If you have a small group, it is relatively easy to activate your students, who will anyway not be able to hide in the last row of a bigger class. Symmetrical reasons may make it easier to engage a class of undergraduates on a topic they have already discussed, say, vegetarianism, abortion, foreign policy… But what about bigger classes focusing on a non-mainstream topic? In order for students to make interesting contributions, they need to prepare. But, in order to decide to prepare, they need to be motivated. How do you solve this Catch-22?
I, for one, often try a combination of the following methods:
- I start each class (including the first one) with 2–3 questions to be answered in written form. The first two questions give them the chance to get back to what we did in the previous unit and to see what remains unclear. The last one is a thought-provoking question which is meant to show a connection between the topic of the present unit and some broader issue they might already be familiar with. The last question does not need, therefore, to be answered “correctly”. The point is just to stimulate critical thinking.
- By the way, on the first class I present a longer list of basic questions on topics which look easy (say, what was the Buddha’s full name? In which language did he write?). This gives me the chance to clear the ground from basic misunderstandings and offers to the students some insight in how much they do not know. They are usually quite happy when at the last unit they realise they can now answer all questions.
- When I cannot presuppose any knowledge of South Asian thought, I often mix small lecturing units (say 5–10′) to “whispering groups”. In the whispering groups students are invited to just spontaneously form small groups of 3–4 people, discuss what I said and find possible objections and weak points. They are also allowed to formulate questions in case they did not understand. These moments of critical reflection are, as a matter of fact, way more productive when students do their readings in advance and they usually realise it soon enough and start preparing.
- For each class, I select some readings of pre-modern sources and during class I ask students to read parts of the texts and explain them. Again, they soon realise they need to prepare and start preparing.
- Something I did only twice was to have open a wiki on the topic of the class (say “Linguistic Communication as an instrument of knowledge”). Students were divided into bigger groups (5–6 people). After a short introduction to each unit they would be asked to sit together in such groups and contribute to a certain part of the wiki (say, “Thomas Reid’s approach to testimony”). Again, it works smoothly if they are well-prepared. But even if they are not, they can do their homework during class after having assigned different duties to each member of the group. The results were qualitatively mixed, but the students liked it.
- Then, there are the usual suspects, Socratic dialogue, thought-provoking questions, short presentations in class, reading together.
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What about you? What works with your students?
(So far, I taught in various universities in Italy, Hungary and Austria.)
I think that it is great that you have so many students that you can at all create several ‘whispering groups’; also that their curriculum allows them to spend so much time discussing fundamental questions. I suppose that is only one of several advantages one has when one’s institute or department is large enough (one of the drawbacks of the dam**d ‘Bologna Process’). Our institute is too small, and our regular teaching consists of lectures for very broad audiences with only an absolute minimum of opportunity for discussion.
But as for –
> In order for students to make interesting contributions, they need to prepare. But, in order to decide to prepare, they need to be motivated. How do you solve this Catch-22?
My usual suggestion: discuss topics that are relevant for them, in their lives, here and now. Topics that help them solve their own universal questions (the eternal big philosophical questions like the philosophically anthropological ‘who / what am I’, the epistemological ‘what does knowledge mean, and how do I know it is valid’, and questions of ethics) or that help them understand current philosophical / religious discourses in India. These will bring out the significance and relevance of studying Indian philosophy in general.
Madam,
I read your posts very diligently and I am a great admirer of yours but being an Indian I am pained by your usage of the term ‘South Asian’ philosophy when it ought to be ‘Indian’ philosophy. India is a cultural entity of yore and, therefore, the use of the term South Asia demeans this great culture. I hope you will correct this in near future.
Thanks.
Thank you, Sushil, for your kind words and for your kindness in suggesting a correction.
Could you explain why the usage of “South Asia” demeans the great culture it should represent? I read a few people speaking about the topic, but I am not sure I really get the real point, beside the political polemics.
It would indeed seem that most of what is noteworthy in South Asian philosophy is from what today (since 1947) is the state of India. I do not see any real advantage to preferring ‘Indian’ over ‘South Asian’. We are speaking about a style of philosophizing that developed in, and is characteristic of, a certain geographic region. If we use ‘Indian’ in the sense of ‘South Asian’ (i.e., purely geographically, and not as a political, state-bound term – where was ‘India’ in, let us say, Ādiśaṅkarācārya’s time?), then it does not matter. The ‘Indian subcontinent’ and the ‘Indian Ocean’ have little to do with the modern Indian republic either.
I use my school’s online platform to require students to raise a question about the text or to make an application to the contemporary context. They do so before class, and then I’m able to look them over, which helps me in seeing what areas they may need additional help with. It also helps them engage actively in preparation. Then I have one student present their question to the class, motivating it, and giving their own initial answer. This helps us spark conversation.
I’ve also done bits of groupwork depending on the topic. The last few weeks, in looking at anumāna, I have had them split up and try to come up with their own examples (for negative-only, positive-only, etc.) Then we can talk as a class about it. Since they’ve gone through and tried their own hand at constructing them, when we get to more difficult cases (we’re working through inferences to īśvara now) they are prepared with the technical aspects and also motivated since they’ve tried to use it themselves, and not just tried to understand cases involving śabdatva etc.
Thank you, Malcolm, this sounds really interesting. Regarding the questions the students have to raise: Do they *have to* raise a question each? Or is it just open for each one to decide whether they want to raise one?
Yes, they have to raise a question—it’s a small point-value assignment but it ensures they’re engaging with the text. It also means that everyone has to be prepared to be called on in class to start discussion. That assignment is worth a bit more (and I give feedback on how well they contextualized, motivated, and answered the question).