General Education Essentials: A Guide for College Faculty [2 ed.] 1642674842, 9781642674842

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GENERAL EDUCATION ESSENTIALS

Supplying an insightful introduction to current trends in general education reform, this second edition of General Education Essentials: A Guide for College Faculty gives an important, timely overview of general education curricular design. General education curricula provide students with the intellectual flexibility they need to adapt thoughtfully and productively to the rapid changes of the workplace and the world at large. This book offers methods for engaging in curricular reform efforts that support university culture and teachers and examines the implications of general education reform in the classroom, with a keen eye toward syllabi, course content, and student work. By expertly blending theory with curricular ideas for implementation, this text offers an impactful illustration of the shift from distributive to integrative to high impact models of general education. Featuring plentiful examples from a variety of fields and disciplines, this book is essential reading for any higher education faculty member tasked with equipping students with the skills they need to become perceptive scholars and productive citizens. Paul Hanstedt is a professor of English and Vice-​Chancellor for Academic Affairs and Innovation at the University of Minnesota Rochester, USA.

GENERAL EDUCATION ESSENTIALS A Guide for College Faculty Second Edition

Paul Hanstedt

Designed cover image: © Getty Images Second edition published 2024 by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 and by Routledge 4 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon, OX14 4RN Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2024 AAC&U and Taylor & Francis A Co-​Publication between Taylor & Francis and The American Association of Colleges and Universities (AAC&U) The right of Paul Hanstedt to be identified as author of this work has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. First edition published by Jossey-​Bass 2012 Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Hanstedt, Paul, 1965– author. Title: General education essentials: a guide for college faculty / Paul Hanstedt. Description: Second edition. | New York : Routledge, 2024. | First edition published in 2012. | Includes bibliographical references and index. | Identifiers: LCCN 2023040196 (print) | LCCN 2023040197 (ebook) | ISBN 9781642674842 (hbk) | ISBN 9781642674859 (pbk) | ISBN 9781003444992 (ebk) Subjects: LCSH: Universities and colleges–Curricula–United States.–Planning. | General education–United States. Classification: LCC LB2361.5 .H36 2024 (print) | LCC LB2361.5 (ebook) | DDC 378.1/990973–dc23/eng/20230920 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023040196 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2023040197 ISBN: 978-​1-​642-​67484-​2 (hbk) ISBN: 978-​1-​642-​67485-​9 (pbk) ISBN: 978-​1-​003-​44499-​2 (ebk) DOI: 10.4324/​9781003444992 Typeset in Galliard by Newgen Publishing UK

CONTENTS

Foreword by Kate Drezek McConnell About the Author Preface Acknowledgments

vii xi xiii xxii

PART I

The Big Picture

1

1  Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models

3

2  Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models

31

PART II

General Education at the Course Level

47

3  Designing Effective General Education Courses

49

4  How the Purposes of General Education Can Reshape a Course

58

vi Contents

PART III

General Education at the Assignment Level

79

5  Designing Appropriate Assignments for General Education

81

PART IV

Structuring an Effective Revision Process

101

6  Leading Gen Ed Conversations: An Overview and the Early Stages

103

7  Leading Gen Ed Conversations: Developing Curricular Models

129

8  Leading Gen Ed Conversations: Deciding on and Implementing a New Model

144

9  Creating Meaningful Assessment of General Education

164

Conclusion Bibliography Index

170 172 176

FOREWORD Kate Drezek McConnell

I must begin with a confession of sorts: the irony that my professional life is in large part dedicated to ensuring that current and future college and university students learn, thrive, and grow as the result of their general education experience is not lost on me. With more than 25 years’ hindsight, I can easily transport myself back to the spring of 1993, when my 17-​year-​old self stood on what seemed to be a very high-​stakes precipice. I felt the significant weight of my family’s financial investment in my future as my parents prioritized helping me pay for college. I fretted over whether what I had done in high school was “enough” to secure me admissions to the schools that had received my transcripts and application essays. I was excited and nervous at the prospect of living with a complete stranger in a dorm. Mostly, however, I worried about whether I would be able to handle college coursework; I was convinced that everyone else I would encounter would surely be smarter and better prepared than me, falling victim to a teenage version of imposter syndrome before I had a label to attach to this anxiety. These were the days before email and electronic notification of college acceptances, so my daily routine involved sending my younger sister to the mailbox to check for any envelopes, thick or thin, that had my name on them. As the envelopes started to arrive, my acceptance to the College of William and Mary was a prized possession, and I started to envision my future self in Williamsburg. As memory serves, a day or two later not one but two envelopes arrived from the University of Virginia—​or perhaps one envelope with two letters? The details are now somewhat foggy. The first letter congratulated me on my acceptance to UVA’s Class of 1997. I remember feeling relieved that I had gotten into another school and

viii Foreword

therefore actually had a choice as to where I would go to school in the fall. I then set the first letter on the table and looked at the second. In addition to being admitted to the University, I had been admitted to the College of Arts and Sciences’ Echols Scholars program. Quickly scanning the letter, I discovered that Echols Scholars were not always valedictorians (which I was not) or students with the highest possible SAT scores (also which I decidedly was not). Instead, Echols Scholars were identified as curious and intrinsically motivated to learn, and my heart leapt at the thought that anyone saw such possibility in me and I kept reading to see what this all meant. According to the letter, as part of the program I would be free to pursue whatever courses, ideas, and topics were of interest to me. If I wanted, I could even create my own interdisciplinary major, which sounded exciting. More important to my 17-​year-​old self, however, as an Echols Scholar I was exempted from all general education requirements at the University. Immediately, my sense of relief overpowered any other emotion that I was feeling at the time. Curiosity and intrinsic motivation? Out the window. I quickly “did the math,” as they say, and realized that if I went to UVA, I would never have to take a college-​level math course—​ or for that matter any math course—​ever again. My fear of math literally served as the tipping point that changed my decision about which college to attend. Goodbye, Williamsburg. Hello, Charlottesville. Like so many of the students I now encounter, I saw gen ed as a series of requirements to avoid and an obstacle to overcome, rather than a curricular and intellectual asset of American higher education designed to support and challenge students on their path toward broader and deeper knowledge. My time at UVA was indeed spent exploring a range of coursework, much of which (further irony here) mapped onto the University’s general education curriculum. As I progressed toward graduation, my encounters with amazing faculty and rich coursework made me realize how limiting my views of general education were, and even then as a student I wished I had started my first year open to its possibilities rather than focused on its requirements. For over a quarter of a century, my overriding goal has been to help students as well as fellow educators to see general education’s possibilities. This has informed how I teach, how I assess student learning, and how I design instructional and curricular experiences. My own path to “general education evangelist” began with teaching high school before pursuing my doctorate in educational psychology, where I actively pursued multiple and increasingly challenging statistics courses, no longer paralyzed by my fear of all-​things-​quantitative. At Virginia Tech, I first worked as a graduate research assistant on an NSF-​funded alternative approach to general education and then as a member of the team that helped reimagine the University’s gen ed curriculum overall. All this ultimately led me to AAC&U, where I have the

Foreword  ix

privilege of serving as the steward of our work on general education. As a higher education member association dedicated to promoting institutional capacity-​building in this space, AAC&U is committed to ensuring that all students—​regardless of their starting points or their end goals; their zip codes or past academic preparation; their age, race, gender, ethnicity, or socioeconomic status—​ experience a robust, intellectually engaging, humane, high impact general education curricula as part of a quality liberal education. And therein lies the irony. I have gone from being the young woman driven by a singular fear of a general ed requirement to someone dedicated to the reimagination of general education, one institution at a time. In AACU’s work with institutions on gen ed reform, we often talk about how students take a dim and decidedly limited view of general education. We observe students doing their level best to get through gen ed courses and requirements as quickly and expeditiously as possible on the way to the “real work” of their majors. Unfortunately, if we are being honest, we must admit that too often we—​faculty, administrators, even entire institutions—​ are complicit in reinforcing this worldview. In myriad ways, sometimes explicitly, other times tacitly, we actively undermine general education. As educators, we need to be willing to interrogate the cognitive dissonance between websites that speak to lofty outcomes like lifelong learning and advertise integrative and interdisciplinary approaches while our curricular and instructional designs reify a “check box” mentality. To combat this, we must be willing to do the hard work of reimagining general education by leveraging empathetic approaches to design, articulating career-​relevant outcomes, offering intellectually exciting coursework, marrying disciplinary ways of knowing with real-​world application, and teaching in empirically grounded and innovative ways. I can think of no better way to begin reimagining general education than by diving into General Education Essentials. This second edition has been updated to include new institutional exemplars and case studies, but do not make the common mistake of jumping ahead to find the perfect model for your gen ed reform effort. Instead, I suggest you frame your engagement with this book in the same way that my long-​standing collaborator and friend Paul Hanstedt wrote it—​ as a conversation between colleagues. As a scholar and practitioner active in this space for decades, Paul deftly anticipates the questions that surface throughout the life cycle of general education reform. Rather than offer one-​size-​fits-​all answers, he presents visions of the possible. Paul’s focus on process is intentional, and he helpfully illustrates assertions like be transparent and authentic and listen actively and with grace with examples from his experience on campuses as a faculty member, administrator, and consultant.

x Foreword

Even while providing advice on fraught topics such as departmental politics and territorial behavior over credit hours, Paul reinforces the centrality of the student, challenging us to think more expansively when it comes to student involvement in general education reform, up to and including students as codesigners. He also directly addresses the issue of pervasive and systemic inequity, complementing ethical and philosophical arguments with concrete strategies for making real change, both within general education as well as by using general education as a vehicle for prompted greater institutional action. Paul manages to do all of this while projecting an authentic optimism in an era thus far characterized by fewer resources, challenges to academic freedom and integrity, and the devaluing of the college degree. It is this optimism that prevents tough conversations about change from veering into self-​defeating cynicism or learned helplessness. Reading this book on your own—​or, even better, with colleagues on the gen ed journey with you—​will help you make the best use of current research and praxis on general education while designing a program that leverages the unique culture and context of your institution and its undergraduate experience. Even more than that, I hope this book does for you what it did for me. Through these pages, may your conversation with Paul remind you of your former self, on the cusp of your college education, and all that you did and did not yet know about yourself as a learner and as a person. Dig up your own undergraduate transcript. Look beyond the course names and numbers and seek out memories of your favorite general education class and what it meant to your own intellectual, emotional, or personal growth. See if, in hindsight, you can draw connections between courses and across semesters that perhaps you missed back then. Last, look to the gen ed courses that failed you (regardless of whether you failed the class) and ask yourself what you wish your faculty had done differently. With those memories in mind, challenge yourself, your colleagues, and your institution to give today’s and tomorrow’s students the very best general education imaginable.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

After three decades in the classroom, Paul Hanstedt is now Vice-​Chancellor for Academic Affairs and Innovation at the University of Minnesota Rochester. He is the recipient of multiple teaching awards and, in addition to General Education Essentials, has authored the popular Creating Wicked Students. He has worked with dozens of universities on four continents to support curricular and pedagogical reform and innovation, including a Fulbright year helping Hong Kong move from a three-​to a four-​year tertiary model. He has also served as a faculty member for the American Association of Colleges and Universities Institute on General Education and Assessment and as a contributing editor to The Teaching Professor.

PREFACE

A few years back, I visited a university in the American south, to give a talk on general education. Walking around the morning before my presentation, I was struck by the beauty of the campus: it was the kind of university setting you see in a movie, the sort of place that made you feel smarter just being there: long, tree-​lined walks, noble brick buildings, an ornate fountain in the distance. Everything but “Pomp and Circumstance” playing over the loudspeaker. Standing in the shade and taking it all in, I felt like I was part of something important: conversations about the meaning of life, experiments unlocking the mysteries of cancer, explorations that would make learning purposeful and impactful. It felt good, standing there on the quad. Like I was part of something that mattered. I later mentioned this feeling to the university’s provost, complementing him on the beauty of the campus, the thought they’d put into creating a setting that causes students to stand, backs a little straighter, seriousness in their eyes. He smiled and thanked me, but then frowned. “But then students walk into our gen ed, all those basic courses and 101s. How do they feel then?” A great question. One answer comes in the form of a tweet a student shared with me a while back. It’s posted by “$yd,” (yes, with a dollar sign) and says: Unpopular opinion: general education courses in college are a complete scam for your money to keep you paying for 4+​yrs. If gen ed courses weren’t a requirement, major really only require 2 yrs of classes. All of high school (sic) was gen ed-​it’s simply unnecessary.

xiv Preface

This tweet, from 2018, has 209 thousand likes, and more than 72 thousand retweets. That’s a lot of attention for social media discussing education. “Unpopular”? Hardly. Here’s the thing: architects and designers will tell you that when creating a space, they’re thinking very deliberately about how that space constructs its occupants. Step into the Google offices in Dublin, and you enter a colorful, dynamic space full of energy. You feel invigorated and irreverent. There are no rules, this space says. Play. Create. Step into St. Paul’s in London and you feel simultaneously humbled and transcendent. Cathedrals are grand for a reason: you’re meant to feel small, insignificant, even. But beneath that there’s also this sense of being drawn upward, of a greater purpose, something larger than the daily grind, something uplifting that’s inviting you to join. Not unlike the college campus I mentioned. Too often, though, our general education curricula don’t match our architectural rhetoric, particularly when those curricula are structured around a distributional model where students take two of this, two of that, and two of the next thing. Rather than inviting students to feel capable, energized, and part of something meaningful, we hand them a checklist that all but says “You’re stupid. You need the basics. Again.” To be clear here, I’m not arguing that our students always enter the university with adequate academic preparation. Many of them don’t. The reasons for this are many and varied and not really the point of this book, but they include an overdependence on standardized testing that places an emphasis on content memorization over meaningful application of that content in complex contexts. What I am suggesting is that we have some agency over how our students respond to general education: do they treat it as meaningless or pedestrian? We can change that. Do they act as though it’s something to be gotten out of the way? We can change that as well. And what’s more, we need to change it. Because in a world that’s moving rapidly and facing a number of desperate crises, we need educated citizens who can approach life in thoughtful, well-​ informed ways that go well beyond the knowledge and skill sets that any single major can provide. I’d also suggest that we want to shift our students away from an unengaged, dismissive approach to gen ed, that we also benefit from such a shift. After all, if we can create a curricular cathedral in which students feel the same intellectual impulse to soar that we ourselves feel in our work, the classroom becomes a very different—​and a very powerful—​place. Which sounds grand. But it’s not easy. Today’s faculty are busier than ever before. In the past few decades, research and publication expectations at universities at most BA-​, MA-​, and PhD-​granting institutions have gone

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up. Teaching loads, by contrast, have not gone down. Indeed, with tighter budgets, chances are that faculty will see more students, not fewer, in their classrooms. And with new initiatives ranging from assessment to diversity to green campuses, the degree to which faculty are expected to serve on departmental and university committees, advise students, and perform other forms of service has generally risen. In addition, the modern academy seems to be taking its cues from corporate America and embracing paradigm shift at a dizzying rate. Every year it seems that the administration comes to the faculty with a new catchphrase, an altered mission focus, a new five-​year plan. It’s not uncommon for faculty facing an institutional discussion of “curricular change,” “curricular revision,” “core development,” “general education,” “liberal education,” or “integrative learning” to find themselves groaning inwardly and thinking, Oh, no. Here we go again. Or maybe not. Maybe some of us—​graduates of liberal arts institutions perhaps, or those in a field that embraces interdisciplinarity, or maybe just those who are broadly curious—​have a different response. These folks may remember with fondness the startling realization they had in a required class outside their intended major, or the spark of connection they experienced when they understood that what was happening in the mathematics class and the philosophy class were not so very different. In the end, it probably doesn’t matter how we respond—​ intellectually or emotionally—​to the possibility of curricular change because chances are, it’s going to happen. Every year the American Association of Colleges and Universities hosts a general education institute, offering teams of faculty the opportunity to spend four nights in 8-​b-​12-​foot cinderblock dorm rooms and three days discussing curricular revision with their colleagues and experts in the field. And every year universities from all over the world have their applications declined because there isn’t space to accommodate everyone who is interested. The reasons for this surge in interest in curricular revision are many and are covered in detail in Chapter 1. Suffice it to say, though, that much of it has to do with the recognition that the world is changing dramatically and quickly and that the old ways of doing things might not be effective anymore. Indeed, the rate of change is such that some would argue that the title of this book is inaccurate: it’s not “general” education we’re after anymore, a term many associate with breadth and that evolved from Enlightenment and Victorian era ideas about what makes a person cultured. These days, more often than not, the term of choice is liberal education, indicating not a left-​leaning slant to scholarly thinking but a sense of what it means to create liberated human beings—​people who are independent and flexible in their thinking and capable of responding to the demands of a changing world in civic-​minded, deliberative ways.

xvi Preface

So what does this mean for the people who teach the classes, serve on the committees, and do the scheduling for the next term and the term after that? Quite a bit, actually: it means new opportunities and new challenges. It means lots of discussions with colleagues in their own and other departments; it means some heated debates, some anxieties, and some new insights that may cause us to look at our work and our students in different ways. Most of all, though, it means something of a learning curve. There are new terms, new assumptions (often counterintuitive), new data, new methodologies. And while we’d like to think that university faculty would by nature be inclined toward lifelong learning and adaptation to change, when it comes to engaging an entirely new way of thinking about our work, some of us may be resistant. Perhaps it’s because we’re so busy or bound to tradition, but as one scholar pointed out at a workshop I once attended, “Statistically faculty are more likely to leave their spouses than change institutions.” In short, we like our jobs the way they are. The purpose of this book is not necessarily to alleviate any anxieties we might have about general education, liberal education, or curricular change, though that would be a nice by-​product. Rather, I designed and wrote this book to give a quick introduction to current trends in general education reform, a sense of its implications for our work, particularly in the classroom, and some methods for engaging in a curricular reform process that can be both true to the culture of your university and true to our mission as scholars and teachers serving our students. General Education Essentials: A Guide for College Faculty is divided into four sections, the titles of which pretty much speak for themselves. Part I, “The Big Picture,” discusses curricular design overall, the trends and options, and why general education is evolving the way it is. Part II, “General Education at the Course Level,” looks at the implications of this evolution for our work in the classroom: how will it affect syllabi, content, hoq we do and don’t engage our students? As with Part I, Part II consists first of these ideas in the abstract and then offers several illustrations designed to clarify and spark instructor thinking. Part III, “General Education at the Assignment Level,” explores the implications of current general education trends for the types of work we ask our students to do. I offer multiple examples in multiple fields exploring some of the techniques we might use to ensure that students are gaining the skills they need to be insightful scholars and productive citizens. Part IV, “Structuring an Effective Revision Process,” begins with the recognition that successful curricular conversations pay as much attention to the “how” of curricular revision as they do to the “what.” Even the best models can fail—​and sometimes not even make it to launch—​if the revision

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process itself isn’t carefully designed, speaking to the particular interests and strengths of the university and its faculty. The book then concludes with a discussion in Chapter 9 of how we might create assessment strategies that are meaningful and productive. As is perhaps clear by now, what follows is by no means an exhaustive discussion of general education; rather, the emphasis is on giving faculty enough information to get them into the conversation. Beyond that, I’ve assumed that because we’re all scholars, readers who are interested in a particular topic will take the time to do further research. General Education and Its Relation to the Major

When I first led a curricular revision on my previous campus, I made the announcement that whatever the specifics of the curricular model we developed would be, it should in no way have any impact on the majors at my college. My thinking at this point, I’ll confess, was fairly cynical: As is the case at many other campuses, curricular revision on that campus was a touchy subject. Faculty were worried about how it might affect their teaching, their workload, their majors, their time for research. It was my sense that by drawing a very clear line between the majors and general education, we could ease faculty anxieties about the former and aid the progress of the latter. In retrospect, I think this was an unproductive decision. I say this not because I now believe that general education should be allowed to reshape majors and other programs. Rather, I wish I’d kept the conversation about general education and its relationship to the major going, because separating the two may limit the ability of general education to aid the major in creating better graduates. Allow me to explain what I mean by this. There are many who presuppose general education works as shown in Figure P.1. In this model, “general education” is assumed to encompass simple foundational skills that, once gained, will enable students to do the “real”

FIGURE P.1 General

education as foundational.

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work. (I’ve actually heard this term used, at several institutions on several continents.) I understand something of the impulse behind this way of thinking. It’s nice to imagine that someone else can teach our students “basic” skills before they get to the major, relieving us of that duty and allowing our courses to pursue more high-​end work. Unfortunately, this approach fails to acknowledge something that most faculty experience nearly daily: just because a student has learned something in their first year doesn’t mean they’ll remember it in their advanced classes. The brain isn’t a lockbox that holds every piece of information it encounters, providing easy access when retrieval is appropriate. Rather, as a biologist friend puts it, the brain operates more like a use-​it-​or-​lose-​it circuit board, creating strong neural networks when information is applied regularly and allowing unused networks to fade into nearly irretrievable obscurity. Then there’s the fact that many of the skills we consider basic and foundational aren’t really either. Ronald Kellogg, a University of St. Louis psychologist who studies writing, asserts that the kinds of expository work we ask our students to do is akin to becoming an expert violinist or chess player, requiring a minimum of 5000 hours of solitary practice simply to rise above the level of amateur (2008). As much as we may like to believe that a required first-​year course in writing (or math or oral communications or anything else) exonerates us from ever having to teach these skills in our major courses, the fact is that such an approach will likely leave both us and our students disappointed and frustrated. Perhaps a better way to think about general education in relation to the major looks something like the model in Figures P.2 and P.3. In both of these models, general education runs throughout a four-​year curriculum. As a result, several things occur. • Students have the opportunity to develop the skills associated with contemporary general education throughout their time at college.

FIGURE P.2 General

education and the major: an alternative perspective.

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FIGURE P.3 General

education and the major: another alternative perspective.

• Consequently, having repeated practice with these skills at increasingly complex and intellectually demanding levels, students will have a better chance of learning them. • Also consequently, majors will benefit by having students arrive in their classes more practiced in these essential ways of thinking. Some would argue that some of the skills in question should be taught in the majors, not in general education. And indeed they should be: reinforcing skills like critical thinking and quantitative reasoning in a student’s major, where intrinsic motivation is likely to be higher, not only provides students with added practice in these areas but hammers home the point that these skills matter; they’re not just some stuff that some committee somewhere decided was good for students. But to think that majors can carry the burden for teaching these skills on their own ignores the reality that content in most fields is growing at an exponential rate, making absolute coverage increasingly difficult, if not impossible. Indeed, as Schilling and Smith (2010) point out, it’s not uncommon to find increasing emphasis on the goals of liberal education in many professional programs such as business, engineering, and nursing. Concordia University in Montreal, for example, has developed its General Studies to augment programs, intent on ensuring that students in engineering and computer science learn concepts and practices traditionally aligned with the liberal arts. Since its creation in 2004, the General Studies Unit at Concordia has worked to develop ways to have students explore “notions of professionalism and ethics, the social impact of technology, engineering economics, sustainability.” These are all concepts, says Rhiruvengadam Radhakrishnan, a professor of computer science and software engineering, “that are becoming more important.” Indeed, this program was created in part in response to a declaration of the Canadian National Engineering Summit regarding the need for engineers to contribute to “a healthier, cleaner, safer, and more competitive and sustainable Canada.” Furthermore, these nontechnical skills are being increasingly stressed by the Canadian

xx Preface

Engineering Accreditation Board (McDonagh, 2010). This trend is not limited to Canada or the field of engineering (Schilling and Smith, 2010). What universities are after, finally, is an institutional culture in which general education and the major are complementary, the courses taught are both “foundational” and “advanced,” there is “synergy over duality” (Schilling and Smith, 2010, p. 34), and the two kinds of programs support each other in order to create thoughtful, deliberative graduates capable of dealing with the complex challenges of global citizenship. Wehlburg (2010) puts it this way: With appropriate rigor, incorporation of both areas can enhance one another. Transfer of learning may occur more easily; students may be able to bring critical-​thinking or problem-​solving skills gained from their general education core into their major courses. Content from the major courses may influence how a student views information in the general education courses. With integration, students might be better prepared for diverse and unexpected requirements in future careers. (p. 10) In short, the whole purpose of general education is to help students succeed in their major fields, their career choices, and their jobs. A program that is designed otherwise doesn’t make sense. In addition, a well-​designed general education curriculum can help major programs by creating more deliberate courses that lead to fewer failing grades and fewer dropped classes, and thus fewer wasted teaching credits. Consequently, curricular reform can lead to more inclusive and equitable educational environments: Richard Detweiler has found, for instance, that carefully designed liberal arts experiences can be of particular benefit to students of lower socioeconomic status (2021, p. 186). Further, because a carefully designed gen ed program will often nudge faculty toward different pedagogical approaches, reform can entail offering faculty development opportunities that enrich instruction in both general education and major courses. Finally, effective curricular revisions can create interdivisional conversations that lead to productive research collaborations. Indeed, I believe that if a general education curriculum does not have some of these benefits—​or others like them—​then something may be wrong. Goals, Objectives, Learning Outcomes, and Related Matters

Another matter I’d like to address before heading into the main discussion has to do with academic language. Scholars familiar with contemporary thinking on course design and assessment will undoubtedly notice that my

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discussions of these matters doesn’t get particularly technical when it comes to appropriate terminology. More specifically, I tend to blur phrases like objectives, learning outcomes, and course goals. This is a deliberate choice on my part. Partially I’ve been influenced by Barbara Tewksbury’s National Science Foundation-​funded course design workshop “The Cutting Edge.” Recognizing that the correct use of these terms matters less to the people who actually teach the classes than to administrators and specialists in education, Tewksbury is explicit about using goals as a simple generic term to describe what an instructor hopes her students will be able to achieve on completion of a course. Having run numerous workshops at many institutions around the world, I’ve found this approach to be appropriate and effective and have adopted it here.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

I must begin by expressing my gratitude to the Fulbright organization, as well as to Po Chung, without whom my time in Hong Kong and this book and its subsequent revision would not have been possible. Similarly, many thanks go to Tom Osgood, Glenn Shive, and the people on the ground at the Hong Kong America Center who made it all work. Even ten-​plus years later, I know my thinking in matters of general education (and otherwise) has been invaluably shaped by my Fulbright colleagues that year: David Campion, Joe Chaney, Janel Curry, Hedley Freake, Gray Kocchar-​Lindgren, and David Pong. In particular, I owe a debt of gratitude to Hedley Freake, who first pointed out to me the idea that curricular models are not either-​or but rather exist on a continuum. After that, everything began to fall into place. I also acknowledge the support of various colleagues over the years. In Hong Kong, Dr. William Sin, Dr. Huixian Xu, Dr. Iris Kam, Elaine Cheng, Nana Lai, Tracy Yeung, Dr. Christopher Deneen, Dr. Gavin Brown, and the infinitely wise and gracious Dr. Anita Kit Wa Chan. In the United States, I know that my thinking was shaped by interactions with dozens of colleagues, including but not limited to Mike Maxey, John Day, Michael Hakkenberg, Adrienne Bloss, Susan Kirby, Katherine Hoffman, Gail Steehler, Chris Lee, Robert Schultz, Wendy Larson-​Harris, Chris Buchholz, Kim Filer, Dan Johnson, Holly Pickett, Paul Gregory, Mackenzie Brookes, Lloyd Tanlu, Thomas McClain, Kristy Crickenberger, Andrea Lepage, Katie Shester, Carrie Finch-​ Smith, Nadia Ayoub, Jeff Rahl, Michael Laughy, Ellen Crowell, Eric Amsel, Brittany Rose, Adam Scales, Amy Sarch, Bridget

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Acknowledgments  xxiii

Trogden, and many others who I’ll be kicking myself for not having been able to think of on this humid July morning. Many thanks as well go to the American Association of Colleges & Universities, particularly Lynn Pasquerella, Kate McConnell, Ashley Finley, David Tritelli, and the incomparable Hannah Schneider for their support of this project and my work more broadly. I am also grateful for the continued support (and wisdom, and frankness, and kindness) of David Brightman, without whom many of my dreams would have gone unrealized. I’d also like to thank my boss and colleagues at the University of Minnesota Rochester. Though I became part of this community late in my revision of this book, please trust that I benefitted greatly from their wisdom and kindness, as well as their insistence that we approach higher education with fearlessness and hope. Finally, my love and thanks to Ellen, Will, Luci, and James, for being kind and for reminding me of what matters. Always.

PART I

The Big Picture

1 GEN ED 2.0 Integrative Models

Allow me to begin by pointing out that there is no perfect general education model that is appropriate for all institutions. In fact, there are as many models as there are institutions. Even models that look the same on paper are likely to distinguish themselves in their implementations, the finer details of syllabi, assignment design, day-​to-​day instruction, and so on. Less obvious, but even more important, is the fact that all of these models are different for a reason. In his seminal 1980 article “Avoiding the Potholes: Strategies for Reforming General Education,” Jerry Gaff puts it this way: “A program for reforming general education should be designed around each institution’s character, the strengths and interests of its faculty, and the needs of its students” (p. 50). Gaff lays out what he perceives as the 43 greatest mistakes an institution can fall into as it reviews and revises its curriculum. The first “pothole” he mentions? When a university decides to find a program to import. Gen Ed 1.0: The Distribution Model

One way to understand the variety of general education models is to place them on a continuum, with so-​called “distribution” models on one side, and “integrative” models on the other (Figure 1.1). Although there is a need to be careful about generalizing, typically a distribution model requires students to take more or less the following courses: • Two courses in the social sciences • Two courses in the arts and humanities DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-2

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FIGURE 1.1 Continuum

• • • •

of general education models.

Two courses in mathematics Two courses in the natural sciences Two courses in a foreign language Two courses in physical education

Variations exist, of course. Some schools allow students to do three math and science courses, choosing two from one area and one from the other. And many institutions grant competency or Advanced Placement credit in foreign languages, mathematics, and other areas deemed appropriate. The history of this model is long and gradual, stretching back at least as far as the nineteenth century and conceptions of what a well-​rounded individual, capable of intelligent discourse, might need to study. More recently, a distributional approach to general education has often been rationalized by a university’s desire to create what it refers to as “well-​ rounded” graduates. English majors, the thinking goes, should know enough about how science works not to be fooled by shoddy reporting in the mass media; similarly, science majors should know enough about the nature of language and its rhetorical uses to be able to distinguish truly profound literary or film art from works designed purely to manipulate emotions. Certainly these are worthy goals. Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models

At the other end of the spectrum are models that might be described as purely integrative. Defining this term can be a little difficult, but generally it refers to a model that makes deliberate attempts to create explicit connections among courses, fields, majors, disciplines, and traditionally academic and nonacademic areas or, even better, is designed to create the opportunity for students themselves to draw those links. A curriculum might be described as integrative if it contains courses like Literary Responses to Science and Technology or Mathematics and Art. These courses could be taught by an individual instructor, or team-​taught, or designed by multiple instructors from different fields but taught individually. Similarly, a curriculum that requires students to synthesize their seemingly disparate educational experiences in, say, a graduation portfolio or a senior capstone course might

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be deemed integrative. In short, I consider as integrative any curriculum that goes beyond simply requiring students to take courses from different disciplines and instead gives them the opportunity, with the help of their professors, to explore the connections among these different areas. It’s important to point out that “integrative” and “interdisciplinary” are not necessarily the same thing. Interdisciplinary refers to programs, courses, or assignments that put together two or more distinct fields, and integrative more often refers to acknowledging the interdisciplinarity that already exists in a given field or topic. Therefore, interdisciplinary, as I’m using it here, often has an artificial quality, moving an instructor away from her discipline into other fields for which she may be less prepared. I have a degree in Victorian literature. Were I asked to teach, individually, an interdisciplinary course discussing literary exegesis and the scientific method, I might rightly argue that I’m being asked to teach something in which I have no expertise. In contrast, I might easily teach an integrative course on science and literature in the Victorian era. Such a course would not require me to move out of my field; rather, it would ask me to use the expertise I already have regarding the period as a lens through which to discuss the science of the era. Thus, I might have students read and analyze the work of Darwin as a literary text rising from a particular social milieu or discuss the use of logic and science (or pseudoscience) in Sherlock Holmes. Similarly, I might easily teach a course discussing the pre-​Raphaelite movement in literature and art or a course on sociological theory of the Victorian period and its influence on novels of the era, discussing theorists like Jeremy Bentham, Karl Marx, and Friedrich Engels, all thinkers I’ve already read and researched in order to better understand my field. Similarly, asking a mathematics professor to teach, say, a course on literature and calculus might be a bit of a stretch (though many of the math professors I know are very well read). But asking a math professor to discuss how mathematics relates to, say, sports or voting methods or social theories on crime would make more sense, because these relate to things that mathematicians (depending on their specialties, of course) already do; math is already implicit within these topics. In other words, an integrative approach to curriculum is not interested in connecting things that don’t come together naturally or even easily. Rather, integration encourages instructors to foreground—​and students to explore—​the connections that already exist between or within various fields. Related to this, integration goes beyond interdisciplinarity in that it’s often designed to connect not just one academic field to another but academic work to life beyond the classroom. A course can be integrative even if it focuses on a single field or topic as long as it explicitly asks—​through lectures,

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discussion, and assignments—​students to examine the implications of the course material on the nonacademic world and makes these explorations part of the criteria for a good grade in the class. It’s tempting, of course, to argue that every course does this. “When I teach biology,” a colleague at another institution once told me, “everything I include in the syllabus is relevant to my students’ lives. Every time they draw a breath—​that’s biology!” Such an argument can likely be made about almost anything we teach, from biology to sociology to political science to art and philosophy. There’s no point, after all, in teaching something that is absolutely meaningless to students’ lives. What I’m discussing here, though, is more a matter of degree and deliberation. A course is truly integrative when it does more than introduce material relevant to lived experience. It is deliberate and explicit about making those connections—​and, necessarily, having students make those connections. One good example is service-​learning, where students are required to apply their work in a class toward the larger community. For instance, an integrative sociology course on writing grants for nonprofit organizations might have students working with programs in the community to draft and revise proposals and then writing a conclusive essay synthesizing their in-​class and out-​of-​class experiences. I am not saying that there is anything wrong with interdisciplinarity or that integrativeness is necessarily better. Indeed, designed carefully, interdisciplinary programs and courses can be very impactful. It is not unusual, though, for faculty to feel anxiety regarding general education and the degree to which it does or does not ask them to move beyond their area of expertise. One purpose of distinguishing the two terms, then, is to alleviate these worries: curricular models or general education courses that are integrative in nature need not require faculty to teach outside their fields. Beyond the courses themselves, any number of structural components can make a curriculum more integrative, including, but not limited to, core courses, capstone courses, campus-​wide themes, and ePortfolios. For instance, requiring a common core—​a class or series of classes—​that all students at an institution must take regardless of major can create opportunities for students and instructors from a variety of disciplines to discuss topics about which they are all concerned—​the state of the environment, the nature of truth, living a purposeful life, to name a few—​each drawing from their own fields and learning from one another. An upper-​level capstone course is another integrative component, one that asks students to synthesize their learning experiences in other courses they’ve taken, attempting to create a meaningful whole out of varied and sometimes conflicting information.

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Another integrative approach could revolve around campuswide themes under which general education courses are organized. A campus might choose, for instance, strands on technology and its consequences, the role of power, or gender and race. Courses might be offered under any of these strands by any department on campus. Under the topic of technology and its consequences, for example, a biology instructor might offer a course on global warming, a sociology professor might offer a course on social networking, and a literature professor might teach a section on science fiction or constructions of future worlds. Each course would have its own syllabus, goals, and assessments, but as students move from a course in one field to another under the same strand, they are given the opportunity to see how different fields approach related topics. Thus, they come to a more meaningful understanding of both the topic and the fields. (For further discussion of this model, see page 20.) A campus might also create an integrative curriculum by focusing less on disciplinary requirements and more on competencies. On the surface, this model might resemble a “distribution” model. Appropriately designed, though, the competencies that students would be required to meet could be fulfilled by taking courses from a variety of disciplines and fields. For instance, rather than expecting students to take two courses in the humanities, two in STEM, and so on, a college might require that students meet the competency “Creative Problem Solving,” a goal that might be fulfilled by taking one class in creative writing and another in mathematics. A competency for “Intercultural Competence” requirements could be met by taking a foreign language course, an anthropology course, or an art history course focusing on a particular region or culture. Because students are crossing disciplinary boundaries as they develop these competencies, they come to understand how different fields approach these areas in different ways—​or how different fields approach these competencies in surprisingly similar ways. The fact that there’s an opportunity for comparison is key here. Indeed, even better than just assigning competencies would be creating some sort of reflective opportunity—​ say, through an ePortfolio, or a carefully designed course assignment—​that explicitly asks students to work through these comparisons. One word of caution: it’s very easy for departments and programs to find themselves gravitating very naturally toward one competency or another: say, foreign languages to “Intercultural Competence,” or political science to “Engaged Citizenship.” In order to have this approach create educational opportunities for students that are truly impactful, steps should be taken to ensure that: (a) all competency areas have the potential for participation from a variety of fields and disciplines; and (b) programs are

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encouraged to spread out their offerings into multiple competencies. (For further discussion of this model, see page 29.) Finally, an institution might use ePortfolios as means by which students can integrate their learning. ePortfolios ask students to collect artifacts from and reflect on their learning experiences: the classes they’ve taken, the projects they’ve worked on, their co-​curricular experiences. When well-​ designed, ePortfolios prompt students to think of each of these aspects not in isolation but in relation to one another: How might that class that asked you to write lab reports have shaped your thinking when doing literary analysis? How did your sociology course shape the way you approached your leadership position in the orchestra? How are mathematics and poetry similar? What might each learn from the other? As these examples perhaps make clear, an integrative approach is less about the individual pieces of the puzzle than about putting these pieces together into a cohesive whole. This is, of course, a complicated skill to learn. As such, institutions should avoid curricular models where integration is limited to one or two moments in the students’ journey. Learning to make these connections—​ to synthesize, to distinguish, to develop something wholly new—​should be practiced regularly, at all levels of the curriculum. The Reasoning Behind Integrative Models

The trend in general education in the United States and elsewhere seems to show a shift from purely distributional models toward models that combine distributive features with more integrative components, moving from the far left of the continuum toward the center and even slightly beyond. The reasons for this shift away from distributional models vary by university, state, and country—​and different scholars point to different sociological and educational trends in an attempt to explain this seismic development in tertiary education. Gaston (2010a), for instance, lists seven “drivers of change.” For the purposes of this book, I’d like to point to five sometimes intertwining causes: the complexity of the world in which we live, the fragmented nature of our students’ lives, the changing nature of the workplace, the challenges of citizenship in today’s world, and a desire to create equitable educational experiences. Our Wicked World

Years ago, I met an engineering professor named Edmond Ko. Stanford educated, Ko had a long career at Carnegie Mellon University and was at the Hong Kong University of Science and Technology when I met him. Ko spoke eloquently of the “wicked problems” his engineering students

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faced when they graduated. First coined by Rittel and Weber (1973) to describe the complex, difficult even to define problems of city planning, as Ko articulated it, wicked problems have several features: • They are dynamic and fluid. What the problem looks like in October could be very different from what it resembles in July. • The problems resist previous solutions and, occasionally, any solution at all: while they might be partially solved, absolute resolution is evasive. • Information about the problems is incomplete and sometimes contradictory. At times, it’s difficult even to understand the parameters of the problem, including what the resolution might look like. • There are competing views at work representing competing interests. These views might have to do with the causes of the problem, possible solutions, or even whether the problem exists at all. • To work with the problems, one must draw from multiple fields. • The problems themselves are urgent. They can not be ignored. Since that initial conversation, it’s become clear to me that we live in a wicked world. The most obvious example of this is perhaps the COVID-​19 pandemic: from month to month we were unsure of how to respond (wipe down our groceries? Wear masks?); the virus resisted previous solutions or means of mitigation; information about the virus was incomplete and often contested; the solutions to the problem drew from multiple fields, including not only science, but also sociology, politics, economics, religion, and communications. Beyond COVID-​19, we can point to a number of wicked challenges in today’s world: poverty, hunger, the resurgence of nationalism, climate change. All of these are wicked problems on a global scale, resistant to resolution, but demanding resolution nonetheless. Ko, who was experienced in curricular design and an advocate for integrative learning, made the point that engineers faced with wicked problems must have “wicked competencies.” Similarly, if all of our students are to respond to the wicked problems of the world (and the workplace; more on this shortly), then they must have wicked competencies. More particularly, they must become: • • • •

Agile in the face of challenges they haven’t faced before Deliberate and thoughtful in their responses to these challenges Able to draw from multiple areas Able to adapt ideas, methodologies, and technologies from one context to another • Not afraid to fail/​able to try again (Hanstedt, 2018)

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Well-​ designed, an integrative approach to general education can create environments in which students can develop these competencies. If, for instance, we not only teach various contents from various fields, but also ask students to explore how they might translate methodologies from, say, literary studies to geo-​science, students will come to understand that this act of translation and adaptation is part and parcel of life beyond the university. Further, if we carefully design courses that occasionally allow students to work with unfamiliar problems or challenges that go just a little bit further than class discussions or lectures, then students will begin to develop the capacity to stay calm in the face of the unpredictable. All of this, though, requires deliberate and thoughtful curricular and course design on our part. The Complexity of Our Students’ Lives

It’s astounding to think about how fragmented our students’ lives can be. Every semester they take multiple courses that cover multiple chapters from multiple books on multiple topics in multiple fields; they write multiple papers, give multiple oral presentations, and take multiple exams; they do these things in major courses, minor courses, elective courses, and those pesky general education courses; they have practicum, labs, internships, work-​study, off-​campus jobs—​and sometimes all of the above. Then they have their dorm lives, their social lives (often two very different things), their spiritual lives, service-​learning projects, and other work in the community. As opposed to their professors, who grew up at a time when it was unusual to communicate with their parents more than once a week, for today’s students, FaceTime, texting, and social media ensure that their home lives—​ their families, their high school friends—​are just as present and demanding as their school lives. They face a plethora of information, a virtual blizzard of factoids that they encounter hourly from blogs, Instagram, and the traditional media. Given all of this, it’s astounding that any students are capable of forming a cohesive thought. One reason why so many general education programs are becoming increasingly integrative is that this approach seeks to create more deliberate—​ and deliberative—​ moments when students can make sense of the often disparate information they’re receiving and the often contradictory experiences they are having. Put another way, an integrative approach to general education creates synthesizing opportunities. I’ve already mentioned some of the ways a curriculum might do this through capstone courses, e-​portfolios, or learning communities. Similarly, carefully designed courses might foreground the interplay among seemingly different topics. A mathematician might create a course exploring the ways in which mathematics plays itself out in various forms of classical music, thereby

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deliberately breaking down assumptions about the seeming disconnect between these two fields. A statistician might create an assignment asking students to apply statistical methods to social justice—​thus connecting math to social science, community service, and students’ own value systems. Or an instructor might assign a paper requiring students from a variety of majors to deliberate on how the course content relates to their own field. For instance, in a gen ed course I once taught on the social functions of poetry, I asked students to write an essay to the director of their major programs explaining why the study of poetry would be useful to undergraduates in that field. The results were telling: a premed student wrote that poetry could increase a doctor’s empathy for her patients; a criminal justice major (and a veteran of the Iraq war) wrote about how studying literature can help us better understand ourselves, crucial for a police officer or lawyer facing a potentially soul-​breaking situation. Similarly, what would happen in a general education sociology course if an English major were given the assignment of analyzing why someone who studies literature might benefit from an understanding of the various forces that drive social interaction? What might an art major required to analyze the relation of chemistry to her field explore about the mixing of paints, the restoration of old works, or an understanding of impressionism? What might a prelaw student come to understand about how an environmental science course might be relevant as he chooses a career path? What a student finally writes in a particular paper (or oral presentation or exam question) about a particular course, though, pales in comparison to the cognitive skill she will develop as she attempts to apply information learned in one setting to another, as she tries to draw connections where, 16 weeks earlier, she saw none. Courses and assignments of this sort offer students the opportunity to put things together, make a meaningful whole, look at contradictions and work them out, weigh options, and make choices that are thoughtful and enriching rather than hasty and inconsequential. This skill, practiced over and over again over the course of students’ four years at university, will allow them to move forward in a world flooded with information and connections and disconnections—​and respond in a productive manner. The Changing Nature of the Workplace

A third point that may explain the increasing use of integrative approaches to general education relates to the day-​to-​day realities of the workplace. One of the beauties of academia—​for students, at least—​is that they always know where they are. On the first day of class, their professors point to syllabi labeled, “Political Science 101,” “English 401,” STAT 1210,” or “BIOL

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220.” There’s a level of reassurance in this. It’s nice to be able to say, “Now I’m going to study chemistry,” or “Today I have classes in art, sociology, and history,” or, “Tomorrow I have a project due in communications.” Unfortunately, that’s not how most jobs work. An architect, for example, might begin the morning doing design, then go to a work site to talk to the contractor, next meet with a potential client to discuss building a new synagogue, and end the day at a city council meeting debating the subtleties of zoning permits. Although we can recognize the various fields implicit in these actions (engineering, management, sociology, religion, history, and politics), in the reality outside academia, these tasks blur together. Is the discussion of the new synagogue engineering, religion, politics, history, or sociology? Is the town council meeting more about business, sociology, politics, or management? In the end, of course, the designations don’t matter. Work is work, and the architect—​like the guidance counselor, the pharmacist, the restaurant owner, the chief financial officer—​must deal with each challenge the best they can. Complicating all of this is the fact that the work world is changing. In Two-​Way Mirrors: Cross-​Cultural Studies in Glocalization (2007), Eugene Eoyang makes the argument that the very nature of work has shifted dramatically. Glossing through 300 years of modern history, Eoyang asserts that the expectations of employers with regard to their employees have evolved from labor (preindustry), to skills (during the industrial revolution), to knowledge (from the 1940s to the 1980s), to insight (today). For our purposes, the most intriguing shift here is between knowledge and insight, with knowledge often used to refer solely to content and insight more about process. Knowledge, as I’m using it here, is quantitative: Do you have the information, yes or no? Do you have the right information, yes or no? Insight is qualitative—​not just, “Do you know X and Y?” but, “When X and Y fail, what ideas, thoughts, or cognitive paradigms do you have that will allow you to respond to this new, unanticipated problem?” Insight requires knowledge, of course; students in any field need to know the concepts of that field. But insight is also able to move one beyond the known and the familiar into the unanticipated and unfamiliar. Although it’s true that many of us (maybe even all of us) in the academy thrive by focusing our energy on narrowly defined topics—​ indeed, sometimes the narrower, the better—​ that’s rarely the world for which we’re preparing our students. Like engineers, accountants also face wicked problems, with laws shifting from year to year and even quarter to quarter. So too city managers must take into account changing budgets, directors of information technology constantly face new bugs and new technologies, and editors daily learn whole new fields in order to provide effective feedback to

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authors. Our students’ work will require them to stretch daily, if not hourly, outside their undergraduate fields. Their work worlds will present them with problems that don’t look like those they read about in the textbooks we assigned them, the problems they faced their first week on the job, or even the problems they struggled with at the beginning of the calendar year. If this is sounding like a repeat of our discussion of wicked problems, in many ways it is. Indeed, surveys show that employers want graduates who demonstrate the flexibility of mind necessary to respond to the dynamic, unpredictable qualities of work in the contemporary world. A 2021 survey of nearly 500 employers from a range of sectors found that respondents rated as “Very Important” or “Somewhat Important,” the following skills (American Association of Colleges and Universities, 2021): • • • • • • • • • • •

Ability to work effectively in teams: 93% Critical thinking skills: 95% Ability to analyze and interpret data: 91% Application of knowledge/​skills in real-​world settings: 92% Digital literacy: 91% Ability to demonstrate complex problem-​solving skills: 93% Ethical judgment and reasoning: 91% Ability to communicate through writing: 90% Ability to locate, evaluate, and use information in decision-​making: 93% Creative thinking: 92% Ability to communicate/​ work with people from different cultural background: 89%

Some of these very clearly fall under the rubric of “wicked competencies”: critical thinking, complex problem-​ solving skills, and creative thinking are all skills necessary to respond to the sorts of unpredictable challenges faced in a rapidly changing work environment. But even some of competencies listed here that may seem unrelated to a wicked workplace actually are the consequence of students engaging in integrated learning: ethical judgment, for instance, is often overlooked in majors but has a presence in many gen ed programs. And increasingly we’re seeing gen ed programs that focus on collaborative skills and the ability to work with peers from different backgrounds and with different perspectives—​ both skills that arise from repeated educational experiences negotiating the complex problem that is collaboration. Interestingly, I would also argue that the ability to communicate through writing, digital literacies, the ability to analyze complex data sets, and the ability to evaluate information are wicked skills, particularly as they’re being practiced today in some of the more thoughtful gen ed structures. Gone are the days of fixed genres and

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20-​page research papers: the academy is realizing that if we want students to enter the “real world” prepared for the dizzying array of rhetorical challenges graduates will encounter, we need to replicate these varying and varied contexts, and the genres and media they’ll require, in our classrooms, in all of our classrooms, repeatedly, in increasingly complicated ways. (More on this in Chapter 5.) The Challenges of Citizenship in Today’s World

What all of this—​the explosion of media, the growth of knowledge, the challenges of globalism—​adds up to is a world where emerging graduates are overwhelmed with information—​factoids, sound bites, polemics, and data. Some of it is real and accurate and some of it blatantly false, but all of it needs to be sifted and sorted, evaluated for accuracy, relevance, and efficacy. Paul Gaston (2010a) states it in this way: Never before has there been so great a need for learned and adaptable citizens capable of taking apart and understanding complex problems, of identifying reliability and authority among the many sources of information, of appreciating the quantitative realities that may lie beneath the surface, of thinking creatively about solutions, of communicating to others the emerging results of their work, and of working with others to bring solutions to practice. (p. 10) Such a world requires knowledge drawn from a variety of fields. When a new and innovative vaccine is developed, citizens should be able to understand, at least at a very basic level, how the vaccine was made (biology, chemistry) and the value of wide-​ spread immunization (mathematics, geography, health). They should also be capable of sifting through varying claims about the vaccine (literary studies, media studies, information literacy) and understand the underlying forces driving some of these conflicting reports (sociology, politics, psychology, religion)—​all of this so that they will be able to respond to the situation in an informed, deliberative, and productive way. Were university education a ten-​ year endeavor allowing over a thousand credit hours, delivering the content that would create such a citizen possible might be feasible. But that is not the case. Students who do remain in academia for a decade generally do so in order to become highly focused professionals versed in a small corner of a narrow field. The rest grab what they can in a four-​or five-​year stint. We can give them a distribution of knowledge, but we can’t possibly cover everything they need to know to react thoughtfully to today’s increasingly globalized,

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technological, polarized society. In other words, citizenship in today’s world requires graduates have the intellectual and cognitive skills that will allow them to respond to new information by calling on past experiences, seeking out appropriate background information, evaluating data carefully and thoughtfully, and synthesizing disparate ideas in productive manner. Even more, citizenship today requires graduates who can anticipate these problems and effectively combine business acumen with ethics and political efficacy with environmental sensitivity. In short, citizenship today needs an integrative approach to university education that goes beyond exposure, moving toward synthesis, deliberation, and application. Equity in Education

Many of us have been in education for so long that we forget what a strange universe it is. Indeed, if we include their undergraduate years even early career faculty have been neck-​deep in the very particular milieu that is tertiary education for close to a decade. Consequently, we’re prone to misjudge how many of our assumptions, behaviors, and expectations are social and historical constructs, the consequence of decades (and even centuries) of practice of a relatively small portion of the population. The idea of a major? It pretty much didn’t exist until the Germans thought of it 140 years ago. The concept that some ideas are unique and need to be credited to one particular person? Not all cultures share that assumption. The readings on the syllabus? Are those requirements, or suggestions? Office hours? Are those times when the instructor is in their office working, or times when students are allowed to knock on their door and ask for help? Some of our students enter university knowing these codes. They’ve been prepared by their parents, by older siblings, by high school experiences that assume they’ll move on and get a university degree. For other students, these norms of practice are a mystery. The reasons for this may vary—​low continuation rates at their high schools, parents who didn’t discuss college at the dinner table, any number of other possibilities—​but finally the causes are irrelevant and certainly not the students’ fault. The point is, from the moment they walk on campus they’re faced with a myriad of confusing practices that have the potential to disrupt their journey toward degree completion. It’s not an exaggeration to say that general education—​both its structures and its rationales—​is arguably one of the hardest codes for our less-​privileged and more disenfranchised students to crack. What are the requirements, generally? And when a particular requirement includes a list of 126 courses that might fill it, how should students decide which course to take? What are the consequences if they take the wrong course? How will this impact

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their major? Their GPA? Their future prospects? And why? Why are they being asked to take these classes? Their friends at home all ask about their major. Their college application asked what majors they were interested in. When they got to campus, their RA asked only two questions: where were they from and what did they want to major in. If the major is so important, why are they even bothering with these general education requirements? This question of WHY is not inconsequential. Without knowing the answer(s), student may view gen ed as a series of requirements determined by the faceless gods of academia, and treat them as such. Internal motivation will be low—​ or even nonexistent. Knowing why, on the other hand—​ knowing how a well-​designed GE structure can prepare for the complexities outlined above—​students may come to see gen ed less as an obligation and more as an opportunity that is aligned with their own goals and values. If general education—​and indeed, higher education more broadly—​is to be equitable, it’s essential that the WHY of a gen ed curriculum be self-​ evident. Allow me to linger on that wording for a moment: yes, we can explain the purposes of gen ed on our websites and in that wordy paragraph on our syllabi; yes, we can extol its virtues in the university president’s opening speech during first-​year orientation. But these strategies are, finally, mere Band-​Aids. “Self-​evident” means, to borrow a phrase from Ellen Crowell, self-​articulating: the models speak for themselves, revealing in their very structures and practices a WHY that students—​even students uninitiated in the labyrinthian assumptions of tertiary education—​can see almost at first glance. Only when those purposes are self-​revealing have we taken a first crucial step toward developing a truly equitable system of general education. Some Examples of Integrative Structures

The kind of structure an institution designs and where it lands along the continuum from distribution to integration will be influenced by any number of things. Some colleges and universities, for instance, may quickly realize that they already have a great number of integrative programs and a faculty that is comfortable with cross-​disciplinary collaborations. Consequently, when developing a new gen ed curriculum, they can comfortably aim toward the far right of this scale. Other institutions may balk at the perceived logistical difficulties of a high level of integration and place themselves further to the left. Nevertheless, every institution should recognize that where it places itself on this continuum will have consequences in two important areas. The first of these is the degree of integration the students will need to perform on their own. At the simplest level, a purely distributional model on the far left of the continuum leaves it up to students to think about how biology and history, political science and statistics, or music history

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and psychology relate to one another. At the other end is a model that does not do all the work for the students but is deliberate about providing opportunities for synthesis and integration and coaches that process carefully. This may sound like an unabashed endorsement for a more integrative approach, as does this comment by Jonathan Smith, a former dean of the college at the University of Chicago, who once declared a single “iron law”: “Students shall not be expected to integrate anything the faculty can’t or won’t” (quoted in Gaff, 1980, p. 55). And certainly there’s some wisdom to such an approach: after all, if the faculty, with their advanced degrees and years of worldly experience and complex ways of thinking, are not deliberate about creating structures that allow integration, then the chances that any but the best of students will achieve high levels of cognitive synthesis seem unlikely. At the same time, of course, a professor can’t do a student’s learning for her. If a developing scholar is to acquire the competencies necessary for the changing workplace, she is going to have to take the lead in achieving that learning. The point here is that in the process of developing a new curricular model, faculty should think carefully about the students at their institution, their goals for these students, and the needs of their students as they decide where along the continuum the institution’s model should be placed. To develop a program that won’t work for the students and won’t create an environment that allows them to do their best work is a waste of time. The second consequence revolves around the frequency and quality of interdivisional conversations among the faculty. Here again the point is fairly simple: a purely distributional model in which faculty concentrate on teaching courses that introduce their fields and make very few gestures toward integration will require only minimal conversations between departments and divisions. Certainly there will be some discussion of standards and criteria, and these conversations will be valuable, but they will likely occur only occasionally, most often early in the implementation process. Even a moderately integrated model, where faculty from across the divisions are teaching an interdisciplinary core course or a series of linked courses, will require greater coordination and a higher frequency of interdepartmental and interdivisional conversation. Instructors will need to meet not just at the beginning of the program or the beginning of the academic year, but likely throughout the term as they seek to ensure that the content they’re providing and the assignments they are creating are in keeping with the work of their colleagues. The benefits of these kinds of continuing interdisciplinary conversations can extend well beyond day-​to-​day logistics. Linguists have known for years that small talk is anything but inconsequential. As we chat with one another

18  The Big Picture

about the weather or nagging health issues, we’re developing a shared discourse and common understandings that make our future interactions more efficient and productive. Similarly, whenever faculty from different departments come together to discuss reading lists and assignment design and assessment, they often end up discussing the things that really drive their work: their students, their own research, how to make the classroom more effective. These conversations have a practical value beyond the task at hand: they disperse effective practices across campus, create a network of support, build a sense of community, and even, perhaps, improve job quality and quality of life. And as Gaff and Ratcliff (1997) point out, all of this also works for the benefit of the students. Three Curricular Structures

An institution that is developing a new curricular model should think carefully about the impact a particular type of program will have on the institution as a whole. What interactions might a particular structure create? To what extent might these be valuable to the forward progress of the university? The three broad curricular structures that follow show varying approaches to integration. They are included here for illustrative purposes only, and should by no means be read as prescriptive. Indeed, it’s important to remember Gaff’s assertion that the biggest mistake any college or university can make is to adopt from another school a model that doesn’t fit its own institutional culture. Nonetheless, these models may be helpful as an illustration of integrative concepts put into practice and a means of beginning discussions about creating effective integrative models of general education. The Core-​Distributional Structure

A core-​distributional model combines distributional requirements with core courses—​that is, courses that are required of all students regardless of their major, and often (though not always) taught by faculty from across campus. Figure 1.2 is a fairly simplistic approach to integrative general education. In this model, students begin in a common course, usually a first-​year seminar of some sort; fulfill a number of distribution requirements; and finish their studies in a common course, usually in integrative capstone course. The idea is that the first-​year seminar prepares students for their distribution courses, providing them some of the skills necessary for success.. The capstone, meanwhile, provides students with a synthetic experience, allowing them to draw their learning from their various gen ed courses together into

Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models  19

FIGURE 1.2 A

core-​distributional structure.

some meaningful application. Indeed, an institution might improve the motivation of students in their sophomore and junior years by designing the model in such a way that the knowledge they gain from the distribution classes is essential for success at the capstone level. Any number of variables exist with a structure of this kind. Institutions might, for instance, place the capstone in the major rather than in the general education program. (Whether this approach is better is debatable, but regardless of where the capstone is placed, care should be taken to ensure that it touches on both the major and general education, because both will be essential to success in the workplace.) Institutions developing a model along these lines will also need to explore how integrated the distributional components in the middle of the curriculum should be. As Ann Ferren (2010) notes, Critics of the undergraduate experience find in programs evidence of a good start and a strong finish but a “muddle in the middle.” Intentionally designed programs address this concern by framing what should happen not just in the first year but also in the second, third, and fourth years. Education is, as it should be, cumulative, with opportunities for reinforcement at many stages. (p. 28) Taking Ferren’s words to heart, perhaps a more productive approach to the core-​distribution model would be to connect the distributional courses (Figure 1.3). Such an approach would better support students in their efforts to integrate different courses and types of learning. After all, asking students to make connections between standard Biology 101 and Literary Analysis 101 is very different from asking them to synthesize the content of a

20  The Big Picture

FIGURE 1.3 A

fully-​integrated core-​distributional structure.

course entitled “Appalachian Ecosystems” and “Ecocriticism and Romantic Literature.” In the first example, no gesture is made on the part of the instructors toward moving the ideas of the course beyond the walls of the classroom. By contrast, in the latter example, course content is being applied to actual practical situations (Appalachia’s forests) and being used to make connections between different fields of study (English and environmentalism). Questions must also be answered about the nature of the first-​ year seminar (or seminars). Will this be an Introduction to College course that covers the nuts-​and-​bolts survival skills a student will need not to flunk out after a single term? Or will this be a Great Questions course that introduces students to high intellectual expectations and a challenging reading load? Or somewhere in between? Are these seminars smaller than typical courses? Are they taught by faculty from across campus or by a few departments? Will every first-​year seminar have the same syllabus, or will they vary? Will these courses be writing intensive, requiring not just the assigning of writing but the application of writing-​specific pedagogies, such as paper conferences and peer-​response sessions? The Strands Structure

The strands model is a fairly straightforward structure wherein courses from the various disciplines are designed around a number of relevant themes or topical strands. One of its strengths is that it allows both disciplinary expertise and interdisciplinary conversations. Essentially the model operates on a two-​dimensional grid—​for example (Table 1.1): On the left-​hand side are the disciplinary perspectives as they’ve been constructed in the twentieth-​century: the social sciences, mathematics and

Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models  21 TABLE 1.1 The basic strands model

Strand A

Strand B

Strand C

Social sciences Mathematics and the natural sciences Arts and humanities

TABLE 1.2 A strands model with sample themes

Technology and its consequences

America and its relationship with the world

What it means to be human

Social sciences STEM Arts and humanities

the natural sciences, and the arts and humanities. Students are required to take a designated number of courses within each of the disciplinary groupings—​for example, two courses from fields in the social sciences, two from fields in the arts and humanities, and so on. So far this is a fairly traditional distributional model. It becomes more integrative when each of the course offerings from each of the disciplines is grouped into a particular, broadly defined theme or intellectual strand that is shared campuswide. What exactly these strands are will, of course, be determined by the institution. As an example, let’s say that University A has chosen three themes (Table 1.2): An institution taking this approach would need to define the parameters of each strand. Let’s say that courses in “Technology and Its Consequences” strand must use the methodology of the instructor’s field to address the actual, perceived, or imagined impact of technological and scientific advances; courses appropriate for the “America and Its Relationship with the World” strand must address the United States, a place or places outside the United States, and the interaction between the two in today’s globalized and complicated world; and approved classes for the “What It Means to Be Human” strand would look at the ways in which a particular field explores the scientific, sociological, psychological, and emotional definitions, limitations, and consequences of the human condition. Within each of these areas, departments can offer courses that address that strand’s theme from their disciplinary perspective. Thus, under “The

22  The Big Picture TABLE 1.3 A strands model with sample themes and courses

Technology and its consequences Social sciences

STEM

Arts and humanities

The changing face of personal interaction (sociology) How your iPod is changing your brain (psychology) Cyberspying (information technology) Ethics and the human genome (biology) Vanishing species (biology) Romanticism and the Industrial Revolution (English) Composition and computers (music)

Consequences of Science and Technology,” a student might find (among others) the following offerings (Table 1.3): Under “America and Its Relationship with the World,” students might discover courses that address both the United States and the rest of the world, making explicit concepts of citizenship in an increasingly globalized world. Here are some possible offerings: For the Social Sciences • Gender and Leadership (Political Science) • Comparative Psychology (Psychology) For STEM • Space and Space Technology (Physics) • The Statistics of Gun Control (Mathematics) • The Changing Pacific (Environmental Science) For Arts and Humanities • The African Diaspora (Literature) • Asia and Modernism (Art History) The “What It Means to Be Human” strand could include a wide variety of courses from any number of fields:

Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models  23

For the Social Sciences • Culture and Identity (Anthropology) For STEM • The Human Genome (Biology) • Does Personality Exist? (Psychology) For Arts and Humanities • What Is the Mind? (Philosophy) • Free Will and Other Myths (Philosophy) Indeed, a strand of this sort might even contain similarly titled courses offered by very different fields as part of its offerings: For the Social Sciences • Understanding Violence (Sociology) For Mathematics and the Natural Sciences • Understanding Violence (Statistics) For Arts and Humanities • Understanding Violence (Drama) In this last example, each field would approach the topic of violence from its particular disciplinary perspective. Students who took all three courses—​ or were required to take all three courses—​would then have the opportunity to come to a better understanding of violence (or gender, or game theory, or poverty) from three very different methodologies. With an approach like this, no coordination would be necessary among the professors, and no professor would be required to step outside his or her area of expertise, but students would nonetheless have an integrative opportunity. Of course, if the institution and the professors felt comfortable with it, some degree—​ even a very large degree—​of collaboration among the three courses would be possible, creating an even richer learning experience for students. Regardless, recognizing that the courses we’ve been discussing thus far are only a sampling of the types of offerings that might be available under

24  The Big Picture TABLE 1.4 A fully developed strands model

Technology and its consequences

America and its What it means to be relationship with the human world

Social sciences

The changing face of personal interaction (sociology) How your iPod is changing your brain (psychology)

Gender and leadership (political science) Comparative psychology (psychology)

Culture and identity (anthropology) Understanding violence (sociology)

STEM

Cyberspying (information technology) Ethics and the human genome (biology) Vanishing species (biology)

Space and space technology (physics) The statistics of gun control (mathematics) The changing Pacific (environmental science)

Does personality exist? (psychology) The human genome (biology) Understanding violence (statistics)

Arts and humanities

Romanticism and the Industrial Revolution (English) Composition and computers (music)

The African Diaspora (literature) Asia and modernism (art history)

What is the mind? (philosophy) Free will and other myths (philosophy) Understanding violence (drama)

the strands the institution has chosen, the curriculum as a whole might end up looking something like this (Table 1.4): Specific offerings would be determined by the interests and specializations of the faculty in a given department. And the strands chosen should match the interests, abilities, and culture of the institution. Indeed, strands might even be chosen to emphasize the geographical location of the school, the unique history of the region, or the philosophical or religious leanings of the institution. In addition to meeting distributional obligations across the disciplines, students in the strand model might be required to take a specified number of courses (usually one or two) in each strand. Because they would likely take six or seven courses across the three strands, students would see at least a couple of disciplinary approaches to the broader themes. In this way,

Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models  25

an institution could ensure that not only do students explore a number of fields, they also explore some of the major issues that drive the work of the university—​and work beyond the university—​from a multiplicity of perspectives. Alternatively, students might be asked to fulfill all of their distributional requirements within a single strand. Although such an approach might limit the kinds of questions students might explore, it does have the advantage of focusing students’ explorations of disciplinary perspectives. Looking at the issue of, say, technology from six different perspectives (two from each division) allows a greater complexity to one’s understanding of how different fields approach a subject. Some institutions might prefer such an approach over one that would spread the same six courses over three different questions, thereby allowing only dual perspectives on each matter. The choice comes down to what the university values. While such a model obviously allows integration for students—​looking at a single question from multiple disciplinary viewpoints—​it also creates more campuswide conversations among faculty and staff. A university choosing this approach would need to coordinate both horizontally and vertically across the institution. Within a division—​say, the sciences—​there would need to be a conversation among the mathematicians, the chemists, the biologists, the physicists, and others to determine the shared goals across the three strands. The common denominators would then ensure that students taking chemistry in strand A were understanding scientific methods as rigorously and effectively as those taking biology in strand C. Similarly, there would have to be a conversation within each vertical strand to coordinate exactly what it means for a course to be a part of that theme. What, for example, makes a course appropriate for the “What It Means to Be Human” strand, as opposed to the “Consequences of Science and Technology” strand? And would there be any common academic outcomes of each strand? Would a student in a technology strand need to be able to show competency in basic information technology skills? What would students who participated in a global strand need to be able to do or say or show to demonstrate that they’d achieved the institution’s goals relative to that strand? In short, this model necessitates both intra-​and interdivisional conversations among faculty. Without these conversations, the kinds of integration we’d be asking students to perform would be virtually impossible. And while some faculty may be inclined to roll their eyes at the thought of having to take time to conduct all of these conversations within their disciplines and with colleagues in more distant fields, the fact is that conversations like this allow institutions to stay on track, ensuring a shared vision of education from one end of campus to the other. Furthermore,

26  The Big Picture

such an approach can help assimilate new faculty into the university, a step that can contribute to avoiding the need for a full-​fledged curricular revision every ten years as faculty come and go, institutional memory fades, and the curriculum and individual courses drift from their initial intent. The Pathways Structure

A pathways structure is similar to the strands structure in that it organizes courses from various disciplines under a common topic or theme: Getting Along in an Age of Division, for example, or Saving the World, or The Science and Culture of Food. As with the strands structure, students undertaking a pathway are expected to explore—​to varying degrees, depending on the campus—​multiple disciplines. A pathways approach differs from the strands structure in several important ways, however. First, the various pathways available to students are not determined by the campus as a whole. Rather, themes or topics—​ and the variety of courses from across the disciplines that are available to explore these themes or topics—​can be developed and proposed by various entities from across the campus (though, of course, they must be approved by whichever committee oversees the gen ed curriculum). Second, and consequently, there will likely be a large number of pathways available to students: whereas the strands structure generally revolves around three or at most five possible topics, a pathways structure might offer students as many as 20 possibilities. The exact number will depend on the culture of the campus, the imaginations of the faculty and staff, and the underlying structure of the gen ed curriculum (read: the gen ed learning outcomes, the degree to which gen ed and major courses do or don’t overlap, staffing and resources, etc.). As with many strands models, curricula that adopt a pathways approach often also require some core courses, particularly at the first-​year and senior levels. These can be helpful in introducing incoming students to university expectations, resources, and ways of thinking, and for providing soon-​to-​be graduates with an opportunity to synthesize their educational experiences into a more comprehensive approach to thinking and problem solving. Institutional Models

The following models have been chosen to provide a greater sense of the myriad possible ways a school can address the challenge of preparing students for a rapidly changing world. Faculty interested in knowing more about these models can go to the web sites I’ve provided or contact university administrations for further information.

Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models  27

Portland State University, Portland, Oregon

Portland State’s program is essentially a pathways model consisting of four carefully designed levels. Freshman Inquiry: this is a year-​ long, theme-​ based course with these features: • It’s taught by multiple instructors from various disciplines who work as a team. • Each course is designed to look at a particular topic from different perspectives. • There are smaller mentor sections facilitated by an upper-​level student. • Each mentor section includes student-​led discussions based on homework assignments. • The overriding theme for this course is the concept of exploration. Sophomore Inquiry and Clusters: this pair of components foregrounds the ways in which general education courses are linked to learning throughout the university. More specifically, this portion of the program works as follows: Students are required to take two Sophomore Inquiry (SINQ) courses that are specifically designed for the general education program. These courses cover topics like American Identities, Families and Society, and Freedom, Privacy, and Technology. Once students have completed both of their SINQ courses, they must choose one that particularly appealed to them and then take three preapproved cluster courses in this area. These courses, drawn from offerings that already exist as part of other programs from across campus, offer students a means of exploring the ways in which the SINQ topic is played out in a variety of fields. For instance, if a student enjoyed their American Identities SINQ, they could then take three related cluster courses from a list of over 30, including: • • • • • • • •

Native American—​Settler Relations Archeology and the Pacific Northwest The Civil Rights Movement Latinos in the Economy and Politics Dance in Film: 1940s–​Present History of American Cities Jews and Judaism in US Post-​WWII Intro to Urban Planning

28  The Big Picture

If a student enjoyed their Freedom, Privacy and Technology SINQ, they might then choose courses from among the following: • • • • • • •

Perspectives on Terrorism Digital Literary Studies Computer Ethics The Science of Women’s Bodies Big Data and the Modern World Biopolitics Philosophy of Law

As with the FYI courses, all SINQ courses also have upper-​class students as peer mentors who work closely with enrollees. All cluster-​approved courses have a “U” designation (e.g., Urban Planning: Environmental Issues is USP 313U). The various offerings clustered with a particular SINQ course are available online, and students understand that not all courses are available all semesters. Senior Capstones: Portland State’s senior capstone courses are designed to be “the culmination of the University Studies program.” They: • Build “cooperative learning communities” by bringing together students from a variety of majors. • Ask students to “bring together the knowledge, skills, and interest developed to this point through all aspects of their education.” • Make explicit the connection between integrative liberal education and productive citizenship by directing students out into the larger community to “find solutions for issues that are important” to “literate and engaged citizens.” For more information, go to www.pdx.edu/​uni​vers​ity-​stud​ies/​ Connecticut College

Here’s an idea: If your general education curriculum isn’t really “general” any more, maybe call it something else? That’s exactly what Connecticut College did at the end of the last decade when they phased out a pretty standard distribution model and replaced it with the Connecticut College Connections. Also something of a pathways model, the Connections requirements begin with small first-​year seminars that focus on writing as a tool for critical thought and lively interactions among students and faculty. In addition to fulfilling a two-​course world languages requirements, students are then

Gen Ed 2.0: Integrative Models  29

asked to enroll in a ConnCourse—​an interdisciplinary course that connects college studies to life beyond the academy. As at Portland State, at Connecticut College students have a variety of pathways from which to choose: Bodies/​Embodiment, Eye of the Mind, Global Capitalism, Migrants and Refugees in a Bordered World, or Power, Knowledge, and Practice. Several features make this model distinctive, however. First, each pathway begins with an introductory “Thematic Inquiry” course in which students engage in an initial exploration of their chosen topic. By the end of this course, each student is expected to develop a question or line of inquiry that: (a) interests them; and (b) guides their course selection as they move through their pathway. Second, students’ journeys at Connecticut are slightly more structured: within the various pathways, offered courses are divided into five “modes”: Creative Expression, Critical Interpretation and Analysis, Quantitative and Formal Reasoning, Scientific Inquiry and Analysis, and Social and Historical Inquiry. Since students are required to take at least three pathways courses from three different modes, there’s some assurance that students will have meaningful learning experiences across the disciplines. In addition, students are expected to participate in a global or local “engagement” that relates their pathways. These engagements include internships, study abroad, or community partnerships. Students’ pathway experiences culminate in a “Senior Reflection” event held each November. At this highly public event, students share the “animating questions” that drove their work at the college, and discuss the learning and insights that resulted from this journey. For more information, go to www.connc​oll.edu/​academ​ics/​deg​ree-​ requi​reme​nts/​conn​ecti​ons/​ Rollins College

Rollins College has a general education model that blends some fairly traditional concerns with elements of a strand or competencies model. The curriculum begins with a Rollins College Conference (RCC), a first-​ semester course based on a broad range of topics and taught by faculty from across campus who also serve as faculty advisors for the students in the courses. In addition to covering academic topics, these courses also explore cocurricular aspects of learning (students enrolled in a particular course also live together) and student mentors who also participate in the RCC. Students are also expected to enroll in five “Foundations” seminars that fall under several themes or strands: Cultural Collisions, Enduring Questions, Environments, Identity, and Innovation. For instance, under the Enduring Questions theme, students might take courses ranging from

30  The Big Picture

“Nature Spirituality” to “Lasers and Light” to “Science and Art: Leonardo da Vinci.” When exploring the Identity theme, students might choose to enroll in “My Body, Myself,” “Asian American Identity through Representation,” “Popular Songs in American Culture,” or “Visual Journals.” Worth noting, as they fulfill their Foundations seminars, students are expected to take at least one course in each of the following “divisions”: Arts, Social Sciences, Humanities, and the Sciences. Additionally, all students have to complete four competency courses in foreign language, mathematical reasoning, writing, and ethical reasoning. For more information, go to www.roll​ins.edu/​roll​ins-​foun​dati​ons-​libe​ ral-​arts/​index.html Conclusion

When students move from field to field and are asked to intellectualize that movement, several things happen: • They have the chance to get used to constantly facing new problems, new challenges, new ways of thinking, new ways of approaching the world. • They are provided the opportunity to see patterns that might not at first be obvious to them—​the ways in which, for instance, a scientific insistence on objectivity is also essential for literary exegesis or how the challenges of writing a computer program relate to the efficiency of language in poetry. • They are given the chance to experiment with transferring and adapting problem-​solving strategies—​to see, for instance, how the methods they learned in psychology last semester can be adapted to the new and different challenges of an art history course. In the end, an integrative approach to general education seeks to create an academic world that mimics more closely the wicked problems of today’s work world. And more to the point, integrative general education attempts to be deliberate about providing graduates with the wicked competencies they will need to be productive citizens in that world.

2 GEN ED 3.0 High Impact Models

Back in the mid-​2000s, George Kuh, the founding director of the National Survey of Student Engagement, worked in collaboration with the American Association of Colleges and Universities’ LEAP National Leadership Council, to dive into the National Survey of Student Engagement data, intent upon identifying “effective educational practices” that correlate with positive learning outcomes—​for instance, the ability to solve complex problems, the ability to think critically, the ability to communicate and work with others from different communities (Kuh, 2008). Kuh eventually came up with a list of practices that, the more students encountered them in well-​designed educational settings, the more they were capable of achieving the kinds of learning advancements our complicated world requires. These “High Impact Practices” (HIPs) are: • First-​year seminars and experiences: these emphasize student agency with regard to critical inquiry and engagement with “big” questions. —​even, perhaps, with the instructor’s scholarship. • Common intellectual experiences: this term refers to “core” courses that are required of all students, regardless of major. Consequently, these experiences have students from multiple fields and with multiple perspectives coming together to explore the course topic. • Capstone courses or projects: these are culminating experiences that ask students to “put it all together”: take what you’ve learned throughout your gen ed and college courses and address some larger problem in society or in your field to work toward some kind of solution.

DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-3

32  The Big Picture

• Collaborative assignments or projects: working with others can be a challenge; working with others to solve a problem allows students to develop the capacity to listen to and learn from peers with different perspectives, and to reconcile sometimes conflicting ideas in productive ways. • Diversity and global learning: here again, the key is creating contexts in which students must find productive means of responding to ways of thinking and approaching the world that are different than their own. That this is an essential skill in the complicated and often conflicted world we live in today goes without saying. • Writing-​intensive courses: our habit is to think of writing as “mere” communication; in reality, as Ronald Kellogg (2008) points out, writing is a radically complex act, requiring students to negotiate audience, purpose, language, disciplinary practices, content, and sources as they seek to articulate their own ideas in a socially constructed genre. Achieving something even approaching fluency with this skill requires multiple opportunities to practice both the required thinking and skills multiple times in meaningful settings. • Learning communities: the idea here is that students enroll in a number of courses approaching a similar topic or problem from different perspectives: social justice, for instance, or overcoming conflict, or what it means to live an ethical life. By engaging similar topics from multiple perspectives, students are pushed to reconcile conflicting ideas and approaches and given the opportunity to synthesize methods to create new ways of thinking about or looking at the world. • Internships: done poorly, internships can involve a lot of photocopying and coffee making. Done well, internships can ask students to reconcile the fixed concepts they’ve learned in their classes with the messy realities of a workplace where different fields and disciplines, different political and regulatory realities, different clientele and client needs tilt our frames of thinking from one day to the next. Not surprisingly, these shifting demands can help students develop an intellectual agility that serves them well, both upon return to the classroom and after graduation. • Community-​based learning: this HIP links in-​ class learning with partnerships in the community. Here again, part of the goal is to complicate learning, allowing students to move beyond simplistic understandings of education as rote memorization toward a more nimble understanding of the ways in which we use knowledge and ideas in the “real world.” Key hereis an increased understanding that education always carries with it an ethical component that requires us to think carefully about how our efforts impact those around us.

Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models  33

• Undergraduate research: this practice employs students as partners in their professors’ research, engaging them in the sorts of open-​ended, sometimes contested explorations that drive our own thinking. Unlike with textbook learning, there are no easy answers here: students may struggle, “failing” on the way to greater learning. This is not, of course, a bad thing, as many of the challenges students face after graduation will require the ability to continue moving forward in the face of adversity. • ePortfolios: this highly integrative practice, which Kuh added to the list of HIPs in 2018, revolves around students archiving artifacts from their educational experiences—​papers, lab reports, digital projects, art work, even exams—​and reflecting on the import of these items for their own learning—​and indeed, for their personal goals, their professional dreams, their sense of what they might have to offer the world. Crucial here is how reflective practice allows students to both deepen their learning (by revising key educational experiences) and “make meaning” out of those experiences. ePortfolios are, to put it another way, where students can put together all of the various pieces of their education in an attempt to make sense of them as a whole. I go into all this detail about HIPs because, increasingly, we’re starting to see curricular models that are driven by these educational experiences. The difference in what I’m terming Gen Ed 3.0 is that HIPs, rather than distribution, are in the driver’s seat. There’s a clear logic to this approach: for one, we have no evidence that distributional models actually help students achieve the kinds of powerful learning we value. In contrast, when implemented in thoughtful ways HIPs can and do improve student engagement, grade point average, persistence toward graduation, and “deep learning”—​that is, a level of cognitive processing that involves not just acquiring information, but understanding its underlying implications and meanings in order to retain, integrate, and transfer that information to different settings (Kuh et al., 2007). In short, HIPs help students actually learn better. Further, while these positive impacts help all students, they have an outsize effect on historically and structurally marginalized students and others who might be shut out by more traditional models of education (Kuh, 2008). For instance: first-​year students who enter college having scored 28 on the ACT and who then engage in a number of HIPs will see a slight rise in their GPA compared to students with similar ACT scores who don’t engage with HIPs. Meanwhile, students who enter college having scored 20 on the ACT and who then engage in HIPs have a GPA rise of almost .25 points over similar students who don’t engage with HIPs. For Hispanic students, the increase is even

34  The Big Picture

more noteworthy: more than .40 (from roughly 2.87 to roughly 3.42) on a 4.0 GPA scale (Kuh, 2008). Similarly, the probability that white or Caucasian students will return for a second year of college goes up almost five points when they have access to and engage in various HIPs. Meanwhile, retention into the second year for African American students who have access to HIPs (vs. those who do not) goes up nearly 15 percentage points. HIPs work for everyone—​and they work even better for those populations that higher education has so often failed to serve effectively. What’s more, there’s evidence that HIPs help students develop some of the dispositional attributes that can have a positive impact on their lives and careers after college. For instance, the more students engage in HIPs, the more proficient they become at a variety of interpersonal competencies: they’re more adept at communicating ideas to others, at interpreting responses when their audience replies, and at then responding appropriately and effectively in turn. HIPs also seem to help students develop greater self-​regulation: managing their time, for instance, or being conscientious about completing their work and meeting deadlines, all while maintaining increased levels of flexibility and resilience when faced with unanticipated barriers. Finally, HIPs tend to lead to greater levels of both crystallized intelligence—​that is, mastery of and memory with regard to information and skills—​and fluid intelligence: the ability to adapt to changing circumstances (Kuh, 2021). Randy Bass puts it this way: “You cannot lecture someone about adaptability, sensitivity to opportunity, or humility, but you can create environments and experiences where those capacities are more likely to be cultivated” (Bass, 2020). Bass goes on to propose a list of these “environments” that overlaps very nicely with HIP: “undergraduate research, community-​ based learning and service learning, credit-​ bearing internships and practicum experiences, social innovation, global education, project-​based learning, and problem-​based curricula.” His logic is simple: by immersing students in these experiences, their learning shifts from book-​ and lecture-​based concepts to the kinds of complex, messy experiences that shape who we are and how we view ourselves, the world, and our relationship to that world. Indeed, Bass’s list of gained dispositions goes well beyond those we’ve discussed so far, broadening to include: Cognitive flexibility, comfort with ambiguity, comfort with discomfort, judgment in uncertainty, action with integrity, integrative thinking, conscientiousness, playfulness, entrepreneurial thinking and action, reflective learning, metacognition and self-​ monitoring, adaptability, systems thinking, synthetic thinking, consensus building, engaged

Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models  35

leadership, managing polarities, cultural agility and humility, self-​ advocacy, self-​ care, perspective taking, sensitivity to opportunity, and critical hope. (222) All of this is in stark contrast to the promise of being “well-​rounded” offered by a distributional model of general education. Or perhaps not? Perhaps the attributes Bass lists are what we really mean when we talked about students being well rounded? Maybe, to put it another way, being fully developed is less about the content we encounter than the environments in which we encounter those contents? Part of the reason why HIPs are so impactful is that they’re driven by pedagogical approaches that we’ve known for decades are powerful (Chickering and Gamson, 1987; Pascarella and Terenzini, 2005; Mayhew et al., 2016). While I'm hesitant to offer yet another bulleted list so soon, these practices evidence arguably the single most important thinking in higher education today, so here goes: • High expectations: the brain likes solving problems and responds well to challenge. College students who have gone through an intense application process don’t want to feel like they’re in high school. Yes, some basic information and skills need to be conveyed, but many HIPs allow us to do that in the context of educational experiences that are both challenging and meaningful. • Substantial time and effort over an extended period: it’s one thing to be assigned a paper or research problem three weeks before the end of the semester. It’s another thing to learn on the first day of class that you’ll have a project and to be prompted—​through classroom conversation, through proposals and annotated syllabi, through peer responding—​to develop your ideas over the course of a semester. The latter approach allows students’ thinking to evolve, for it to overcome barriers or roadblocks or initial failures. And that’s just for a paper. Now think about what it’s like to engage with a community partner over the course of a semester, seeing that relationship fluctuate and evolve over time, experiencing a deepening of knowledge into nuances and details that are overlooked in the textbook. Time on task allows development that’s difficult to achieve otherwise. • Student-​faculty interactions and prompt feedback: time on task requires coaching. It’s hard, and often unproductive, for undergraduate students to stay on task without guidance, including assurances that they’re on the right track and/​or nudges when they’ve lost their way. This feedback is easier to receive and more impactful when students and faculty (and,

36  The Big Picture

increasingly, staff) have developed stronger relationships over time. Indeed, the research of both Richard Detweiler (2021) and Peter Felten and Leo Lambert (2020) have shown that thoughtful interactions between students and mentors can have a positive impact on students’ lives for decades. • Substantive interactions with peers and experiences with diversity: collaboration is difficult. Indeed, in many ways it’s a wicked problem, involving multiple moving parts, ever-​changing dynamics, and no true or complete answers. Students must learn to negotiate not just different ideas regarding the project with which they’re mutually engaged, but entirely different perspectives on the course in which the project is embedded, different perspectives on the value of education and what makes education meaningful, and different perspectives on life in general—​what is to be valued, what is “true,” and what is possible. Developing the capacities required to move through these shifting and varying perspectives can prepare students for a work world where collaboration happens daily. • Real-​ world applications that show relevance: when we talk about demystifying the unspoken codes of higher education, demonstrating the connection between in-​class work and life beyond campus borders can be huge. For many of our students, academics has always seemed like a meaningless and/​or transactional game: “I’ll tell you some things, and then if you can tell them back to me, you get a prize!” Incorporating techniques such as community-​based learning or having students pretend to write to “real-​world” audiences can clarify the purposes behind the learning. This, in turn, can increase students’ intrinsic motivation and engagement. • Competence demonstrated publicly: another feature that can increase motivation, engagement, and performance is asking students to share their work in a formal way with someone other than the professor. This might involve poster sessions in the university commons, oral presentations to which family and friends are invited, or simply asking students to peruse and comment (graciously and thoughtfully) on their peers’ ePortfolio. Here again, the goal is to undercut those transactional assumptions about education by expanding conversations about learning beyond student–​instructor exchanges to broader (and potentially more meaningful) audiences. Here again, I’ve gone into a great deal of detail about the behind-​the-​scenes “ingredients” of HIPs to make a few important points: first, HIPs without these practices will likely have minimal or even no impact on students (Kuh and Kinzie, 2018). Given that many of these practices require, if not greater resources, at least greater effort and intentionality, it makes sense that we

Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models  37

want to implement them as thoughtfully and intentionally as possible. Failing to do so will only lead to greater cynicism for both students and faculty. Second, it’s possible that, when looking at this list of ingredients, an institution might recognize a dearly held practice that isn’t on Kuh’s list of HIPs that might, nonetheless, operate in a HIP-​style manner: a project-​based course that all students take during their sophomore year; a peer-​tutoring program that pairs with career services to foreground the relationships between learning and leadership skills; an outreach program where businesses or institutions bring professional challenges to campus as part of a student competition to “build a better mouse trap.” Kuh himself is very explicit in stating his assumption that the list of impactful curricular (and co-​curricular) components is by no means complete (2021). Thinking more particularly about general education, I would add that HIPs are further super-​charged by their ability to self-​articulate (Crowell, 2018) a greater sense of purpose to students. Put another way, when a student looks at a traditional distribution model, what they see is an emphasis on the WHAT—​the requirements, the obligations, the course offering: take two of this, two of this, and two of this. To the extent that the WHY is explained at all, it occurs only in a brief line or two on the college website or in the received wisdom of the necessity of being a “well-​rounded” person. While both the website rationale and the desire to produce graduates with a wide-​range of exposures (if not skills) are well-​intentioned, they pale in comparison to most students’ more transactional goals for college. Being “well-​rounded” is pretty abstract. A good job, though, one that they enjoy, one that maybe even pays well? That’s something a 20-​year-​old (or even a 40-​year-​old returning to school to improve their prospects) can believe in, can feel on a gut level. In contrast to distribution models, HIPS articulate both WHAT we want students to do, and WHY. When a student learns that they are expected to participate in an internship, or in undergraduate research, or in study abroad, they immediately understand why: to gain “real-​world” experience, to see how science works outside of the classroom, and to prepare themselves for increasingly globalized realities. Similarly, though some may resist them, students understand the value of taking writing-​intensive courses, or engaging in collaborative work. Even some of the less-​intuitive HIPs—​ learning communities, for instance, or ePortfolios—​start to make sense once students are participating in them, especially if they’re implemented thoughtfully, as outlined above. That these practices are able to break through the often cynical assumptions many students have about higher education cannot be understated. While some of our students are able to see education—​both

38  The Big Picture

K–​ 12 and at the secondary level—​ as meaningful and life-​ changing, for many students, raised on state-​mandated tests and algorithmic exams and in-​class instruction, education feels impersonal and meaningless—​or worse, like a twisted Ponzi scheme, designed to take money out of our pockets. If we wish to engage not just our best students—​those who are comfortable playing the traditional game—​but all of our students, we need to find a way to cut through these mindsets. Some Examples of High Impact Driven Models

It’s entirely possible that some colleagues are reading this chapter and feeling their hearts sink: “This sounds expensive! How can we provide all of our students with these high impact experiences?” In response, I offer two ideas: First, begin with what your institution already does. Spend some time mapping out which departments offer undergraduate research experiences, which programs seem particularly good at providing internship opportunities, which programs are providing powerful writing or collaborative experiences in their classrooms. Be certain to cover all of the HIPs, not just the highly visible or flashy ones. Chances are you’ll find that there’s more infrastructure in place than you might have anticipated: most education programs have decades of experience with portfolios, for instance—​as do many studio arts and architecture programs. And a lot of programs have capstone courses or other capstone requirements—​senior papers, for instance, or senior recitals or senior projects. As you map, pay attention to not just what programs offer HIPs, but which students have access to them. Are these opportunities for all students, or just for the highest performing? One of the peculiarities of higher ed is that many universities develop “Honors” programs that include all the HIP bells and whistles, as a means of attracting and retaining better high school applicants. While this approach may make sense in terms of incoming SAT scores and US News and World Report rankings, it’s a missed opportunity when it comes to our mission of educating all students. If we know that HIPs have an outsized effect on historically underperforming students, doesn’t it make sense—​both ethically and financially—​to make HIPs available to as many students as possible? Which leads to the second idea for getting started with a HIP-​driven approach to gen ed: once an institution has mapped the HIPs available on campus, begin exploring ways to expand access. If we have a capstone course that’s particularly powerful in the business department, how might we adapt that model for other departments? If the sociology department seems to do a good job of including writing in all of its courses, which of their approaches can be translated to other fields? Key here is to pay attention to

Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models  39

not just what HIPs are successful, but why: Is it the time on task? The public sharing among peers? The connections to the world beyond campus? This is where those “ingredients” practices mentioned above can come in handy. The HIPs themselves can often appear daunting to instructors already feeling overwhelmed from a curricular revision. These underlying practices, though, are concrete and manageable, taking some of the pressure—​and the mystery—​out of a HIP-​driven curricular reform. In short, HIP-​driven models will likely work best if campuses leverage HIPs they already have, building both on those foundations and the valuable skills and experiences of the faculty and departments engaging in that meaningful work. Bringing the voices and expertise of the latter into the conversation has the added value of affirming the faculty’s ownership of the curriculum. Without a clear understanding that the faculty, finally, are responsible for implementing the street-​level impact of the curricula, little else will succeed. (More on this in Part IV of this book.) Wagner College, Staten Island, New York

When Wagner revised its curriculum, it made a point of highlighting its location in New York City, emphasizing service-​ learning and other components that make use of the metropolitan area. The Wagner Plan requires that students: • Participate in at least three learning communities: one in their first year, one in their senior year in the major, and one somewhere in between. • Participate in extensive experiential learning activities linked to their first-​ year and senior-​year learning communities. • Complete at least ten units with disciplinary perspectives: three each in the humanities and social sciences and two each in the natural sciences (including a lab) and the arts. These courses overlay with the learning communities and other components of the Wagner Plan. • Take courses in or demonstrate competencies in writing, mathematics, oral communication, and computers. The first-​year learning communities at Wagner consist of three courses linked by a common theme and a shared set of students; overlapping assignments, common readings, and “joint problems”; and a smaller reflective tutorial that emphasizes writing and in which the instructor is also the students’ academic advisor. The senior-​year learning communities at Wagner are in the majors, so each is slightly different. Nevertheless, each generally consists of a capstone

40  The Big Picture

course, a reflective tutorial, and some kind of experiential project that is designed to “sum up the Wagner student’s undergraduate education.” For more information, go to www.wag​ner.edu/​wagn​er_​p​lan/​ Worcester Polytechnic Institute, Worcester, Massachusetts

Worcester Polytechnic Institute (WPI) focuses largely on the fields of engineering, science, and management, although it has graduate students in the humanities as well. Part of the goal of WPI is to “convey the latest science and engineering knowledge in ways that would be most useful to the society from which its students came.” The undergraduate program consists of several distinct but related components. The First-​Year Experience: all first-​year students are assigned to “insight teams” consisting of faculty advisers, resident advisors, and student leaders referred to as “community advisors.” These teams plan activities, both academic and otherwise, relating to the challenges of making a successful transition to university life. Great Problems Seminars, two-​ term courses that extend over 14 weeks, are designed to introduce students to “university-​level research and project work.” Each is team-​taught by one engineering or science faculty member with one nontechnical (humanities, social science, or management) faculty member. A limited number of options are offered each year, and all focus on “themes of current global importance.” A recent sampling consists of: • • • •

Feed the World … All About Food Power the World … All About Energy Grand Challenges … All About Engineering for Sustainable Development Heal the World … All About Epidemics

Humanities and Arts Requirement: this requires both a “breadth” and a “depth” feature. In the breadth courses, students must take at least one course from two of three “intellectual clusters”: one in the fine arts, one more or less in languages and literature, and the other including history, philosophy, and religion. In the depth courses, students must also complete one area of focus, taking at least four courses within one of the three breadth areas. At least one of these courses should be at an advanced level. The depth component concludes with an inquiry seminar, or practicum, usually during the sophomore year. The purpose of both options is to provide students with a complex exploration of a topic that encourages both independent thought and cooperative learning. Students who choose the

Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models  41

practicum option will also be involved in a production and performance component that requires hands-​on application of skills and ideas. Projects: WPI students are required to participate in two significant projects. Students generally plan their interactive qualifying project during the sophomore year and execute it during one or more terms of the junior year. They carry out this project in teams of two to four students who work with one or more faculty advisors to “address a problem that lies at the intersection of science and technology with social issues and human needs.” The ideas for these projects often come from external sponsors—​ for example, a project cosponsored by the U.S. Department of Agriculture and the Massachusetts Department of Conservation and Recreation to assess the long-​term implications of the Asian long-​horned beetle infestation—​but may also arise from faculty or students. These projects are generally interdisciplinary in nature and consist of at least one unit of academic work—​the equivalent of nine credits, or three courses. The particular terms the second project, aptly deemed the “Major” qualifying project, vary from field to field, but generally teams of students work within their majors to define and solve a problem during their senior year. Once again, this requires at least one unit of work and is the equivalent of three courses. The ability to effectively communicate the results of their work is emphasized. Global Perspective Program: this program is not necessarily required; nevertheless, about 50 percent of the interactive qualifying projects take place as part of the global perspective program. These occur in project centers specifically designed to prepare students for participation in a globalized world in more than 20 locations worldwide, including Bangkok, Budapest, Hong Kong, Morocco, Japan, France, Panama, Costa Rica, Venice, Namibia, and Silicon Valley. Several components of this program are noteworthy: • It consists of professional-​level projects such as bringing solar power to remote villages in Thailand or assessing the damage to canal walls in Venice. • In the 40 years since the program’s conception, WPI has sent more undergraduate engineering and science students abroad than any other U.S. university. • The goal of this program is not to provide a traditional study-​abroad experience but a deeper level of immersion in local culture. For more information, go to www.wpi.edu/​academ​ics/​proje​cts.html

42  The Big Picture

Drury University

Drury University’s “Fusion” curriculum blends more traditional distribution components and asynchronous learning communities in a manner that does a nice job of self-​articulating purposefulness and meaning to students. The curriculum begins with a pair of first-​year seminars. The first of these, the Frontiers course, serves as an introduction to the skills and mindsets necessary for success in college in the context of an intellectual exploration chosen by the instructor. The second seminar, Intersections, is also a theme-​based course, though it differs in that it is team taught by two or more faculty and explores matters that are more naturally integrative or interdisciplinary. Students are also expected to enroll in a number of more-​ or-​less disciplinary offerings: Creative Explorations, Ethical Explorations, Exploring the Natural World, Exploring Global Cultures, etc. Where Drury’s curriculum gets interesting is with their “Certificates.” Students are expected to complete two of these (generally) interdisciplinary programs: one, a “Life” certificate, provides them a better understanding of the world around them and the ways in which they may choose to interact with that world; and the other, a “Profession” certificate, provides students with professional skills that may serve them in their careers after graduation. Life certificates include topics such as Personal Branding, Ethical Leadership, Graphic Storytelling, Film, History, and Society, and Celebrating Neurodiversity. The Professional Certificate offers study on topics like Cybersecurity, Interactive Design, Leadership, Wrongful Convictions, and Activism Through Social Engagement. The offerings for these certificates draw from a combination of existing courses and courses designed specifically for the certificate. The Graphic Storytelling certificate, for instance, consists of offerings from Art and English. The DEI certificate, meanwhile, offers selections from Education, Business Law, and a “FUSE” course called “Lasting Scars and Open Wounds: Media Depictions of Under-​represented Groups.” The Drury Fusion curriculum includes one more HIP: every certificate is completed through a capstone course, project, or experience. To earn a certificate in wrongful convictions, for instance, students must develop a capstone project that attempts to “reduce instances of wrongful convictions and share recommendations with criminal justice officials, legal scholars, and/​ or forensic scientists.” For the Holistic Health and Well-​ Being certificate, students enroll in a capstone course that asks them to participate in “two intervention projects,” one of which is “self-​focused,” the other emphasizing community. It would be difficult to overstate the wisdom, from a curricular design perspective, of framing these certificates in terms of “life” and “profession.”

Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models  43

Both terms articulate to students an easily understood—​and very desirable—​ purposefulness to this academic work. For more information, go to www.drury.edu/​admiss​ion/​your-​drury-​fus​ ion/​your-​drury-​fus​ion-​cur​ricu​lum/​

University College, University of Groningen

In many ways, the curriculum of University College Groningen (a small, liberal arts college nested in the larger university) resembles general education models we find in the United States: students are required to enroll in an academic skills course that addresses critical reading, argumentative essays, and oral presentations; students must choose from among a number of quantitative reasoning courses; there are integrative electives on subjects like “Love,” which takes a look at the topic from the perspectives of philosophy, psychology, and biology; “War,” which explores not just the historical and political causes of conflict, but topics such as conformity and behavior in extreme situations; or “Artivism,” which looks at the relationship between art and citizenship, exploring matters like migration, self-​expression, and discrimination. Within their major, students have to complete a thesis in order to receive their bachelor’s degree. What sets UC Groningen’s core curriculum apart, however, are a series of required project courses, one each year, in which students tackle complex problems—​ refugees, neighborhood sustainability, “designer humans,” acquired brain injuries, civil society on Mars. Students take on these challenges as a means of applying their learning from other courses, developing both their more concrete problem-​solving skills and some of the more affective dimensions of this difficult work. These courses are designed to help students learn to “take risks, to be enterprising, curious, and committed, and to be determined in the face of complex problems.” As the students transition from their first to the last year of their education, the problems they address don’t necessarily become more complex, but their role in solving them does. The first year, for instance, the problems to be explored are largely assigned by the instructor, allowing student learning to focus on project design and problem solving as well as on developing the leadership skills necessary for more advanced work. Students learn to develop effective guiding questions, to think about how those questions lead to a variety of disciplines, and to ideate possible solutions. For the second-​year projects, the emphasis is on developing research methods and skills in an interdisciplinary context, exploring how disciplinary practices do (and sometimes don’t) cross academic boundaries. Students also continue to develop the leadership and communication skills necessary

44  The Big Picture

for effective collaboration and project development, with a focus on communicating complex ideas to a broader audience in an effective way. The project through line concludes in the third and final year of the undergraduate program. At this point, students are completely responsible for creating and developing their projects, with instructors serving largely as sounding boards for when students hit a roadblock or otherwise need guidance. The expectation at this point is that students will have developed both the intellectual and leadership skills necessary to take on a complex challenge. For more information, begin here: www.rug.nl/​ucg/​educat​ion/​ Conclusion

It’s worth noting that project-​based learning has not been designated by George Kuh as a HIP. Why then did I include two models shaped around project-​based learning in a chapter on HIP-​driven models in gen ed? Because I wanted to make several important points. First, though project-​based approaches have not yet received the HIP stamp of approval, the PBL curricula described here are wonderfully deliberate about incorporating all of the behind-​ the-​ scenes ingredients of effective learning experiences: high expectations, substantial time on task, close interactions between instructors and students and students and students, real-​world applications … and on and on and on. In the end, as useful as it is to have a list of hugely impactful opportunities and strategies that universities can engage in educating their students—​ Learning communities! Portfolios! Study abroad!—​ what really matters are the implementations of these opportunities, the careful design that simultaneously places students in positions of agency and responsibility while also providing them the support—​and opportunities for reflection—​ that they need. When universities put time and resources into emphasizing these pedagogical habits and learning contexts, any number of broader practices will be effective. Second, though making a distinction between Gen Ed 1.0, Gen Ed 2.0, and Gen Ed 3.0 is useful for clarifying the variety of ways institutions might meet the needs of their students, finally, most institutions will arrive at an approach to general education that blends elements of distributional, integrative, and high impact models. The reasons for this are many and varied and relatively obvious: institutional history, student needs, faculty inclinations, resources. All of these will impact—​ and, perhaps, should impact—​the approach to general education that a university develops. Are some structures better than others? Most definitely. Is there some value to each of these broader approaches? Indeed.

Gen Ed 3.0: High Impact Models  45

In the end, it’s not about signing onto one approach or another, joining the HIP club or the integrative club or the distributional club. It’s about building an approach to general education in a deliberative and thoughtful manner that meets the needs of a university’s students now, in this moment in history, in this very complicated, rapidly changing world. And worth noting? Finally, the broader structures of a curriculum are only just the beginning. A gen ed curriculum can have all the bells and whistles, fancy opportunities and HIPs in the world, and none of it will matter if the actual work that students are being asked to do is the same-​old, same-​old. To learn more about this, read on …

PART II

General Education at the Course Level

3 DESIGNING EFFECTIVE GENERAL EDUCATION COURSES

General education courses typically have a very different purpose from major courses. Whatever else they may do, major courses are usually intended to prepare students for other requirements within their chosen field and for a career involving that field. For that reason, major courses generally seek to teach the knowledge and skills particular to an area so that students can do work within that field. In contrast, depending on the sort of program an institution might adopt, general education courses can have a wide variety of purposes, ranging from a barebones “exposure” to different fields and methodologies, to creating opportunities for students to explore the connections and disconnections between different ways of understanding the world, to reflecting on how various courses and other educational experiences relate to a student’s personal and professional goals. Key here is the idea that, regardless of the kind of general education structure an institution adopts, courses that count for gen ed credit must serve the goals and purposes of the gen ed program. This point perhaps seems obvious, but it bears mention: in the rough and tumble of curricular reform, in the politically charged atmosphere of curricular committee meetings, in the pressure-​filled moments between classes when a faculty member may throw together a course proposal, it’s easy to forget the particular needs of nonmajor students. And the stakes for these students are both varied and high: we want them to be engaged in these courses so that they can learn from them; we want them to learn from these courses so that they can move into a complicated world and respond in informed, deliberative ways. Given DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-5

50  General Education at the Course Level

our particular moment in history, the latter is no small task, and requires some thoughtful, deliberative practices on our part as faculty. As a first step, it’s useful think about how a gen ed course fits into the bigger picture. The Course Continuum

Once an institution has decided how it would like to design its curriculum, the courses that come out of that structure will fall along a continuum not unlike the distributional-​integrative paradigm. On the far left-​hand side are standard “101” courses (Figure 3.1). Classes like this require very little explanation: the purpose of Biology 101 (or Sociology 101 or English 101) is to introduce students to the basic concepts and methodologies of the field. The course generally has a standard textbook, with each chapter covering a broad concept or field within the larger topic: cell biology, genetics, marine biology, ecosystems, and so on. For a course of this kind, there will likely be minimal variation from section to section or even institution to institution. Somewhere in the middle of the continuum stand courses that are concerned with both exposing students to the thinking of the field and deliberate attention to matters of integration. Figure 3.2 shows an example of a course from a university in Hong Kong. This course differs from a standard Biology 101 in that it takes a more thematic approach to the field’s content. There are several consequences to such a tactic: • The course will have less breadth. This is not a class that tries to cover every topic related to the field of biology, broadly defined. Nevertheless,

FIGURE 3.1 Standard

FIGURE 3.2 Partially

101 general education course.

integrated general education course.

Designing Effective General Education Courses  51

it will give students a solid grounding in the methodologies and terminologies of the field. • The course will allow more depth than a typical Biology 101, going beyond surface-​level concepts and exploring in greater detail and more intense application material related to marine biology. Less time spent covering a broad range of topics means more time spent going into depth on the material, providing a higher level of complex thinking and intellectual challenge to students, and consequently engaging them more deeply in the course. • Because this course is not coverage driven, there is greater opportunity to include integrative readings, lectures, discussions, and assignments. Victoria Harbor in Hong Kong is an example of an ecosystem and therefore valuable for teaching the discourse of biology. But like all other ecosystems, it is shaped by public policy (sewage in Hong Kong is only partially treated), business practices (40 percent of the harbor has been reclaimed since the start of the twentieth century), societal assumptions, architectural planning, and so on. Deliberately bringing these factors into the mix or creating assignments that get students to do so provides course participants an excellent opportunity to see how the boundaries among the disciplines are often very fluid. • This course will foreground the applications of biology and the other areas that students will study, emphasizing the role these fields play in preparing students to meet the challenges of the modern world. It’s worth noting that rather than having a “BIO” or “BIOL” prefix, this course is designated as “GE.” Many institutions make the deliberate choice to distinguish courses that are in the general education program from those in the major. The reasons for this are many and relatively obvious, but one unusual consequence in this case is that the designation itself blurs some boundaries. One could assume, to put it another way, that GE 261 is a general course numbering that applies not just to biology but to the other sciences as well and that it might include offerings such as Nutrition in Developing Nations (chemistry) and The Physics of Plant Life. Indeed, a scientist might design a course that blurs multiple areas of science, something that’s more difficult when an institution employs traditional “PHYS,” “CHEM,” and “BIOL” distinctions. In addition, an approach of this sort may cause students to pay less attention to the designator and more attention to the course topic, possibly even circumventing the institutional folklore passed down from year to year (e.g., “Biology is harder than chemistry,” or “Take physics: it’s easy!”) and choosing courses based on their personal interests or even their professional goals.

52  General Education at the Course Level

FIGURE 3.3 A

fully integrated general education course.

In Figure 3.3, on the far right-​hand side of the continuum, is Science, Technology, and the Future. At first glance, this course may appear to be just another theme-​based approach to the sciences. The difference, though, is that a course on this side of the distributive-​integrative continuum could be taught by a professor from any field—​or, at the very least, a number of different fields. Thus, a professor from physics might teach a course on space programs, a professor from English might teach a course looking at Stephen Hawking and constructions of the future as demonstrated in science-​fiction literature, and a professor in sociology might look at industrialism and the poor. Alternatively, a school might choose a lecture-​discussion group format wherein students alternate between large lectures by scholars from a variety of fields and meetings with smaller discussion-​oriented groups. In each case, the various offerings of Liberal Learning 210 would meet a shared set of standards and expectations and perhaps even practices and assignments. How these expectations were met, however, would vary from field to field. Implicit within a course of this sort is the necessity of interdisciplinary and interdivisional conversations among faculty. In other words, a class like this could not be effective if the physics professor, the English professor, and the sociology professor didn’t each have a sense of what the others were doing and of the degree to which continuity from section to section did or didn’t exist. Indeed, in an ideal world, students would be required to take multiple sections of a course of this nature, thereby providing them firsthand experience not just of instructor methods but of the ways in which the various fields tackle topics very differently. Such a requirement would enable some high-​end assignments that challenge students to explore how the methodologies of different disciplines vary from one another and the degree to which problem-​solving skills from one area can be adapted to another. Here again, it’s important to foreground the fact that, as in curricular design, where an institution places general education courses along this continuum will have an impact on both the level and quality of interdisciplinary conversations among the faculty—​as well as the degree to which students will have to pursue integration on their own. On the far

Designing Effective General Education Courses  53

right-​hand side of the continuum, faculty by necessity would be involved in regular conversations with one another to ensure the continuity of course purpose and design. Consequently the courses themselves would probably be more integrative, providing more and better support for students and perhaps allowing them to achieve a more complex and thoughtful degree of synthesis. In contrast, the middle course concerning Victoria Harbor would likely engender less—​and less formal—​cross-​divisional dialogue. Certainly there may be times when a biology professor approaches a colleague in political science for some ideas on legislative process relative to environmental policy. But by design, a course of this sort is intended to allow an instructor to work within her own field, not so much crossing disciplinary boundaries as unraveling the interdisciplinary strands that already exist within all of our fields. That said, GE 261 as it is formatted here would certainly necessitate intradivisional conversations. In order to ensure that students across different sections from biology, chemistry, and physics are achieving the same learning goals and being assessed and graded in similar ways, scientists from these different fields would need to have regular formal conversations with one another. This kind of centrist course design does not necessarily mean students are on their own when it comes to integration. A class like this can be highly integrative in terms of its readings, the lectures and discussions it includes, and the assignments and tests it requires. We’ll discuss this more in later chapters, but a single example may suffice. I first encountered the Victoria Harbor course in a workshop at the Education University of Hong Kong, the region’s premier teacher-​training university. Given that all of her students are moving into the field of education on some level (from pre-​ K to secondary education to administration to government policy), the instructor for a course like this could require her students to design a public education project involving the harbor that does all of the following: • Incorporates the hard science of the harbor, demonstrating a familiarity with the methodologies of the scientific discipline • Engages a particular nonscientific audience that is either affected by the harbor or whose actions have consequences for the harbor, or both—​ for instance, developers who wish to “reclaim” more of the harbor in order to build apartment buildings; government officials who determine sewage treatment regulations; advocates for the tourist industry whose work will be influenced by the level of pollution in the harbor • Points to a particular problem in the harbor, proposes a solution to this problem, or does both

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Key here is the first point: whatever else students do with the content they’ve learned in the course, they must be able to demonstrate a familiarity with appropriate scientific knowledge and methodologies. Thus, although the evaluation standards for such an assignment would need to be pitched at a level appropriate for introductory-​level nonmajors, they should be no lower than in a standard distributional course. The advantage of courses that lead to an assignment like this is that they make explicit the connections between this course and other courses students will be taking—​and indeed, between this course and life. Science, in other words, is no longer something students must learn because breadth is good for them, someday this stuff might be useful to them, or some administrator somewhere decided they should learn this. The final course design, on the far left of the continuum, Biology 101 (or Soc. 101, or Poli Sci 101), requires very little conversation among faculty other than possibly department colleagues. It would make sense for an institution taking this approach to have some mechanism—​ an interdisciplinary committee, perhaps—​to ensure a degree of continuity of expectation for all 101 or introductory or distributional courses across the disciplines. Depending on the design, it’s unlikely that there’s room within a course of this sort to provide students much support as they consider how one field varies from another. For one thing, a class of this kind is often intent on introducing students to the breadth of a field. For that reason, coverage of content will drive the course, possibly nudging aside integrative assignments like the one described above. Of course, it’s not uncommon for a course of this sort to serve simultaneously as a general education requirement and an introduction to the major. When this is the case, including assignments or lectures that are geared to integrative thinking often runs counter to the goal of preparing students to advance in a particular major—​ or more accurately, faculty teaching these courses often feel the weight of obligation to deliver content to their rising majors, so that students not be found short in upper-​division courses. In situations like this, there are some integrative features that may be augmented in a curriculum in order to aid greater student synthesis of disparate courses. For instance, an institution might require its students to maintain an ePortfolio, including in it not just artifacts from all of their courses, but a series of integrative essays where they explore the ways in which what they’ve learned in their classes may connect to seemingly unrelated courses. Similarly, many institutions require projects or senior theses that ask students to pull together their learning from various classes. This is the case

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at Wagner College in New York, where capstone seminars are designed to “sum up the Wagner student’s undergraduate education” (www.wage​ner. edu/​wagn​er_​p​lan/​). It’s also the case at Portland State, where capstone courses ask students to “bring together the knowledge, skills, and interests developed to this point through all aspects of their education” (www.pdx. edu/​unst/​unst-​intro​duct​ion). Similarly, one could argue that both the interactive qualifying projects and the major qualifying projects at Worcester Polytechnic are designed especially to create opportunities for students to draw together the methodologies and content areas they’ve encountered during their college education. Major Courses as General Education Courses: A Cautionary Tale

Some challenges can arise when introductory major courses double as introductory general education courses. Consider a mildly clumsy metaphor. Say that you’re an orchestra conductor, trying to lead your musicians through the intricacies of Mahler’s Ninth Symphony, arguably one of the most difficult pieces ever composed. Half of your violinists, cellists, percussionists, and bassists have been trained at Eastman, the Berklee College of Music, and conservatories in Europe. The other half have been playing for only a year. Faced with a mixed orchestra of this sort, be it master musicians and amateurs or major students and nonmajors, an instructor has two choices: teach high to the most knowledgeable students or teach low to the less-​knowledgeable students. Most of us would choose the former. And why not? We know from experience that it’s better to set the bar high and demand more from students than to stoop to a lowest common denominator that may help those most lacking but does nothing for the rest. When we have high standards, after all, both the most informed and the least informed are pushed to perform at their highest levels—​and therein lies the potential for intellectual growth. But such an approach can frustrate students who are unfamiliar with the field being discussed and not motivated to become a professional in the field in question. And although it’s tempting to say to these students, “Too bad. Life is full of frustrations. Get used to it,” the fact of the matter is that a bevy of frustrated students can lead to several unsavory consequences: • A poisoned classroom in which the learning of all is undermined by the attitudes of a few • High failure rates • A lack of actual learning on the part of a large portion of the students enrolled in the class

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All of us want to avoid the first of these: our lives are challenging enough without feeling as if we have to strap on armor before marching into our classrooms. And the second of these may seem inconsequential for faculty: it’s not our job to ensure that students pass our classes. Indeed, that’s their responsibility. But massive numbers of failing students mean wasted resources. When students fail, they have to take the course again. And when lots of students have to take lots of courses over again (and again), that means the institution has to offer a greater and greater number of introductory-​level courses, which in today’s resource-​neutral budgetary environment often means fewer opportunities to offer upper-​level major courses. Above and beyond these economic considerations are matters of equity in education: research has repeatedly shown that dropout and failure rates in traditional disciplinary “gateway” courses disproportionately affect historically and structurally marginalized students, including first-​gen students (Gardner Institute, 2023). The third of these consequences—​minimal or no learning for a large portion of the students enrolled in our courses—​is perhaps a bit more complicated. Again, we may be tempted to say, “Too bad! It’s their job to learn! I just provide the material and the opportunities!” And indeed this is actually the case: we can’t do our students’ learning for them. In order for students to turn our course material into deep learning that will stick with them for years to come, they have to accept responsibility for the material. But this attitude on our part also begs the question: If we’re not that worried about whether our students learn the material, why even require the class? If, in other words, we’re willing to live with above-​average failure rates and lots of Cs and Ds, aren’t we undermining our own rationale for expecting students to take, say, English, biology, or political science as part of their general education distribution requirements? Don’t we insist that our courses be made part of our institution’s core because we believe that this is material that our students can’t—​sometimes very literally—​live without? In the end, perhaps it’s best to admit that there’s something to be said for meeting students where they’re at and recognizing that nonmajor and major students need to be approached in different ways. We’ve long recognized that intrinsic motivation aids learning, and our goal is to teach students and have them learn the material regardless of whether they major in our field. We believe that our fields matter—​that knowing something about history or economics or art or mathematics makes someone a better citizen, a better employer, a happier person, a more able participant in life. If this is the case—​and I suspect it is for most of us—​then a lack of motivation on the part of students can defeat our purposes. And if that’s the case, then requiring nonmajor students to take a course designed for more (and differently) motivated major students might be counterproductive.

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Such a course sends all sorts of messages about the field—​about the uses of the field, about careers in the field—​that don’t speak to nonmajors. Perhaps it is better to design separate courses: those that address the needs of students within the major and those that address the needs of students taking the course for general education purposes. At this point in the conversation, it’s not unusual for someone to raise the question, “But doesn’t all of this catering to students, trying to appeal to their interests, lead to watered-​down, cutesy courses that teach little and waste the time of both faculty and students?” There’s absolutely no reason that this should be the case. The fact that a course is designated as part of an institution’s general education curriculum should have no bearing whatsoever on the intellectual and academic demands of the course or the standards by which students are evaluated. This is important enough that it bears repeating: general education should contain intellectually demanding material and push students toward high standards. To expect anything less is an insult to ourselves and our students. Moreover, it defeats the purpose of liberal learning, sending students out into the world without the knowledge and skills they need to survive. In the end, we can’t ignore one simple question: Are the courses we’re offering as part of our gen ed curriculum actively serving the necessary, very consequential goals of liberal education? If the answer to that question is “No,” then we are ethically compelled to do something about that.

4 HOW THE PURPOSES OF GENERAL EDUCATION CAN RESHAPE A COURSE

The difference between a general education course and a major course covering the same topic is less about what information is provided to students than what students are asked to do with that information. On one level, this clearly leads to matters of assignment design, a topic discussed in more detail in the next chapter. Suffice it to say for the moment that the kinds of assignments we want to give majors and those we want to give general education students are often very different, particularly if an institution’s general education program is more integrative in nature. Although the skills we wish students to demonstrate may be similar in both types of courses, what we’re after in an integrative GE course is for students to be able to transfer the course content to other courses and other settings in an effective manner. In the end, the purpose of an integrative course is to make sure that students can take the information they have examined back to their major, back to their home lives, back to their community lives, all in a meaningful way. How might the ability to construct multiple meanings of, say, Christina Rossetti’s “Goblin Market,” influence their response to Supreme Court rulings in a political science course? How can learning the precepts of string theory shape their work in their philosophy major? What can sociology teach an art historian, a poet, or a student studying environmental science? This goal of transferability influences nearly everything in general education classes. What follows are a number of examples that address several of the challenges that arise when designing general education courses. These case studies present effective solutions to the challenges of designing general education courses, but they are not perfect. (Certainly DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-6

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nobody—​not me, not their designers—​would argue that they are.) The reason is that there is no such thing as a perfect course in the absolute sense. Every course reflects the biases of its creator, the realities—​good and bad—​ of the particular student population to which it is taught, the logistical realities of a ten-​week, 13-​week, or 16-​week semester, and so on. Thus, the courses described here are less prescriptions than catalysts, included not to end a conversation but to offer the chance to analyze the challenges and opportunities presented by general education and to get faculty thinking about the possibilities that may be available to them as they move forward with their own designs. Example #1: A Major Course Revised into an Integrative General Education Course (British Literature)

Having a clear sense of purpose will shape the content of a course. This example is from my own field: literature studies. Were I to teach a major course examining British literature from 1800 to the present (a not uncommon offering in universities), I would focus largely on ensuring that students were exposed to the significant writers of this period. I would feel obliged to include at least the following authors: William Blake William Wordsworth John Keats Mary Wollstonecraft At least one of the Brontes Charles Dickens Thomas Hardy Elizabeth Barrett Browning Christina Rossetti Virginia Woolf T.S. Eliot Graham Greene

Robert Burns Samuel Taylor Coleridge Percy Shelley Mary Shelley Elizabeth Gaskell George Eliot Robert Browning Dante Rossetti and the pre-​Raphaelites Oscar Wilde William Butler Yeats D.H. Lawrence Tom Stoppard

This list, by no means exhaustive, is more or less standard for a survey course for this period. When choosing particular works for each author, I generally select what I feel best represents them—​for example, “Tintern Abby” for Wordsworth and “The Importance of Being Earnest” for Wilde. That said, sometimes I make a decision based on what’s available in the anthology assigned for the course. I may prefer Barrett Browning’s “The Cry of the Children,” for instance, but if my textbook doesn’t have it, I’ll go with (the inevitable) “Sonnets from the Portuguese,” figuring that some Elizabeth Barrett Browning is better than none.

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And, I’ll admit, sometimes I choose a work simply because I can get it to fit. I consider Dickens to be essential reading for this period, but almost all of his novels are incredibly long; David Copperfield, for instance, logs in at around 900 pages. The exception is Hard Times, which is slightly over 300 pages. The problem is that Hard Times, in my opinion, isn’t Dickens’s best work; it’s too didactic and boring on the plot level. But it’s short, and I can fit it in, so it will have to do. Similarly, I might go with “The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock” as a representative work of Eliot, because it’s shorter than “The Waste Land.” Indeed, I would love to include Kate Atkinson’s Behind the Scenes at the Museum, but I can’t find the time. Fourteen (or 16, or 12) weeks isn’t enough to cover more than 200 years of literary evolution. When I teach a general education course, however, I’m less concerned about the obligation of coverage; there’s no intrinsic value in making sure that nonmajor students have read all of the authors I’ve listed. Because they’re not going on in the major, there is no later course where their lack of familiarity with these authors and texts might put them at a disadvantage. Rather, in a general education course, particularly one that’s integrative in nature, I’m concerned more about choosing works that might be relevant to my students’ lives. So when my institution switched to a theme-​based approach to distributional courses, I designed a syllabus that examined the interplay between literature and science and technology. I’ve long been fascinated by the perceived split between science and the arts, and I believe that literature students have much to learn from the sciences, and that science students might find much that intrigues them in the arts. My sense was that designing a course on this topic would create a more explicit connection between the supposedly aesthete world of literature and the “real” world. In other words, my hope was that the course would cease to be about art for art’s sake (to borrow a pre-​Raphaelite phrase) and become a class about how human beings struggle to respond to a rapidly changing world. The syllabus for this new course came to contain this material: • William Wordsworth, selected poems, including “The World Is Too Much with Us” • Samuel Coleridge, selected poems including “Frost at Midnight” and “Kubla Khan” • Percy Shelley, selected poems, including “Ozymandias” • Mary Shelley, Frankenstein • Dickens, Hard Times • Elizabeth Barrett Browning, “The Cry of the Children” • Matthew Arnold, “Dover Beach,” “The Buried Life” • Edgar Allen Poe, “Ode to Science”

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• • • • • • • •

Christina Rossetti, “Goblin Market” T.S. Eliot, “The Waste Land” Ernest Hemingway, The Sun Also Rises Martin Heidegger, “The Question Concerning Technology” and “Modern Science, Metaphysics, and Mathematics” Selected World War I poets Art works by J.M.W. Turner, John Constable, the impressionists, abstract expressionists including Jackson Pollock, and contemporary conceptual artists such as Antony Gormley and Rachel Whiteread Hubert Dreyfus, What Computers Can’t Do Philip K. Dick, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep?

Because I’m not teaching for English majors, I’ve crossed over into American literature, figuring there was no reason to limit myself to one or another continent. Because I’ve long been interested in the visual arts and find that visual learning provides a much appreciated respite for word-​ weary non-​English majors, I’ve included a number of artists whose work demonstrates a deliberate response to the changing world. Similarly, I’ve included two philosophers whose thinking on modernity and technology strengthens class discussions. The result is a course that is both integrative, making deliberate connections between the arts and sciences, and interdisciplinary, bringing more than one field into the classroom. That the class never requires me to go beyond my own comfort zone is essential, given the increasing professional demands placed on today’s academics and my busy personal life. Beyond that, several points regarding my redesigned course bear mention. First and perhaps most obvious, my selection process when choosing particular works became both simpler and more complicated. It’s simpler because I now have a clear set of guidelines when deciding what works to include: whatever I choose must have some connection to matters of science and technological advances. Sometimes this connection is very clear—​in Frankenstein, for instance, and “Ode to Science.” In other works, say, “Goblin Market,” it’s more obscure, requiring some carefully worded lectures or questions on my part to wind out the relevant concepts. At the same time, the selection process becomes more complicated because it requires me to move beyond the massive anthologies that are so prevalent for introductory courses in my field. Thus, instead of simply assigning The Norton Anthology of British Literature, Volume II, 89th Edition, I need to assign several smaller texts in order to maintain my focus. Although this takes a bit more work in the early stages of creating a course, I at least have the pleasure of knowing that my work in a classroom isn’t being determined by the mass-​marketing aspirations of a major publisher

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that knows nothing about my institution, my interests, my students, or the goals of our curriculum. A second important point about this revised syllabus also relates to matters of text selection: because coverage is less of an issue for nonmajor, general education students, the number of texts I’ve included is shorter—​ 16, more or less, as opposed to 24 in the old syllabus. Consequently, the works are generally longer and more complex. Heidegger challenges almost any undergraduate student, for instance, and “The Waste Land” demands a much higher degree of intellectual engagement than does “Prufrock.” What I’ve done in essence, then, is replace a coverage-​style syllabus that forces a fairly superficial approach to the material with a focused address that allows greater depth and more time for reflection and analysis. This last idea is key: because I’m working with nonmajors, I can’t assume a shared discourse relevant to my field on the part of my students. Very likely, I’ll need to spend more time in this class (in contrast to a major course) clarifying both terminology and expectations. What exactly do we mean when we talk about “evidence” in a literary discussion? What’s the difference between denotation and connotation, and why does it matter? How does one write a thesis when performing literary exegesis? How much liberty is a reader allowed when analyzing a text and the writer’s intentions? Finally, as you may have noticed, this second list still includes Hard Times, a novel I’ve just dismissed as boring and didactic. Given my new focus, though, I included it not because it’s conveniently short, but because it says a great deal about how Dickens and Victorian culture struggled with their simultaneous desire to advance the world in a rational way, and their sense, as Mrs. Grandgrind puts it so eloquently, that there must be something more to life than all these “-​isms.” Indeed, because the course as a whole is focusing on technology, by the time we reach this novel, the class has developed a shared vocabulary that allows a wonderfully complex reading of the work, taking us well beyond Dickens’s obvious points into more subtle tensions that we might have otherwise missed. In short, making the shift from a course designed for majors to a course designed for nonmajors changes everything—​ even when it doesn’t. In the end, thinking about purpose, the audience, and distributional versus integrative approaches makes us more deliberate teachers. Whereas previously I made decisions based on habit, what I experienced in graduate school, or some table of contents designed by a publisher, recognizing the ways in which general education and major courses may differ allows—​or causes—​me to think more carefully about my goals, about my students, and about their needs.

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Example #1.5: General Education and Course Structure (British Literature—​Again)

In the same way that general education can liberate us in terms of course content, asking us to be more deliberate when choosing the texts, experiments, and lectures, it can also cause us to rethink the structure of a course. For instance, faced with teaching a general education course covering romantic to contemporary literature, I was inclined to design the class following the chronology laid out in my old textbook: romanticism first, then the industrial revolution, then modernism, and so on. On occasion I’d cluster materials according to topic, breaking chronology to do several readings on gender roles, for instance. But for the most part, the reading and discussion schedule for my course was determined by some random editor somewhere in New York or London. And perhaps there’s nothing wrong with that. What I realized over time, though, was that this approach put non-​English majors at a disadvantage. All of these scientists, mathematicians, economists, and prelaw students walked into my classroom the first session and were told to show up the next day having read a half-​dozen poems in antiquated English that described a world and ideas seemingly unfamiliar to the contemporary mind. This is not a bad thing, of course: I enjoy pushing students, forcing them to deal with material that challenges their sensibilities, aesthetic and otherwise. But I found myself spending an inordinate amount of time in the early stages of the course having to teach to multiple purposes on a daily basis: At the same time that I was providing students with the basic concepts of the field—​ literary analysis, metaphor, persona, and so on—​I was also required to provide historical context and lead complicated discussions about language and meaning. As a result, the literature itself—​its themes, meanings, and implications—​was almost lost among all the other stuff. In the end, I made what I then considered an extreme choice: I taught the class backward. The impact was tremendous. Beginning with the science-​ fiction classic Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? a novel from the 1960s (the basis for the film Blade Runner), I had students who: • Were immediately engaged with the course material • Didn’t have to struggle with sentence-​level reading • Had the energy and time to engage the analytical concepts I was introducing • Came to class with examples from movies, books, and their lives that related to our reading

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• Felt like old hands with literary analysis by the time they got to the end of the course and were thus less intimidated by the older texts that are more difficult to read One unanticipated consequence was the way that Dick’s novel ended up providing a metaphor—​what it means to be human versus what it means to be an android—​that we carried with us throughout the course, applying similar questions to Hemingway, Dickens, and Mary Shelley. In all my years of teaching literature, I don’t remember an operative metaphor of this sort being brought forward from the older works to the contemporary reading. Lost, of course, was the way in which an earlier period can influence a later one, either negatively or positively. Here again, though, this is less of a concern—​if it’s a concern at all—​with this particular population. In contrast to the major, understanding historical influence isn’t the purpose of the course. And to the extent that this knowledge might be useful, a mini-​ lecture about an earlier period generally sufficed. Indeed, mention of an era prior to covering that period can prime students for more effective learning later because the relevant topics of a course are covered more than once, reinforcing the neural networks coding the knowledge. My point here is not to teach every course backward; rather, it’s that thinking about purpose can often free us up in terms of structure, causing us to be more deliberative, creative, and ultimately successful in our teaching. For instance, a course might also be taught in terms of a number of clusters, with three primary texts—​say, Do Androids Dream of Electric Sheep? Hard Times, and Frankenstein—​at the center of the course, and all of the other works read on a secondary level, mainly to inform the class’s understanding of these major pieces. Rather than appearing as a list, then, the course can be visualized as a series of three clusters, with the key works at the center and all of the others orbiting around them. Figure 4.1 is an example of this, drawn from the first cluster of the course, with Dick’s novel at the center. An approach like this highlights the connections between the works rather than the chronological order in which the works appeared or the order in which a textbook places them. In practical terms, it also changes the rhythm of a class: rather than reading a central text in a concentrated period of time (say, two class sessions for Dick’s work), this approach allows a text to be read in sections spread out over a few weeks and intermingled with some of the other pieces that help in understanding it. Not only can this lead to more effective learning, contextualizing smaller ideas alongside larger works, it also helps students unused to lots of reading learn to pace themselves. Alternatively, an instructor might structure a course around a series of case studies, providing students with the information to solve a particular

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FIGURE 4.1 Clustering

texts.

scholarly problem on a need-​ to-​ know basis. This method, sometimes referred to as “just-​ in-​ time” pedagogy, is built around the theory that deep learning is more likely to occur with immediate application of course content. Certainly this makes more sense than a course in which students are asked to be passive all term and then, during the last two weeks of the semester, are suddenly required to be active thinkers. Here again, though, the point is not that there are two or three ways to construct a syllabus that are better than all other approaches. Rather, my argument is that when we pay close attention to the purposes of general education courses, we often begin to see alternative structures that may allow for more effective learning. Examples #2 and #3: General Education and Course Structure, Continued (Physics and Biology)

But enough about literature. “Maybe,” I’ve heard many scientists say, “you can get away with that kind of stuff in the humanities. In my field, though, it’s different.” Okay, so what about fields where, say, covering the course content backward might lead to disaster? Is an instructor teaching a general education course to nonmajors then forced to adhere to the textbook’s table of contents?

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The simple answer is no. Consider, as an example, a general education course redesigned by Rama Balasubramanian and Bonnie Price, both physics instructors. Given the choice between a basic Physics 101 for nonmajors and rethinking a class in terms of deep-​sea and sky diving, they chose the latter. In its previous configuration, this class took a fairly standard approach: • • • •

Unit A: Force, Newton’s laws of motion, and scientific theories Unit B: Light, sight, and rainbows Unit C: Heat, temperatures, and cloud formation Unit D: Buoyancy, pressure, and flight

These topics were presented sequentially, following the order laid out in the textbook. Because of limited time during the semester, instructors were only able to cover two of these units: typically Unit A and one other. Perhaps consequently, the course as a whole sometimes seemed random to the students, with one topic following another with no clear connection. Certainly connections could be made, but that wasn’t always easy. The topic of sky diving and deep-​sea diving was chosen because it allows discussion of a large portion of the topics listed above and it presents these topics in a real-​world context that is tangible to students. For the redesigned course, faculty chose motion as the main theme. The revised course is structured as follows: Unit 1—​Sky Diving: The Motion of Objects Under the Influence of Forces • Embedded topics: Concepts of position, velocity, acceleration, force, air resistance, friction, static and kinetic frictional forces In this unit, students come to understand the concept of motion by performing a set of experiments that answer questions such as these: • • • •

How do forces affect the motion of an object that is moving in a line? What is the difference between uniform motion and nonuniform motion? What is a free-​fall motion? How is the motion of an object affected by gravity and friction?

Unit 2—​Deep Sea Diving: The Motion of Objects Under Water • Embedded topics: Concepts of force, pressure, buoyancy, density, specific gravity, Archimedes principle, Bernoulli’s theory

How the Purposes of General Education Can Reshape a Course  67

Here, students explore questions relating to the factors affecting underwater motion by addressing the following essential questions in a lab setting: • • • •

Why do some objects sink while others float? How do gases respond to external forces? What is pressure? Using pressure and equilibrium, can we build a machine that can lift very heavy objects with very little effort? • How does pressure differ at various locations in air and water? • What role does pressure difference play in enabling birds and airplanes to fly? A quick scan of the topics listed for the original Physics 101 and this course shows that deep-​sea and sky diving essentially focus on units A and D from the original syllabus, with bits and pieces of unit C thrown in where they relate to the topic of motion. Given that the old course was never able to cover more than two of the four units in the best-​case scenario, very little if anything is lost with this revision. What is gained, though, is a sense of unity that allows students to build one idea on another. Whereas in the Physics 101 construction of the syllabus, force, light, and heat were all taught, there was no sense of how they related to one another. This is not a minor detail: cognitive neuroscience tells us that it is always easier to teach a person new information if he or she is able to connect it to prior knowledge (Mantyla, 1986). Established neural networks are stronger than newer networks; therefore, if the new information can be connected to the old, it becomes easier to access. All of this relates to the concept of integration: if we can integrate course content by connecting it to other classes the students have taken, experiences they’ve had in their lives outside class, or even just the very concrete image of a body hurtling toward the earth, there’s a better chance that that content will become part of a student’s deep learning; she will then be able to access that information sometime in the future when she needs it. And that, after all, is why we require these courses: to prepare students for future challenges. Another example of a deeply integrated general education course that also includes a high impact practice is an Ethnobotany course taught by DorothyBelle Poli, a professor of biology. Poli, who’s well known for her innovative and highly effective approaches to course design and student learning, describes this course this way in her syllabus: Together we will look at the relationships between plants and people. The world is full of unique organisms that bring their stories to us, but plants

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are central to man–​royalty, gods, war, trade, medicine, and more. Using a multidisciplinary approach, the class will examine how plant structure and function, diversity, and origins influence human dependency and therefore, shape our cultures. For example, plants provide medicine, but what is really understood in this situation? We will explore how countries with Western perspectives influence non-​Western people. We will dive into how our dependency on particular species causes damage to plants and their habitats. Is sustainability possible? When plants suddenly disappear from our world, how do humans evolve? What does science say? This is an excellent example of a general education course that welcomes in students from a wide variety of majors by foregrounding the variety of ways science interacts with other human practices: sociology, anthropology, political science, history, business, medicine, just to name a few. Nonetheless, Poli’s course is unapologetically a science course. Among her learning outcomes, she expects that students will be able to: • Apply scientific methodologies and concepts appropriate for the course’s discipline and topic • Demonstrate basic knowledge of botany in a manner that allows them to discuss both botanical characteristics and how people have categorized plants to be used for human needs • Articulate the human–​ plant relationship to understand plant history through culture • Develop an understanding of historical drug discovery in order to apply this knowledge in the categorization, applications, and productions of drugs in range of settings Because she is dedicated to her field, Poli has been careful to ensure that nearly all of the content you’d find in a “traditional” Biology 101 course occurs here. Using the course topic to provide examples, her course covers, among other things: cells, structure-​ function, energy use, biodiversity, human physiology, evolution, mitochondria, respiration, organisms, reproduction, and adaptation. As if all of that isn’t enough, Poli then takes on one of the biggest challenges in the sciences: learning out how to communicate scientific knowledge to a more general population. Poli does this through a partnership with Virginia Museum of Natural History. More particularly, students are to work with the museum director and curators to produce three to five projects as part of a larger exhibit on a number of chosen plants. Students will collaborate to identify the plants’ place of origin and other relevant features, culminating in an end-​of-​term presentation to museum staff discussing how the installation

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can be used to educate museum visitors. As I’ll discuss in the next chapter, asking students to write for a more general audience can be a powerful means of getting them to step into expertise on the course topic. Rather than being the passive recipients of course content, students have to achieve enough of a level of mastery that they can explain it to others. Consequently, both their learning and their communication skills are strengthened.

Examples #4 and #5: A Dual-​Purpose Course Redesigned as a General Education Course (Sociology)

The two examples in this section are from the field of sociology. As is not uncommonly the case at institutions that haven’t revised their general education curriculum, this first iteration of Sociology 101 is a dual-​purpose course, serving as both a distribution option for nonmajors and the required gateway course for potential majors. In its original form, the purposes of Introduction to Sociology were stated in this way: Upon successful completion of the course, students will be able to: • • • •

Explain the major theories and research methods used in sociology Apply some basic sociological concepts Begin to use a sociological perspective to examine everyday life Apply their sociological imagination to understand social inequality

Topics covered in this course included as extensive an overview of the field as is possible in a 13-​or 14-​week semester, including most of the following: Stratification

Social control

Theoretical perspectives Education Politics/​power Gender Social class Deviance Socialization Collective behavior

The history of sociology Family Religion Race Groups Culture Population

As with the British literature course, the key driver here is the sense that students need to be exposed to the field as a whole. Majors need this, the logic goes, because it allows them to determine if this is indeed the field

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they wish to pursue and this initial survey prepares them for more in-​depth learning. I’ll leave any discussion of the majors and major courses to professors in each field; they know their students and the demands of their profession. My concern here is with the nonmajors who take a course like this. For these students, the prevailing logic argues that because this is their only exposure to sociology (or whatever other field), they need a course that emphasizes breadth of coverage so that they can learn as much as possible in the short time available. This logic is reinforced in the language of the course goals I’ve included here: students will be expected to explain all of the major theories of the field. In addition, there’s an implicit recognition within this language that quality and depth of learning are being traded for quantity of content: students will be expected to apply some basic concepts and begin to use sociological perspectives. Notably, the major assessment and evaluation methods for the course are four exams worth 20 percent each. The only project for the course is a review of a sociological text, and it is worth less than any one of the exams. The key here is coverage and content: get it all out, hit all of the chapters in the book, and make sure students have encountered everything—​even if they haven’t necessarily used it. What all of this overlooks is that just because students have been taught a subject doesn’t mean they’ve learned it (Gaston, 2010c). Indeed, if we’ve learned anything in recent years about how the brain takes in information and turns it into deep learning, it’s that mere exposure, through lectures or discussion, is not enough. (See Rhodes, 2010; Clark, 2010; and Zull, 2002, particularly the third chapter dealing with brain connections that change “data” into “knowledge.”) Thus, a political science major who takes an Introduction to Sociology course like the one outlined above might perform well enough on the exams to receive an A and might leave the course three months later entirely convinced that sociology has nothing to teach him. Information has been delivered, yes, but if no connections are made—​if, as Gaff and Ratcliff (1997) put it, knowledge is not acted on—​the details will disappear as soon as the final exam is over. This is a bleak picture, of course, and a bit of an exaggeration. Many nonmajors do find some connection with the course—​some component that engages or charms them and that they recognize as relevant to their lives. It’s sociology, after all, and as a friend of mine in the field likes to say, “Sociology is everywhere.” But I’m going to assume that what we’re after in the classroom is more than just random chance that the occasional student will have an aha! moment. If we believe that our fields matter enough to nonmajors that they be required to take them, then we want to universalize those moments of

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success as much as possible, creating a deeper and more applied learning that will last and be accessible and useful for years to come, regardless of a student’s chosen career path. That in mind, the two courses I’m presenting here are explicit in their movement away from coverage for coverage’s sake, choosing instead thematized approaches to the field that are both more focused and more aggressive in their integration. Both courses were originally designed as part of a strands model similar to those described in Chapter 2: courses from different fields are clustered within a loose category to enable greater integration. The first course, “Traveling Without Leaving,” fits under a global strand (designed by Meeta Mehrotra of Roanoke College, Salem, Virginia). The goals of the syllabus state that on completion of the course, students will be able to: • Describe some of the global variation in cultural practices and social institutions • Communicate effectively about global variations in cultural practices and social institutions in an oral format • Describe the methodologies that sociologists use • Explain how social forces shape individuals • Write clearly and effectively about the impact of social forces in their own lives • Articulate how the course’s global perspective is reflected in the course content A few points here bear mention. First, these goals are much less general than those presented for the Sociology 101 syllabus. Students are expected to know and understand sociological theories, but mainly in the context of globalization and global variation. Second, these new goals more likely match the ideals of the instructor; they express, in other words, her highest hopes for her students in the course, not a lowest-​common-​denominator approach. And as Robert Diamond (2008) points, out, starting with less than our highest ideals can result in an inferior course. Third, there’s an emphasis here on writing and speaking about social theories and social forces. In part, this is a consequence of an institution-​specific requirement that all general education courses address two of the following competencies: written communications, oral communications, and quantitative reasoning. It is useful to note that these competencies—​I’m avoiding the word skills, which seems reductive—​add to better learning of course materials. I discuss this topic more in Part III of this book, but basically, writing about, speaking about, or using quantitative reasoning to address a topic leads to greater processing of that topic and likely stronger neural networks relating to

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that topic—​and hence, greater access to the information should it become necessary to retrieve at a later date. The topics covered in this course are more particularly defined than in the generic 101 syllabus. They include: • • • • • •

The importance of globalism Methods of social research The influences of culture on the individual The impact of economics Social constructions of gender A comparative analysis of family

Quite obviously, the number of content items listed here is much shorter than the number listed in the generic 101 syllabus—​six as opposed to 16. In practical terms, this means that each item receives more attention, more time in the classroom, and more reading outside the classroom. This is a simple matter of math: fewer topics in the same finite time period mean more time per topic. In contrast to the Sociology 101 syllabus, where no single topic receives more than a week of class time, students who take Traveling Without Leaving spend two full weeks examining the influences of culture on the individual and two and a half weeks looking at the impact of economics. More time on a topic, of course, means greater depth; greater depth means more detail; and more detail, I would assert, means greater complexity. And complexity and detail are important. Research seems to indicate that it leads to better, deeper learning (Roediger and Karpicke, 2006). When we’re forced by coverage concerns to provide students with a minimal amount of information on a given topic—​say, social constructions of gender—​we’re limited in what we can ask them to do with that information on a cognitive level. I’m thinking of Bloom’s taxonomy here, a not unproblematic paradigm, I know, but one that is nonetheless useful for this discussion. Bloom essentially argues that there are low-​end cognitive skills and high-​end cognitive skills. At the low end are actions like listing, repeating, describing, and paraphrasing. At the high end are skills like appraising, constructing, defending, and synthesizing. Given a limited understanding of a topic—​say, a basic vocabulary and several relevant examples—​it might be difficult for a student to synthesize two seemingly disparate concepts or to evaluate the pluses and minuses of competing ideas in a sophisticated way. In The Art of Changing the Brain, James Zull discusses the distinction between experts and novices: Whether we are an expert or a novice, our brains basically sense the same things. The difference is that the expert knows which part of his sensory

How the Purposes of General Education Can Reshape a Course  73

data is important and which part isn’t. The brain of the chemist knows that the prime (in a chemical formulation) is important, but the size of the delta isn’t. The chemistry novice, on the other hand, sees every little thing as being of equal value. (p. 141) While it would be foolish to argue that spending two weeks on a topic instead of one week will necessarily make a student an expert instead of a novice, it’s not far-​fetched to say that an added week nevertheless allows significant movement away from raw novice, particularly when those two weeks are intrinsically connected to what was learned the two weeks before that, and the two weeks before that, and the two weeks before that. In other words, in a thematically focused course of this sort, the learning of a single content area isn’t isolated from everything else that the student learns: the information learned in the third week can help a student better understand the information encountered in the seventh week, which in turn can help the student understand the information presented in the 11th week. This cumulative effect leads to greater understanding and greater attention to detail, which allows students to present—​and us to expect—​more complex arguments when synthesizing, evaluating, and so on. This isn’t necessarily the case in many coverage-​based courses, where the topics presented in the fifth week (say, marine biology) aren’t necessarily related to those in the 12th week (say, the human genome) or where the connections that do exist are so intricate and obscure as to make using one topic to inform another infeasible. The second redesign of Sociology 101 also takes a focused, thematic approach to the field. This course was designed by Diane V. Brogan, formerly of Roanoke College. Entitled “Elite Deviance,” it states as its course goals that students who have completed the class should be able to: • Identify the nature of elite deviance as well as its social costs and consequences • Analyze the role of power, privilege, and wealth in this social problem • Critically evaluate the conditions and social arrangements that precipitate elite deviance and affect society’s response to it • Predict what social changes would be needed to reduce the incidence of this behavior significantly • Synthesize, critique, and summarize material effectively in order to communicate more succinctly verbally and in writing The goals of this course are even more narrowly focused than in the previous example: everything here relates directly to the concept of elite

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deviance. More explicit here too is the connection between oral and written communications and critical thinking. Writing and speaking in this syllabus is more than just a skill: it’s a means of deepening one’s understanding of the course material. Not surprisingly, the topics covered in this syllabus vary from the travel course. Students enrolled in this section work with: • • • • • •

Stratification and inequality Social control Theoretical perspectives Culture Politics Gender

Many of the same arguments that I made about the Traveling Without Leaving syllabus can be made here: there’s more focus to the reading, and thus more depth, which arguably allows more complex forms of learning. Furthermore, both syllabi are intensely integrative. Unlike the original Sociology 101 syllabus, they seek to have students apply the social theories they learn to everyday life. Beyond that, these courses make explicit connections to other fields. With its focus on globalism, the travel course will have clearly visible benefits for students studying literature, art, psychology, business, politics, and international affairs, to name just a few areas. With its focus on class and crime, the elite deviance course has direct application for students studying psychology, criminal justice, business, journalism, and politics. This is not to say that a general sociology course doesn’t also carry these integrative features: it does. Sociology—​like biology, political science, literature, and nearly every other field we require as part of a distributive model—​touches almost every corner of our lives. The point here is that these syllabi are deliberately designed to foreground these connections, to make this integrativeness—​and not a broad coverage of the field—​the driving purpose of the course. One real benefit here is that both courses allow professors to teach topics that connect to their own professional and personal lives. This is good, of course, because intrinsic motivation isn’t a factor just for students. When we teach a topic that we care about deeply (not to mention one that we’ve studied extensively), we’re more likely to bring a higher level of engagement not just into the classroom but into the time we spend preparing for the course, responding to students’ papers, creating tests, and so on. And while pleasure is sometimes frowned on in our field, it should be noted that burned-​out, cynical, tired, and disengaged faculty benefit no one—​ especially not the students.

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But this is about more than creating “fun” courses: none what’s described here requires sacrificing the learning of students. There is no absolute law that says that a student who hasn’t read X author or Y theory should not be allowed into society. Indeed, by creating a course that allows more depth, we’ve created an environment in which we can demand more complex thinking from students. Examples #6 and #7: Redesigning a General Education Service Course (Statistics)

For a lot of fields, particularly in the natural and social sciences, the study of statistics is a requirement. At some institutions, the department that imposes this requirement might have a statistician on staff who teaches a field-​specific course: thus, there are statistics courses specifically for psychology, for political science, for sociology, and so on. At many institutions, though, staffing is such that this solution isn’t feasible. At these places, statistics will be taught by the mathematics department, and any given section will be filled with students from a variety of majors, including biology, political science, sociology, and economics. Often this course will also fulfill a general education requirement. Moreover, the successful completion of a course like this will be one of the factors taken into consideration for students who apply for graduate school. As a result, the content for a course like this is nonnegotiable: these basics of statistical analysis must be covered: • • • • • • • • • • •

Qualitative versus quantitative data Graphical methods Variability Standard deviation Outliers Probability Unions, intersections, and complements Distributions Regression Intervals Proportions

The key to designing an integrative course that manages to cover all of these topics is to remember that statistics is required by so many majors because it’s key to those majors. Put another way, statistics is required because it’s everywhere. What an instructor must do, then, is choose a topic narrow enough to allow an effective level of integration but broad enough to allow coverage of all of the necessary topics.

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The first course I’m presenting, Does Gun Control Save Lives? designed by Chris Lee of Roanoke College, is a case in point. As Lee points out, the overarching question that drives the course is broad and ambiguous, leading to a number of further questions: • • • • •

What is meant by gun control? Are certain types of guns restricted? Is ownership restricted? Is gun control a federal, state, or municipal issue? What defines a “saved” life? Are we talking just about a home owner or other would-​be victim here, or does the life of the criminal count? • Does the gun have to be actually fired in an incident for a life to be saved, or should the mere presentation of a firearm be considered prevention? • If a home or car or business is entered and a gun seems to prevent further violence, do we count as “saved” the lives of everyone present in the home or business or car, or just the person holding the gun? What looks like a simple question really isn’t. As a result, there’s more room for statistical analysis, more case studies to examine, more ambiguity that students must deal with. And as any mathematician will tell you, dealing with ambiguity and developing interpretation are essential skills when dealing with numbers, not to mention language (Chris Lee, e-​mail to the author, 28 June 2011). In this way, the course is broad enough that it allows all of the standard statistical terms and practices to be dealt with in a contextualized manner. In another course, Statistics in an Online World, Adam Childers foregrounds the ways in which probability and statistics can be applied to social media, smartphone use, and online retailers. Childers tells his students: The focus of this course will be asking questions and then developing the statistical techniques necessary to answer those questions. Armed with probability theory and statistical techniques, we will determine how to summarize, analyze, and communicate key features of a data set. As applications, we will investigate how to quantify and improve the effectiveness of technology, including websites and social media, how to use statistics to help businesses improve their presence on Face Book, and how online retailers and social media sites use consumer data. Here again, we have a course that foregrounds both the value and uses of mathematical thinking in “the real world.” This is a course that not only invites a variety of majors (business, computer science, political science, just to name a few) but also reaches out to pretty much everyone on the

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planet: social media is everywhere, smart phones dominate our lives, and anyone who takes this course will discover new lenses through which to understand our everyday lives. What’s more, as with DB Poli’s course above, Childress’s course incorporates community-​ based learning: his students work with a local organization—​Deaf Dogs Rock—​analyzing data from their Facebook page and making recommendations about optimizing user interactions. In short, everyone wins: instructors have the opportunity to teach the topics that drive their own work; students are given the chance to see the relevance of what they’re studying; and deaf dogs gets some extra attention! Lee puts it this way (e-​mail to the author, 28 June 2011): In a typical intro stat course, the material is plowed through in a linear direction. Each chapter will incorporate examples to illustrate the topic, but there is rarely a common theme to the applications. The content is primary, the application secondary and unorganized. In [the redesigned course] we tried to reverse this. Each course has a theme or question. The pursuit of an answer to the question motivates the study of the material. From the beginning students see that we need statistics to answer questions and make decisions. In other words, “Stat” ceases to be a random requirement and becomes a powerful tool for thinking critically about questions that matter. By integrating content with methodology, meaning is made. The very fact that a course like this cannot narrow its coverage actually works to the benefit of an instructor seeking to redesign, forcing her to examine the real-​world applications—​the ways in which the course material really matters in other fields—​in order to construct a course that makes these connections clear.

PART III

General Education at the Assignment Level

5 DESIGNING APPROPRIATE ASSIGNMENTS FOR GENERAL EDUCATION

In Engaging Ideas (2021), John C. Bean and Dan Melzer discuss what they call “the traditional way to assign writing,” in which students are encouraged to hand in a paper on “any aspect of the course that interests you,” pending the approval of the professor. Bean describes what usually happens next: About halfway through the term, students submit proposals for topics—​usually stated as a topic area rather than as a research question or tentative thesis. The instructor either approves the topic or advises that it be narrowed or otherwise refined … . At the end of the term, the teacher collects and grades the papers. Some teachers mark the papers copiously; others make only cryptic end comments. Much to the teachers’ disappointment, many students never pick up their papers from the teacher’s office. (pp. 89–​90) There is nothing intrinsically wrong with this sort of generic research essay. Indeed, this approach may be exactly what’s needed for advanced students in a major course where motivation is high and it seems safe to assume that somewhere in the syllabus is a topic that interests every student. It’s worth considering, however, the ways in which this kind of assignment might not be as productive as we’d hope, particularly in the context of general education. Consider: • Papers like this don’t necessarily fit the goals of our general education courses and programs: although assigning a research paper with an extensive DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-8

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literature review makes sense in a major course, particularly at an advanced level, general education courses are often driven by a different sense of purpose. And just as the purpose of a course can change the structure of that course, so too can it—​indeed, should it—​reshape the kinds of work students do in a general education class. If one purpose of a general education course in, say, sociology, is to get students to explore the connections between economic class, deviance, and their own fields, why have them look into the narrowly focused and often esoteric research and writing of a bunch of sociology professors? If the purpose of the course is to expose students to the language and methodologies of the field of chemistry, is an extensive and very difficult literature review necessarily the best way to do that? • Are research methods being taught in the course? Research methodologies are complex and need to be taught deliberately. This can take valuable time away from teaching and learning other skills that are built into the course. If learning research methods is one of the intended outcomes for students of a general education course, then requiring one or more research papers makes perfect sense—​assuming the instructor is willing to take the class time to teach these skills, and teach them repeatedly. If this is not the case, however, then grading students on their ability to do a literature review at the university level is inappropriate unless it has been taught repeatedly in previous courses. • Papers like this are easy to plagiarize: even before the advent of artificial intelligence applications like ChatGPT, assignments that are broadly defined and provide few guidelines were easy to plagiarize. Beyond the obvious ethical questions this raises, it’s also worth pointing out that writing is a means of developing greater familiarity with a topic—​and that plagiarism, large or small, inhibits learning. • Assignments like this can lead to “data dumps” and less effective learning: this term also comes from Bean and Melzer (2021), who describes a relatively new college student, “not yet at home with academic writing,” who “patches together quotes, statistics, and other raw information without a thesis or coherent organizational plan.” In short, the student takes all of the information he has “researched” (read: Googled and skimmed) and “dumps” it on the reader’s desk (pp. 22–​23, 75). We’ve all seen papers like this, in which the student strings together a series of block quotations with generic transitions and cobbles it all with a wobbly thesis along the lines of, “There are many ways of looking at the legalization of marijuana,” or “Hamlet was a complex guy.” Data dumps require very little from students in terms of their thinking: they must simply be able to locate sources (usually, again, using a general search engine), summarize them, and cite them appropriately. Even

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evaluating these sources is kept to a fairly minimal level. When students resort to this kind of approach for a research paper, instructors see little evidence regarding students’ ability to think. A paper that’s 90 percent quotations doesn’t allow any instructor to evaluate how much the student has learned, how subtle and complex her reasoning is, or the ways in which the instructor might adapt their teaching to attain greater results. • Students seldom enjoy writing these papers: we know that intrinsic motivation counts for a lot when it comes to learning, which is why we encourage students to choose a topic of their liking. An approach like this, though, assumes that students have found the class as a whole engaging and that they’ve developed a particular interest in a particular topic. Sometimes this is the case, especially in elective courses or major courses. In a required general education course, however, this assumes a great deal—​though this book and others like it certainly seek to address that issue. • We seldom enjoy grading these papers: this can vary, of course, depending on the kind of institution you’re at, the types of students your college is able to recruit, and so on. And even in some of the roughest semesters we might have, occasionally there’ll be a bright student who really stumbles on something he cares about and consequently creates inspired work or works really hard no matter what class she’s in. But more generally? Responding to this work can be a slog. What we need is a way to design assignments that will ensure higher order thinking, pushing students away from summary and paraphrase toward synthesis, construction, and application, and finally, the kinds of insights that will engage them as writers and us as readers. That sounds like a tall order, but it’s not. In the end, what we’re after when we create assignments (and, for that matter, exams) for general education courses is student work that: • Provides evidence that students are learning what we want them to—​ that, in other words, they are achieving the stated purposes of the general education program • Engages students in learning that will be long lasting • Doesn’t make us cry when we read it That last point might sound glib, but it’s quite serious. We didn’t get into this profession to be babysitters and bean counters; we became scholars and professors because we believe that ideas matter and that the work we do is important in creating a better world. Whatever assignments we design

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for students should create a genuine dialogue between them and us about questions and ideas that matter. Creating a More Productive Rhetorical Situation

Paradoxically, one of the ways to get more scholarly thinking and writing from students is to move their work into a less scholarly context. When conceptualizing the act of writing—​or of speaking, or even test taking—​ it helps consider Figure 5.1, one variation on Aristotle’s conceptualization of the rhetorical context. In this construction, changing any one of the three points of the triangle will change everything. Say a student wishes to write a text to her grandmother about a party she went to. In the course of that communication, she will likely construct the writer (herself) as a responsible participant in the event. As she discusses the party (the topic), she will probably leave out some of the more salacious details for fear of offending her nana, deliberately omitting mention of large quantities of alcohol, “hotties,” or “hookups.” If she instead addressed the text to her best friend from high school—​in other words, a different audience—​these same bawdy details might dominate the missive. Indeed, wouldn’t that be the whole point of writing? Similarly, our student would be less concerned about constructing herself in a positive light; she might indeed go so far as to exaggerate her own role in the bacchanal. In other words, changing the audience changes everything. In the same way, changing the topic also has an impact on everything else. Consider, for example, how a text from the same student to the same high school friend would be very different if it were about attending the funeral of a mutual acquaintance.

FIGURE 5.1 The

rhetorical triangle.

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FIGURE 5.2 The

rhetorical triangle configured for a traditional research paper.

FIGURE 5.3 The

rhetorical triangle from the students’ perspective.

It’s obvious that as professors, we have the power to manipulate the rhetorical context: we can change the topic, the audience, and even the writerly roles that we ask students to assume. And these changes will have consequences. Now look at Aristotle’s rhetorical triangle, configured this time along the lines of the traditional generic research paper (Figure 5.2). Given the imbalance relative to the course content between the writer and the audience in this scenario, I’m tempted to draw the triangle in a different way (Figure 5.3), attaching a handle to the top of it and turning it into a dagger, making explicit the danger and risk a student perceives as they stare up at their instructor and up at this topic. The professor, after all, knows the topic very well and is gazing down at the student, grade book in one hand and red pen in the other. No wonder students recoil into data dumps—​it

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can’t be wrong if it’s research!—​or even plagiarism. This rhetorical situation, of the “amateur” student writing or speaking to the “professional” scholar, also likely accounts for all of those jargon-​laden essays we receive. Students, fearing they can’t measure up in terms of knowledge, do their best to at least sound as if they’re part of the academic discourse community. (See, for instance, Bartholomae, 1985.) That students are able to write at all in such a state of affairs is a miracle. What we’re after, then, particularly in a general education context where students are likely encountering relatively new information, is a way of reconfiguring the rhetorical situation so that we can create a more empowering dynamic, one in which students aren’t so overwhelmed by audience that they find themselves struggling to engage in higher order thinking. Considering Some Alternatives

One helpful way of thinking about this is to consider the consequences a particular audience might have on the writing task. What audiences will allow a writer to coast because there’s an assumption of shared knowledge and familiarity with the topic? In contrast, what audiences will push a student to explain complex ideas in a thoughtful manner that can lead not just to understanding by the reader but mastery by the writer? Jane Danielewizc and Jordynn Jack (2009) have constructed three categories that create a useful way of thinking about the relationship between writers and audiences: 1 Insider-​to-​insider situations: the assumption in this scenario is that both the writer and the audience are very familiar with the topic. As a result, insider-​to-​insider writing uses more field-​related terminology and may often leave foundational ideas unexplained (or briefly explained) because writer and reader have shared knowledge. For example, an advanced art history major writing a proposal to her advisor as part of a senior project will not need to define what she means by the rhythm of a piece. Both reader and writer will understand. 2 Insider-​to-​nonspecialist situations: the audience here is generally knowledgeable in the discipline but not necessarily an expert on the topic at hand. A chemist writing a National Science Foundation grant proposal would want to think about a nonspecialist audience, for example, knowing that her readers might not be fully versed in her particular branch of chemistry—​indeed, might even be from the fields of biology or physics. In this case, there is some shared discourse and similar levels of professional engagement, but more than basic information—​and likely

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more explanation of that information—​will be necessary for a successful communication experience. 3 Insider-​to-​public situations: when writing to a public audience, students can assume very little foundational knowledge on the part of their readers. As a result, they must carefully explain every term, every concept, and every idea. An example of this kind of rhetorical situation is a letter to the editor of a local paper or even a blogpost aimed at a more general populace. I’ve included this typology to make the point that, as instructors, we have options available when we design assignments and projects for students. Although the insider-​to-​insider approach might be fine for some students in some situations—​say, advanced undergraduates in a course in their major—​ in a general education context, it often can perform a disservice to both our students and ourselves. Even the best students may struggle to assume the mantle of expertise, filling their essays with off-​the-​mark jargon and glossing over complex ideas. And we may find ourselves reading a stack of essays that skate along the surface and fail to give us a sense of how much the students have learned. The situation is exacerbated in general education courses where “insider-​ to-​insider” might more accurately be described as “outsider-​to-​insider.” Stated more bluntly: assigning traditional research papers where students are asked to locate, read, and add their voices to densely written research of the top scholars in a field is little more than a polite lie between friends: students with other majors pretend that they are scholars on par with professors with PhDs in the field, and the professors pretend not to notice that their “colleagues” are only 19 years old in flip flops who are studying in another discipline entirely. In contrast, shifting to an insider-​to-​nonspecialist or insider-​to-​public approach creates a situation in which students can stop pretending by, ironically, pretending to write to someone other than the professor—​more specifically, to someone whose knowledge level on the topic is more on par with or even below the students’ own. One major consequence of this approach is that it forces students to explain concepts carefully: no longer can they gloss over logic or assume the audience’s familiarity with key ideas from the text or a lecture. Writing to readers who are unfamiliar with the topic requires a kind of “translation” on the part of the student author. On the simplest level, they must take complex terminology that is understood within the field and explain it in a way that the average audience can process: What exactly is a neural network? What do artists mean when referring to chiaroscuro? How does “narrator” differ from “persona”? At a more complex level, this translation involves the

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explanation of intricate ideas: What exactly is the Hawthorne effect? The Stark law? What does a conceptual artist mean when she says she wants to create a space for silence? I once heard a psychology professor describe the various levels of memory available to the human mind. The shallowest form, he said, went something like this. You’re walking along, reading a newspaper. You recognize that there’s a person moving toward you on the pathway and that the two of you might bump into one another. Passing this person, you pay just enough attention to avoid a collision. Two minutes later, when you’re asked the gender of this person, you have no idea. Similarly, shallow summary and data dumping require little else of our students than a casual glance as they copy words from one place to another. The information passes into shallow memory and then disappears again almost immediately. Learning, if it exists at all, will be minimal. By way of contrast, when a student must explain a concept using his or her own words in a situation where it matters—​for example, to an audience who is uninformed about but would benefit from knowing a topic—​a greater degree of cognitive processing is required and will lead to deeper learning. Cognitive neuroscientist James Zull (2002) asserts that deep learning must involve both the front and back of the brain’s cortex, engaging both reflection and action: Data enters learners through concrete experience where it is organized and rearranged through reflection. But it is still just data until learners begin to work with it. When learners convert this data into ideas, plans, and actions … things are now under their control. They have created and are free to continually test their own knowledge. (p. 40) Key here is the distinction between data and knowledge. It’s one thing to gather a lot of factoids (Zull goes on to point out that we live in the “information age,” not the “understanding age”—​and all of this was before smart phones!). It’s another thing to be able to recall these bits of data at will, to see how they connect to one another, to be able to use them effectively in your own work—​in other words, to understand this information. What I’m encouraging, then, is that instructors design assignments that move students in general education courses beyond memorization and regurgitation, toward application and deeper learning. After all, regardless of the type of curriculum or course we’ve developed (distributive, integrative, high impact, or some blend of the three), we want students to remember what they’ve learned so they can use it in their jobs and their daily lives.

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Furthermore, approaching assignment design this way lifts writing, oral communications, and quantitative reasoning above the level of basic skills to what they really are: complex tools for critical thinking. When designing assignments in either the insider-​to-​nonspecialist or the insider-​to-​public mode, it is important to remember the broader goals of the general education curriculum and the particular goals of your own course. Again, all assignments should be designed to ensure that students have learned the material you wish them to learn and can apply these materials in the ways you want them to. An extended example may help clarify this idea. I used to teach a first-​year writing course that focused on the social functions of art—​how, in other words, we use art individually and as a society. My goals for this class were as follows: By the end of the course students should be able to: • Write an effective essay using the appropriate rhetorical methods given the particular audience and purpose • Interpret individual responses to art • Apply abstract concepts about art to particular works • Analyze the role art plays in contemporary life In the earliest iterations of this course, I assigned three papers: 1 Analyze a representational piece of art, pre-​1850 2 Analyze an abstract piece of art, post-​1850 3 Analyze the role art should play in society Certainly there’s nothing wrong with these assignments. But after teaching the course once or twice and looking at the kinds of work I was receiving from students, it was clear that they weren’t exactly perfect either: First, there was a historical structure to them (and indeed, to the course as a whole) that wasn’t necessary. Second, neither of the first two essays really explored the issue of art’s function. Sure, students had to analyze the art, but to what end? Consequently, students weren’t really prepared for the final essay, never having thought before about the roles art might play. Third, I found that the papers were written not just for me but to me. The first is inevitable: if it’s an assigned paper, students may love it, but they’re writing it because I made them. The second is not, and was undesirable in this context. Because students were writing to me, they were engaging in vague generalities, referencing class discussions as evidence, and generally riding on the fact that I knew the material better than they did.

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What I eventually came up with was a series of papers that followed my course goals very closely: 1 Analyze a piece of art that you like, using the formal elements to explain what emotional response it creates for you. Write to your classmates as a means of introducing yourself to them. 2 Use a quotation from our class readings to justify the necessity of abstract art in contemporary society. Write to a skeptical parent or guardian. 3 Make an argument justifying the use of university funds for the purchase of art, explaining the role that you think art should play in contemporary academia. Write to the university president. Several things are worth noting here. First, each paper designates an audience. The first two might be considered public, while the third is more on the nonspecialist level. In each case, then, the rhetorical context forces the general education students to assume authority for their own knowledge and take on the responsibility of explaining the relevant concepts and ideas of the course to someone who isn’t an enrollee. No glossing of terms here. No assumption of prior knowledge. Second, the audiences change for each essay. In most occupations, employees have to write to a variety of readers: their coworkers, their managers, the CEO or board of trustees, clients, lawyers, suppliers, and the general public. Switching up the audiences of my assignments is my attempt to make students more aware of to whom they’re writing and the ways in which different readers require different approaches. Parents, for example, will expect a more formal tone than friends, and the college president will require a tone even more formal still. In other words, creating different audiences creates writers with greater rhetorical flexibility. Third, it’s worth noting that the final paper for this course is a research paper. My sense was that students couldn’t make the points they needed to the president solely through the use of logic and everyday examples; they needed to be able to cite outside sources that had a high degree of credibility. That said, the kinds of research a paper like this requires are rather different from the traditional approach of “choose a topic of your liking.” Most notable perhaps, this paper pushes students to do research beyond the field of art. No one can answer a question about what role art should play in contemporary academia without looking at fields like sociology, politics, psychology, education, and philosophy. Therefore, the design of this assignment is highly integrative, pushing students to consider how these fields and others think about art—​or how art might respond to the issues laid out by these fields.

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Fourth, and arguably most important, these three assignments do a better job of giving me what I want: a greater sense of the degree to which students understand and can apply the concepts that drive my course. They can’t do the first assignment—​or indeed, any of them—​if they don’t know how to analyze the principles of design and the formal elements of art used to construct responses on the part of the audience (my first goal). The second paper clearly gets at my second goal: applying some of the theories that drive abstract art to a particular piece. And both of these essays better prepare students for the third paper, in which they must develop a theory about how art should operate in the social sphere. Two additional points are worthy of mention here. First, the beginning and final assignments still allow a great deal of choice for the students: they can work with whatever artists, paintings, or sculptures they prefer. Although the second assignment allows students less choice—​ they must defend abstract art, whether or not they like it—​they still have some flexibility when it comes to choosing a justification. And to the extent that this assignment forces writers to adopt a position they might oppose on a personal level—​ few of my students come into class loving abstract art—​I would argue that assuming a position of intellectual objectivity is a crucial skill in academia, the workplace, and life in general. And finally, these essays are more interesting for me to read. I never know what types of art students will choose for the first assignment—​I’ve had everything from Rembrandt to Warhol to vampire goth to CD covers. Meanwhile, the second and third papers often bring into play discussions and events from fields I hadn’t considered: eating disorders, gaming, social networks, chronic depression, string theory. While I won’t claim that these papers are always more interesting to read—​or that my reading pleasure should drive the course—​let’s face it: it doesn’t hurt. Further Examples

This approach to assignment creation applies to more than just writing courses or writing-​intensive courses. Here I note additional examples of how shifting audience and purpose can create assignments that more clearly assess student learning, push young scholars toward greater authority over course material, and engage them—​ and us—​ more productively. (While some of the following examples were developed over the course of my career in faculty development, several derive from examples in Barbara Tewksbury’s course design tutorial, The Cutting Edge. See Tewksbury and Macdonald, 2005.)

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Insider to Nonspecialist • Biology: “You are on an environmental policy board that is looking into land reclamation in Victoria Harbor in Hong Kong. Your job is to explain to those on the board unfamiliar with the field of biology the impact of reclamation on marine life. As you do so, please keep in mind some of the key concepts we’ve discussed in the last few units, including but not limited to fecal coliform, species diversity, indicator species, and shore erosion.” • Literature: “You are on the board of a hospital deciding the curriculum for medical students in Wisconsin. Provide a rationale for the inclusion of a literature course in this curriculum, citing and analyzing three particular works from which you feel Wisconsin doctors would benefit.” • Art history: “Your department chair (in a field outside art) has asked you to explain why the study of art is necessary for someone in your major. Write an explanation, choosing at least three works of art to make your point. Be sure to analyze the art carefully, discussing the principles of composition and the elements of design.” • Education policy: “You are a member of the board of a private school considering expansion from primary education into secondary education. You’ve been through this process before and know the pros and cons and have been asked to explain them to the rest of the board. Once you’ve done this, make a recommendation, taking into consideration the key factors discussed in our lectures for this unit.” Insider to Public • Physical education: “You have noticed on recent visits home that your aging parent seems to be gaining weight. Design an exercise regimen appropriate for his or her age, remembering our lessons on metabolism, bone density, diabetes, and other relevant factors.” • Mathematics: “Write a letter to the editor of the Columbus Dispatch about the recent voting machine controversy. Explicitly use ratio and proportion to explain to the average reader how some are manipulating data to create a false controversy.” • Psychology: “A friend comes to you asking for advice about a relationship in which one partner seems to be picking fights. The partner was emotionally abused as a child, and the friend wants to know how to keep the relationship going but end the dysfunction. Offer advice, applying at least three of the methods discussed in Chapter Six of our textbook.” • Philosophy: “You are now the caregiver for two teenage children of a friend who died. Which particular philosopher would you encourage

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these children to read? What corresponding literary work might you recommend? Explain your choices, referring to at least two of the scholarly articles we’ve discussed this term.” Although the audience and level of formality vary in many of these examples, the quality of intellectual engagement does not. Students are expected to know the material and to be able to explain it to people who do not. In addition, these assignments ask for careful application of course methodologies—​essentially, “Don’t just show us that you know it; show us what you can do with it.” Here again recall Zull’s assertion that deeper, more lasting learning requires not just memorization but application. In using the information that we provide in our lectures and discussions and through the assigned texts, students increase the likelihood that they’ll remember that information and be able to recall it later when it might be useful. Mathematics and the Natural Sciences

As may already be obvious, there’s no reason that this approach can’t be adapted to other kinds of student projects, including poster and oral presentations. There’s no rule that says that students speaking to their classmates must address only that audience. Indeed, it makes a great deal more sense to require student speakers giving a talk on politics to speak to a hypothetical audience of politicians (perhaps state legislators). Similarly, it makes a lot more sense for students in a general education course on the sociology of violence to create a poster that speaks to an audience of high school boys rather than to a professor who already knows this stuff. How, too, might a quantitative or scientific reasoning assignment be designed in a science or mathematics course that fulfills general education requirements? Often in my conversations with faculty from these disciplines, instructors express frustration that their students are able to do the problems, but they can’t seem to explain the underlying concepts in written form. How might this change if a rhetorical context were created that not just expected but required a careful explanation in lay terms? A colleague of mine in chemistry asks her students to write about science “as though explaining it to English majors.” She and I laugh when she says this, but we both know that it’s an effective way to get students to process the information and learn it from the inside out rather than just reiterating the words of a text. None of this equates to watered-​down science—​or at least no more watered down than is necessary (in any field) for a young adult approaching a complex topic for the first time. Consider, for instance, the following assignment from a biology course for nonmajors that focuses on food and culture (this is from Demystifying Foods: Why We Eat What We Eat, a

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course designed and taught by Marilee Ramesh at Roanoke College some years back): For your second group presentation, you get to do some role playing. You and your colleagues are a team working for the World Health Organization, evaluating the diets in specific regions of the world and presenting your findings as part of a public service announcement. You will pick your own teams for this assignment and will be randomly assigned a region of the world as the focus for your report. Your team will evaluate regional dietary habits using five case studies as specific examples. Consider these studies as interviews conducted in the field. Case studies will be selected from the book What I Eat: Around the World in 80 Diets [Menzel and D’Aluisio, 2010]. Your presentation will be 20–​25 minutes in length and should have visual aids (PowerPoint is recommended). This assignment is worth 15% of your course grade. In your presentation: a. Discuss the region you are evaluating. Provide some geographical and historical background for the area. Are there any major events that have recently occurred in the region? b. Who are the five individuals who you are using as examples? c. What types of food are people consuming? Consider the percentage of carbohydrates (sugars and starches), proteins (animal or plant), and fats in the diets. Are people eating whole foods or processed foods? Are they eating vegetables and fruits? You should be making generalizations for the region, not providing specific examples. d. Where are they getting their food? Hunter/​gather, farming, grocery, restaurant? How much of their diet is food they or someone in their family cooks, and how much is prepared elsewhere (processed or purchased food)? Is there a profession related to the food industry? e. Are they eating enough food or too much food? What is missing or overabundant in their diets? What influences their decisions on what they will eat that day? Do they have a healthy diet? f. Are there any external conditions that impact their diet or access to food? Consider economic, environmental, social, or cultural factors (think about wars, social unrest, droughts, etc.). g. Incorporate what you have discovered from the case studies with general statistics for your region. A place to start is pp. 330–​331 of What I Eat, but you will want to find some

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additional sources. Do your specific case studies reflect a larger trend seen throughout the region? h. Propose your recommendations. What, if any, changes need to be made for the dietary conditions to be improved to result in a more nutritional diet for this region? Based on your understanding of nutrition, what recommendations does your group make, and how could these recommendations be implemented? Discuss both what should be done and how it could be set up. Notable here is the degree to which students must know their science in order to succeed with this assignment: how to calculate carbohydrate, protein, and fat intake; the content of a healthy diet; and geographical influences on diet. Notice as well that students aren’t able to rely solely on what they’ve already read and learned from lectures; they’ll have to collect more statistical data to show an understanding of their region. So research is required, but it’s a specific, focused type of research that won’t allow a data dump. This is also a highly integrated assignment. All science is of course connected to the world, but this assignment does an excellent job of explicitly foregrounding those connections to students: this project can’t occur in an acontextualized manner. And the assignment is also integrative in that it connects with so many of the fields from which the nonbiology enrollees in the course might come: politics, geography, sociology, chemistry, and so on. In another example, Gary Hollis, a chemistry professor, teaches a general chemistry course for nonmajors focusing on the science of crime scene investigation. One of the midterm assignments for the class has students analyze a poison. The prompt is as follows: Congratulations. You have been selected as one of seventeen finalists for the position of Crime Scene Investigator with the city of Las Vegas. The starting salary is $85,000, plus benefits. Ultimate success or failure in acquiring this job rests with your performance on the following test involving toxicological evidence. You will be evaluated on the report that you submit. This report should contain a brief description of the chemical and physical properties of your assigned toxin, an explanation of its origins (where it’s found in nature, how it’s isolated, etc.), a detailed description of its mode of action (how it works as a poison), and a longer section wherein you summarize the facts of a case in which this poison was used. As I evaluate your final reports, particular emphasis will be given to the following criteria: 1. Chemistry content (Is chemistry the focus of your paper? Is your chemistry content correct?)

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2. Quality of research (Are your sources authoritative and credible? Have you cited appropriately?) 3. Paragraph structure (Does each paragraph have a topic sentence that is supported and illustrated by the details in the remaining sentences of that paragraph?) 4. Descriptive detail (Are your descriptions vivid and fresh without seeming stilted and clunky? Are your descriptions complete?) 5. Organization/​ clarity (Does your paper have a suitable introduction and conclusion? Are there appropriate transitions between sections? Is your prose clear?) 6. Format and standard usage (Does your report contain the required parts and follow the requested format? Will your report reflect positively on the department? Does it conform to accepted conventions of written English?) This particular course is writing intensive by definition, which in part explains the last four criteria (although, of course, scientists care about these things too). Aside from that, what’s being asked of the students is as real a form of science as occurs in most undergraduate science courses for nonmajors. My sense is that nothing I’m saying here will shock those in the sciences: this is a discipline, after all, that has valued hands-​on, contextualized learning in the form of required lab work almost since its conception. The suggestion that the applications of science and mathematics be made even more explicit, tying particular theories to real-​world situations and uses, is not a radical shift. Nevertheless, it’s not uncommon in the general education context that our best intentions and best practices become watered down in ways that we hadn’t anticipated. Courses that are shared among colleagues become no one’s priority; textbooks become increasingly more generic and bland as publishers seek to increase their market share; a lack of lab space or lab assistants leads to a standardization of lab offerings in the name of efficiency. These trends are by no means limited to mathematics and the sciences, of course, but faced with them, we all tend to fall back on the way things have always been done and the methods we perceive as safe and reliable. Given all of this, sometimes it’s good to shake things up a little. A case in point is a slightly quirkier example from a general education course on evolutionary biology. The first goal of the course states, “Students will be able to describe and apply scientific methodologies appropriate for the course’s discipline and topic.” The course instructor, DorothyBelle Poli at Roanoke College who regularly publishes on alternative methods in the

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teaching of the sciences, provides students with the following assignment prompt: Central dogma states that DNA is used to make RNA through transcription. RNA is then used to make protein through translation. These concepts are not always easy for students to grasp, and therefore, your mission will be to create a cartoon that depicts the process of DNA → RNA → protein in a way that would be helpful for another college student. You must use a metaphor for the process but make sure that you use appropriate scientific terms to help you explain the events. Make sure to label enzymes, proteins, etc. that we discussed in class. Cartoons should be taken seriously and should be drawn up to the best of your ability. You will be graded on creativity, professional presentation, and neatness alongside the accuracy of the scientific process. All dogma cartoons will be collected and shown at a student-​centered session titled “Roanoke College Conference on Student Research & Creativity” held in the Colket Center on Saturday, March 19, 2011. Please keep this in mind. This unorthodox assignment illustrates a number of valuable points: • The idea that students are able to assume a greater degree of authority by pitching their work toward a less informed audience and that this sense of responsibility—​of having to really know the material, not just make a nod in its direction—​can lead to better, more detailed, deeper learning. • The fact that different fields require different methods. Writing assignments work in a lot of fields, but not all of them, at least not all of the time. The sciences of course use writing, but often they favor a more efficient, lean approach that uses symbols, diagrams, and equations. In its own way, this assignment recognizes that need for efficiency and may better prepare students for other work in this field. • This assignment involves an extremely complex cognitive challenge. On the face of it, this may seem like an overstatement—​“It’s just a picture!” some might mutter. “Worse: a cartoon.” But such a response misses the point: in order to create this cartoon, students must do at least all of the following: a Understand a complex concept well enough to explain it to someone who hasn’t taken the class b Be able to develop a metaphor, drawn from the world around them that relates to this concept c Turn that metaphor into a concrete image

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This is no easy task, no mere reiteration “in your own words.” Particularly noteworthy is the probability that because images are easier to recall than abstract ideas, having created a visual that explains this concept, students are more likely to remember it (Zull, 2002). • This assignment has a greater authenticity than, say, a generic research paper and even many of the other assignments that I’ve described in this chapter. At the end of her prompt, the instructor for this course notes, “All dogma cartoons will be collected and shown at a student-​centered session titled ‘Roanoke College Conference on Student Research and Creativity’ held in the Student Center.” By adding this feature to the assignment, this professor has made real the fictitious audience of “another college student.” This is no longer just an exercise: real college students will see this! And your cartoon will either work or it won’t. Such an approach is miles beyond the old research assignment I discussed at the start of this chapter, in which students pretend to be scholars in the field, adding their ideas to a scholarly conversation in which they can’t possibly imagine themselves as real participants. For some of the best or most engaged students, that sort of pretend might be okay. But for many other students, the experience is highly dissociative and hardly seems like an approach that will spark lifelong interest in the topic or even in learning in general. Breaking the Mold

Finally, I chose to include the cartooning assignment because it makes the argument for thinking creatively when designing projects for students. I don’t, of course, mean thinking creatively simply for the sake of being creative: there’s too much at stake here for that sort of thing. Rather, my point is that we need to recognize that the demands of our particular courses—​ general education or otherwise—​ might require that we think beyond the sorts of writing, speaking, and quantification that we ourselves performed when we were students. In the end, traditional research papers may be irrelevant to many students today. Certainly some students will go on to graduate school and be grateful that they’re able to scan vast amounts of information quickly and construct a cogent argument, while others will enter professions where similar skills are necessary from time to time. But for the vast majority of our graduates in the vast majority of their jobs? Not necessarily. We need to create assignments where the methodology contributes to learning so that students have a greater chance of recalling, even years down the road, the information they encounter in our classes. Consider, for a

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moment, the writing class focusing on the functions of art that I described earlier in this chapter. What if, rather than having students write a single paper analyzing a piece of art that is meaningful to them, each student creates a video blog in which she weekly analyzes works she’s discovered? The instructor would give minimal, continual, nongraded feedback, and at the end of the course each student would revise what they consider to be their best three posts—​really mini-​essays—​and hand in a portfolio that includes a cover essay explaining why they chose these three pieces and analyzing their own learning. The effects of such an approach are vast. First, there is a real audience for this assignment, creating greater authenticity for the student. Second, with this kind of assignment, students get repeated practice at the skill of careful analysis that is essential to this class, other classes, and life in general. Third, as they practice and practice, students are getting continual—​ as opposed to occasional—​feedback on their efforts, something that research has repeatedly shown creates better learning (Ferren, 2010). Fourth, as the instructor provides this feedback, her role shifts from judge to coach. Our primary goal when we respond to less structured writing of this sort is not to evaluate students, but to urge them forward toward better and better work. Fifth, because we don’t feel pressure to justify a grade, these responses become easier to write, less formal, and more dialogic. Finally, this kind of feedback requires students to assume greater authority over their work. We’re guiding and coaching them, but they make the decision about what direction to take as they revise their pieces. That they must be able to rationalize their final choices for the portfolio is a bonus. This is essentially a metacognitive act, requiring students to think about their own thinking and learning. As Peggy Maki (2010) states so eloquently, this kind of self-​ reflection “reinforces learning by engaging learners in focused thinking about their understanding and misunderstanding” (2010, p. 48). Just because this project uses a medium with which students are comfortable and is pitched to a less informed audience does not mean that lower standards are applied in creating the work or in grading it. University students should be held to the highest intellectual standards possible, regardless of the rhetorical context of the assignment. Indeed, as with George Kuh’s work, the research seems to indicate that “academic challenge and high expectations” is one of the key components for successful student learning (Wabash Center of Inquiry in the Liberal Arts, 2007). Consider some of the other possibilities. Might we not require students to design a website educating a particular population—​say, premenopausal women—​about healthy eating habits? Or might we not require students to write a minidrama that explains string theory to high school students?

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Or create a podcast that explores an ethical question taught in a general education philosophy course? At the very least, why not ask students in an education or a psychology course to write a dialogue between Lev Vygotsky and Jean Piaget, analyzing the impact of technology on the development of adolescents? All of these assignments are integrative in nature, connecting what happens in the classroom to what matters in the world. And all of them have the potential to light up the classroom, engaging students more deeply in their learning, and creating the kinds of intellectual mindsets that lead to lifelong learning and lifelong learners.

PART IV

Structuring an Effective Revision Process

6 LEADING GEN ED CONVERSATIONS An Overview and the Early Stages

Overview

Just as the general education model an institution adapts should be built around that “institution’s character, the strengths and interests of its faculty, and the needs of its students” (Gaff, 1980), the process by which a gen ed curriculum is revised will vary from campus to campus. At some institutions, curricular conversations will involve a productive collaboration between the administration and the faculty. At other schools, if an administrator so much as enters the room where these dialogues are occurring, all hell will break loose. In the same 1980 article cited above, Jerry Gaff, arguably the single most significant voice in gen ed reform in the last half century, strongly advises against a curricular revision process in which a team of “respected elders” gather in a room to hash out the details of a new curriculum—​ and yet I know of at least one institution that did exactly that, resulting in a curricular model that was readily adopted by the larger faculty body. There are institutions where successful curricular maps were designed by advertising firms, colleges where every single member of the faculty was invited to present a curricular model, schools where the reform was over and done within less than a year, and schools where the curriculum was voted down—​and within the next five years was implemented nearly in its entirety. There are literally no absolutes when it comes to the process for a successful gen ed revision. There are, however, some guidelines. What follows in the next few chapters is the accumulation of over a decade’s work with over a hundred universities in the United States and elsewhere. Reading through these DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-10

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materials, faculty and administrators should make an effort to be both realistic about their institutional culture and to be open-​minded. This is not always easy. The first requires that we see our universities with a clear eye: What is the institutional history? What are the current needs? What pressures are faculty and administrators facing? What are the habits of interaction that shape institutional policy—​and what are the policies that shape institutional dynamics? In contrast, keeping an open mind dictates that we keep an expanded sense of what’s possible on the table: yes, previously the administration responded this way; but what if we tried X? Yes, generally speaking the faculty senate has shot down any idea that doesn’t defer to the professional colleges, but what might happen if we argued A, B, and C, pointing to similar universities? Key to simultaneously holding a sense of institutional culture and a sense of possibility in balance is the recognition that institutions change. Literally. The senior faculty who were here 14 years ago and narrowly voted down ePortfolios are now largely retired. The administrator who declared that any curricular change must be “resource neutral” has now moved on to (and hopefully been fired from) that university presidency he coveted for so long. The state legislators have changed. The student population has changed. COVID-​19 has come and (mostly, kind of, sort of) gone. If we’ve learned anything in the last few years, it’s that certainty about how things are and where people stand is not quite as predictable as we’re prone to think. The seemingly impossible can happen—​indeed: has happened. All of which is to say, as you read the following chapters, sift through the details of how particular campuses have moved the process along, selecting some, discarding others. But keep an eye, as well, on the concepts guiding those details. Yes, it’s possible that your faculty won’t be interested in an online resource library; but nevertheless, it’s imperative that the campus conversation be informed and thoughtful. If a library won’t work, might faculty be engaged through reading groups? Through weekly newsletters summarizing some of the best research on general education? Through a lecture series? Through recordings of said lecture series? To put it more bluntly: if one approach isn’t going to work, fine. You know your campus. But how will you then achieve the desired—​or even necessary—​end of that approach? What alternative method might you use to achieve the same goal? Figuring this out—​ translating specific tactics from one campus to generalizable strategies for higher education to possible paths forward for your campus—​isn’t easy. But it must be done. And here’s what else: Figuring it out? Finding this path? It can be immensely rewarding. But only if we allow it to be. Which leads to the first of

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my broad guidelines for shaping the general education reform conversations on your campus. Keep the Focus on the Students

This may seem obvious, but as curricular conversations kick in, many colleagues will have concerns about the well-​being of their departments. Some of these “turf” concerns will be justified—​ the humanities, for instance, have been seeing declining enrollments since the 2008 economic downturn. Other concerns will be caused by institutional politics or individual faculty who see it as their calling—​justified or not—​to defend their departments. Regardless of the cause, given the state of our democracy and the wide variety of unprecedented and unpredictable challenges our students will face upon graduation, the stakes are too high for us to lose sight of broader institutional mission. In the following chapters, I’ll provide a number of particular practices that can help keep our ultimate targets in mind, even in the midst of heated discussions, but for the time being suffice to say that curricular committees and the faculty and administrators charged with leading curricular conversations should spend time actively brainstorming a variety of ways of keeping student needs—​and student voices—​in the foreground of the more general conversation. On a related note, it’s important that committees and other curricular leaders should not lose sight of student learning as well. Though this perhaps goes without saying—​of course student preparation for lives of purpose involves students learning—​in the middle of curricular mapping and discussions about staff, assessment, and marketing, it’s easy to lose sight of the fact that, finally, change must occur at the granular level. A curriculum can have all of the best features and all of the best intentions, but if the learning and work that students are doing in their courses is exactly the same as it was before the curricular revision, then very few of the goals of the new curricula will be being met. This idea, that a curriculum is only as good as the work students are doing, will come into play again momentarily, when we discuss identifying allies to our curricular work. Allow This to Be an Intellectual Conversation

It’s easy for curricular conversations to devolve into a series of linked “to-​ do” lists. Finally, though, they should be conversations about ideas: What are our goals for our students? To what extent are we achieving those goals? Where are we falling short? What other options are out there? What else might be possible? How do these possibilities align with the particulars of

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our institutional culture? With the needs of our students? With our own intellectual intentions as scholars, thinkers, and instructors? Encapsulated in an intellectual approach are several key characteristics: 1 A valuing of deliberation and critical thought, of questioning and requestioning. For those who like to get things done snap-​snap! this can be frustrating. I once had a friend who served on the Board of Trustees at a college undergoing gen ed reform ask me why the process was taking so long: “In business we’d be done with this already.” “Because this is how faculty work,” I told her. “We care about ideas. We care about hearing alternatives. We value critical engagement and questioning.” What’s more, the sort of top-​down approach often found in business settings likely won’t work in the academy, where faculty and staff value not just their autonomy in general but in particular the autonomy to critique and challenge, to ask, “Okay, but what about X?” We ignore their ability to enact agency at our own peril. 2 The necessity of creating access to resources on the best available thinking on liberal education. As mentioned previously, sometimes this means creating a resource library—​hardcopy, digital, or both—​for faculty and staff. Other times it might mean bringing experts in the field to campus to give talks. It may also mean asking colleagues to research practices on other campuses and to share their learning more broadly. Whichever means is chosen, this dissemination of ideas is crucial. Without it, many faculty will fall back on “common sense,” which, at the risk of sounding dismissive, is often code for “personal experience.” We would never take this approach in our own research. And we should never do so when the lives and careers of our students are at stake. I was once involved in a curricular revision that passed, but only just barely. Five years later, many of the faculty who voted against the new curriculum were its staunchest defenders. Why? Because it had been based on the best thinking available—​and then on a careful consideration and reconsideration of how that thinking might translate to our home institution. To approach a curricular revision any other way is to build an unstable structure, vulnerable to strong winds or eroding foundations. When that structure collapses—​all at once, or quietly over time—​its demise will undermine faculty trust—​and future conversations—​for a long time, which will in turn have a negative impact on students for decades. Don’t let that happen. Insist that the best thinking and practices out there are part of the conversation. Insist that complicating factors and difficult ideas are integrated into the broader conversation, rather than ignored. Insist that we bring our best intellectual selves to these conversations.

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Assume a Gracious Audience

If those last few paragraphs made you a little uncomfortable, that’s probably a good sign. While we need to be cautious about allowing conversations about the liberal arts to ride on anecdotal evidence, we also need to be wary of assuming that anecdotal evidence and untested assumptions are all that our colleagues will bring to these dialogues. Put another way, we need to be wary of how we’re constructing our audience. These constructions will drive the choices we make on our committees and in our presentations. In the edgy atmosphere surrounding curricular conversations, participants are highly attuned to the signals—​ some spoken, some not—​ that we’re sending: they know when they’re being condescended to; they know when they’re being “consulted” but their input is being ignored. The consequences of this signaling can erode institutional trust for years to come and can and will be used as a rationale for undermining the implementation of a new curriculum, or even for refusing to participate in that implementation. This may seem like common sense: of course we want to assume the best of our colleagues. But in the middle of a curricular revision, when tensions are running high and we’re spending more time preparing for potentially contentious meetings than we are eating or sleeping, it’s easy to lose perspective, particularly if most of the loudest voices we are hearing are naysayers. It helps to keep in mind that, beyond the obvious doubters and the easy adapters, there is a wide swath of faculty and staff who are listening, carefully considering the ideas and options being discussed. Keeping those folks in mind can help those of us leading these difficult conversations keep a cool and clear head—​and maybe sleep a little better at night. Keep in Mind That You Are Merely the Shepherd

Another way of stating this is that it really isn’t your job to make difficult decisions. Not sure about which of three models will serve the institution best? Bring that to your colleagues to discuss. Not sure about what process to use as the community engages in these conversations? Develop several possible protocols, then present them to the faculty senate, asking for their sense of the best approach. Half the faculty saying the process is going too fast, while the other half are arguing it’s too slow? Bring that to the next presentation and ask for a quick straw poll. I make this suggestion for several reasons: first, faculty and staff tend to value their autonomy and agency, so allowing a dialogue in which they can enact those qualities will create a more positive environment for moving forward. Second, this approach maximizes transparency, which will help to build trust, particularly among those “middle-​ground” faculty who are still

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undecided about whether or not to move forward with a revision. Though this trust will not necessarily guarantee a Yes vote for the curriculum, it does ensure that, whatever the outcome of an eventual vote, the institutional culture is left in the best possible position. The careful reader will note all of the qualifiers in the previous paragraph: “more” positive; “maximizes” transparency; “best possible” position. Obviously, there are no guarantees. But that’s not your job, either. Your job is simply to create the best atmosphere for thoughtful conversations that you and your committee can, given your time, your resources, and the other duties to which you have to attend. The rest is up to the room full of highly trained adults with whom you have the pleasure of working. A few techniques that may help you in your efforts: 1 Frame conversations carefully. When appropriate and productive, name the various elephants in the room, those unstated but powerful assumptions and anxieties that may be driving faculty decision-​making. Pulling these out for all to see and discuss can often relieve tension and remind colleagues that the committee has their best interests in mind. 2 Avoid situations where you’re gathering faculty and staff input in a vacuum. As much as is reasonable, use gatherings and meetings to push out a few best practices and to expand the room’s sense of the possible, the wide range of options and opportunities available. Then, and only then, should you ask for feedback. Think Long Term, Even Early in the Process

This advice is offered not because a positive curricular vote is inevitable, but because paying attention to the longer term, even early on, may increase the probability of a positive outcome. Ask yourselves the question, “Who or what programs will be invaluable in implementing a new curriculum, should it pass?” By doing so, you will likely prompt you and your colleagues to have thoughtful conversations with admissions, the office for community-​based learning, the center for teaching and learning, and international programs—​just to name a few. And these colleagues will undoubtedly have insights about the needs for curricular reform and/​or the value of particular curricular models. What’s more, it’s possible that these departments and programs can become allies in the curricular process. The broader conversation will be intense. Participants will sometimes get locked into narrow perspectives about what’s at stake and lose sight of the multitude of moving parts necessary to make a university run, much less successful. Having colleagues from admissions step in at moments like this and remind us of how fierce

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the competition for applications can be, how helpful it can be to have a general education program that looks less like a list of requirements and more like a series of opportunities, can be invaluable to moving the process forward. Similarly, the center for teaching and learning may be able to calm faculty anxieties about course redesign or assignment design. Finally, of course, you want to bring a broad range of programs in sooner rather than later because planning takes time. The development office may need to look around for grants to support both the curricular conversations and an eventual implementation. The sooner the communications department is brought into the process, the more nuanced and robust the web pages and broadcasts they create will be. Admissions will want to be thinking about how to sell a new model in the context of a 40-​minute tour of campus. If done right, if truly woven into the fabric of the institution, a curricular revision of this kind can have far-​reaching implications. Thinking ahead to next year (and the year after that) can help as we prepare for next week. Bring the students into the Conversation Sooner Rather than Later

It can be valuable to think about the various roles that students might play in the curricular revision process. At what point, for instance, might they speak up about what it feels like to live inside the current general education program? About how this experience is or isn’t similar to their high school curriculum? About the degree to which their professors do or don’t seem engaged in teaching these courses? About what it’s like to be in a course that serves both as an introduction to a major and as an option to fulfill gen ed requirements? About the sense of possibility they do or don’t feel taking these courses? About how these courses make them feel positioned as learners growing toward professionalism? Because we want this input to be frank and honest, perhaps it’s best that these contributions early in the process provide some degree of anonymity: we might capture student ideas through a survey, for instance, or through focus groups. Particularly insightful or representative quotations or ideas could then be anonymized before being presented to assembled faculty. Student interviews might also be recorded so that key ideas can be played back for faculty. If the sense is that it would be best to actually have students in the room to talk about their experiences, it might be wise to draw from a pool of graduating seniors or even recent alums to ensure that they feel they can speak frankly, without fear of repercussion. Regardless of the method of gathering and disseminating these reflections, it goes without saying that students should represent a broad range of cultural and socio-​ economic backgrounds. What’s more, it’s essential

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that the faculty and staff hear not just from A students, Honors students, representatives of student government, or other high-​performing student leaders: just as important are the experiences of our B and C students, those students who may have struggled, whose voices are so seldom heard. Further along in the revision process, it’s not unusual to have student representatives sit on key committees. For one thing, their input can be valuable, bringing a perspective that extends beyond a lot of the in-​the-​ box thinking those of us who have been in the profession for any period of time understandably find ourselves trapped in. For another thing, the presence of students in the room can often help to temper potentially heated conversations: faculty and staff often assume a more professional persona when students are around, wary of coming off as petty or vindictive in front of a population that they perceive as holding them in respect. As perhaps goes without stating, it’s important that conversations involving students include a careful contextualization of the thinking around contemporary general education: What are high impact practices, and why are they important? Why should we be thinking about integrative and reflective approaches to general education? As much as many students might have mixed feelings about traditional distributional requirements, they may find comfort in the familiar: it’s our job to ensure that their ideas are as informed and thoughtful as those of faculty and other colleagues. Structure Your Revision Process in Manner That Allows Participants to Draw Upon Their Most Engaged and Productive Selves

In some ways, this point is a summary of everything that’s already been stated here. In his iconic article “Beyond Carrots and Sticks: What Really Motivates Faculty,” Jon Wergin makes the argument that achieving positive institution-​wide outcomes is less about incentivizing faculty than about creating environments “most conducive to productive faculty lives” (Wergin, 2001, p. 50). To do this, Wergin calls on 40 years of research to assert that we attend to four factors with regard to faculty (and, I would add, staff): their sense of autonomy, their sense of community, their sense of efficacy, and the need for recognition. Many things have changed since Wergin’s writing: faculty have come more diverse, institutions are increasingly relying on contingent faculty, and the pandemic created a shift in expectations about workplace and schedule flexibility. Nonetheless, it can be helpful to hold Wergin’s framework in mind when leading a curricular revision: When and where can guiding committees hand agency over to faculty? Where is it possible to structure this work in such a way as to reinforce a shared purpose and mission that invokes a sense of community across disciplinary boundaries? How can we

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keep the needs of students—​and the impact our work has on them—​in the foreground as we work our way through this highly fraught process? And how can we offer recognition—​some public, some private, some large, some small, all of it sincere—​for those who step forward and take on this important and difficult work? As you read through the pages that follow, keep these questions in mind. While these four features should never be applied in an algorithmic way, invoking them through word and deed throughout the revision process can help to change the quality of this work, shifting it from onerous task to challenging opportunity. Some final thoughts …

• Keep perspective. These conversations can be intense and sometimes fraught with emotion. When that happens, find a way to keep an eye on the bigger picture(s). Remember that this process will end. Remember that this is your job and not your life. Remember that there are other institutions where the conversations are much more difficult. Remember that though we may use metaphors of “war” and “conflict” to describe the challenging moments of the revision process, there are actual wars and conflicts occurring around the world, with much greater stakes and many many greater and more lasting losses. • Do your research, respond to inaccuracies, don’t apologize for focusing on best practices. But remember that there are elements of this conversation for which there are those with greater expertise in the room. Allow other voices—​indeed, encourage them. • Understand that even if the vote fails, your institution has nevertheless been changed—​and likely in a good way. Swedish sociologist Goran Therborn defines ideology as our sense of what is good, what is true, and what is possible (Berlin, 1988, p. 478). Therborn also notes that ideology is constantly in flux. Done well, these conversations will expand a faculty’s sense of what is good, what is true, and—​most importantly—​what is possible. That expanded sense of the possible doesn’t go away. It will linger in people’s minds when they’re stepping back into that standard 101 course for which they fought so hard, full of disengaged students; it will be there when they are grading that stack of generic research papers or feeling frustrated about the results of that standardized test they gave their students. So as you lead and engage in conversations about new models, course enrollments, and financial constraints, keep an eye on that sense of what is possible, that sense of how—​as scholars and thinkers and people who care deeply about their students—​we might actually be able to make our institution better. That vision might not win the day. But it also won’t disappear.

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Step 1: The Pre-​Conversation, or, The Conversation about Whether or Not We Need to Have a Conversation

Full transparency and intellectual authenticity requires that we preview conversations about curricular revision with a “pre-​conversation”: a conversation about whether or not to engage in curricular debates and processes. Simply put: Is a curricular revision necessary? How do we know? And who says so? The pages below explore these questions, examining three relatively common scenarios that lead to curricular conversations: disturbing data, a sense that the curriculum is outdated, and pressure from outside bodies. Each scenario is followed by a number of strategies for helping the conversation move forward in a manner that is productive both in terms of curricular considerations and with regard to creating, re-​establishing, or maintaining a sense of meaningful intellectual community. As always, these strategies are not offered as panaceae applicable to all circumstances, but as examples intended to spur faculty leaders and committees to think about constructive institution-​specific approaches. The key, particularly at this early stage of the process, is to do everything possible to allow the conversation to be both informed and authentic. This means recognizing that one possible outcome is that the institution as a body may decide to not pursue a curricular revision. As long as this decision is arrived at in a thoughtful and well-​researched manner, so be it. Is a Revision Necessary? And How Do We Know?

The reasons for a curricular revision can be many and varied, and will have implications for the twists and turns the conversation takes as it moves forward—​assuming that it does move forward. Here are a few scenarios and some possible strategies for engaging the early stages of the conversation in productive ways. Scenario 1: Institutional Data That Indicates a Need for Change

There may be institutional data that reveals negative trends. This data may come from a variety of sources and take on a number of forms, but might include: • Disturbing attrition rates, particularly for first-​to second-​year students, and/​ or for particular student populations—​ for example, students of color, STEM students, young men of lower socio-​economic status • National Survey of Student Engagement NSSE) data that shows that students are not being productively engaged and challenged—​either in general or at particular moments in their tertiary experience

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• High drop/​ fail/​ withdraw (DFW) rates, particularly in introductory level courses • Evidence that structurally marginalized student populations are struggling in ways the general population is not • A drop in the quality or number of applications for admissions that extends beyond national or regional trends • Systemically low course evaluations or other evidence that students are dissatisfied with the courses required for the general education program Strategies

1 Consider the implications: the key thing to keep in mind when presenting data that indicates a need for a conversation about gen ed is that, in many cases, the numbers don’t speak to their implications. For instance, faculty might not see high DFW rates in intro level courses as a problem—​isn’t that just an indication that our courses are appropriately challenging? Ignoring for the moment that it’s our responsibility to create courses that are both challenging and supportive, this might be the moment to point out students who fail or drop out is a waste of resources: after all, if 25% of the students we teach in our writing courses or intro physics courses (just to give two examples) fail each year, that means that the following year we’ll need to dedicate faculty resources to either reteaching those same students, or teaching the students who replace them after they’ve dropped out. That those are resources that might be better used elsewhere—​say, in teaching our advancing majors—​bears mention. 2 Appeal to the possible (Dwyer, 2017): additionally, this may be a moment where we can expand the faculty’s sense of what’s possible in an introductory course: What would happen if we shifted to a theme-​based approach to teaching sociology or literature, focusing less on covering all 27 chapters of a mass-​produced text book and more on creating environments where students can dive into a narrowly focused question in the field—​the kind of intriguing contradictions or paradoxes that fuel our own interest in our work? As one former colleague used to say: “If you give me the choice between teaching CHEM 101 yet again and teaching ‘Nutrition in Developing Nations,’ I’ll take the latter every time. I’ll care more about the topic, the students will be more engaged, they’ll do better, and we’ll all have more fun.” And while we seldom think of “fun” as a key factor in our curricular conversations, given the past few years it only seems fair that we start to attend to the ways in which our work might bring both ourselves and our students greater pleasure. Or what might happen if, as Bryan Dewsbury advocates, we spend less time in these courses covering content and more exploring the skills and

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mindsets necessary to becoming part of our fields? Dewsbury points out that when he’s teaching Introduction to Biology, he’s teaching “more intro than biology” (personal communication, 12 December 2022). What’s more, his research indicates that when he and his colleagues reduce course content as much as 40% to make space for conversations about what it means to be a scientist, their students not only performed better than students in traditionally structured courses, but continue to exceed their peers throughout their undergraduate careers (Dewsbury et al., 2022). 3 Disaggregate your data: this idea comes from Kate Drezek McConnell, Vice President for Curricular and Pedagogical innovation at the American Association of Colleges and Universities (personal communication, January 2018). It’s one thing if the overall data indicates that 85% of the student body is happy with the gen ed curriculum. It’s another thing if 80% of the first-​year students are happy, but only 35% of seniors are. Or if 72% of the general student population is passing intro mathematics, but only 22% of Pell-​grant eligible students are. Or if you have an open curriculum where 87% of students take at least two STEM courses and two language courses—​but only 40% of first-​gen students reach that mark. Our mission in higher education is to support all of our students. It’s easier to do that, when we can actually see the implications of our current practices for the various and varied populations we serve. All three of these strategies speak to faculty’s desire for efficacy: How are their current courses impacting students? How might we improve that impact to benefit more students in more lasting ways? Scenario 2: The Sense That the Curriculum Might Be Outdated

On more than one occasion, I’ve been in the room where younger faculty have pointed out that they hadn’t even been born when their institution’s current curriculum was adopted. Even for curricula created after the turn of the century, much has changed: the proliferation of smart phones, the rise of nationalism, the increasing political divide in the United States and other countries, the pandemic, the increasing availability of AI—​all of these things occurred in the last two decades, and all of them have massive implications for how are students learn and the challenges they’ll face moving forward. While in many ways these changes seem to make the need for a curricular update obvious, the following strategies can be useful in driving this point home.

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Strategies

1 Gather data on faculty turnover since the last curricular revision: collecting and presenting these numbers is useful because they can help to illustrate the passage of time to senior colleagues for whom the last revision may have felt like yesterday. These numbers speak to our desire for agency and ownership in the work we do with our students. Yes, of course, there are always times when we need to teach a course or two that we find less interesting, but even that becomes easier when we feel that we had a voice in creating the requirements that make this necessary. What’s more, having a conversation about general education—​ or even just a conversation about whether or not a university needs that conversation—​is an effective means of building a sense of shared purpose among all faculty, young and old. In the business of our professional lives, it’s easy to lose sight of our mission as institutions. Just taking a moment to revisit the matters that brought us into this work can help remind us of the bigger picture. 2 Remind faculty that curricula decay over time: curricular decay or “drift” happens all the time. A faculty member proposes a new course for a recently adopted curriculum. They have a great time teaching it and do so every semester or year. Then they take a sabbatical or retire or assume the duties of chair. Another colleague takes over the course, and then another and another. Within a few years, the original goals of the course have faded into the background. And because this is happening all over campus, with dozens of instructors, over time the connection between the curricula and the courses intended to meet the goals of that curricula has become more tenuous. It’s also worth mentioning to faculty that this process isn’t necessarily inevitable. As I pointed out in Chapter 1, it’s possible to design curricular models that have a built in “update” feature: in order to keep the “strands” model relevant, for instance, faculty, staff, and students would need to participate in periodic conversations about the adopted themes or strands. And as Jillian Kinzie has pointed out, this “tweaking” can lead to higher levels of institutional achievement. 3 Remind faculty that liberal arts curricula has always changed: as Richard Detweiler points out in The Evidence Liberal Arts Needs, the tradition of the liberal arts—​the arts by which one is free—​goes back all the way to ancient Greece, when it featured rhetoric, logic, and grammar. The Romans added mathematics, music, geometry, and astronomy (2021, p. 38). The current plat du jour of social science, mathematics, natural

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sciences, and art and humanities is relatively young and a consequence of factors ranging from the Islamic Golden Age to the tradition of the Grand Tour to the rise of land grant universities. Underpinning ideas about what was and wasn’t “essential” learning were a wide range of educational goals, surprisingly few of which addressed the implications of social media, fake news, artificial intelligence, globalization, and climate change. Indeed: none of them.   These approaches invoke a faculty’s desire for efficacy. What’s more, the approaches listed here remind us that curricular work is intellectual work: we’re not just wheeling and dealing and backroom negotiating here; we’re examining the very serious challenges facing our world and trying to find answers to the question of how best to prepare students for that world. Done right, this process is less about politics than about problem solving. Scenario 3: An Outside Body Pushing for Change

Those situations in which a general education revision is being suggested, urged, or mandated by an outside body can be some of the most difficult to negotiate. These outside bodies might include a state legislature that’s imposing new regulations on higher education; a board of trustees who’ve decided they’re not pleased with the university’s ability to meet their admissions goals; or a regional accreditation body that’s threatening a reprimand if the university can’t prove its general education program actually does what it claims to do. To state the obvious: moments like these rub up against a faculty’s sense—​both individual and collective—​of autonomy and efficacy. We are, after all, the people on the front lines in the classroom, working closely with students, witnessing their struggles and watching them grow. Surely we know what’s best for them? And yet, those moments where the legislators or the board members or the accrediting body defer to the faculty are exceedingly rare—​ if indeed they exist at all. Given this fact of life, below are several possible approaches. Strategies

1 Name the problem, then pivot to existing (albeit limited) agency: this approach may seem counterintuitive, but it can be highly effective: “The Board of Trustees has decided X: Given that, how would we like to move forward?”; or “We’re in a tough situation, but we also have some control over the direction this takes. Given that, what are our options?”

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Part of the power of this approach is its authenticity: rather than pretending the circumstances aren’t awful or frustrating or annoying or dire, stating the problem out loud acknowledges what everyone knows to be true. Consequently, trust is established (or re-​ enforced) and community is deepened. The latter part of these statements then appeal to our sense of agency and autonomy and the intellectual pleasure of solving problems: within the boundaries of this situation, there is much that we can do. Let’s sift through those options and figure out where we want to go, what we feel will work best. It’s also worth noting that, in most circumstances, there are always factors beyond our control: that is, even when the Board or the state isn’t pushing for a reform, other factors—​student enrollments, cultural change—​may be. Nonetheless, there’s something particularly galling about other people telling us what to do that violates our sense of subjectivity. Consequently, the pivot from an acknowledgment of circumstances to the discussion of options may take—​and perhaps, should take—​some time. Allow colleagues time to discuss and even more time to digest. Allow them time to process, particularly in communal way. 2 Appeal to our sense of the possible: this is essentially a repeat of the point made above: curricular revision may involve loss, but it also creates space for very powerful gains. If we dive into this, what new courses can we create? What new opportunities are there? How might this better allow us to leverage our strengths? One point that I’ve mentioned before and that’s worth repeating here: in many standard distribution models, all of the courses taught by a department are at the same level, very often at the introductory or foundational level. With a curricular revision, in contrast, there may be opportunities to allow faculty to teach at different levels: some may prefer to create seminars that are part of the first-​year program; others might love teaching juniors and seniors in capstone courses. 3 Bring options with regard to process to the floor: after acknowledging that there are parts of this conversation that are out of our control, lay out multiple options for how the faculty as a body might move forward. It’s important to note that the “options” being presented here are not curricular models: rather, what’s being introduced are a selection of varied approaches to the curricular revision process. What the faculty is choosing then, is how they’ll employ their agency and time in response to the challenge they’re facing. This approach works particularly well when some of the options on the table are surprising or innovative approaches that folks might not have thought of before: student-​ designed models, poster fairs, concurrent committees ideating at multiple levels—​basically, in other

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words, anything but the kinds of old school turf wars and backroom negotiations that many colleagues might be anticipating. The goal is to offer approaches that telegraph the valuation of choice and agency over winners and losers. It perhaps goes without saying that this approach works best when curricular committees or faculty leaders make clear from the start that the conversation does not begin and end with the stated options; rather, these options are a beginning to the conversation. What do colleagues like here? What do they not like? What bits and pieces to various approaches could they see taking to create a new and different approach that is appropriate to the university culture? Closing Thoughts on the Pre-​conversation

Finally, the decision about whether to move forward with a curricular revision should be up to the faculty. They are, after all the people who will be doing the brunt of the work throughout the revision process and any curricular implementation that may follow. But sometimes deferring to faculty isn’t possible. Sometimes the outside forces mentioned above simply hold too much power for a faculty body to say no. Other times, there may be a party or parties on campus—​a president, for instance, or the Dean’s council—​who have the political will and capital to make the process happen, even if others are reluctant. Regardless of the circumstances, it should be made clear from the start who finally will be making the decision. Will it be based upon a vote of the faculty as a whole? On vote by the faculty senate? Will these votes be taken as final, or will they simply be seen as advisory as other parties consider and make the final decision? Similarly, the decision about how to move forward should also, to the extent that it’s possible, be left up to the faculty to decide, for reasons that are pretty obvious by now: doing so enables faculty autonomy and engages us in important intellectual work that will have an impact on our students (and us!) for a long time to come. Additionally, of course, handing the decision about how to proceed over to faculty likely increases buy-​in into the process. As a former Dean of mine used to say, “None of this is rocket science.” A lot of it is perhaps pretty obvious: respect our colleagues; allow smart people to use their brains to solve problems; don’t hog—​or covet—​power. Be transparent and authentic. Listen actively and with grace. Keep the focus on the students. Keep the focus on the students. Keep the focus on the students.

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Step 2: Considering Our Goals for General Education

I remember the first time I was involved in a conversation about gen ed reform. A colleague and I were out to lunch and started tossing around ideas: “Wouldn’t it be cool if …”; “And what about …”; “That would make sense because then we could …”. It all seemed so obvious. The pieces fit together so well; we could see ourselves and our students enjoying these excursions into robust intellectual territory. Excited, we wrote down our thoughts, made a few minor adjustments, then e-​mailed a group of colleagues from across campus to meet us for an informal meeting to discuss this wonderful idea we had. These were trusted colleagues, smart people who, we knew, were open to good thinking. This would be fun! The fun lasted about 11 minutes. We presented our ideas, built our castles in the sky, talked about what a great model this would be, how it would allow us to take our students several meaningful steps forward, how much fun we’d all have teaching these new wonderful courses in this new, wonderful curriculum. When we finally paused to catch our breath, eyes still glowing, we took a moment to glance around. We’d expected nods and affirming smiles, maybe even a quiet round of applause. Instead, my colleague in chemistry, someone whose opinion I respected a great deal, frowned. “This strikes me as a model designed by humanists,” she said. “I think others will be reluctant about buying into it. Where are the sciences?” For better or worse, that particular conversation ended in that room. We chatted a bit, finishing our lunches, then went back to our regularly scheduled classes and committee meetings and office hours. Fast forward two years: Our college had a new president with a new vision. One thing led to another, and the next thing we knew we were at a well-​known national institute, contemplating a full-​scale general education reform. Whatever you do, the institute facilitators said, over and over again, don’t spend your time here designing a model. That’s not your job. Instead, gather ideas, explore resources, think about process. Find ways to bring this conversation back to your campuses so that your colleagues can be part of the design process, can be invested in whatever eventual model the faculty develop. We heard these words. We nodded when we heard them. We jotted them down in our notes. But how did our team spend much of our time at the institute? Standing in our meeting room, large sheets of butcher paper taped to the walls, sketching out our ideas for a new model, a new castle in the sky. And standing right beside me as we did this, magic marker in hand? My friend the reluctant chemist.

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All of which is to highlight a point made earlier: whether you’re an individual administrator or an elected committee or a small group of handpicked and highly respected elders, you’re goal in the curricular revision process is to be less of a pilot and more of a shepherd. Whenever possible and as much as possible, hand over authority to responsible and thoughtful faculty and staff. Yes, bring information on best practices and best thinking to the table so that this really is a process that engages the intellect. But otherwise? Make room in the conversation for other voices, other ideas, other ways of thinking. Your focus is more on process than on the product. If we wish faculty to embrace the eventual model, there’s simply no other way. Generating Ideas and Outcomes

Another takeaway from the story above is that there’s a lot of work to be done even before we get to designing new models for our campus. First on the list is establishing the goals for the eventual new model. Why are we doing this? What are we after? What’s the end game? This is not, to be clear, a conversation about the administration’s goals for the institution, or a department’s goals for inclusion in the new model. Rather, this is a conversation about the students, and more particularly, the graduates: when a student leaves our university, what do we want them to be like? What skills do we want them to have? How do we want them to engage with the world? What sorts of citizens would we like them to be? What sort of employees? What kind of entrepreneurs? What kind of leaders? What kinds of people? Key to making this conversation meaningful and engaging is to focus less on the easily attained and the drearily procedural: We want students to write well; we want them be versed in mathematics; and we want them to know how to evaluate information for veracity. We do, of course, want all of these things (and much more), but: (a) attaining skills like writing well and doing math, as important as they are, don’t really require the time and expenses of two to four years of full-​time higher education; and (b) is that all we want? Really? Early in the curricular revision process, it’s more powerful to ask faculty to think about these questions aspirationally, even idealistically. What are our best wishes for our students? What, in an ideal world, would we have them be capable of? Taking this approach taps into that part of our professional selves that is mission-​driven, that wants to make an impact on the world. We don’t spend all those years in grad school and stay up into the wee hours of our adult lives grading papers because of amazing salaries (ha ha) or social respect (oh my): we do it because we care about our students; we want their university experience to help them evolve into thoughtful, productive participants in a thriving democracy.

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And worth mentioning: those more foundational skills, of reading, writing, mathematics, a clear-​eyed sense of history, etc., etc.,? They don’t disappear. Rather, they’re embedded in our higher-​ level aspirations. Can a person be a responsible citizen in a thriving democracy if they can’t discern between true and false information, reliable and unreliable sources? Or if they don’t know how to evaluate the results of scientific study in an informed way, or recognize when they’re being rhetorically manipulated? All of these items (and many more) will come into play in the actual model once it’s designed. This step, though, is less about the what than the why: Why do we want students to engage in general education? To what end? The form these conversations take are many and varied. Back in the early 2000s, when Susquehanna University was revising its general education curriculum, faculty showed up for the start-​of-​term meeting to find Post-​ it notes on every seat and a cardboard cutout of a graduating student—​ complete with cap and gown—​at the front of the room. What, they were asked, are we after at Susquehanna? What are our aspirations for our graduating students? Colleagues then wrote these aspirations on the sticky notes—​using as many or as few as they wished—​and pasted them to the cardboard silhouette. The result was referred to as “the sticky grad,” and all of the Post-​it notes were taken down, sorted, and used to develop a list of themes and ideas—​one might even call them “outcomes”—​that drove the gen ed conversation in subsequent months. More recently, faculty and staff at Centre College in Danville, Kentucky, gathered for a similar exercise, using a more technological version of the sticky grad: the word cloud. Prior to the meeting, faculty were sent an e-​ mail and encouraged to send up to three attributes or aspirations that they hoped Centre students would attain by the time they graduated. These initial inputs were put into a word cloud. This word cloud was then displayed to the gathered community. Because word clouds emphasize phrases that are mentioned more frequently, the terms displayed and their relative degree of emphasis led to some interesting conversation among the body as a whole: What was missing? What was underemphasized? Overemphasized? What surprises you? What makes perfect sense, given who we are as an institution? The conversation didn’t stop there. Faculty were next asked to build a second word cloud on the spot, one that reflected their individual thinking as a consequence of the conversation they’d just had. What should receive greater emphasis? What should be further included? The results were then collated and eventually used to shape the learning outcomes that would drive the curricular conversation as it moved forward.

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Several aspects of these processes to develop goals for new gen ed programs bear explicit consideration: • First, faculty (and in the best cases, staff) were given voice. Everyone could contribute as much or as little as they liked. • Second, input was anonymized—​ as much as possible with the Susquehanna approach, and entirely with the Centre approach. This is essential if we want to ensure that we hear from more than the most vocal or the most senior of our colleagues. • Third, ideas were considered and then reconsidered. We all have ideas about how gen ed should be or shouldn’t be. Fine. But how do those initial, often untested ideas, stand up to the light of day? What happens when we put them in a room full of thinkers and problem solvers and poke them a little bit? What rises to the surface then? Put another way, how do we apply to curricular reform the same critical lenses we use in our own research? As is perhaps clear already, these conversations should be highly public and highly inclusive: bring as many people into the room as possible, including those staff and student affairs colleagues who are deeply involved in supporting the intellectual, social, and emotional development of our students; trust that these colleagues will bring a perspective that faculty, who often have more limited interactions with students, might not have. For larger campuses, this process might include not a single meeting with everyone involved, but a series of meetings, all running the same protocol, all gathering data. How these meetings are broken up depends entirely upon the nature of the campus. Some institutions might choose to have a series of events, each dedicated to a particular college or pre-​professional program. Others might choose to simply schedule open meetings at a variety of times, mingling together colleagues from across campuses. Still others might organize by cohort: junior faculty at one meeting, mid-​career colleagues at another, senior at another, adjunct and contingent faculty at still another. There are pluses and minuses to any approach. Mingling colleagues from different disciplines can build a sense of shared mission and values. Dividing colleagues by rank—​ whether within individual disciplines, or across disciplines—​can assure that junior colleagues feel free to voice their thoughts without fear of censure from tenured colleagues. In some cases, holding multiple meetings allows facilitators to raise the level of discourse to higher levels by engaging in a meta-​conversation: if, for instance, the data about general education goals gathered at Thursday’s meeting differs radically

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from the ideas expressed at Monday’s meeting, facilitators can bring that to the attention of Thursday participants, asking for their feedback: What do participants make of these contradictions or contrasts? What might be causing them? What suggestions might they have for moving forward? These can be particularly intriguing conversations when there are contrasts between cohorts at varying stages in their careers: junior faculty, for instance, might have very different opinions about the purposes of general education than faculty who have been at the institution for 25 years and have weathered many “battles” over turf and/​or curriculum design. When this happens, presenting anonymized data from the former to the latter might help “old lions” reconnect with some of their early career idealism. Or perhaps not. At the very least, it might raise the question of who will live with the benefits and consequences of a new curriculum for the foreseeable future. Though senior faculty often see themselves, perhaps rightly, perhaps not, as the “guardians” of institutional values, it’s helpful to bring to the foreground the idea that any new curriculum will have greater impact on their junior colleagues than on themselves. Generally speaking, the one approach curricular facilitators should not take at this point in the conversation is to gather information on institutional goals in conversations within a single department. Already, most institutions are constructed in a way that results in departments that are insular and self-​focused. Though this can have some benefits, it can also lead to an echo chamber of sorts, in which assumptions about themselves, about other departments, about the institution, about curricular possibilities all go unquestioned. One point of any exercise exploring institutional aspirations for general education is to break through some of this group think and build trust and a sense of shared mission and values across the institution. Later, there may come a point when isolated departmental conversations may be beneficial. But this is not that moment. Finally, a reminder: the point of this portion of the conversation is less about the WHAT and the HOW—​what should we require of students, how should we structure the curriculum—​and more about the WHY: Why are we diving into this conversation? Why do we want students to take X or Y course? Why does general education matter? Why does higher education matter? At this stage, it’s crucial to develop a clear sense of an institution’s WHY. As the process moves forward, things can get messy, conversations will get convoluted, colleagues—​and facilitators—​might start to feel anxious. When that happens, being able to return to these initial conversations, to a clear sense of shared mission, of shared values, can be very powerful, drawing us back to why we do what we do, why we put in all those long hours, why it all matters.

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Refining Ideas and Outcomes

Once these initial conversations have taken place, the next step is to aggregate the data gathered into a usable form that can guide the curricular design process moving forward. Next steps might entail the development of a general education mission statement that then guides the revision process, or the development of general education learning outcomes (often referred to fondly as “GELOs”), or the creation of both: a general education mission statement derived from the ideas generated by the exercises described above and in turn guiding the generation of GELOs. As with so much else related to gen ed reform, the path an institution takes depends entirely on institutional cultures and practices. For the purposes of brevity (and assuming that any readers who wish to can find plenty of resources on developing mission statements), I’m going to focus here solely on developing general education learning outcomes. Moving from institutional conversations—​be they in the form of word clouds or otherwise—​about our values to a discussion of learning outcomes, it’s important to keep focus on the aspirational. It’s easy, for instance, to build learning outcomes that require students to read well, write well, and be good at math. And indeed, these things matter? But why? Some institutions will support these goals because that’s how students can get and keep jobs. Others will see them as essential to a thriving democracy. Still others see them as a means of negotiating a world filled with a hailstorm of words and numbers. No one answer is better than the other: the key is that all of these answers move beyond content-​level skills toward broader, conceptual aptitudes that include not just what, but why. Put another way, it helps to draft GELOs at the five-​to ten-​thousand-​foot level, focusing on the big picture and skills or ways of thinking that expand across multiple disciplines—​or even across all disciplines and fields. Allow me to explain: at first glance, the skills each discipline or field is after may appear to be very different. In the geosciences, for instance, students might be looking at rock samples to draw conclusions and make recommendations for mining, drilling, or other actions. Meanwhile, in a literature course students may be looking at a play by Shakespeare, a poem by Gwendolyn Brooks, or a novel by George Eliot, and trying to construct an understanding of the implicit and explicit possibilities of the millions of words in front of them. And students in a computer science course may be trying to design an algorithm that helps them sift through sales data collected by a regional Chamber of Commerce. When we move from particular content to broader skills, however, it’s clear that these apparently disparate practices have much in common: all of them require students to carefully analyze complex data sets in order to draw thoughtful, defensible

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conclusions. When writing a general education mission statement or learning outcome, then, the goal is to capture this more conceptual skill in a way that allows both students and faculty/​staff to think less about individual courses as an end in themselves, and more about how these courses—​in varying fields, no less—​ contribute to some essential skill way of understanding the world that will allow students to navigate the complexities of life after graduation. One benefit of designing at the conceptual level is that it creates greater opportunities for colleagues and students to work across disciplinary boundaries: faculty in political science and history might discover connections in their work—​and in the opportunities and challenges they face in teaching their students—​that might lead to a productive exchange of instructional tricks and tactics. Similarly, rather than thinking of courses in theater as separate from courses in psychology, students—​in the right circumstances, with some thoughtful pedagogical guidance—​might start to understand how the two fields are connected. Reinforce this kind of integrative, connective thinking enough, and students might eventually develop an outlook that recognizes connections between seemingly disparate phenomena Consequently, they may become more agile problem solvers and more mobile in their career paths: once they recognize the value of moving past surface-​level thinking to more conceptual thinking, they may see possibilities that had once eluded them. All of this finally calls for some very precise tuning: How do we develop general education learning outcomes that allow us to maximize faculty, departmental, and disciplinary participation without watering down the purposefulness of the curriculum? How do we offer students a variety of course options to fulfill GE requirements without unintentionally signaling that, since everything counts, nothing matters? This is a challenging task, but not an impossible one. Here, as elsewhere, it helps to approach this as an intellectual conversation aimed at supporting the needs of students, rather than a practical tug-​of-​war about butts in seats. For instance, a university might decide that they wish to have learning outcomes focusing on five areas: • Data and Analysis: in which students analyze data in any number of forms and drawing from any number of fields, evaluating evidence to construct reasonable conclusions • Values and Ethical Responses: in which students analyze the dynamics of power in interpersonal and intercultural relationships with an eye to concepts of right, wrong, and justice • Structural Thinking: in which students analyze complex systems, whether molecules, formal theories, or societies

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• Creative Problem Solving: in which students analyze the dynamic relationship between creative thinking, received methodology, and deliberative logic, with the end of constructing feasible solutions • The Dynamics of Culture and Identity: in which students analyze constructions of culture and identity—​including their own—​and the consequences of those constructions for society Several points should be made about these outcomes: first, please note that the structure and language of the items above does not represent proper or effective assessment practices. Rather, these are included here merely for descriptive purposes and to set up my second, more important point: nearly any department on campus could feasibly offer a course that could meet most of the learning outcomes described above. For example: • Data and Analysis might have classes in computer science, art history, or geology. • Education and politics might offer courses for the Values outcome. • Sociology, philosophy, and biology could fairly easily fit under the Structural Thinking outcome (an outcome, by the way, that I’ve borrowed from Vanderbilt University). • Creative writing, psychology, and lab-​facing physics courses could be designed to address the Creative Problem Solving outcome. • The Culture and Identity outcome could feasibly include courses from fields as diverse as biology, statistics, and history. A third point is that many departments likely won’t instantly see how their courses fit into these outcomes. Consequently, when presenting these drafted GELOs to faculty and staff, care should be taken to present not just the outcomes, but some sample courses that demonstrate the various ways these outcomes might be met. These samples might be drawn from existing courses or could be created as hypothetical models of what is possible. In either case, committee members are cautioned to develop any examples they’ll use for presentations or discussions in consultation with thoughtful faculty from the departments to be represented. Sometimes there are courses listed by the registrar that haven’t been taught for years and consequently won’t make particularly convincing examples. Other times, those of us outside of a field might think we understand what’s appealing to our colleagues in other departments when the reality might be very different. What’s more, before taking any outcomes a committee is considering to the full faculty, it just makes sense to beta test them with thoughtful colleagues

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from a variety of fields. These colleagues will undoubtedly provide useful feedback about the feasibility of the outcome for their fields. Assuming the outcomes are reasonable, these colleagues will likely have some ideas for possible courses to be used as examples. And it’s not unlikely that, as a result of their involvement at this point in the process, these faculty may become advocates for both the outcomes and consequent models moving forward. At the very least, this is yet another opportunity to extend understanding about best thinking in liberal education reform. In the end, any presentation of the learning outcomes to faculty should cover three distinct points: 1 The types of courses that might be offered to fulfill a particular learning outcomes—​that is, how a single learning outcomes may be open to multiple departments. This is valuable, both because it overcomes historically constructed boundaries between departments, putting colleagues from across campus into conversation with one another and because it presents a more transparent, meaningful model to students. 2 The multiple points of entry a department might have into these learning outcomes, in terms of content offerings—​that is, how a single department may offer courses in multiple learning outcomes. Some scholars in the mathematics department might choose to offer courses to fulfill the Data and Analysis outcome; others might choose to offer courses to fulfill Structural Thinking; still others might choose to offer courses in Creative Problem Solving. Similarly, you might find professors in a single Art History Department offering courses to fulfill Structural Thinking, Creative Problem Solving, and Values and Ethical Responses. In the end, this is a strength of the integrative model, allowing various faculty to teach to their particular interests. Pointing this out, particularly to departments that may be struggling with enrolments, can go a long way toward faculty anxieties. 3 The multiple points of entry a department may have relative to student development. As I’ve already mentioned several times, some professors enjoy working with first-​year students, helping to set a tone for their educational journeys. Others enjoy the energy of just-​about-​to-​graduate seniors who have mastered the basics and are launching into their own research. Curricular structures that make distinctions between first-​year courses and senior capstones allow faculty greater opportunities to teach to their strengths. Finally, just a reminder: the purpose of any presentations of learning outcomes to faculty is twofold: first and very obviously, to receive feedback from the departments, programs, and individuals whose work will be greatly

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impacted by the outcomes that have been developed. Second and less obviously, this is a crucial opportunity to push out information that will help these persons and bodies consider this work in a thoughtful manner. Never assume, to reiterate, that colleagues necessarily understand the thinking behind contemporary approaches to liberal education. Most if not all of them will themselves have experienced undergraduate gen ed programs that were distributionally based. Most if not all of them will have been influenced by graduate programs with a strong disciplinary focus. These two factors put together create a lot of opportunity for misunderstanding and confusion. If the information gathered during these conversations is to be of any use, it’s important that the conversations themselves be framed very carefully: What are the trends in general education? What is driving those trends? What were the considerations brought into play while developing these outcomes? What other possibilities were explored—​and why were they eventually discarded?

7 LEADING GEN ED CONVERSATIONS Developing Curricular Models

Step 3: Model Ideation

Once learning outcomes have been more-​or-​less developed and approved by faculty and staff, the design of curricular models/​structures can begin in earnest. A visual overview of this part of the process would likely look like a cross between a funnel and an hour glass: a funnel, because the general movement of the next few months will be from many models in very rough form, to 2–​3 relatively refined and polished models, to a single model with all of the I’s dotted and the T’s crossed so that it can be discussed (and hopefully adopted) by the institution. The hour glass shape comes into play because the path from many models to a few models has some moments of expansion. A college may, for instance, have narrowed their thinking down to three rough models only to have a conversation with the faculty senate lead to the development of an additional model. Or a university might be looking at two highly polished “finalist” models—​only to have the dialogue at a faculty open forum lead to two additional ameliorated (or streamlined) options. In other words, though the funnel generally narrows, on occasion it will expand. Assuming that these expansions are the result of informed conversation, they are nothing to worry about; indeed, to the extent that they demonstrate colleagues taking responsibility for the model in a thoughtful way, these moments are an excellent sign! In addition to this admittedly awkward image, there are two additional ideas those leading curricular change should keep in mind at this point in the process: DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-11

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First, though the eventual goal is to have a single, highly polished model on the table for discussion and adoption, until the very final stages of the curricular revision process, committees and other leaders should avoid presenting a single model for discussion among colleagues. The reason for this is very simple: as academics, we’re critical, thoughtful creatures. Very often, the roles we play in our professional lives involve pointing out flaws in thinking. We do this when helping a colleague design an experiment to test a theory; we do this when responding to student papers or a comment in our classes; we do this when serving as second reviewer for a scholarly journal. Our goal, at these moments, is to help others move toward improvement. This is a sound goal, a good goal. But it can, at times, undermine creative work: perhaps the student is simply thinking out loud, in the nascent stages of developing an idea that might really be revolutionary. Or perhaps when serving as an outside reviewer, we’re so intent on justifying our role that we begin splitting hairs and making tangential arguments that distract from the central ideas of a work. In the context of curricular revisions, and particularly curricular revisions at the early stages, this kind of engaged critique can often lead to a feeding frenzy wherein every flaw is pointed out and the accumulation of flaws is used as a rational for discarding the model—​and in some cases, discontinuing conversations about gen ed revision altogether. Because there is no such thing as a perfect model, this kind of critique and dismissal can happen with any proposal, no matter how carefully the proposers have thought through every crack and corner of the structure. (That the institution’s current model also has flaws is seldom part of the conversation: as with any long-​term relationship, we’ve learned to live with the weaknesses of the current way of doing things!) Rather than presenting a single model for critique then, those in charge of a gen ed revision will likely find it more productive to present three or four different models to faculty and staff for consideration. In this setting, our scholarly sensibilities focus less on critiquing any single model and more on evaluating the relative merits of the various models. Consequently, conversations can be much more constructive, much more about the possibilities as opposed to the flaws. Additionally, these comparisons can create spaces for collective model building: someone might point out that if you took Part A of the first model and Part B of the third model, then added a few strands of the current model, the students might really benefit. Someone else might argue that if you matched the first-​year experience in one model with the capstone experience in another model, that would allow departments to do a better job of connecting with potential majors and ensuring that all students graduated with the skills necessary to succeed

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in a changing job market. Not only does this kind of engagement create a transparent, inclusive space in which faculty feel they have agency and voice, these kinds of forward-​looking critiques can be useful to general education committees and leaders. Whereas the single-​model approach might lead to calls to “go back to the drawing board”—​to what end? to do what?—​the multiple model approach can provide detailed ideas for the committee to explore. The second point to keep in mind regarding the early stages of the design process is that there is value to prolonging a tension between the conceptual and the practical. I’ve spoken elsewhere of how part of our job leading curricular revisions on our campuses is to expand our colleagues’ sense of “the possible.” So many of us come to general education conversations with a boxed-​in sense of what can be done—​and more often than not, those ideas are limited to very traditional distribution models. Given this, it’s to the benefit of the revision process if the early months of the design step to have a fairly conceptual, castles-​in-​the-​sky quality to them. Nothing too extreme, of course—​that can undermine a committee’s credibility and disenfranchise colleagues—​but certainly more idealistic than not. Eventually there will be questions about resources and transfer students and advanced placement credit. All of that is well and good, and needs to be addressed—​but not just yet. Finally, of course, there needs to be a shift toward exploring the more practical implications of a model (See Step 4, below). The only question is when. Too soon, and we’re back at the death by BB gun stage, where the inevitable weaknesses of a model are used as an argument for the status quo. Too late, and faculty will start to get frustrated, rightly feeling as though the conversation is going nowhere, that their time is better spent doing other things. The exact timing for a campus to move from broader conceptualizing to more particular models depends on several not particularly surprising institutional factors: academic calendars, the quality of the conversations themselves, faculty culture—​in particular, a faculty’s level of comfort with discomfort. In the long run, a curricular model will succeed or fail not because it receives enough votes to be adopted, but because the faculty and staff who will be teaching on the front lines are invested in that model. Emotional investment must come from within and can be developed by thoughtful conversation. How, then, do we actually engage faculty and staff in this productive creative tension? What follows are descriptions of how three institutions—​ one, a regional state university, the other two small liberal arts colleges—​ handled it.

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Shenandoah University

This approach was developed by Dr. Amy Sarch, now an associate provost at Shenandoah University in Winchester, Virginia. Her team began by issuing an open invitation to faculty and staff from across campus to join a session to explore possible general education models. Those who signed up were appointed to a team more or less randomly, though with some attention to diversifying each team relative to discipline and other factors. Prior to the session, each team was assigned an actual general education model at another university in the United States, with attention to providing a variety and range of models in order to expand attendee’s sense of what is possible in general education reform. Each team was then asked to research their team’s model as best they could, with the end in mind of making an actual presentation arguing for their model to everyone else in the room. Just to be clear: it didn’t matter whether or not individuals on the team—​or even the team as a whole—​believed their model was a good one or thought that that model would necessarily be a good fit for Shenandoah University. Regardless of their thinking on these matters, they were asked to step into the model, view it in a positive light, and bring that productive sense of possibility to the room as a whole. The agenda for the curricular “workshop” itself involved each team presenting and arguing for their assigned model. Once each model has been presented, there was a less structured, more free-​ ranging conversations about the varieties that had been presented. Which appealed? Which appalled? Which seemed best for Shenandoah University? At this point, team members were encouraged to advocate for whatever model—​or even some particular element of a model—​they felt best fit the talents of their faculty and the needs of their students. Members of the gen ed revision committee facilitated the conversation, but largely stayed out of the way, actively listening and taking copious notes. Information was also gathered through informal polls. Following the conversation, three models were developed and brought back to the faculty and staff for further conversation. Roanoke College

When Roanoke College did a curricular revision in the mid-​2000s, they sent an open invitation to every faculty member on campus to propose all or part of a new general education model. Interested faculty and teams of faculty were provided resources to gather over coffee and/​or lunch to plan their curricula and to design a 3-​by-​4-​foot science-​style poster that would present their ideas in an easily understood way. Over a dozen teams (and a few individuals) accepted the offer, meeting throughout the summer and most of fall semester.

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Once the posters were printed (again, at the expense of the gen ed committee), they were put on display after a faculty meeting in January. Wine and cheese were served. Those who’d developed whole or partial models stood beside their posters, explaining their ideas and answering questions. The rest of the faculty (and many staff) mingled, listening, asking questions, probing. Everyone filled out evaluation forms, rating each of the ideas presented. Once the responses were collated, the committee presented fleshed-​ out versions of the top three models at a faculty meeting later that spring for discussion. Feedback on these “finalists” were gathered with the use of PowerPoint and electronic “clicker” polls. The stated purpose of these conversation was to gather ideas for refining each of the three models. In the end, one model was so clearly popular that the other two were discarded. Further work refining and developing (see below) involved three variations on the most popular model. Washington and Lee University

W&L’s model development process kicked off with a half-​day “curricular sandbox” scheduled during their annual pre-​semester in-​house pedagogical conference. The tone was set in the morning when faculty were polled about their aspirations for a graduating student: thinking idealistically, what would that student be like? How would they approach the world? The results of the poll were turned into a word cloud and session attendees spent some time discussing what they saw there. Were the various items properly represented in terms of the institution’s mission and needs? Were any ideas missing? Should any ideas be pushed aside? Once faculty and staff had had some time to reflect on the various values and ideas proposed to guide the model, they were asked to make a large name tag (roughly the size of an ordinary sheet of paper) that included their name, their department, and their top three priorities from the word cloud. Then they were asked to mingle, find colleagues with similar or complementary priorities, and to form design teams. Teams were encouraged to embrace disciplinary diversity, although the particular makeup of attendees sometimes made this difficult. Teams were then given the rest of the morning to develop models that would address their shared goals. While teams took very different approaches, they were encouraged to: 1 Begin with curricular or pedagogical practices that already existed on campus and that achieved their team’s priorities

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2 Think about how to expand these sometimes isolated practices to make them accessible to all students, regardless of major, socio-​ economic states, and so on 3 Brainstorm what additional practices or curricular structures might be developed on campus to help students achieve the chosen priorities. Teams were reminded of Kuh’s designated “High Impact Practices,” but were encouraged to think in expansive and even daring ways Snacks, including copious amounts of coffee, were provided. Following a working lunch, teams were asked to present their models to colleagues. Any teams that wished to bring their models to the faculty more broadly were given time and resources to develop the same 3-​by-​4-​foot science-​ style posters described above. The forwarded models were presented prior to a faculty meeting, and the top four were selected for further refinement; eventually one model was selected and developed more fully for a formal vote by the entire faculty. As is perhaps clear, all of these approaches outlined above are highly inclusive: literally any interested or invested faculty or staff member could participate in the initial design of a model—​and then stand up and both explain and defend their thinking. This highly participatory approach is beneficial for a number of reasons: the process is very transparent, undermining any potential claims that faculty are being railroaded by the administration—​and, hopefully, making it difficult for any administrators to railroad the faculty. Faculty and staff had a clear and dominant voice throughout this process. Consequently, even when a team’s model didn’t move forward in the selection process, the members of that team were still likely to be intellectually engaged in the process, debating with an insider’s eye the strengths and weaknesses of the continuing models. All of that said, it’s crucial to remind ourselves that this high level of participation must be buttressed by information about best practices and best thinking in general education reform. Those designing models—​and those voting on them—​must have at least a familiarity with high impact practices, with integrative models, with the reasoning and rationales that support these approaches. As with the design process more broadly, here, too, there’s a tension: we want designers to think widely—​even wildly—​with an expansive sense of what’s possible. We don’t want to suppress creativity, particularly if that creativity is thoughtfully informed by the needs of the students and the talents of the faculty and staff of a particular institution. At the same time, it’s best to avoid a situation where everyone is designing in a complete vacuum, unaware of some of the intriguing models already doing powerful work on other campuses and some of the thoughtful thinking that led to those models. One way or another, individuals and

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committees charged with rethinking general education on their campuses should be sure to provide access to resource libraries and experts on general education so that faculty and staff working to design models can move forward with firm footing. Step 4: Narrowing and Refining Narrowing

A lot of the emphasis above is on generating energy that in turn leads to high levels of participation and multiple general education models for faculty and staff to discuss. A wide range of curricular models can be useful, both in engaging a larger number of faculty in the design process and in expanding the broader faculty and staff’s sense of the many ways gen ed might be designed to the benefit of our students. At some point, though, these models will need to be winnowed down to a more manageable number. Our brains, after all, can only jungle so many ideas at once: overload working memory and we’ll start to confuse models, losing sight of important nuances and distinctive features. At that point, the benefits of extended conversation will decrease and we’re in danger of slipping back into turf wars and interdepartmental squabbles. What’s more, there’s a point where the “rough drafts” of models will need to be fleshed out, so that faculty, staff, and others will have a clear sense of exactly what each approach entails. A 3-​by-​4-​foot poster can’t, after all, capture a lot of the logistical detail necessary to implement a curriculum serving several thousand students. All of that in mind, the purpose of this portion of the gen ed revision process is to move from ideation to development. At this point, in other words, we shift from generating as many sound ideas as possible, to narrowing our focus to 1–​3 models that are favored by faculty and staff, and developing those models in more detail. Like nearly everything else, the process for narrowing models will be different from institution to institution. At some places, it will be perfectly appropriate for a gen ed committee to refine three—​or four, or two—​models to bring forward to the faculty as “finalists” from which a single model will be selected for an up or down vote (more on the voting process below). At other schools, colleagues will insist that the final models for consideration be selected in highly public and transparent ways—​some formal (secret ballot), some less so (straw polls using apps along the lines of Google Forms or Poll Everywhere). Regardless of the selection method, it’s important that the committee gather faculty and staff input in very public ways—​ and have meaningful ways of quantifying that feedback to ensure that it is representative of the

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institution. Public forums, e-​mail polls, or the comment section of a faculty website describing various models can easily be highjacked, amplifying some voices over others and creating a distorted sense of the mood of the room. While the kinds of applications and software mentioned above will not necessarily counter—​or even inhibit—​this amplification, it can ensure that the committees charged with making important decisions have a clear sense of where all faculty and staff stand—​not just the loudest or the most motivated. This data can be collected in a number of different settings: at staff-​ wide meetings; at luncheon gatherings with a thoughtful collection of departments from across disciplines; meeting with all faculty from each discipline separately; meeting with cohorts based on rank: non-​tenure track; junior, mid-​career, and full. It’s possible—​ indeed, probable—​ that committees will receive contradictory input: some cohorts will prefer Model X; other cohorts will insist that Model X will destroy their students and lay the institution to waste. Perhaps the best way to address these contradictions is to point them out to faculty and staff—​and ask for their advice on how to resolve them: “It’s interesting that the Humanities programs seem to favor Model A; the Social Sciences, meanwhile, seem to favor Model C. Any thoughts on how to reconcile that?” Or: “While our data shows that the senior faculty prefer more integrative models, the junior faculty seem to be leaning toward models that foreground high impact practices. Does anyone have any ideas on how, given this, the committee should proceed?” This approach might not necessarily resolve all conflicts—​ would that life were that simple!—​but naming and foregrounding contradictions in this way can shift the momentum of the conversation, leading to more deliberative, thoughtful engagement on the part of faculty and staff. It’s very easy, after all, for all of us to fall into the trap of assuming our thinking is “normal,” that what we’re stating is “self-​evident,” even “common sense.” Being confronted with data revealing that others feel differently should help shake us out of complacency. Should. As with clicker polls and other forms of gauging the temperature of the room, this approach may not necessarily silence those in the room who are certain they and only they have access to absolute truths. It will, though, speak loudly to those faculty—​and they are a majority—​who are intent upon hearing all sides. In situations where the general education committee has some discretion over selecting and refining models, there’s something of an art to delivering the right combination of structures and options back to the faculty. Sometimes, it’s best to select and refine three very distinct models: for instance, one that’s more or less distributional, one that is driven by themes or pathways, one that emphasizes high impact practices.

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Other times, as in the Roanoke College anecdote mentioned previously, it makes sense to present a number of variations on a theme. All of the models might, for instance, have pathways, but with slight differences. Perhaps one model begins those pathways during the first year, while another requires signature work of some form, and a third essentially develops a “minor” around a student’s chosen pathway. There are some obvious benefits to providing a range of options for faculty and staff to consider. Arguably the most important is the way that, once again, it expands a sense of what’s out there, of what’s possible, of the many productive ways we might serve our students. This in mind, it’s not unusual for committees to select and refine models based on how innovative—​or not—​they are. In other words, a committee may choose to present faculty with three models: one that’s more traditional, one that’s moderately progressive, and one that’s pie-​in-​the-​sky-​dream-​big innovative. Sometimes, committees do this knowing that the third model has no chance. Their goal, in these cases, is to position the “moderate” model as a reasonable alternative while making the most traditional model appear fusty and diminutive. It’s worth noting, as well, that there’s a long-​game strategy to this approach: while the “pie-​in-​the-​sky” model may seem bizarre when considered this year, over time what once felt far-​fetched may come to feel familiar, even reasonable. That in mind, planting some mind-​bending approaches at this point in time might benefit the institution down the road. Even if the model as a whole never comes to pass, some of the ideas in it—​ and some of the conceptual thinking behind it—​can lay the ground work for other, equally progressive ideas.

Refining

The refining stage of the process essentially involves developing the remaining models by resolving previously overlooked contradictions or challenges, and adding enough detail and nuance that those voting on any final model will have a clear sense of its implications, should it be adopted. The particulars to be addressed will vary from school to school, of course, but will likely include some of the following: Name

Chances are that this seems superfluous. It’s not. Titles set the tone. Titles signal value. Titles are the start of transparency. So consider: what can you name a particular model that signals meaning and value to your

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students? Tip: go beyond what the model does and highlight WHY it does what it does. Structure

What does the first-​year student experience look like? What about the second and third years? And the senior year? How do the various pieces align? What happens in the first year that prepares students for the fourth year? And what happens in the second year that builds off of the essential skills and knowledge students worked with during the first year? Where are these skills and knowledges reinforced—​and practiced again and again—​with increasing levels of challenge and independence? Tip: avoid “inoculation” approaches to complex skills and ways of thinking. Writing, quantitative reasoning, working with peers from a variety of backgrounds—​these are complex skills that take time and repetition to develop. Policies

What are the policies that will maintain the integrity of the new curriculum? Are students allowed to “double dip,” using a single course to fulfill two requirements? Do AP and Dual Enrollment credits allow students to waive GE requirements? How will courses currently in the GE program be transitioned to this new model? Will they all be grandfathered in? Will they have to be reproposed? Will they count at all—​or will all new GE courses need to be specifically designed for the program? Are departments allowed to require particular courses from the Gen Ed options for their major students? Can departments dump the teaching of GE onto adjunct or junior faculty? Will there be any common assignments across campus? Any shared or required pedagogical approaches? What will the caps be on the various gen ed requirements? Tip: large enrolment caps on introductory level courses can diminish learning and decrease retention. Maybe lower caps in the early stages of students’ learning and development and raise them at the more advanced level, when students are more capable of self-​guided learning and independent work? Assessment

How will you know if a new model is working? At what point or points in the program will data be gathered to get a sense of how well students are learning what we’d like them to learn, of the degree to which they’re on

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track to achieve our ideals for them? Who will look this data? How will they disseminate what they learn so that implementation (and learning) can improve? How can all of this be done in such a way that assessment is not an added layer of bureaucratic detritus, instead relying on the work that faculty and students are already doing? Courses and Pedagogies

Here again, there are questions about maintaining the integrity of a new model: What are the criteria by which a course will “count” for this model? How do these criteria relate to the learning outcomes drafted earlier in the revision process? We know, from the research of Richard Detweiler, that practices like asking open-​ended questions or questioning one’s own beliefs have a lasting impact on our students (Detweiler, 2021, p. 156); so where does that occur in these classes and the curriculum as a whole? Where, similarly, do students encounter the best practices that drive George Kuh’s High Impact Practices (Kuh and Kinzie, 2018)? Do the structural aspects of this model convey any further obligations on course design and instruction? Community service, for instance, or metacognition and student reflection (either attached to or separate from an ePortfolio)? At this point, steps should be taken to provide sample courses for every aspect of the curricular model, from first-​year seminars to distributional components to senior capstones to any other aspects of the curriculum not mentioned here. Implementation Support

Who will help faculty design any new courses? What resources are available to establish any necessary cross-​ institutional conversations moving forward? What role might the center for teaching and learning play in all of this? What current relationships—​between academic and student affairs, between university counseling and first-​ year writing courses, between library services and departments teaching senior capstone courses—​will need to be strengthened? What new relationships will need to be developed? Note: this category may need to be fleshed out in detail relative to each model, but more often than not the details here will apply to all models. Beyond these broader categories stand several fairly sticky questions involving resources: to what extent do particular models require that

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“resources”—​read: faculty and staff—​need to be “reallocated” from one department or discipline to another or one program to another? And how much will all of this cost? Responding to these questions can be tricky and is context dependent. I tend to encourage institutions to hold off on diving into too much detail on these resource concerns just yet. For one thing, though we’ve narrowed the number of models at this point, we’re still deeply imbrued in ideation at this stage: the presented models might—​indeed, likely will—​change. Discussion of finances, meanwhile, can really shut down creative and meaningful engagement and thinking. If, for instance, an administrator stands up, points to a particular part of one model, and says with absolute, god-​like certainty “I can tell you right now, we can’t afford X!” said component might become verboten—​to the detriment of any number of revised models that might come along further in the process. As the model changes, as priorities shift, as unknown needs rise to the surface, resources can—​and will—​become available. Indeed, one “pro-​tip” I’d suggest at this point is that revision committees begin to work with their development offices to explore possible grants and other resources. Funding organizations around the country understand that general education revisions are happening all the time, and they’re deeply invested in supporting thoughtful, innovative approaches that deepen student learning. With regard to “reallocation” of faculty and staff, I tend to encourage institutions to shift from algorithmic distribution models—​where every discipline or every department offer exactly the same number of courses—​ to instead explore more flexible models that can adapt to changing times, changing circumstances, changing student interests, changing employer needs. Instead of requiring every department to offer, say, ten courses (just to pick a random number), why not have a model where every department commits to five offerings and a departments that wish to may engage the curriculum in additional ways—​say, by picking up additional first year seminars, senior capstone courses, writing-​intensive courses, or courses that emphasize community-​based learning? That way, departments who find themselves flush with majors can ease back on their GE obligations some years while departments that are going through a lean phase can remain robust by picking up additional courses here and there. That these departments might also use these additional offerings—​ particularly those in the first-​year—​to “recruit” potential majors is one added bonus. Two final notes on the refining stage of the revision process are as follows. First, please recognize that this is an opportunity to bring additional faculty and staff into the curricular revision process. There’s nothing

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that says that the curricular models need to be fleshed out solely by the individual or individuals who initially proposed that model or the existing members of a general education committee. Why not issue a call for further participants interested in refining and revising these models? Additionally, why not issue several targeted invitations to faculty and staff who might bring greater diversity—​both scholarly and otherwise—​to the conversation? This approach can be particularly effective when we’re able to move beyond the circle of “usual suspects” and bring less vocal but very thoughtful colleagues into the process. Second, as much as we don’t wish this stage of the process to be about resources, there is some wisdom to laying the foundations for a future exploration of the implications of the various models still on the table. One way to do this is to audit the transcripts of 100–​200 random graduates from the previous year and examine their pathway to graduation: How many AP or Dual enrolment courses did they transfer in? How many foreign language classes did they take? Did they use their “elective” courses to actually explore fields beyond their major, or did they just take more classes in their home department—​or were their electives eaten up by “hidden prerequisites”? How many of their courses were “double-​dipped”—​that is, how many counted for both the major and general education? Similarly, how many of their GE courses fulfilled multiple liberal education requirements? Only when an institution has a clear sense of the credit implications for their current model does it make sense to start debating about the future possible implications of any new models under consideration. Very often, some of the features that come into play with the current model will have implications for future models. Other times, the contrasts between the current model and the proposed models will be revealing. Many institutions, for example, find that their current gen ed curricula are bloated by years of backroom wheeling and dealing between departments and disciplines. One institution I’ve worked with saw their GE requirements drop from roughly 20 courses to 13. For students intent on exploring widely, or picking up a second minor, or simply getting through college quickly, a shift of that size has major implications. The Final Model

Finally, an institution should narrow their focus to a single “finalist,” one stand-​alone model to be discussed and, assumedly, voted on (see below). At this point, those in charge of a gen ed revision need to warm up their laptops and stretch their fingers and start drafting a final document that lays out all of the ins and outs of the proposed model. The “final draft” of

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a curricular model needs to be thoroughly processed, every detail filled in, every potential question anticipated and answered. All of the items listed above—​name, structure, policies, assessment, courses and pedagogies, and institutional support—​must be addressed in detail. Additionally, when preparing the final package of materials for a vote, curricular leaders may want to include the following: a rationale for a change (include data, when available); an overview of the revision process thus far; a list of the various committees, task forces, and working groups involved in the process; sample courses (including brief descriptions) for any new or expanded components; a bibliography of sources referenced and/​or in other ways relevant to the conversation; and a plan for rolling out the new model, assuming it’s adopted. And, of course, there may be other items relevant to the particulars of an institution’s culture. As with everything else, context matters. Who is your audience? What are their needs and interests? How can you address those ahead of time, rather than on the fly? At this stage, it’s also possible that it would be appropriate to include information from the audit mentioned earlier: What are the implications of the new model for a student making their way through their undergraduate education? How do the pathways created compare to what happens with students in the current model? And speaking of implications: What are the implications of the new model for staffing in various departments—​ and for the health of departments across college? Generally speaking, there will be fewer staffing implications than folks might anticipate, particularly if, as suggested above, an institution has proposed a more adaptive model that, while expecting all departments to participate in order to maintain the health of the program, allows that departmental participation to ebb and flow depending on other pedagogical needs and staffing issues. It’s possible, of course, that changing circumstances at the university—​a change in mission, for instance, or a long-​ overdue recalibration of course offerings—​might lead to the need for a large redistribution of staffing from one department or discipline to another. If those kinds of larger, “macro” issues don’t exist, however, and the proposed model nevertheless does seem to require some pretty large staffing changes, that might be a red flag: Has something gone wrong in the design process? Does the model actually enact the mission of the institution, or has it gone perhaps too far in a different direction? If all of this sounds like a lot, that’s because it is. The shortest of these documents I’ve encountered was just over 30 pages, single spaced. The longest can approach 100 pages. All of this in mind, it’s perhaps useful to include a table of contents to help readers negotiate the document.

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Finally? Be sure to include acknowledgments. List the college president and the provost and the visiting scholars, for sure, but also be certain to list, by name and department, every single faculty and staff member and every student who played a role in the conversation. Be sure to include yourself. You deserve that.

8 LEADING GEN ED CONVERSATIONS Deciding on and Implementing a New Model

Step 5: Coming to a Consensus

Here are some of the key questions facing committees or individuals leading a curricular revision once a “final” model has been prepared for the faculty and staff: 1 How, when, and in what context will a decision be made whether or not the proposed model will be adopted? 2 What exactly is being voted on? 3 What happens if the proposed model doesn’t pass? 4 Who gets to vote? Who gets to speak? Who should speak? 5 Will amendments or other suggested changes be allowed? To be clear, the discussion that follows is not grounded in or bounded by Robert’s Rules of Order, alternative voting models, or the subtleties of parliamentary procedure. As with nearly everything else in this book, I’d argue that how these questions are answered is more dependent on a university’s internal culture than it is any external factors or procedures. Indeed, I’ve been around enough to understand that even something as seemingly intractable as Robert’s Rules is invoked differently at different institutions. Move forward with a clear-​eyed sense of both your university’s practices and your university’s needs, understanding that the two at times work together and at times are in conflict. Don’t feel obliged to follow previous practices, but at the same time don’t violate those practices without

DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-12

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a good reason, one that will lead to a more productive conversation and/​or result not just in the immediate future, but in the long term. How, When, and In What Context Will a Decision Be Made?

Very often, this is one of those features that will be determined by institutional practices. If the faculty handbook declares that all changes to college curricula must be approved by the faculty senate—​or by the faculty as a whole, or by the board of trustees—​then that is what will happen. If the accepted practice at an institution is that a consensus will be achieved through a voice vote of Yays and Nays, then that is likely what should happen. Even in situations where what must take place is more or less set in stone, there is often space for adjustment in order to ensure a thoughtful, productive conversation. If, for instance, the accepted practice at your university is that all “old business” on the agenda is addressed before discussion of any “new business”—​of which a gen ed revision is a part—​it’s possible that the institution will find itself in a situation where the revision never gets a full airing at faculty meetings, due to time running out, or the inability to make quorum. In this situation, might it be possible to waive the traditional approach to the agenda to ensure a more thoughtful, more thorough vetting of the proposed curriculum, with more colleagues present and engaged? Alternatively, might the work of the general education revision committee be technically housed in an office or committee that’s always located at the top of the agenda? Or might a special faculty meeting—​or a meeting of the faculty senate—​be called specifically to address gen ed reform? The WHEN of these meetings—​special or otherwise—​is also important. There are universities where a productive conversation and a successful vote can take place during the busiest part of the academic year. In most cases, this is a consequence of a thorough and careful scaffolding process prior to the actual vote wherein the proposed curriculum has been discussed multiple times with great attention to detail. At other times, institutions schedule these decision meetings just before or just after the academic year has begun or ended. This approach allows for greater clarity of mind for colleagues. It also allows greater time for discussion, amendments, and counter amendments. It’s not unusual for these meetings to run an entire day—​and sometimes stretch into a second day. That is appropriate: the decision to adopt a new curriculum will have consequences on faculty, students, and staff for years to come. These conversations should never be rushed.

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It’s worth noting that, as much as university administration should respect the faculty’s purview over curricular reform, these are moments where they can be helpful. If the administration has the ability to schedule special meetings dedicated to the decision to adopt, they should do so. If they have the ability to clear the agenda for regular faculty or senate meetings in order to ensure that core curricula receive due attention, they should do so. If the administration can see its way to providing coffee and refreshments, or breakfast, or lunch—​they should do so. (Mimosas are also not a bad idea.) In short, whatever an administration can do to set the faculty (and staff and others) up for a productive, thoughtful meeting, the administration should do—​assuming, of course, that the curricular leaders are open to these steps. This is not interference. This is support. What Is Being Voted On?

The answers to these questions may be very simple: “We’re voting on a new curriculum!” But there can also be some nuances: • Is the curriculum being voted on as a whole, or is each course or “part”—​ the first-​year experience, the requirement for study abroad, the senior capstone, and so on—​being voted on separately? • Is there an implementation plan attached to the new curriculum? Is it, too, being voted on? Are there other “ancillary” items—​funding plans, policies on who can or can’t teach the courses, resolutions on keeping departments in all disciplines robust and supported?—​that are votable as well? • Is this a permanent adoption of a new model, or is the vote on a pilot that is temporary and will need to be voted in permanently at a later date? Even setting aside the nuances of institutional culture, there are so many possibilities and so many moving parts and possible scenarios here that it would be impossible to address all of them. That in mind, perhaps it’s best to outline some more conceptual approaches. Many of these are, of course, common sense, but given the hailstorm meets hurricane that can characterize general education reform, it’s nice to have them laid out as a reminder: 1 The answers to these questions should not come as a surprise to voting members. Put another way, these and related questions should be discussed ahead of time, perhaps multiple times, with as many colleagues in the room as manageable. Indeed, when possible, the answers to these questions should be decided by those who will be casting their votes.

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2 While it’s entirely possible a model could be broken apart and voted on piece by piece, it’s important to be sure that the integrity of a model is not compromised by this approach. If, in other words, the first-​year experience lays the foundation for the new curriculum and it is voted down, then there may—​may—​be serious questions about whether or not the remainder of the model can effectively support students. This isn’t to say that there are never less-​integrated curricular components that could be removed without undermining the entire model; just that curricular leaders and committees should think through this question carefully. 3 The question about a pilot is an interesting one and is generally raised by colleagues who are wary of a new model—​or even outright hostile toward adoption. Given the resources and energy required for rolling out a new curricular model, there are a lot of arguments to be made against an approach that pilots either by running two models (new and old) simultaneously, or by bringing in a new model for a set period of time—​say, three to five years—​with the promise that if it doesn’t work, the institution will return to the model currently in practice.   A better approach would build in some system into the new curricular model that requires both a periodic check-​in on the health and effectiveness of the model and carries with it some options for making adjustments. In a way, of course, this is just another way of describing “assessment.” Further, it’s certainly an argument for making assessment public and inclusive: rather than hiding results in a closet somewhere, how do we make the data we gather visible to all of the various stakeholders—​and then involve those stakeholders in a conversation about how to use this data to build the program forward productively?   If that’s not comprehensive enough for the voting body, then perhaps this signals a desire for a something like the “Strands” model described in Chapter 1, wherein the gen ed course options are offered under several wide themes—​Saving the Planet, Living a Meaningful Life, Justice in America—​ that are revisited periodically in order to ensure that the curriculum stays relevant and impactful. That these periodic “check-​ins” on the themes might also include other adjustments to the model only makes sense. That they also help to acquaint more junior faculty and re-​ acquaint more senior faculty with the model would be an added bonus to this approach. What Happens If the Proposed Model Doesn’t Pass?

The most obvious answer to this question is “We revert to the current model.” If this is the “solution” at your institution, it might be valuable

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to remind faculty of the various reasons—​quantitative and otherwise—​that your institution embarked on a curricular conversation. We tend to adapt to the flaws of our current systems, coming over time to see them as “normal” or “unavoidable”: reminding folks that there are other ways of doing things that wouldn’t involve these inconveniences can be helpful. Indeed, there are occasions where the challenges of the current model or the challenges facing the institution more broadly are such that some entity—​ the regional accrediting agency, the board of trustees, the university president—​declares that the status quo is not sustainable and that, consequently, a “No” vote on the proposed new model will result in a restart or continuation of the curricular revision process. If this is the situation, it is best to know this up front, well before a possible vote. A third possibility when a model doesn’t pass is the committee in charge of the revision process could bring forward a proposal to implement some portion of the proposed curriculum. While it’s always tricky to do this if the curriculum is thoughtfully integrated, there are circumstances where this approach is worth considering: if, for instance, there is evidence on a campus that students are really struggling in the first year and/​or that these struggles have negative consequences for their learning and/​or the university, it would make sense to revisit any part of a failed proposal that addresses the first-​year experience. It’s also possible that there might be some features of a curriculum that’s been voted down that are particularly popular: programs supporting study abroad, for instance, or community-​ based learning. For what it’s worth, I know of at least one university that, after the proposed model was voted down, brought back first one feature and then another feature and then another feature for individual votes. Nearly all of them passed, and over time the institution built a sustainable model. All of that said, it’s worth noting that this idea of building a model in this manner was developed after the original proposal failed and was not an idea that was part of the conversation prior to the vote. It’s questionable whether having the prospect of an a la carte approach of this kind as part of the pre-​vote discussion would help or hinder the model on the ballot. Who Gets to Vote? Who Gets to Speak? Who Should Speak?

The questions of who is and isn’t allowed to vote and who is and isn’t allowed to speak from the floor prior to a vote are items likely determined by institutional tradition, Robert’s Rules, or the faculty handbook. Even in situations like these, however, it’s not out of the question that voting members could entertain a proposal to waive standard practices to allow a broader range of colleagues to speak before and participate in a decision that

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will have a wide-​ranging impact for years to come. Exactly how expansive that “broader range” might be, is worth discussing with colleagues on the general education reform committee. In no particular order, there are arguments for including voting privileges for at least the following cohorts: • Contingent and non-​tenure track faculty: I’ll leave for another time the debate about whether or not non-​tenure track and contingent faculty should have to carry the bulk of responsibility for teaching courses a university has deemed so valuable that they are required of all students (Hmm …), but I certainly wish to acknowledge that at many universities this is the case. If indeed this is the commonly accepted practice at an institution, then it would make sense that those with both the most at stake in a new curriculum and the greatest experience teaching general education should have some say in what practices are adopted by the institution. Indeed, at institutions that commonly thrust gen ed courses onto non-​tenured faculty, it would make sense that contingent or other non-​tenure track faculty should be intimately involved in the curricular reform process from the start. Beyond allowing them to bring their vast expertise into the conversation, including these hard-​ working colleagues early and often would better ensure their familiarity with any eventual model. • Staff and student affairs: in recent years, the lines between “faculty” and “staff” have been becoming increasingly blurred. At most institutions, a large number of the student affairs staff hold advanced degrees, including PhDs. It’s not uncommon that staff teach courses, particularly in the first-​year experience, that they advise both nonmajors and majors, and that, very often, they have as many or more contact hours with students than do faculty. In short, they have knowledge about and experience with supporting student learning and development. They are also deeply invested in the success of students. Respecting this and bringing student affairs and staff into the conversation has the potential to lead to a more informed decision. • Students: if students are to be involved in an eventual vote on a new curriculum, it’s essential that substantial time and effort be put into educating them on current thinking in general education reform. In particular, these educational efforts should focus on the rationales behind more integrative and high impact practices. In a moment when public discourse places so much emphasis on the obvious practical applications of higher education (“What are you going to do with that major?”), students would benefit from participating in more nuanced (and data-​ driven) conversations about the varied and wonderful ways university education can prepare them for a complicated world.

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Assuming such conversations are possible, the inclusion of students in the final decision has some wonderful long-​term benefits: first, it models positive agency for students, providing them an opportunity to participate responsibly in a decision that will have a lasting impact on the institution for several generations of students. This is a heady prospect, one that, engaged productively, will remain in students’ memories for years to come. Second, engaging students in this consequential conversation can assist with messaging for future generations of students: as much as we like to think that institutional voices shape students’ impressions of a curriculum, in actuality, the students themselves probably control the flow of information more than we do. No matter how many glossy brochures we pass out and how many welcoming talks we give about our curriculum, it’s difficult to compete with the dorm-​room chatter, conversations over lunch in the cafeteria, and gossip over red Solo cups at Friday night gatherings. The more intimately students are involved in the most important moments of a curricular decision, the more informed these informal networks will be. Above and beyond the question of who should be permitted to speak in any settings where final decisions on the curriculum are being made is the question of who should speak. Obviously, it’s both appropriate and valuable for the floor conversation on a motion to begin with an introduction by informed sources clarifying the motion itself, the rationales behind the motion, and the history of the proposed model—​ in other words, the entirety of the revision process thus far. Once an introduction has been presented, it’s perhaps best for the leaders of the revision process to stand aside. Assumedly, at this point, their voices, their ideas, their thinking, has been heard by the faculty and others. Now is the time to allow other voices, other ideas, other thinking to be heard and discussed by the room. There are exceptions to this rule, of course: if there are calls for clarifications, committee members should of course speak up. Similarly, if there are misstatements or inaccuracies made in the general conversation, it’s reasonable that those most familiar with the curriculum should offer corrections—​ assuming that others in attendance haven’t done so. It’s also reasonable that curricular leaders reach out to other respected colleagues and campus leaders prior to a decision meeting, asking if they have any questions and encouraging them to speak up. For that matter, it’s entirely appropriate to issue a more general call to all colleagues—​ even without knowing their stance on the curriculum—​pointing out that while it’s perfectly understandable that meetings of this kind are often dominated by “the usual suspects” (including the driving committee!) it’s

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both appropriate and desirable that, as this decision will impact all involved for years to come, the voting body hear from everyone with thoughts and opinions on the proposed curriculum. Will Amendments or Other Suggested Changes Be Allowed?

As with nearly everything else at this particular moment in the process, the answer to this question is very much a consequence of institutional context: How open to change has the process been so far? Have changes to the model been made already, based on a faculty (and staff, and student) vote? How contentious are the most contentious elements of the voting body—​is there ill will here, intent on torpedoing a model with amendment after amendment? Might further changes undermine the integrity of the model—​or strengthen it? Not surprisingly, my inclination is to allow space and opportunity for faculty and staff agency: if someone in the room has an idea, let’s put it on the table, discuss it, and see what the voting body decides. Doing so allows a greater sense of transparency and might—​might—​translate into greater faculty buy-​in. At the very least, it makes it harder for those opposed to the model to argue that they’ve been railroaded. It is worth noting, though, there are cases where the college administration (or some other body) will declare that the vote will be up or down, yes or no, with no amendments. Sometimes there are extenuating circumstances—​ a budget or enrolment crisis, for instance—​that makes such an approach necessary. If this is true at your institution, make sure there is time for voting members to thoroughly vet the proposal before the meeting where a vote will take place, and that there’s plenty of time at the meeting itself for those in attendance to have their say and discuss the pros and cons of a model. Step 6: Implementation

To begin with, there are two things to know about the implementation of a new general education curriculum: 1 It’s a lot of work. 2 If a committee has done a good job planning throughout the curricular revision process, foregrounding both the questions and ideas that follow, implementation will be a lot easier. The particular questions general education leaders will want to explore well ahead of the actual implementation stage are many and overlapping, but

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more or less fall into three categories: Administration, Course Development and Approval, and Rollout and Sustainability. General Education Administration

First on the list is the question of which persons or bodies will oversee the new curriculum. How this question is answered will impact the institution both politically and practically. With regard to politics, the level at which the directorship of gen ed is placed speaks loudly of the degree to which the institution does or doesn’t truly value liberal education. At most places, for instances, appointing a “general education director” or “general education coordinator” signals very loudly and very clearly that general education isn’t so significant to the institution that it merits the attention of, say, an associate provost or associate dean. That this carries practical implications is perhaps obvious: after all, an associate provost reports to and has a direct line to the provost, a relationship that may include weekly meetings, regular committee contacts, and informal conversations in the hallway at the end of the day. Any messaging that needs to occur is simple and direct. A program director, on the other hand, is more often locked into the administrative version of that telephone game we all played as children, wherein something that’s urgent and complicated gets passed along to a dean who then contacts an associate provost who then may or may not mention it to the chief academic officer, oftentimes couched in terms that are distorted, lacking in nuance, or diminished in urgency. As cynical as this sounds, it’s less about cynicism than about the realities of communication in our overscheduled, overstressed lives: we’re all short on time and tend to communicate in shorthand. And when that happens, nuance is lost and decisions might be made that are detrimental to the program. It’s not uncommon, for instance, for conflicts to arise around which courses should or should not “count” as general education courses. A department chair intent on ensuring strong enrolments for their department may have one understanding of how this should work. A general education director intent upon maintaining the integrity of a new model may have another. If the efforts to resolve this conflict end up going up the administrative ladder, the health of the new liberal education program very literally relies on whoever is in charge of that program having access to clear and simple lines of communication with whomever finally has the authority to resolve the issue. As a new curriculum is implemented and abstract ideas become concrete policies, issues like this will come up. A lot. If the lines of communication and authority are not clear, over the course of half a decade the best intentions

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and aspirations of a new model will be gradually eroded. The consequences of this erosion are immense: beyond undermining the learning of thousands (if not tens of thousands) of students over the years, it can also lead to long-​ term faculty cynicism. After all, a diminished model will have less impact. And if a new curriculum doesn’t have as much of an impact as we’d claimed it would, this feeds into the arguments of those who’d said all along that revising the gen ed curriculum was a waste of time. It’s a vicious cycle, for sure, and one that can be avoided by ensuring that the leadership of the program is positioned in such a way as to best unapologetically maintain the original intent of the new program. The same can be said for the committee structures used to shepherd through the implementation process and to maintain the model once it’s established. What standing committees will be involved in this process? What new committees—​ or task forces, or working groups—​ will need to be created in order to bring the new model to fruition? And most importantly: How do we ensure that these committees are familiar with best practices in contemporary liberal education? Several possible approaches come to mind: • The education efforts put in place early in the curricular revision process could continue: online resources related to best thinking in general education, access to respected experts in curricular reform (whether taped, virtual, or face-​to-​face), and so on. Though there’s absolutely no harm in keeping these materials and resources available, this approach may suffer from revision fatigue: even colleagues who’ve only been passively involved in the reform process may have the sense that these are conversations they’ve already had, that they understand the ins and outs of curricular thinking. • Create opportunities for committee members to attend relevant conferences or institutes to explore implementation practices in general education and beyond: the American Association of Colleges and Universities and the Association for General and Liberal Studies both host annual conferences and institutes dedicated to powerful practices in liberal education. Beyond that, there are institutes and conferences on high-​ impact practices, problem-​and project-​ based learning, community-​ based learning, ePortfolios, and assessment. Offering opportunities for appropriate committee participants to attend these events allows immersive intellectual engagement that speaks to both our sense of curiosity and our desire for agency. As attendees sift through conference offerings, engage in casual conversation with colleagues from other universities, and reflect on the how all that they’re learning can (or can’t) be translated to their own universities, their understanding of the new

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curriculum and possible best ways forward will be deepened—​as will their dedication to maintaining the integrity of an adopted model. • Place colleagues who are deeply informed about liberal education, its purposes, and practices, onto committees: sometimes this is the simplest and best solution because it obviously ensures continuity: some of the colleagues who served on the revision committee or other groups deeply involved in the revision process assume a role—​either appointed, elected, or placed there by general consent—​on committees overseeing all or part of implementation. If this approach is possible on your campus, it’s probably wise to utilize some of the less prominent members of the original work. I say this for several reasons: first, at this stage of the game, those colleagues who were most called upon for leadership during the revision would probably benefit by stepping away from the many very difficult conversations involved in implementation; second, it’s not out of the question that the process as a whole would benefit from a change of leadership—​after all, we tend to tire of hearing the same voices over and over again, and it’s always useful to bring different ideas, different approaches, and different styles of leadership into play; third, the goal, always, should be to expand and then expand again the pool of colleagues who feel responsible for the new curriculum. The broader the sense of engagement and investment, the easier it will be to maintain the long-​ term health of the new model. It perhaps goes without saying that this may be a moment in institutional history where there’s a shift in committee structures and responsibilities. At one institution, for instance, the following occurred: 1 Prior to the curricular revision, courses proposed both for majors and general education passed through the Curriculum Committee made up of elected faculty and with an administrator serving on an ex-​officio basis. 2 After a new curricular model was adopted, the university created a General Education Group. This group was similarly made up of elected faculty and an ex-​officio administrator. Its charge was to do an initial vetting of proposed courses for the new curriculum, to communicate with the course proposers if changes were necessary, and to make a recommendation of “Adopt” or “Reject” to the Curriculum Committee. The Curriculum Committee in turn had formal responsibility for approving the course and bringing it to the faculty for a vote, or turning it down and/​or asking for changes from the proposer. The Curriculum Committee continued to have sole responsibility for vetting courses unrelated to general education.

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3 Eventually, two things became clear: first, that the Curriculum Committee nearly always accepted the recommendations of the General Education Group; second, that the Curriculum Committee had too much to handle, making their oversight of gen ed proposals not simply redundant, but burdensome. Consequently, it was decided that the faculty handbook would need revising, turning the General Education Group into the General Education Committee, a permanent standing committee with full power to vet, vote on, and bring to the faculty proposed courses for the new general education curriculum. The Curriculum Committee, meanwhile, continued to oversee all—​and only—​courses unrelated to the general education curriculum. As is perhaps obvious, at this particular institution all general education courses were separate from other course offerings on campus: rather than having a Psychology 101 course that counted both as the introductory course for the psychology major and as an option to fulfill gen ed requirements in the social (or, on many campuses, natural) sciences, on this campus students took Psychology 101 if they wanted to become a psych major and Inquiry 260 if they wanted to take a gen ed course that was taught by a psychology professor. Consequently, having two clear but separate paths, one for approval of major courses, the other for approval of gen ed courses, was an easy solution. Even in curricular structures where students can use courses to “double-​dip”—​that is, fulfill both major and gen ed requirements—​this dual path approval process would present a reasonable option: new courses could first go through the university curriculum committee. Once they receive approval to serve as courses within a major, they would then go through the general education committee to receive approval as gen ed courses. Years ago, a colleague pointed out to me that the word integrative is derived from the same Latin root as the word integrity: “integer”—​to be whole or complete. We commonly speak about the integrity of a building, understanding that if a structure lacks this feature, it’s at risk of collapse, putting its occupants at peril. The goal in creating the administrative structure of a new general education curriculum is the same: to ensure that it does not collapse, causing harm to many thousands of students—​and, indeed, to many hundreds of faculty. Course Development and Approval

With regard to the courses offered in a new curriculum, the key question is whether existing courses can count toward the new curriculum or whether new courses will need to be developed—​or both.

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If new courses will need to be developed, then a number of additional questions will need to be explored: • Who will support that course development? For campuses with a robust center for teaching and learning (CTL), the answer to this question may be relatively simple: most centers have leaders and staff who are well-​prepared to support top-​to-​bottom course design workshops. That said, of course, their work in this area will be easier if: (a) we ask them for their help well ahead of time—​and very politely—​and make sure they have the time and resources necessary to do this work; (b) they have an insider’s understanding of the new curriculum and its needs. In other words, when at all possible, it would be smart to include members of the CTL staff in conversations about general education reform from the very beginning. If your institution does not have a CTL, or that CTL is overworked (a not uncommon phenomenon), or your committee, your CTL, and your colleagues would like to hear from outside voices, there are of course scholars and books dedicated to course design and redesign. The latter include but are certainly not limited to the following: • Elizabeth Barkley and Claire Major: Engaged Teaching: A Handbook for College Faculty. K. Patricia Cross Academy, 2022 • L. Dee Fink: Designing Significant Learning Experiences: An Integrated Approach to Designing College Courses. Jossey-​Bass, 2013 • Paul Hanstedt: Creating Wicked Students: Designing Courses for a Complex World. Stylus Publishing/​Routledge Press, 2018 • Will funds be necessary for that development—​and if so, where will those funds come from? Generally speaking, the costs for implementing a new general education curriculum are much less than an administration might fear. Assuming an institution hasn’t adopted a model that mirrors a radical shift in institutional mission, new curricula generally won’t require large numbers of additional hires (though some redistribution of resources may—​may—​be necessary). That said, this is certainly a moment when, if at all possible, an institution should demonstrate to those developing new or redesigned courses that their efforts are recognized and valued. This is not easy work. It takes time and concentration. What’s more, the value of this redesign work extends well beyond isolated courses: given time, done well, and supported properly, a course design workshop or similar program can strengthen a sense of community and shared purpose among participants. This will have positive benefits for the institution for years to come.

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In short: yes, an institution should be ready to commit some resources to course design and redesign in recognition of those participating and the long-​term impact their labors will have on the university. This could involve stipends but might also extend to food, drinks, conference travel, chocolate, and/​or handwritten thank you notes from the provost or the board of trustees. Somehow or other—​and perhaps in multiple ways—​ the institution should make clear their sincere gratitude for these efforts. • When will this course design work occur? The simplest answer is “At a moment when those participating have the opportunity to set other work aside and concentrate on designing courses that reflect best practices in teaching and learning and best thinking in contemporary general education.” On some campuses, this means early summer, right after graduation. At other schools, it means early January, before the start of the Spring semester. In the end, as long as the criteria of approaching this work with a clear head is met, it really doesn’t matter how a university answers this question. • What faculty and/​or staff will participate in this development? Will they be selected? Or can they volunteer? On the one hand, faculty who volunteer will likely have a greater sense of engagement and investment in the work of course design and redesign. On the other hand, because these early adopters will often be recognized in their departments and across campus as early adopters, their ability to later serve as course design evangelists who are capable of expanding the circle of engagement in curricular implementation will likely be somewhat diminished. An alternative approach would be to send out a campus-​ wide e-​mail asking for volunteers, but to also send targeted invitations to several thoughtful colleagues not on the list of “usual suspects.” These invitations could include colleagues perceived as being both lightly for and lightly against the new curriculum; as long as they’re thoughtful and willing to engage course design with an open mind, their participation in this process could have lasting benefits for the institution as a whole. In addition to the above, the creation of new (or dramatically redesigned) courses raises the question of whether or not there will be an opportunity to pilot these courses—​that is, run a small number of “test” classes, often without formal approval, in order to work out early kinks in design and implementation. In the words of Kim Filer, Associate Vice-​ Provost for Teaching and Learning at Virginia Tech, universities implementing a new curriculum should do their best to “pilot everything and pilot often.” This of course leads to a further cascading list of questions, many of which replicate those above: Should those piloting be supported? Yes. Should they be volunteers or selected? Whatever works. Who will support this work?

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Whoever can do so in a thoughtful way, meeting regularly with those piloting, preferably in a group so that instructors can swap war stories and problem-​solve on the fly. Piloting also evokes some more distinctive questions. Perhaps most prominent among them has to do with gathering data to examine the degree to and ways in which the pilots are or are not working. This is the point where a good relationship with the offices of assessment and institutional research will come in handy; chances are, they’ll have plenty of ideas about how to effectively and accurately gather data and feedback on multiple levels and from everyone involved: instructors, students, relevant staff, and other players. This might involve surveys, focus groups, course evaluations, one-​on-​one interviews, ePortfolios—​the list goes on and on. Both the assessments of the pilots and the analysis of the data should aim for a robust understanding of all dimensions of the teaching and learning experience. Attention should be paid to students’ mastery of course content, yes, but also to their ability to integrate that content into their lives, as well as affective dimensions of their learning: their sense of belonging (particularly after the first year), their sense of their ability to move from one field to another, to solve complex problems, to engage in not just algorithmic but open-​ ended thinking. Instructors should likewise be polled on both the intellectual and the affective: What are the challenges they’re facing that move beyond creating an effective learning environment? What have they learned when teaching this course—​about their field, about themselves as instructors, about themselves beyond the classroom? What further support or conversation might they appreciate moving forward? A further question involves how the data from any assessment of piloted courses will be disseminated among the rest of the faculty and staff involved in the further implementation of the new curriculum. Here again, the answers to this question are likely fairly obvious: newsletters, presentations at faculty or faculty senate meetings, poster sessions or pedagogical development events before, during, or immediately following the academic year. And here again, an emphasis should be placed on creating a means of communication that captures the robust nature of the complicated (and, well-​done, incredibly fulfilling!) work of teaching integrated general education courses. Whenever possible, adopt approaches that allow a variety of faculty and student voices, that capture nuance, that provide opportunity for dialogue and conversation. We are an intellectual community, deeply invested in the life of the mind, in questioning, in articulating and re-​ articulating as we explore complex ideas. Implementation will go more smoothly, more thoughtfully, more productively, when our curiosity and aptitude for solving problems is invoked.

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If existing courses are to count toward the new curriculum, the implementation conversation must address an entirely different set of questions involving process. The first of these is very easy to answer: • Will existing courses that are offered as part of the current gen ed curriculum need to meet the learning outcomes of the new curriculum? Answer: Yes. If the new curriculum is going to have any integrity, the answer to this question is essentially non-​negotiable: a new curriculum with new learning outcomes requires courses aimed at helping students meet those outcomes. Exactly how any necessary reconfiguration and implementation of existing courses occurs, however, allows a number of options: the simplest version of this process is that existing courses are vetted by the appropriate campus committee to determine the degree to which they effectively address the new gen ed learning outcomes. Those that meet an agreed upon standard are approved into the curriculum. Those that do not are sent back to the instructor and/​or department for further revision. This approach will work best when supported by a number of workshops discussing how the general education learning outcomes (GELOs) can be effectively integrated into existing courses. Though these workshops would likely be most effective if they took the sort of comprehensive, top-​to-​bottom approach discussed above for new courses, even a shorter, more focused conversation that’s thoughtfully designed to address not just assignments and exams but day-​to-​day instruction, might be useful. Further, it would be helpful if members of the committee in charge of vetting course proposals were present to talk about the standards and criteria they’ll be using to make their decision. It’s possible that the amount of work necessary to vet every course that will be offered as part of the new curriculum is so immense that it would make sense to allow existing courses to be grandfathered into the new curriculum on a temporary basis. For instance, an institution might announce that since their first priority is on the development and implementation of effective first-​year courses (either new or old), all existing sophomore and junior-​level courses that count for the current general education program will be allowed to count for the new curriculum for the first two years of implementation. While this is not a perfect solution, there’s a logic to it, allowing a laser focus to be put on the highest curricular priorities while making more manageable the work load of the vetting bodies. Further, assuming a university’s CTL is supporting implementation, it allows the center’s staff to focus on one thing at a time, first developing strong first-​year practices, and next offering

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workshops on productive approaches to the “sophomore slump.” Worth noting is that this approach also doesn’t prohibit those teaching grandfathered courses from reproposing them sooner rather than later: those who think their courses meet the new standards or who already have ideas about how they might rejigger existing courses to meet these standards are certainly allowed to put them into the vetting and approval pipeline. Rollout and Sustainability

This last paragraph moves us nicely into a discussion on rolling out new curricula. Obviously, one key point is that a new model doesn’t need to be implemented all at once. The first year of implementation, for instance, an institution may choose to focus on the first-​year experience, undergraduate research, and global experiences. The second year, they may focus on the distributional components of the curriculum, particularly those at the sophomore and junior levels, on internships and ePortfolios, and better integrating writing and oral communications into the curriculum. The third year, the institution might turn their focus to capstone courses and improving data analysis and digital literacy across the curriculum. Again, an approach of this kind allows faculty and staff to focus on one or two aspects of the new model at a time, facilitating a deeper and more thoughtful dive into, for instance, best thinking in teaching writing or implementing student reflection. There’s also a tidiness to this approach: students who come in prior to, say, 2026, graduate under one curricula. Those who come in after 2026 graduate under another. One downside of this approach is that it means that the institution is essentially offering two curricula at once. Sometimes institutions address this by carefully arranging teaching assignments such that some faculty are teaching only the new curriculum and other faculty teaching only the old. Overtime, of course, more and more faculty will be brought on board to the new curriculum. Other schools will make this separation by departments, so that, for instance, the English department is offering humanities courses in the old curriculum while the history department is offering humanities courses in the new curriculum. At other times, universities might simply wave the original graduation requirements for students matriculated under the old curriculum and allow any (vetted and approved) courses from the new curriculum to apply toward graduation, regardless of when students began their course work. This approach perhaps works best when the old curriculum and the new are relatively similar, but might also make sense when the new curriculum is clearly much better than the old: in situations like this, it seems almost

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unconscionable to ask early cohorts to complete a model that’s less effective. To make this work, the appropriate committees (curriculum, gen ed revision, gen ed implementation) would want to think ahead, developing a plan that allows students and departments maximum flexibility. Though this approach may seem like a violation of my earlier insistence that we work hard to maintain the integrity of a new model, what’s being described here is a temporary approach that is taken with the best interests of the students in mind. This approach perhaps works best at smaller institutions that have a high degree of social trust—​and where those in charge of assessment can easily make an argument to regional accrediting bodies that the new curriculum clearly serves the needs of the students better than the old. In the end—​and hopefully not surprising at this point—​there is no single best (or worst) approach to rolling out a new gen ed curriculum. Different institutions will find different ways to make it happen, relying on an internal logic that rises naturally out of institutional culture, the needs and benefits of the new model, and the conversations around reform that take place in the ramp-​up to a vote on the new curriculum. The only key to a successful rollout is that it’s explained well, systematically, and repeatedly. In our busy world with our busy careers, no one should ever assume that this topic has been covered well enough. With regard to sustainability, here again it’s useful to consider these matters well ahead of time, building feasible solutions into curricular proposals from the start so that they’re an integral part of the model, rather than a clumsy add-​on. The goal when thinking about sustainability is to develop a model that is designed, implemented, and assessed in such a way that the original intentions of the model are respected while at the same time allowing the curriculum to evolve in deliberate, meaningful ways. On the one hand, we want to avoid the kinds of curricular drift that occur when a model is set in place and left to its own devices: over time, as individual faculty members engage with and then step away from the model; as courses are proposed by one instructor and then handed to another, and then to another; as the membership of any oversight committees shift from colleagues who were intimately involved with the development of the curriculum to colleagues who were watching from the sidelines to colleagues who weren’t even hired when the model was adopted—​as all of these things (inevitably) happen, the understandings of and assumptions about the model will shift and form and reform and reform again to the point where many involved in its day-​to-​ day implementation will have no idea of the original intentions behind the model. Often in situations like this, the consequence is a shifting from the WHY of the model to the WHAT, all about the content rather than how

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that content can be used to teach students skills and ways of thinking that will be essential in a rapidly-​changing world. On the other hand, we also don’t want a model that stays locked in place. 2024 is not like 2020. 2020 was not like 2016. 2016 was not like 2012. In a world that can evolve from a sense of expanding democracy toward a resurgence of nationalism to a pandemic to a time when civil rights, voting rights, and access to higher education are being steadily eroded, we need higher education systems that are adaptable. All of this in mind, it’s important to think about ways to sustain a model that’s simultaneously grounded in its original intents while being agile in its response to a changing world. One way to do this, as pointed out in Chapter 1, is to develop something along the strands model, wherein all or most gen ed offerings are clustered under a number of driving questions (or “strands”), developed in conversation amongst faculty, staff, and students. Central to keeping this model meaningful is the idea that every so often—​say, every five years or so—​the driving questions are revisited: Are they still pertinent? Do they capture the concerns and interests of our students? Do they represent our own interests and concerns? Noteworthy here is the idea that not all strands need to be changed—​or even discussed—​at once; indeed, doing so would be time consuming and could lead to a lack of curricular continuity. A campus that has chosen to go with a pathways model—​wherein gen ed courses are organized as options under a number of what are essentially “mini-​minors”—​might similarly decide to design in a clause wherein all individual pathways are revisited every, say, eight years to determine: 1 Whether or not the topic is still relevant to contemporary concerns and challenges. 2 Whether or not the level of student and faculty interest in the topic justifies keeping it as a pathway. 3 Whether or not the courses offered as part of the pathway are: a. Still taught. b. Still appropriate for the pathway. 4 Whether or not there are other, newer courses taught on campus that might be appropriate for this pathway. Based on the sum findings of these (and/​or other) criteria, a decision would be made to “re-​up” the pathway, phase it out, or revise it to better match the needs and interests of the university community. Done effectively, this process would be more of a thoughtful conversation between the committees charged with oversight of general education and the colleagues (and students!) invested in the model. Ideally, newer faculty who weren’t around when a particular pathway was adopted might also participate in

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the conversation, allowing them to better understand the impetus behind a particular set of courses and the goals of the overall curriculum from an insider perspective. In this way, their ideas about and investment in the curriculum can be activated, resulting in a more energized and energizing—​ and sustainable—​approach to liberal education. Finally, any model that has a “menu” approach wherein an array of different courses offered by a variety of faculty and departments fulfill gen ed requirements can enhance curricular sustainability by building in a clause where each course must be periodically reapproved every five to ten years. Here again, this is important to ensure that the courses as they’re currently being taught continue to meet the original expectations of the gen ed curriculum. This periodic check-​in will also help to ensure that the curriculum as a whole remains responsive to student needs and faculty skills and interests. An observant committee will notice when there are shifts in resubmitted courses that speak to changing trends in pedagogical practices and course contents, possibly signaling changing curricular interests and needs. They will similarly notice when resubmitted courses in a particular area seem to be becoming lackadaisical and/​or unengaged: this is in turn might signal the need for reinvigorated pedagogical development and course design. At the risk of sounding cynical, it’s possible that all of these moves—​ re-​exploring and resubmitting at the strand, pathway, or course level—​will be met with resistance by the faculty and staff responsible for proposing, reproposing, and teaching the actual courses involved. Fair enough; we’re all very busy and it takes time to (re)design courses and fill out the appropriate committee forms. It may help to remind colleagues that this approach is put in place in order to avoid heavier costs later: if an adopted curriculum is left on its own, over time it will shift and decompose—​or even fester. This is one of those situations where the old saying about an ounce of prevention is appropriate: by attending to the courses, programs, and pathways occasionally, we may avoid a time-​consuming and difficult overhaul down the road. What’s more, by sustaining these conversations—​ albeit at a relatively low level—​we also sustain our sense of shared purpose and mission, and bring on new colleagues to boot!

9 CREATING MEANINGFUL ASSESSMENT OF GENERAL EDUCATION

The first time I encountered institution-​level assessment as an instructor, this is more or less how it worked: 1 Somewhere, long before I was hired, some committee made up of people who were now retired met in a dark room and decided on a bunch of “learning outcomes” for the general education program. 2 After that, every year everyone teaching in general education would receive an e-​mail from the director of the program that read something along the following lines: “This year we’ll be assessing learning outcome 2.165: ‘Students will be familiar with key works of art and literature from Western civilization.’ Once you have determined your students’ final grades for the semester, please send me an e-​mail letting me know what percentage of your students received a C or better on their oral presentations involving key works of art or literature from Western civilization.” 3 I would delete this e-​mail. 4 Or sometimes I wouldn’t. Sometimes I would be a good citizen, dutifully opening my notebook once all the grades were determined and counting the number of students who’d received at least a C. Then I’d get out my calculator, figure out the percentage, and send that number to my director. 5 Later I would learn that the response rate to the director’s e-​mail was somewhere in the low 40th percentile. Assessment has come a long way since then. Once a practice used to fend off accrediting agencies, it’s now more often used to spur thoughtful DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-13

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conversations about how we can improve the work we do in the classroom in order to ensure that all of our students learn. (If this is not the case at your institution, I’m sorry about that and I encourage you to seek out other models and bring them back to your colleagues, your department head, and any administrators who will listen.) My hope is that I’ve already covered any number of practices—​both in curricular models and to the curricular revision process—​that will help to ensure that the assessment of general education at your institution is robust, thoughtful, and productive. Because assessment can make or break a new curriculum, however, many of these ideas bear repeating: We Need to Assess What Really Matters to Us

Paul Gaston (2010a) puts it this way: “Properly conceived and implemented, assessment provides a productive focus on overriding questions of priority” (p. 14). It’s incumbent on faculty at the program and course level to design outcomes that address the matters that really concern them. Part of the problem with assessing student familiarity with “key works of art and literature” is that it doesn’t reflect my highest aspirations for the general education classroom. When I’m standing in front of a room full of mathematicians and scientists enrolled in my Artistic and Literary Responses to Science and Technology course, I want more than familiarity from my students. I want them to care about literature, to recognize that it matters, that it can very literally save lives. As corny as this sounds, my conversations with faculty from across the disciplines assure me that they share similar feelings about their own fields and their own teachings: they want students to understand that the course material is relevant to living full, informed, productive lives. All of this in mind, we need to hold on tight to the points made in Chapter 6: whenever possible, we should design general education around our greatest aspirations for our students. If what we care about is, say, students appreciating the concept of scientific objectivity or students recognizing the way in which poetry can lift the reader out of a soul-​ crushing materiality, then we need to design a curriculum that reflects that, and assess to ensure that we’re achieving these goals. In essence, all of this is just another way of encouraging faculty to not give up on their ideals when asked to do assessment. Be creative. Everything is assessable to a point. If you want to provide evidence that your students are discussing the course material with increasing levels of complexity, spot-​check threaded online discussions based on a prompt of your choosing. Or if you want students to adopt Eastern philosophies, ask them to design a life plan engaging these ideas.

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These approaches may not hit exactly what we’re after, but assessing these assignments will give us both a sense of how close students are to reaching our goals and provide valuable information to help us improve the teaching of our general education classes. And that, after all, is the real purpose of assessing anything. That these methods would also provide us with numbers to keep the administration happy is simply a bonus. Assessment Works Best When It Focuses on Quality Enhancement as Opposed to (Just) Quality Assurance

As is perhaps clear by now, assessment should provide information that allows a general education program to evolve in constructive ways (Gaston, 2010b; Walvoord, 2010). The purpose of assessment in general education should be to tell faculty what is working and what is not, and how things might be improved. Peggy Maki (2010) states it thus: Determining that 75 percent of the students have satisfactorily demonstrated a general education outcome represents a commitment to accountability. But a commitment to identifying patterns of strength and weakness in that 75 percent, as well as in the remaining 25 percent, and to discovering the reasons for those patterns represents openness to learn more about the teaching/​learning process and ways to improve it. (p. 49, my emphasis) Rather than creating an assessment environment where, once gathered, the data simply disappears into the administrative ether, we should aim for a continuous loop (Figure 9.1). In the first step, an outcome (or two, or possibly, in rare circumstances, three—​more on this below) is collaboratively chosen to be assessed. In the best cases, all courses that address this outcome already have an assignment or project or exam that provide meaningful and appropriate data. If not, an assignment/​project/​and so on should be collaboratively designed well ahead of time so that instructors may embed it in their courses as seamlessly as possible. In the second step, the data should be collected and assessed. Here again, it’s a bonus if this can be done collaboratively. Faculty sitting in a room alone with student artifacts and ticking off boxes on a rubric is assessment for accreditation purposes. Faculty sitting in a room together and ticking off boxes on a rubric as they examine and discuss student artifacts is assessment for quality enhancement. For as they do this, colleagues will be sharing ideas about the gen ed goals, about how to achieve them, about what pedagogical practices they use, about ideas they have for how to revise and improve those techniques. The latter scenario, to put it another way, turns

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FIGURE 9.1 Assessment

for quality enhancement.

assessment from a task to an intellectual practice: boxes are checked, yes, but in a way that feeds our hunger for agency and problem-​solving—​and for social interaction. As mentioned earlier, events like these should be well catered. Create an environment that lets those participating know their time and efforts are valued. Once data has been collected, another conversation occurs in the third step: What does this data reveal, if anything? What practices seem to lead to positive results? What additional pedagogies might be employed to produce a further positive result? This in turn leads to a fourth step: implementing new pedagogical practices based upon the conversation analyzing the data. And then, of course, the whole cycle begins again: Did the intervention work? What does the data say? Are we happy with the results? What next steps do we want to take? (Fulcher et al., 2014). If it isn’t already clear, when configured this way, “assessment” doesn’t just involve those in the university assessment office: if we’re aiming toward not just quality assurance but quality enhancement, it helps to have colleagues in the room who are familiar with effective pedagogical practices, whether this means members of the university center for teaching and learning or faculty and staff who enjoy exploring innovative approaches to classroom practices. Assessment Should Be Written into a General Education Program from the Start

If we’re going to make assessment meaningful to and easier for general education faculty, we need to be deliberate about writing it into the structure of the program. An assessment protocol that is added at the last minute or is

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layered artificially over the top of an existing program will probably feel like extra work. A protocol that is woven into the program and is an inextricable part of the whole, on the other hand, just becomes “what we do.” ePortfolios are something that’s both good gen ed and good assessment. An institution that chooses to include ePortfolios into their new model can move forward with an assessment tool already in place. A bare-​bones outline of how the portfolio systems works is relatively easy to understand: • Individual students have an electronic portfolio, very much like a website, to which they add artifacts—​ papers, presentations, lab reports, and so on—​on an annual or biannual basis. These artifacts should include work from their general education classes, but might also include work from their major courses. Indeed, including both would likely lead to greater integration of general education and the major, to the benefit of both. Students maintain these portfolios throughout their time at the university. • The best portfolio systems also require students to include metacognitive reflections in which they synthesize their experiences over the course of a term or terms. What connections do they see among the artifacts they’ve submitted? What differences? What skills do they think they can carry over from their general education courses to their major? What skills in their major have helped them succeed in general education? How have they grown as learners? What obstacles have they faced? How might their educational goals or plans for the future have changed? • These portfolios are generally administered by the university information technology office, and sample portfolios can be extracted from across a number of variable sets for assessment or other purposes. For example, if the year’s assessment tasks require an examination of a sophomore-​level humanities course, a random sampling can be pulled from the portfolios of second year students and run through the assessment protocol outlined above. Similarly, if faculty need to perform a longitudinal study of students over years at university, a random selection of students can be determined (and anonymized) when they arrive their first year, then followed until graduation. The key to the portfolio system is that it’s good pedagogy. Meta-​analysis of this sort helps students come to understand themselves as learners: what their skills are, how they need to improve, what techniques have led them to successful work (Suskie, 2009). Moreover, analyzing how different fields within a general education curriculum and between general education and their own majors will help students develop a flexibility of mind that will be invaluable in the workplace and in a complex and ever-​changing world.

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We don’t just want students to encounter different fields and different methodologies; we want them to be deliberative about how the thinking in one field might help them in another. What problems are they facing now? How do these new problems compare to challenges they’ve encountered in the past? What intellectual skills helped them overcome these obstacles in the past? How might these methods be adapted to current matters? My point is not that every school needs to have an ePortfolio system. As I stated when I began this book, every institution needs to develop its own approach to general education—​one that reflects its culture, the unique needs of its students, and the character of its faculty. In the end, the key idea is that assessment works better if, as a school develops a new general education program or refines its old program, thought is given to how assessment might become an intrinsic part of what we do. It blends seamlessly into our pedagogies, the work of our students, and all the other things that drive us when we’re in the classroom—​and indeed, is something that helps us do these things better.

CONCLUSION

When all is said and done, general education is perhaps best described as both a responsibility and an opportunity. We have a responsibility to prepare all of our students for the challenges of work and global citizenship outside the academy. This means providing them with the knowledge and methodologies and skills of our fields, but also with the intellectual flexibility that will allow them to adapt thoughtfully and productively to the rapid changes of the workplace—​and, indeed, the changes taking place in the world at large. It also means making sure that the structures and methods we use to achieve these ends are transparent and accessible, that every single student, regardless of educational, racial, or socio-​economic background can step onto our campuses and know how to negotiate the curriculum with an informed agency. I once heard a department chair make the distinction between “line workers” and “line managers.” He was speaking both literally and figuratively, making the point that we hope our students will leave the university capable of being at the top of the management ladder rather than at the bottom. But perhaps this isn’t all we should strive for. Perhaps, in today’s complex world, there’s some third option that involves creating graduates who don’t just assume the position that’s assigned to them or work their way to the top of the heap. Perhaps we’re really after graduates who are able to look at a situation and offer an alternative to the existing paradigm, questioning the need for a ladder, for a heap, for a multitiered system of managers and line workers. Creating this sort of graduate is a complicated proposition and can be challenging, changing the dynamic of the classroom, forcing us to reconsider DOI: 10.4324/9781003444992-14

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our approach to teaching and to our students in general, indeed, raising issues about the very timbre of our profession. And all of this is a great responsibility. That this responsibility does not translate into an easy task is perhaps a deterrent for some. We are busy, after all, feeling pressure from multiple forces that drive our work. But for others, this lack of ease may provide some comfort: this is hard work, yes, but at least it’s not busywork, and it’s not brainless. Revising a core curriculum, redesigning courses and assignments, and assessing a program in productive ways so that students can move forward into the world as productive members of a fast-​changing society is intellectual work, requiring the same kinds of focus and concentration that we apply in our labs, our research, and our teaching. And, engaged in this way, these curricular revisions can provide us with some of the same rewards as does our other work: a sense of accomplishment, increased insights, increased intellectual curiosity, and stronger relationships with colleagues. As a result, the decision of a campus to tackle a curricular revision can be viewed as an opportunity. It’s an opportunity in other ways as well. When we’re asked to whittle time out of our cramped schedules and be deliberate about how we’re teaching a general education course—​to think carefully about our audience and the goals for that audience—​more often than not, we find approaches to the classroom that we’d previously overlooked. We might, for example, see an opportunity to teach a topic that is normally not addressed in our tightly structured majors: sky diving, for instance, or pre-​Raphaelite art, or Quaker philosophy, or gun laws. While our Puritan heritage seems to insist that pleasure—​ for the professor or the students—​ shouldn’t be a primary goal of the university classroom, certainly we are better at our work, more invested, more willing to take intellectual risks when we are more emotionally engaged. The late Eugene Eoyang, who had a long and illustrious career at the University of Indiana, liked to say that most of the important discoveries of recent decades came from crossing boundaries, “from putting together unlike things and seeing what happened. Nothing new comes from looking at the same old, same old.” General education, he would say, gives instructors the chance to try new methods and explore how things connect. All of us believe our fields matter. All of us believe that understanding physics or philosophy, sociology or chemistry, literature or psychology makes better citizens, better employees (and employers), better human beings. Having studied these topics allows our students to interact with the world in more informed and productive ways. General education allows us to take that message to students with whom we wouldn’t normally have contact. And it gives us the chance to enjoy ourselves as we do so.

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INDEX

Note: Page numbers in italic refers to Figures. action 88 Advanced Placement credit 4 American Association of Colleges and Universities 31, 114, 153 Aristotle 84, 85 Art of Changing the Brain, The 72 assessment see institution-​level assessment assignment design 58; for application and deep learning 88–​91; creative alternatives in 97–​98, 99–​100; goals in 83–​84; and options for audience relationships in assigned essays 86–​87, 90; for science and mathematics courses 93–​98; student choice in 91, 99 Association for General and Liberal Studies 153 attrition rates 112 audience 84, 86, 90; and its relationship with the writer 86–​87 “Avoiding the Potholes: Strategies for Reforming General Education” 3 Balasubramanian, Rama 66–​67 Barkley, Elizabeth 153 Bass, Randy 34–​35 Bean, John C. 81, 82

“Beyond Carrots and Sticks: What Really Motivates Faculty” 110 biology: example non-​major assignment 93–​95, 96–​97; structure of GE course on 67–​69 Bloom’s taxonomy 72 British Literature: major course adapted into GE course on 59–​62; structure of GE course on 63–​65 Brogan, Diane V. 73 capstone course 6, 18, 19, 31 Carnegie Mellon University 8 case study 64–​65 center for teaching and learning 156 Centre College 121, 122 centrist course design 53 ChatGPT 82 chemistry: example non-​major assignment 95–​96 Childers, Adam 76–​77 citizenship: and its challenges in today’s world 14–​15 clustering: of course texts 64–​65, 65 common core 6 community-​based learning 32, 77 competencies 4, 17, 29, 71; and ensuring impactfulness 7–​8; as a focus in integrative curriculum 7

Index  177

Connecticut College: Connections model 28–​29 core courses 18, 31 core-​distributional model 18–​20, 19, 20 course evaluations 113 coverage-​based course 62, 70, 71, 72, 73 COVID-​19 pandemic 9 Creating Wicked Students: Designing Courses for a Complex World 156 creative thinking 13 critical thinking 13, 74; tools for 89 Crowell, Ellen 16 crystallized intelligence 34 CTL see center for teaching and learning curricular decay 115 curricular drift see curricular decay curricular model: administration structure of 152–​155; amendments to 151; assessment of 138–​139, 147; and course development 139, 155–​158; detailed development of 135, 141–​142; and emotional investment of faculty 131, 134; final draft of 141–​143; ideation as conceptual 131, 134; implementation of 151–​152, 160–​161; implementation support for 139; as innovative 137; and modification of existing courses 159–​160; and the multiple model approach 130; naming of 137–​138; pilot of 147, 157–​158; policies of 138; and practical implications 131, 142; resource allocation for 139–​140, 141, 156–​157; structure of 138; sustainability of 161–​163 curriculum revision process 103–​105, 111, 171; achieving final consensus during 144–​146, 150; challenges of 130; establishing goals for general education during 119–​123; examples of 132–​135; and facilitating productive faculty 110–​111; faculty and staff involvement in 107–​108, 131, 134, 140–​141, 149, 150; intellectual approach to 105–​106; and model ideation 129–​131; and narrowing down to final model choice 135–​137, 141; and planning for long term outcomes 108–​109; and the preconversation about revision necessity 112, 118; and

reasons for its initiation 112–​118; refinement of 124–​128, 137–​141; and resource accessibility 106; student involvement in 105, 109, 149–​150; tension between faculty during 107, 130, 136; and voting process 144, 146–​147, 148–​150, 151, 154 Danielewizc, Jane 86 data 88; collection for curriculum revision process 135–​136, 141, 158, 167–​168; as distinct from knowledge 88 “data dump” 82–​83, 85–​86, 88 deep learning 33, 56, 65, 67, 70, 72; through concept translation 88, 90, 93, 97 Designing Significant Learning Experiences: An Integrated Approach to Designing College Courses 156 Detweiler, Richard 36, 115, 139 Dewsbury, Brian 113–​114 Diamond, Robert 71 digital literacy 13 distribution model 3, 131, 136; courses required in 3–​4; and the emphasis on the what 37; history of 4; in practice 16–​17; shift away from 8; theme-​ based 60 diversity 32 drop/​fail/​withdraw (DFW) rates 113 Drury University: and the “Fusion” curriculum 42–​43 dual-​purpose course 69 Education University of Hong Kong 53 Engaged Teaching: A Handbook for College Faculty 156 Engaging Ideas 81 Eoyang, Eugene 12, 171 ePortfolios 8, 33; as an assessment tool 168–​169 equity 15–​16; and dropout rates 56; and educating all students 38 ethical judgement 13 Evidence Liberal Arts Needs, The 115 expert 72–​73 faculty: factors for ensuring productivity in 110–​111; and interdisciplinary

178 Index

conversations 17–​18, 52–​54; and responsibility in student pass/​fail rates 56; turnover 115 Felten, Peter 36 Ferren, Ann 19 Filer, Kim 157 Fink, L. Dee 156 first-​year seminar 20, 31 flexibility of mind 13, 170 fluid intelligence 34 Frankenstein 60, 61, 64 Gaff, Jerry 3, 18, 70, 103 Gaston, Paul 8, 14, 165 GELOs see general education learning outcomes general education: continuum of models 4, 8, 16; course continuum 50, 50–​52, 52, 53; and course structure 63–​69; curriculum as self-​ evident 16; and the distinction from major courses 51, 58, 60, 155; and dual-​purpose course structure 69–​75; and effectiveness of courses 49–​50, 52–​53, 57; as fulfilled by major courses 55–​56; major course adapted into course for 59–​62; and norms of practice 15; opportunities in 170–​171; and redesign of a service course 75–​77 general education learning outcomes 124–​125, 159; example focus areas for 125–​126; presentation of 127–​128 globalism 14 global learning 32 “Goblin Market” 58, 61 graduation requirements 160 Hanstedt, Paul 156 Hard Times 60, 62, 64 High Impact Practices see HIPs HIPs 31–​33, 134, 136; benefits of 33, 34; and the emphasis on the what and why 37, 38–​39; environments that overlap with 34; examples of 39–​44; and impact on marginalized students 33–​34; and the pedagogical approaches driving them 35–​37; and project-​based approaches 44; and ways to implement 38–​39, 139 Hollis, Gary 95

Hong Kong University of Science and Technology 8 Honors program 38 ideology 111 inoculation approach 138 insider-​to-​insider situations 86 insider-​to-​nonspecialist situations 86–​87, 89, 90; example writing assignments for 92 insider-​to-​public situations 87, 89, 90; example writing assignments for 92–​93 insight 12; as qualitative 12 institution-​level assessment: and a continuous feedback loop 166–​167, 167; and faculty goals 165; old practices of 164–​165; protocol within the program structure 167–​168 integration 5–​6, 155; in courses 6, 53, 67, 74 integrative model 3, 4, 58; as applied in specific schools 26–​30; and campuswide themes 7; and competencies 7–​8; and connections between different disciplines 4–​5, 11, 30; examples of 16–​17, 94–​95; and how to achieve it 6; reasoning behind 8, 10–​11, 15; types of 18–​25; the use of ePortfolios in 8; as well-​ designed 10 intellectual objectivity 91 interdisciplinary 5, 6; connections 125, 127, 169; conversations between faculty 17–​18 internships 32 interpersonal competencies 34 intrinsic motivation 74–​75, 77 Jack, Jordynn 86 “just-​in-​time” pedagogy 65 Kellogg, Ronald 32 Kinzie, Jillian 115 knowledge 12; as distinct from data 88; distribution of 14–​15; failure to act on 70; and its deliberate application 14, 45; as quantitative 12 Ko, Edmond 8–​9 Kuh, George 31, 37, 44, 99, 134, 139

Index  179

labor 12 Lambert, Leo 36 LEAP National Leadership Council 31 learning communities 32 Lee, Chris 76, 77 liberal arts 115–​116 lifelong learning 100 literature review 82 major: concept of 15; versus non-​major students 56–​57 Major, Claire 156 major courses 49, 58; as fulfilling general education requirements 54–​55, 59–​62 (see also dual-​purpose course); and providing context for non-​majors 62, 63–​64, 70 Maki, Peggy 99, 166 McConnell, Kate Drezek 114 Melzer, Dan 81, 82 memory: levels of 88 “menu” approach 163 minor 137; mini-​ 162 mission statement 124, 125 National Survey of Student Engagement 31, 112 novice 72–​73 101 courses 50; and the breadth of the field 54 oral communication 71, 74; audience of 93 outsider-​to-​insider situations 87 pathways model 26, 27–​29, 136, 137, 162 physics: structure of GE course on 65–​67 plagiarism 82, 86 Poli, DorothyBelle 67–​68, 96–​97 Portland State University 55; and its pathways model 27–​28 positive learning outcomes 31 Price, Bonnie 66–​67 problem-​solving 13, 30 project-​based learning 42, 43–​44, 68–​69 quantitative reasoning 71 Ramesh, Marilee 94 Ratcliff, James 18, 70

recall 98–​99 reflection 88; self-​ 99 research essay: alternatives to 98–​100; and enjoyment in writing and grading 83, 91; in general education courses 81–​83, 85–​86; generic 81; and integration of outside fields of study 90; as irrelevant 98; rhetorical triangle for 85 research methodologies 82 rhetorical context 84–​85, 90; and flexibility 90; intellectual standards regardless of 99; and power of the professor 85–​86; reconfiguration of 86; in science and mathematics assignments 93–​98; triangle 84, 85 Rittel, Horst W. 9 Roanoke College 73, 76, 94, 96; and its curriculum revision process 132–​133, 137 Robert’s Rules of Order 144, 148 Rollins College: and its general education model 29–​30 Rossetti, Christina 58 Sarch, Amy 132 self-​regulation 34 service-​learning 6 shallow summary 88 Shenandoah University: and its curriculum revision process 132 skills 12; cognitive 72; collaborative 13, 32; communication 69; foundational 121; that are important to employers 13–​14 small talk 17–​18 Smith, Jonathan 17 sociology: structure of dual-​purpose GE course on 69–​71; structure of integrated courses on 71–​75, 82 statistics: applicability of 75; redesign of a GE service course on 75–​77 strands model 20–​22, 21, 29, 71, 147, 162; and coordination between faculty 25–​26, 115; distributional requirements in 24–​25; example course offerings in 22, 22–​24, 24 students: and the application of information 11; and complexity of their lives 10–​11; and cynical assumptions about higher education 37–​38, 55; first-​generation 56; as

180 Index

the focus in curriculum revision 105; and the idea of being well-​ rounded 35; and lack of motivation 56–​57; preparation of 170–​171; and responsibility to pass classes 56; and taking the lead in education 16–​17; and their role in the curriculum revision process 109; and the understanding of general education codes 15 Susquehanna University 121, 122 syllabus: and quality over quantity 70, 72; and works selection 60–​62 Tewksbury, Barbara 91 thematically focused course 60, 136; and its cumulative effect 73 Therborn, Goran 111 transferability 58 translation 87–​88 Two-​Way Mirrors: Cross Cultural Studies in Globalization 12 undergraduate research 33 United States: general education trends in 8

University College Groningen: and its high impact program 43–​44 University of Chicago 17 University of Indiana 171 Virginia Museum of Natural History 68 Virginia Tech 157 Wagner College 55; and the Wagner Plan 39–​40 Washington and Lee University: and its curriculum revision process 133–​135 Webber, Melvin M. 9 Wergin, John 110 wicked competencies 9, 13, 30 wicked problems 8–​9, 12–​13, 30 Worcester Polytechnic Institute 55; and its high impact program 40–​41 word cloud 121 work: changing nature of 11–​12, 170; and the employer’s expectations 13 writing-​intensive courses 32 written communications 71, 74 Zull, James 72, 88, 93