start of the academic year upon us, it may be surreal to suggest that the college course is going the way of the dinosaur. Twenty million postsecondary students are streaming back onto college campuses, filing into lecture halls, and bracing for yet another semester of study. Sure, a fair portion of them will be doing this on their laptops. But even then, they’ll still have a professor and all the trappings (a syllabus, an overarching theme, a grade that gets put on their transcript) of a traditional semester-long course.
And yet, “The very notion of a ‘class’ may be outdated.” So suggest the authors of a just-released Massachusetts Institute of Technology report. MIT has spent over a year investigating the question of the future of residential education and has begun to systematically explore, among other things, the “modularization” of the curriculum into smaller Lego-like units that can be taken apart and put together in a myriad of ways.
"This,” the report argues, “in many ways mirrors the preferences of students on campus. The unbundling of classes also reflects a larger trend in society — a number of other media offerings have become available in modules, whether it is a song from an album, an article in a newspaper, or a chapter from a textbook. Modularity also enables 'just-in-time' delivery of instruction, further enabling project-based learning on campus and for students worldwide.”
For MIT and other institutions who have come to similar conclusions (see, for example, the University of Wisconsin at Madison and Harvard University), the push comes from both the successes and challenges of digital learning technologies (such as MOOCs) that have proliferated in the last few years. But even more than that, they are well aware of what’s on the horizon.
“Might the Online Skills Academy,” muses Paul LeBlnac in a recent op-ed about the U.S. Department of Education’s “experimental sites” initiative, “be a first step to creating a new alternative pathway to a degree, one that actually creates a new higher education ecosystem that can sit beside and maybe improve our existing system?” For LeBlanc and many others, competency-based education offers a credible alternative to today’s “deeply flawed” system. “I am instead thinking about a nationally offered, extremely low-cost, competency-based model degree program that includes stackable, industry-embraced credentials.”
This, dear reader, is the beginning of the end for the college course. Not everywhere. Not for everyone. Not immediately. But for much of our current postsecondary system, much of what we do in our “chalk-and-talk” educational model can be automated and replaced by cheaper and more efficient systems. And I, for one, can’t wait to see it happen. Because, I suggest, it will allow us and force us to develop a system that sees the college course as not just the transmission of academic knowledge but as its use and transformation.
For the competency-based education (CBE) crowd, this will be about demonstrating proficiency – through portfolios, exams, or other standardized means where “time is irrelevant and mastery non-negotiable” – that shatters the monopoly of the credit hour. It suggests that the product matters, not the process. It is a one-for-one swap: forget the four years on campus; just show us that you have learned.
For the MIT crowd, this will be about finding the sweet spot of deep learning – through a blended mix of online and on-site modules, projects and courses curated by faculty and informed by the learning sciences and data analytics – that shatters the monopoly of an “is it on the exam?” student mentality (yes, it happens at MIT as well). It suggests that we must fundamentally revise the process if we are to change the product. It is backward design approach: the four years on campus are useless if you don’t come out transformed.
But in either case, the traditional course is dead.
I am not simply talking about the fact that, as the saying goes, “online education starts in the seventh row.” Sure, there is nothing to be gained from sitting in a lecture hall when you can watch the archived lecture online while pulling up a tutorial or a peer’s comments about the lecture as you go through it. I am talking about the realization that CBE and digital learning technologies give us the unique opportunity to rethink and revise our models of teaching and learning from the ground up.
I, of course, have to voice some caveats and concerns.
CBE, for all its emphasis on “mastery as non-negotiable,” has no theory of learning. CBE advocates avoid talking about how students will actually learn to demonstrate mastery. This has troubling implications for who supposedly can and can’t learn and the structural impediments to and stratification of academic success.
Similarly, MIT’s model confuses the way we learn with the way we teach. A single module is actually not like a single song, book chapter or newspaper article. A song can stand on its own, as it has a self-contained narrative arc and structure. But to see a module as a “mini-course” – kind of like a highlight reel of best lecture quotes – is to cater to a style of teaching rather than to a way of learning.
If I could mix and match these two perspectives, I might suggest that we view the MIT module in exactly the way that CBE proponents view their competencies: as transmitting information to gain highly bounded skills and knowledge that are linked explicitly to specific learning outcomes.
Think of modules more like a football player training certain fundamental skills and moves that he can then deploy automatically and fluidly and improvisationally in a game depending on the situation. Such skills and knowledge are crucial – as they form the foundation for the habits of mind and repertoires of action that we think of in experts – but they are in and of themselves almost irrelevant if they do not get used in practice. In this vision, a “course” becomes a set of mastered units of knowledge (modules) that are integrated into a project- or practice-based outcome. Put otherwise, the transmission of academic knowledge is a necessary but not sufficient condition to count as a course, which must be able to apply and transform such academic knowledge.
In either case, though, when both Southern New Hampshire University and MIT are grappling with the future of the college course – which has served as the basic unit and building block for all of higher education – we are seeing a system truly shattering. The question for all of us is what will be built up instead.
Dan Butin is dean and associate professor in the School of Education and Social Policy and executive director of the Center for Engaged Democracy at Merrimack College.