Reflections on My Teaching

Many students' experience has taught them that success in courses often comes from passive absorption (of the readings, of the teacher's words and ideas) followed by accurate retelling. Quite the contrary, my experiences as a student and teacher, as well as my reading about teaching and learning, convince me that most people learn best when actively participating; they are, moreover, most likely to commit themselves to learning when they feel important to the course. Thus I encourage students to take responsibility for what we are studying together: for reading the text assigned, for thinking about it, for posing pertinent questions, for clarifying misunderstandings. When they take a leading role in deciding what we discuss and what it means, they want to - in fact, must - learn how to interpret and analyze texts on their own. Since written texts can be read on many levels and from many different perspectives, rarely is there one "right" interpretation. That is a difficult concept for many undergraduates, who seem often to have been successful through knowing the "right" answer in a simplified context. One of the most important things I teach is the recognition that multiple interpretations can be supported and that, to be a strong thinker one must be able to defend one's analysis.

My philosophy of teaching is based on respecting students for the provocative ideas and experiences they bring, for their ability to learn as much as they put their minds to, and for the intellectual energy that grows from collaboratively engaging with our ideas. Showing respect for students' thoughts and demonstrating, by listening carefully to them, that they are as qualified to think deeply about and comment on a text as I am, helps them recognize their responsibility for the success of both the course and themselves personally. As the one person in class who has spent two decades studying things French, I try not to be the resident expert but rather to share pertinent information that I know and they don't, as well as my enthusiasm for French literature, language, and culture. I energetically prompt students to find their own motivations to work hard at developing their critical thinking skills and learning new information. Of course, giving students responsibility won't work unless they realize they can take it. So I show that I'm counting on them from the first day of the course, and I move them quickly to the point where they are pleased to undertake serious responsibility (see "Strategies and Strengths " for details). Finally, while challenging my students and expecting a great deal, in terms of both productivity and commitment, I consciously give clear models and generously positive, detailed, and individual feedback about the work.

Teaching this way means that I need to know the material much better than would were I doling out information. When I used to lead what I now consider a "traditional discussion" (the sort than some call "Socratic"), I chose the main themes of a literary text, organized them logically, created questions to prompt students to see and understand them, and led the students graciously (I hoped) to my understanding. Now the authority for knowing is distributed among all of us, and discussions go in unforeseen directions; I go with them, responding to students' perspectives and questions as they work through their individual interpretations. Several years ago, it was reenergizing to realize that, although my years of study and research give me some special insights, my students not only have their own understandings but absolutely need to test them out in order to monitor and develop their skills of analysis, argument, synthesis, and critique. I learn from my students constantly: new readings of texts, figures of speech I hadn't noticed, new ways to support an argument, ways of misunderstanding that lead to confused analyses (for details, see "Synergy of My Teaching and Research"). In fact, learning to listen carefully to students' errors during the years I taught primarily the French language probably initiated my desire to provoke students to think as much as possible, and to show me how they do it.

In sum, through my reaching, I encourage the sharing of ideas, not the proprietary hoarding of them, because ideas call each other forth. A plenitude of ideas, moreover, helps us examine their worth, since relativity of value is more easily established among a panoply of choices. To avert, however, the impulse toward confusion that can come from too many ideas, I frequently summarize and clarify. As teachers, we help undergraduate students through a crucial stage when we can convince them that there is more than one way to approach a text or new investigation; we wean them away from unthinking interpretations by admitting and analyzing others' interpretations, Open lines of communication, branched jointly among the students and the teacher, broadens the whole field of inquiry.

Reflective statement on teaching

There are several core issues that guide me as I teach. They are a belief in the importance of students understanding: why things are the way they are, the limitations of our knowledge, how that knowledge changes over time, and how science and culture interact. And, on a more personal level, a belief in the importance of the interactions between the students and myself and in the importance of what I do.

Why things are. I think it is critical for students, particularly those in an introductory level course, to understand that fundamental scientific principles that underlie what they are learning, and that, for example, a nutrient's structure and chemical characteristics are related to both how it works and what happens when it doesn't. Unfortunately however, many students come to college having "learned" simply by memorizing seemingly disconnected bits of facts. As a result, they do poorly when they are expected to be responsible for a much larger amount of more complex information. They study long and hard but still don't do well. I try to make them see that memorizing is not the same as learning and that taking time initially to understand why will save time in the end -- they no longer have to remember it because they just know it.

The limitations of knowledge. While there are often clear cause-and-effect relationships, human nutrition is increasingly the study of associations and alterations in risk. Thus, the underlying "why" may not be directly testable or even known, leaving us with nothing but a possibility. For students who still think dualistically - for whom answers are always either right or wrong -- that concept can be very difficult to grasp. The presentation of multiple, and sometimes conflicting theories likewise can be confusing and often frustrating. Students in my upper level class who write research papers always struggle with their conclusions because they think they should have to "pick a side" in the end. But it's imperative that they be exposed to the uncertainty of our knowledge because that is the true nature of the discipline. In addition, helping them develop ways to sort through the apparent confusion and make reasoned judgements increases their understanding of the concepts.

The evolution of knowledge. Having an appreciation for the limitations of our knowledge can help students understand why theories change. But in my upper level class, many concepts are also introduced from an historical perspective - how and why has our understanding of a diet-disease relationship changed over time. This gives students a more realistic view of the ways in which scientific theories as well as public health recommendations come to be. It also reminds them of the need to keep an open mind and understand the limitations of research findings, since what is accepted wisdom today could be tomorrow's outdated view, I learned a long time ago that if one is dogmatic in his approach to diet-disease relationships, he sometimes will have to eat crow for dinner. That doesn't mean, however, that ill-reasoned theories should be given equal time. In both my classes I encourage students to think for themselves, ask if a theory or claim makes sense anatomically, chemically, physiologically, mathematically and sometimes even culturally. In other words, is there a plausible "why"?

Interactions between science and society. Although this is the primary focus of my freshman seminar class, I think that all students should have an appreciation for the context in which theories have been proposed, recommendations have been made and products have been developed. The influence of early Puritan values on our attitudes towards food, agricultural commodity groups' financial interests on the wording of dietary guidelines, and aging baby boomers' desire to live forever on the creation of new types of foods, are just a few examples of the many forces that have shaped why we eat, what we eat, when we eat it. Nutrition can not be taught effectively (and honestly) in isolation. The idea that a scientific field can be affected by the culture around it is new to many students. However, it's important for them to understand that relationship, especially those natural science majors who think the humanities and social sciences are not relevant to their education.

Interactions between the students and myself. My own experience as a student has taught me the importance of being open, honest, understanding and fair, appreciating the wide variety of backgrounds that are represented at this university. However, I expect a lot from my students -- I don't give grades, students earn them. But students can also expect a lot from me. I always come to class prepared and I put a lot of effort into evaluating their work and providing feedback, even in the introductory classes of over 300 students. In fact, I find that doing most of my own grading is one of the best ways to know whether I am being an effective teacher. I also take the time to construct meaningful exams and assignments. Finally, I work hard at being accessible to those who need and want extra help, as well as though who want to discuss issues in greater depth. Where I went to college, professors might as well have hung "do not disturb" signs on their doors -- I like to think that mine is always open.

The importance of what I do. Teaching can be an incredibly powerful experience because of the opportunity to affect, directly and positively, the lives of others. I can help someone become a better thinker, find a career path or even improve their health. The heartfelt thanks that I receive from current and former students are a constant reminder that each day that I walk into the classroom I have the chance to make a difference. (See student comments in Appendix H)