Thinking about Sources for a Western Civilization Textbook

Last week I talked a bit about putting together a proposal for an un-textbook designed for an active-learning style Western Civilization class. The proposal is probably never going to amount to anything “real,” but it is designed to pull together various notes and ideas from my four semesters of teaching Western Civilization I in a Scale-Up style classroom

The little section below doesn’t really do the larger project justice. The goal of the class has been to get the students involved in writing history from the very first week. To get them going, however, I need to introduce some basic technical vocabulary (primary and secondary sources, chronological systems) and some basic tools (working in groups). I’ll bring these components into my chapters as I go (and maybe later today).

Sources

Sources are at the heart of any historical work. Historians divide their sources into two kinds. This division is largely arbitrary but it nevertheless reflects two different ways of thinking about the past.

Primary sources are sources more or less contemporary with the time in which they describe. A newspaper is a primary source. A law code is a primary source. A ancient inscription on stone is a primary source. Tweets and Facebook posts produced during an important public event like the Super Bowl or Presidential election night. As long as the document describes a contemporary event, it is a primary source.

Secondary sources are works that bring together primary sources usually to advance an argument. A history textbook, like the one that you will write in this class, is a secondary source. Articles in Wikipedia or by professional historians are secondary sources as well. These sources use primary sources to advance arguments about events in the past.

While this distinction is obvious is its most simplified form, things get more complicated in practice. For example, an ancient work of literature, like the epic poems of Homer or the history of Tacitus – are primary sources as well for the period in which they were written, but secondary sources for the period that they describe. The same might apply to, say, a history textbook written in the 1930s which described European politics before WWII. It is a primary source for attitudes toward, say, Fascist Italy or Nazi Germany in the 1930s, but a secondary source when it pulls together sources for European political history between WWI and WWII.

Primary and secondary sources should be read in different ways. Primary sources are generally read to understand something about a past culture. They might provide some basic information – like who was in ruling a state – or insights into social situations – like whether women could own a tavern. Some primary sources provide us a kind of “factual” information on the past. For example, census record can give us an idea of how many people lived in a community at a particular time. Reports from a battlefield can tell us what units participated in an campaign. At the same time, primary sources can also provide us with an idea of how people thought about their world in the past. For example, census records can tell us who the state counted and why. Political records can tell us why a political leader acted as he or she did. This kind of information can help us understand what people in the past valued, how they understood political power to function, and what motivated them to behave in certain ways. To extract that information, however, primary sources must be read carefully and critically. Always ask yourself what a document say as well as why is says is.

Secondary sources should also be engaged in a critical way. Works written by professional historians, like your textbooks, draw upon primary sources to make arguments, but this doesn’t mean that the professional historian can’t be wrong. It is always smart to go back to the primary sources to make sure that even the best professional historian has made a convincing argument. To facilitate this, professional historians use footnotes and cite the sources that they use allowing readers to track them down. Become a careful reader of footnotes and always ask yourself how the author of a secondary sources supports his or her arguments.

For secondary sources like Wikipedia, an extra level of scrutiny is necessary. These sources sometimes cite their primary sources or cite other secondary sources, but the authors are often not as careful. This doesn’t mean that Wikipedia is useless resource. For basic information – names, dates, and places – Wikipedia is unparalleled, but for historical arguments and analysis, it should be used with great caution.

That being said, read all secondary and primary sources carefully.

Thinking about Teaching by Proposing an Untextbook

I’m finally back at home after a long summer of fieldwork and getting re-settled into a work routine. I’m particular interested in sorting out my History 101: Western Civilization I course which I teach in UND’s fancy Scale-Up classroom. I’ve blogged extensively about it here.

As part of my effort to continue to refine this class, I’ve decided to write a textbook proposal in an effort to sort out my ideas in a more formal and structured way. 

Here’s the first part of that proposal and look for more of it over the coming weeks:

Since the 19th century, history has embraced the seminar as the primary approach for teaching students a systematic approach to the past. Grounded in the scrutiny of primary source documents and access to specialized libraries in secondary sources, aspiring and professional historians developed honed their craft by forging analysis from historical evidence and presenting it to their peers. Over the course of the 20th century, the changing needs of higher education and the role of history in the undergraduate curriculum shifted the focus from the seminar to the lecture as the primary space for demonstrating and developing the historians craft. The lecture allowed for economies of scale and reinforced the position of the historian as a professional practitioner with a unique – and sometimes obscure – set of skills largely out of reach to an undergraduate audience who may only take one or two history courses over their academic career. At the same time, the goals of history instruction – particularly at the introductory level – shifted from methods to content. This is not entirely the result of the growing popularity of the lecture course, but is more or less contemporary.

In the past decade, faculty from across the 21st-century university have started to explore new approaches to teaching introductory level courses. Hybridizing the economies of scale achieved through the lecture with the traditional practices of the seminar and the laboratory has led to the emergence of the “flipped classroom.” The ubiquity of information and digital tools on campus has provided a way for large groups of students to share information both within and outside of the classroom. For historians, the web offers access to a significant number of primary and second sources ranging from vast repositories of open access sources such as the Ancient History Sourcebook and the Library of Congress to the massive compilation of basic historical data in Wikipedia. Moreover, digital tools also allow for new forms of collaboration both between students and between instructors and groups which allow us to simulate some aspects of the seminar experience at a large scale. While the abundance of good and bad historical material on the web requires vigilance on the part of instructors, the vast quantity of material serves as a suitable foundation for introductory level course work. Even Wikipedia, which has been received with significant ambivalence by many university faculty, contains a massive quantity of geographic, chronological, and visual information useful for the college classroom.

Access to information on the web complements changing classroom technologies which support collaborative, problem-based learning that is often at the core of the flipped classroom. For example, the 21st-century has seen a growing number of active-learning or “Scale-Up” classrooms that provide a physical space for groups of students to collaborate, to access digital content, and to work under the supervision of faculty. Online learning management systems likewise offer digital spaces for collaborative learning ranging from wiki-based collaborative writing environments to threaded discussions, live chat applications, and even collaborative reading tools. It is now possible to develop a courses that leverage these old and new digital assets in a critical and dynamic ways to teach the basic skills of historical interpretation and analysis even to the largest classrooms. In the 21st-century flipped classrooms, digital technologies allow faculty members to engage individual students, groups, and the entire class at varying scales suitable to various learning outcomes.

Unfortunately, textbooks have remains conspicuously behind the curve in offering support for these new approaches to university learning. In the discipline of history, textbooks continue to privilege narrative and “facts” at the expense of skill-based, problem-based, or method-driven approaches to the past even as access to basic historical information and sources has exploded across the web. The formal structures of traditional history textbooks limit the opportunities for students or faculty to adapt the content and approaches to particular classroom environments. Finally, the expense of textbooks led many critics to see them as part of growing cost of higher education. The well-known limits to existing textbooks has given rise to the calls for open educational resources that are both less expensive and more adaptable to the changing needs of the 21st-century classroom. 

This proposal offers an alternative to standard textbooks that is adapted to use in the changing classrooms of the 21st-century university. Keeping with the tradition of the “flipped classroom,” this book will be an untextbook which offers a flexible guide to students and faculty suitable for introductory-level, active-learning classes in both standard classrooms or online. 

The book will emphasize basic skills associated with historical research and knowledge with the overarching learning goal being the ability to produce formal arguments grounded in historical evidence. On the way to this goal, students will address basic challenges facing all scholars of the past that include the ability to read sources critically, to marshal diverse types of historical information, to understand chronological and geographical contexts, and to recognize and critically appraise disputes between historians both in the past and the present. 

The untextbook will be built around a series of 15 modules. Five of the modules address basic challenges common to most historical research: chronology, geography, sources, historical narratives, and historiography. The ten remaining modules will draw upon these first five modules to offer approaches to particular historical periods and problems. As my expertise is in pre-modern history, this book (unbook?) will focus on the premodern European history.

The goal of this untextbook is to produce a template for students to write a textbook of their own.

Teaching Tuesday: A Scale-Up Up-Date

It’s week 15 of our 16 week semester and I’m beginning to reap the results of the energy that I put into revising my History 101: Western Civilization class taught in our increasingly threadbare Scale-Up classroom. The Scale-Up room organizes the class into 20, 9-student round tables, making it easier for collaborative work and discouraging straight lectures. For more on my adventures teaching in this class, go here.

At the start of the semesterI decided to make a few changes to the class including encouraging more individual writing, speeding up the pace in which I expected the students to immerse themselves in content, and providing quicker and more feedback on work. 

The results have been pretty good.

1. Individual Writing First. In past semesters, I eased students into the expectations of the class with lots of little assignments completed by either 3-person pods or the entire table. This term, I required each student to work on 3 assignments of 500 words each at the beginning of the semester. Each of these assignments encouraged students to focus on (1) making an argument, (2) using evidence, and (3) different types of history (political/military, social/economic, cultural). The results of these papers were uneven, but they did introduce students to the expectations of the class and to various types of historical analysis.

Unfortunately, this introduction did not appear to carry through the entire semester. Students struggled to understand the different types of history (which admittedly overlapped) and found it difficult to identify and deploy evidence in support of an argument. On the one hand, these skills take time to develop and no amount of explanation can substitute for practice. On the other hand, students seem to regard each assignment as a stand alone project, unrelated to other assignments in the class. This problem is my fault. I need to emphasize the coherence of the class better and reinforce how each assignment, both individual and group, contributes to the learning goals in the class.

2. Faster Feedback. I was quite enamored with a system that would allow us to give students very rapid feedback on their writing assignments this semester. This involved having a couple of the teaching assistants evaluate papers during class and then, allowing them to present general trends in these papers to students on the same day that the students turned in the work. I figured this would be useful in a one-day-a-week class because it allowed students to do weekly assignments without having the “grading lag” between the papers.

I was hoping this would accelerate student learning and performance, but it didn’t really work very well. Students made the same mistakes in the second paper as they did in the first. I think the biggest issue was that general comments on student work do not translate very effectively to individual students. Since part of what my 100 level history class teaches is the skill of moving from general observations (and arguments) to specific examples (and evidence), it was perhaps a bit optimistic to think that students could easily take generalized comments and apply them to their specific work within the intervening step of individualized remarks on individual student papers.

3. Routine. The last nine weeks of the semester focus on each table writing its own chapter for an imagined Western Civilization textbook. Every three weeks, the class goes through three steps to produce a 3000 words chapter section: outline, rough draft (with peer review), final draft. This is a comforting and productive routine for most of us who write for a living, but for students, in a class, this routine is a system to be gamed. Clever groups immediately begin to figure out how much effort to put into the various parts of the writing project to ensure the maximum feedback for the least work. Undergirding this is the idea that assignments are not the successful completion of a task that is fundamentally independent of the classroom experience, but rather “what I want as the teacher.” In this scenario, the goal is to position the group to get as much information about the assignment from me (or my teaching assistants) as possible because I am the ultimate arbiter of success (rather than successfully completing a task independent of my assignment).

While I do everything that I can to discourage this behavior, it remains difficult to disabuse students of the notion that the goal in the class is not to get a good grade (i.e. make me happy), but to learn a skill. As long as the students imagine the class as a grade-getting game, they will look for ways to subvert the system and any routine will do less to reinforce good habits and more to offer an iterative game to overcome. The challenge, of course, becomes how to keep the assignments in the class changing to keep students engaged, encourage attention to good practices, and to undermine efforts to game the system, while reinforcing the idea that research and writing are practices best learned and refined through repetition.

This is the challenge for next fall!  

Teaching Tuesday: Half Way in the Scale-Up Room

Readers of this blog know that I’ve been teaching History 101: Western Civilization to about 150 students in a Scale-Up style classroom this semester. I had great hopes of revamping this class in a massive way, but decided close to the start of the semester to make a few little changes than a substantial re-imagining. 

These small changes focused on improving how I implemented three main areas. All these changes have improved student engagement in the material and the quality of student product. It’s too soon to say that they are entirely successful (or will continue to be successful in future versions of the class), but it’s been a good start.

The goal of this course is to have students write a textbook. They do this in 15 groups of 9 students (or so) and each group is responsible for three chapters. Each chapter is researched, outlined, and written by the students over a 3 week period. The course meets once a week at night in a Scale-Up room room. Each student has a different textbook that they share with the group as a reference work. They are also directed to online primary sources and allowed to use online resources to supplement their texts.

1. More is more. When I taught this course in the past, I had a tendency to ease into chapter writing phase which began the final 9 weeks of the semester (3 chapters written over 3 weeks each). The first six weeks tended to emphasize basic team building to get the students familiar with the classroom, a basic introduction to historical methods, and some short assignments designed mainly to get the students writing and thinking.

This year, I ramped up my expectations for the first part of the class, and assigned three individual writing assignments (300-500 word essay) that constituted 30% of the grade for the course. The tables could work together to prepare the assignment by doing research together, outlining a paper, and even constructing a thesis, but the papers themselves had to come from each student.

Each paper focused on a kind of history – political and military, social and economic, and cultural and religious history – and that introduced students to the ways that historians divide up the past and helps them understand these approaches when they write their chapters.

While I’m not sure that the students have a stronger grasp of these various kinds of history, I do think that making more work due at the start of the semester builds expectations for the course more clearly and engages the students in the work of writing history from the first weeks of the semester. 

2. Fast feedback. One of the disadvantages of a one-day-per-week class is that it is hard to maintain an ambitious writing schedule and provide the students with quick feedback on their work. I was lucky this semester to have a few GTAs who were willing to do read papers very quickly during class time and provide a list of key issues with the papers before the end of the 2.5 hour class. This gave us a chance to provide immediate feedback to long form writing assignments. 

Fast feedback has often been limited to the use of clickers in the classroom or other rapid response type devices or applications which allow for instantaneous feedback on questions asked during class time. The downside these devices is that they usually limit student responses to short answers or multiple-guess kinds of queries. I’ve found that giving students quick feedback on longer, written work this semester has produced much improved results.   

3. Go fast to go slow. The reason why rapid responses to student written work has produced improved results is that it has allowed us to keep the pace of work high in the class. I know that I’ve celebrated techniques associated with slow learning (and other forms of the slow movement) on this blog, but, with the Scale-Up room pace is everything. The space of the room is incredibly distracting to students, lectures are impossible, and it’s all I can do to keep the students settled and quiet for 10 minutes quizzes at the start of the class. 

In this environment, variables in attention span, work speed, and comprehension make it vital to keep the class moving. To do this, I’ve increasingly broken down the work of writing (and writing history, in particular) into smaller parts which take less time to understand and practice. Focusing on specific aspects of historical work – from writing a single sentence thesis, to constructing an outline with primary source evidence and specific historical details, to learning when and how to cite formally – allows students to grasp and work through various parts of historical writing process without being overwhelmed.

These opportunities for attention to detail – even if they involve only 10 minutes of sustained attention per class – provide a chance for students to focus attention on many aspects of the writing process that often get overlooked when students are confronted by the complexity of even short writing assignments.  

As I introduced these little changes, I’ve thought a bit more carefully about what I want to accomplish in my History 101 class. In fact, I’m participating in a faculty reading seminar on a book about assessment. At UND (and I assume elsewhere) we’re often confronted with the idea that the actual goal of the class (i.e. writing a textbook) is somehow separate from what we hope the students learn (i.e. a learning outcome). This division allows us to separate grading the assignment (the actual goal) from assessing student learning (the real goal). History (and I’m sure other fields as well) has seen this division as a bit of a challenge. After all, our discipline has long valued the production of historical knowledge more than the process itself. Our methodology is underdeveloped and we lack much in the way of an ethical, practical, or even philosophical foundation. As disciplinary practice confronts the ironic view of the modern academy (i.e. teaching history is really teaching something else – citizenship, critical thinking, reading and writing, et c.) we are constantly pushed to figure out what our discipline REALLY does and to assess that. I find that more confounding than helpful. After all, one thing that historians are good at is recognizing good history. 

Teaching Tuesday: First Day of Class Film Strip

I am back on campus for the first time in almost 15 months and looking forward to thinking more about teaching this semester. One of the first challenges will be the 140 smiling faces tonight in the Scale-Up classroom. Readers of this blog know that I’ve been teaching in the Scale-Up room for  few years now (you can read more about it here), and have been moderately successful porting a History 101: Western Civilization class into a collaborative learning environment.

During my year away, the folks coordinating the use of the Scale-Up room asked that faculty using it be a bit more explicit in articulating the philosophy behind the room and its attendant benefits. So I decided that I would do a brief presentation on the history of active learning in history during my first session in the Scale-Up room tonight.

Oh, and I thought it would be cool if I organized it like a film strip mostly because I like the BEEP noise in the recording that would advance the film strip to the next image.

So here’s my opening film strip in 25 slides.

Slide 1: 

In the beginning, there was the seminar.

BEEP.

Slide 2: 

It was invented by historians in German and imported to the U.S. in the late 19th century.

BEEP

Slide 3:

The typical seminar involved a group of 8 to 15 students arranged around a table (the seminar table).  

BEEP

Slide 4:

This group of students studied original documents that they called “primary sources” and shared their research with one another in a critical environment.

BEEP

Slide 5: 

The best seminar rooms provided access to basic reference works, maps, and specialized works of history to help the students understand ofttimes difficult documents.

BEEP

Slide 6:

The goal of the seminar was collaborative, active learning in the service of history.

BEEP

Slide 7: 

The seminar arrived at the University of North Dakota in the early 20th century at the hands of renown historian Orin G. “Orangey” Libby. 

BEEP

Slide 8: 

He had learned history through seminars at the University of Wisconsin under the guidance of Frederick “The Frontier” Jackson Turner.

BEEP

Slide 9:

At UND, the seminar thrived and produced the first generation of historians of the state of North Dakota. 

BEEP

Slide 10:

While it was mainly designed to educate graduate students in history, it was quickly adapted to other history classes.

BEEP

Slide 11:

As the university grew and history attracted more and more students, the seminar became difficult to maintain, because it was such a hands-on learning experience.

BEEP

Slide 12:

With the rapid growth in university enrollments both at UND and around the country, new methods for teaching students history emerged. 

BEEP

Slide 13: 

These methods sought to refocus student attention from hands-on learning from “primary source” documents and specialized libraries to building massive factual repositories in their heads.

BEEP

Slide 14:

The best way to give a large number of students the tools necessary to think about history without giving them access to “primary sources” was to fill their brain with raw material for history: names, dates, places, battles, dynasties, and countries.

BEEP

Slide 15:

This could be done at an impressive scale and this led to the famous “lecture bowl” style history classrooms filled with bored students. 

BEEP

Slide 16:

This method created the impression of knowledge – students could recite the names and dates of important people and events – without the substance derived from working together to read primary source documents.

BEEP

Slide 17:

The professor went from being an experience guide and resource who led students through the difficult work of reading primary sources, to a fact dispensing machine tasked with filling brains with the most important bits of knowledge.

BEEP

Slide 18:

Needless to say, this system sucked for both the professor who became Ben Stein’s character in Ferris Bueller’s Day Off and for students who began the annual tradition of claiming they’re not good at remembering dates. 

BEEP

Slide 19: 

It also led to the rapid growth of the textbook industry which sought to make it easier for students to learn names and dates while at the same time presented a watered down version of historical analysis. Unfortunately, showing someone how to tie a knot is not the best way to teach someone to do it. 

BEEP

Slide 20:

Textbooks are expensive and usually make money for big corporations. 

Beep

Slide 21:

The Scale-Up room is a modified return to the seminar system.

Beep

Slide 22:

Each table will function like a small seminar in which participants will work together to produce historical analysis.

Beep

Slide 23:

Instead of the specialized libraries, we will use the internets and the resources available through UND’s library. 

Beep

Slide 24:

Instead of buying an expensive textbook, we’ll make our own textbooks.

Beep

Slide 25: 

Instead of memorizing a bunch of names and dates, we’ll actually learn how to write history.

 

 

 

 

 

Teaching Tuesday: Scale-Up Syllabus Tweaks

I’ve had about a year to think about how to tweak the syllabus for my Western Civilization I class that I teach in the Scale-Up class room (for more on my adventures in teaching history in a Scale-Up room, go here). The Scale-Up classroom is organized around 20, round, 9-person tables with three laptops each and a bunch of options for collaborative work. Over the last three years, I’ve been working with about 130 students a year in the room to write our own Western Civilization I textbook. The class has been high in student engagement, but not always satisfying on educational outcomes.

So, this semester, I decided to make another round of tweaks on the syllabus designed to bring the class closer to some of the learning outcomes that I desire without eroding the impressive level of student engage that I have enjoyed.

My learning outcomes include the ability to use specific evidence and primary sources to support arguments, to identify arguments, evidence, and themes in a text, and to be able to grasp multiple narratives that make up our idea of Western Civilization. The following reflection on my syllabus tweaks reflect the intersection of practical classroom concerns with these larger learning goals.

1. Balancing Rewards for Individual and Group Work. It goes without saying that students hate group work. Actually, they don’t mind working in a group; what they don’t like is getting graded on group work. What seems to bother the students in the scale-up class the most is not how well they do on the work, but whether some people get the same credit for doing less work. (Insert political commentary here.) 

When I last taught this class in the spring of 2014, I skewed the points available heavily to group work figuring if I go in for a penny, I’d go in for a pound (or something). The point distribution clearly motivated most students to take their collaborative work seriously, but a visible minority seemed satisfied to allow the better and more engaged students to carry the load. While this visible minority was still more engaged than students in a big lecture type class or even a smaller traditional classroom, they seemed particularly marginal in the acquisition of key skills in the class. And I found myself at a loss for a method to determine what these students learned.

This semester, I’m going to balance individual graded work and group work at 50%/50%. Students will grasp that a strong performance as a group will balance a lackluster performance as an individual and vice versa. This recognition seems to motivate students to work together (many hands making the load lighter) while still taking individual work seriously.

2. Being Critical Readers. One of the issues that I’ve encountered in the class is that students hate textbooks, but don’t read them. So asking them WHY they hate textbooks is a difficult task. They claim that they’re boring, but can’t articulate why they’re boring, because they don’t read them. So when they write their own textbook chapter, students fall into the same trap as most textbook authors. They produce “one damn fact after another” and the resulting work, while well researched and more-or-less carefully organized, is boring. 

This semester, I’m going to run a 3-week mini-seminar on reading textbooks in my Western Civilization class. I assign an assortment of 7 or 8 textbooks to the class so that each table of 9, has as wide a range of different textbook as is possible. This fall, I’m going to explicitly ask the students to evaluate their textbooks along three lines:

a. What arguments do the various sections of the textbook make? If they are not obvious arguments, what themes do they emphasize?

b. What sources do they use to support these themes? What primary sources do they provide and how do these fit with the arguments or themes in the texts?

c. What specific evidence – names, dates, places, et c. – do they use to make their arguments or articulate their themes? How do they make these specific bits of evidence familiar?

These basic questions will be asked of the textbook chapters covering the Greek, Roman, and Medieval worlds. At various times, I’ll ask the students to compare the textbooks around their tables, and at other times, I’ll ask the class to reorganize themselves into groups according to their textbooks for the class.

Each section will result in each student preparing a short (ca. 700-1000 word) paper on their textbook section, and ground each student more firmly in both critical reading of textbooks as well as preparing them to create textbook chapters that address the weaknesses and emulate the strengths of existing works.

3. History as History. One of the main weaknesses of my class is that I don’t spend much time worrying about “the historical method.” In part, this reflects my deep ambivalence regarding the historical method (and my doubts whether it really exists) as well as a skepticism whether it is possible to prepare introductory level students to engage in disciplinary science. In other words, even if I accepted that history had a clearly articulated method, I’m not sure it is very honest to pretend that 100 level history students are learning any part of it. At best, my students learn a few ways to produce and critique strong arguments and some factoids about the past. If they somehow leave the class imagining that this is history, then I probably have done more harm than good.

That being said, students should recognize that various historical methods, themes, and points of emphasis reflect different priorities in how we understand the past. In general, these different priorities reflect different views on historical causality (the most famous example is the contrast between “great men” and “social processes” as agents of change) as well as different attitudes about the present. I’m going to try to bring a bit more historical sensitivity to the class by emphasizing the different between these ways of thinking about the past.

I’m going to meld this with the critical textbook reading “seminar” and encouraging the students to recognize the differences in emphasis and argument among various texts as efforts to promote the priority of various historical forces from the individual to institutions, social and economic structures, and the slow change of cultural expectations. Hopefully, this introduction to how historians think about the past will not detract from the more basic (and, frankly, transferable) skills associated with making coherent and compelling arguments.

  

The Long Dark Tunnel of Sabbatical

I have slowly become aware this holiday season that my sabbatical is half over. I’ve done some of things that I pledged not to do, but avoided other pitfalls, and now I have to try to focus of the next 9 months to ensure that I survive sabbatical with my motivation intact.

I was particularly heartened to read Sara Perry’s recent post about her sabbatical. In it, she said that she focused part of her sabbatical on being quiet. I’m not really sure what that means in her particular context (as readers of this blog probably can surmise, I’m not a super quiet person), but it led me to think about how focused I can be on making a product. Every day, I go through this annoying process of reprioritizing my work based on (largely self-imposed) deadlines, goals, and schedule. For example, some tasks, like basic writing, can be interrupted and done with distractions. Other tasks, like careful editing, can’t be interrupted, but can only be sustained for about 2 or 3 hours at a time. Anyway, this process of prioritization is geared primarily to getting things done, rather than doing things.

This is where Perry’s idea of quiet comes in. When I become so focused on accomplishing particular goals, I find that I lose my ability to enjoy the tasks required to complete those goals. For example, I like to read, but when I read to glean bits of information from a book or an article, I find that I’m not very engaged with the reading process and more determined to find the answer to some question. This urgency to complete tasks, of course, probably isn’t a bad thing until it becomes all consuming like I fear it will become over the last 9 months of my leave. So, I’m going to focus less of my time on making noise (well, unless that means playing my stereo at socially unacceptable volumes), and more of my energy on just doing work.

My experience with this approach is that doing work, for me at least, is less gratifying than the tremendous rush that comes from completing a project, but also involves less of a let down. The famous burn-out/blow-out comes only from the exhausted, self-congratulatory let down when a task is completed. Making the hamster wheel turn, on the other hand, can feel endless and pointless, but that very feeling encourages me to focus on finding the pleasure in the little things rather than the almost incomprehensible big picture. So, if I seem a bit quieter (that is less productive in a big picture way) over the next 6 to 9 months, it’s not because I’m hopelessly behind, frantically working to meet some deadline, or flailing about in a endless reprioritization loop. It’s because I’m trying to find quiet again and enjoying the work that I do.

That being said, my tasks over the next 9 months will focus around 3 major projects (leavened by the usually gaggle of ankle-bitting obligations!):

1. PKAP II. My colleagues and I managed to get PKAP I through the publication process this fall and while it’s tempting to being “operation shutdown,” I know that I really need to keep focused and get the second book which documents five seasons of excavation at the site into proper order.

This involves making sure that we have good data from our last excavation season in 2012 at the site of Pyla-Vigla. We are pretty confident that our work in 2012 confirms and strengthens the chronology revealed in our previous two seasons excavating at the site. We have a working draft of a manuscript that documents this excavation, and now I need to collate that with our more recent work.

I’ll also need to return to my work on the Late Roman room associated with the Early Christian basilica at the site of Koutsopetria. This was excavated in the 1990s and will be published with our one season of excavation at the site in 2008. We managed to refine the chronology of the building on slightly and to document a bit more thoroughly the events associated with the room’s decline and abandonment. Beyond that, our work mostly consists of putting the architecture of the room and its wall painting in the context of church architecture on Cyprus.

2. Polis Preparation. With any luck, I’ll have a three week season at the site of Polis-Chrysochous this summer that hopefully involves putting the finishing touches on a major publication of the Late Antique phases of the South Basilica there. To be able to maximize my time in Polis, we need to work out the stratigraphy for the last few trenches of EF2 and the trenches associated with Roman period site of EF1.

More important than that, we need to make sure that our work over the last four years is ready for publication. To do that, we have to complete the manuscript that we drafted about 6 months ago and figure out where we need to fill in gaps during the field season. With a little luck, that manuscript might be submitted by the spring with the understanding that for it to be publishable, a few loose ends need cleaning up.

3. Man Camp Writing. With crashing oil prices and budget cuts among the major companies active in the Bakken, I have the creeping fear that the boom will be over before any of our major publications on our work appears. That’s probably unfounded, but it does encourage me to stay focused on tasks associated with my three major Bakken Boom writing projects:

a. Article. Our major scholarly product, representing the first 2.5 years of field work, is currently under revision. I’ve made some pretty major cuts, reorganized and hopefully strengthened the argument, and, most located our work more fully in the conversation about settlement, domesticity, and masculinity in the U.S. With any luck and with the approval of my coauthors, we’ll be able to resubmit this article in the next few weeks. 

b. The Tourist Guide to the Bakken Oil Patch. After a few weeks of cajoling, my co-author, Bret Weber, convinced me that we needed to add another loop to our itinerary. This look will run from Watford City south to Belfield, east to Dickinson, and then north on ND Route 22 through Killdeer and Mandaree on the Ft. Berthold Reservation. In fact, he’s scouted this route over the winter break and I’ll hopefully be able to do a follow up run through the area in late January. With this last leg of the itinerary being complete, we’ll work on producing a final copy and figuring out where to send the product before I head to the Mediterranean this summer.

c. The Bakken Boom Book. This massive tome which includes papers by nearly 20 contributors is out in peer review right now and it’ll need attention as soon as it returns to my desk in the late winter. I’m very pleased with how the book is shaping up and excited for it keep moving along without delays.

Other projects:

1. Publishing. As readers of this blog surely know, I have started a small press called the Digital Press at the University of North Dakota. I’m probably too excited about it, but our first book, Punk Archaeology, currently ranks #1,191,400 on Amazon’s sellers list, right behind (sort of) Eric Cline’s 1177 B.C. This month, our second book will appear, called Visions of Substance: 3D Imaging in Mediterranean Archaeology edited by myself and Brandon Olson, and our third book will appear in April! 

2. Book Reviewing. I’m embarrassed to say that I have not yet finished my review of Michael Dixon’s Late Classical and Early Hellenistic Corinth, 338-196 B.C., but it’s almost done, which is good because there’s another book in the way! I’ll, as per usual, post my completed, pre-publication draft here.

3. Paper Giving. Next week, my colleagues on the Western Argolid Regional Project are giving a paper at the Archaeological Institute of America’s annual meeting in New Orleans. I can’t take much credit for that fine paper, but the project directors are accomplished writers and the paper is entertaining! I would love to say that we’ll post it online, but with increasing restrictions on the dissemination of archaeological information on the internet, I don’t think the project directors will feel confident posting the paper. So, if you’re at the Archaeological Institute of America meeting, go and check it out. Nakassis, James, and Gallimore is better live anyway.

I’ll be giving a paper in Boston in February at the Mobilizing the Past for a Digital Future workshop though, which will be a major update to my paper given last spring at the University of Massachusetts and revised as “Slow Archaeology” for North Dakota Quarterly.

4. Serving. One of aspects to my sabbatical is that I insisted on continuing to fulfill some service obligations both on campus and in the community. I get the impression that this is quite unorthodox. That being said, our campus is currently oppressed by the tyranny of a faction, and it would seem irresponsible to leave the situation wholly unopposed, for many of the boldest spirits have left the university, quit academia, or worsewhile the remaining faculty, the readier they were to be slaves, were raised the higher by wealth and promotion. (Ok, that was overly dramatic, but that was called love for the workers in song, probably still is for those of them left.) So, I’m on some committees and doing that thing on campus.

I’m also serving on the North Dakota Humanities Council and the State Historic Preservation Board. Fun work that would be a shame to abandon to the selfish delights of sabbatical.

5. Reading. One of my colleagues (of a rather Sallustian comportment when it comes to campus politics) remarked at a holiday party that he was working to get back to the basics and do things like… read. I’ve been haunted by these words since then and plan to redouble my commitment to reading and listening to what books have to say, rather than mining them for my own, largely inconsequential purposes.

6. Running. I need to write a blog post on this, but I’ve started running. Not far, not fast, and not with any great purpose, but my goal is to run a 5k in late September. Right now I’m nursing an aggravated adductor in my left leg, but once that calms down, I’ll be back in my shoes making steady progress.

Day-to-Day Life in the Scale-Up Room

My brother recently asked me to explain what went on in my Scale-Up class. He’s a middle school principal with more than serious interest in pedagogical innovation, technology, and student engagement. I realize that over the past couple of years of writing on it, I probably haven’t described what I do in the classroom very effectively.

For those who haven’t followed my adventures of teaching history in a Scale-Up classroom, I’ll give a quick overview. The Scale-Up classroom accommodates over 150 students at 20, 9-student tables. Each group of 9 works around 3 laptops in 3, 3-person pods. The goal of my class in the Scale-Up room is to produce a textbook and each table works on 3, 3000 word chapters over the course of the semester. The three chapters cover chronologically the Greek, Roman, and Medieval world and each table writes on either cultural, political, social, economic, or military history for each period. 

Of course, last nights class was probably not a model, but I can at least explain what I should have done (and what I did) to demonstrate that some things work and others do not.

I start most classes with a quiz, and like almost everything in the class, the prompt for the quiz is delivered by a powerpoint slide. Typically it’s a maintenance quiz that asks the students to demonstrate that they did something outside of class. Often, I ask the students to summarize a critique given to written work on the class wiki. I’ll prompt them with a simple powerpoint slide and say: “Having read the peer reviews of your chapter, what is the most important thing to revise in the coming week?” Or, in other cases, I’ll offer a quiz that will prompt them to demonstrate that they’ve done their reading for the week “Brainstorm 5 key issues or pieces of evidence relevant to your chapter.”

This week, I went a bit outside of the norm and let the group to brainstorm a bit on their topic before I asked them to take an individual quiz on the work of the group. I thought it would interesting to see how much student engagement there was. We’ll see when we have graded the quizzes this next week.

After some kind of quiz, I usually have a short lecture that frames the week’s work. Lately, for example, I’ve been troubleshooting problems with group dynamics so I tend to focus on ways that help groups work more efficiently. Usually I also offer some modest comments on content as well.

After this interlude (when student who take more time with their quiz can finish up), I usually move on to group work starting with the three-person pod. On my best days, the pod work builds upon the individual quizzes. If the quiz features an individual brainstorm, then the pod work asks the students to bring together their quiz answers into a synthetic list. Pedagogically, the goal is to have students discuss their answers with each other and toss out poor ones and build on the good answers. Realistically, some pods work better than others and some pods engage the process of compare and critique at a higher level than others. I offer little in the way of direction for these exercises.

As pod work is well underway, my GTA and I typically circulate the room constantly responding to questions by pods and tables. In most cases, questions at this point revolve around clarifying expectations or definitions. For example, students struggle to differentiate between social and cultural history, and since these are two chapter topics, they often request some guidance. Depending on how well a table works together, the pod work often develops directly into table level work.

The next step is generally bringing pod level work together as a table. This is when we move from collecting evidence as an individual and a pod to organizing evidence as a table. This is where my GTA and I have to work the most. Groups struggle to find ways to integrate the work produced by individuals and pods. At this point we usually emphasize the importance of  The most obvious struggle is that the table wants to both validate the work done by individuals and pods and use existing evidence collected by the pods rather than collect more evidence.

Most of our intervention involves critiquing the table’s thesis statements and helping groups organize their ideas into a cohesive chapter. In some cases, we provide nudge groups in a particular direction particularly if they appear to be heading off track or taking a tack that will be difficult for them. In other case, we make sure groups working on adjacent periods (e.g. the cultural history of the Roman Republic and the cultural history of the Roman Empire) or overlapping topics (e.g. the social and economic history of the Roman Empire) do not focus on the exact same areas.

As the semester has gone on, students have become better at organizing their workflow at the table, but not quite as good as I had hoped. Last night, for example, I did not dictate the move from pod work to table level work and found that tables struggled a bit to organize their activities. The biggest problem, this week was that without the definite prompt to move from pod work to group work, students did not stop and formulate a thesis. Instead, they created a list of ideas and then forged a crude outline that did not support a statement of historical argument. Since we’ve been pushing students to formulate a thesis consistently over the course of the semester, watching tables skip this step was disappointing. It also showed how dependent the groups remained on prompts from us to structure their work. 

Moreover, without the clear prompts from pod work to table work, groups tended to rush through their tasks and hurry to leave the room. The prompts helped the groups to structure their time and move through their work deliberately. Without the prompts, many groups left class a half-an-hour early. 

As we move toward the end of the semester, we will experiment further with removing prompts that structure the groups’ engagement with the writing process. In general, we had hoped to slowly move the groups toward a more independent, collaborative process. We’ll have to see how this goes. 

Scale-Up Midterm Report

This past week I finished grading the midterms for my History 101 class in a Scale-Up classroom. I also submitted a revised draft of the article that I co-authored with my T.A. last spring reflecting on our teaching in this room. So it seemed like a good time to stop and take stock of how my semester has gone and some thoughts on my future work in this room.

1. Midterm Evaluation. The students worked over 4 weeks on midterm exams. Each table produced, one 3000 word essay with sections on the Greek, Roman, and Medieval world. The most striking thing about the midterm exams came not from the exams themselves which were of slightly higher than average quality, but from a brief quiz that I gave hours before the midterm was due. The quiz asked them to reflect on their midterm exams and to identify one thing that they would change if they could.

I naively expected most of the answers to this quiz to focus on stronger theses, better use of primary and secondary source evidence, or even one more round of proofreading, and, indeed, students mentioned these issues. More surprisingly, however, were the number of students who commented on some aspect of process. Whether it was the way the group organized their workflow to produce the chapter, the time allowed between various drafts and revisions, or the distribution of work among members of the group. In fact, a number of students admitted to not working hard enough or contributing enough to the group’s efforts.

The frankness of the students’ self evaluation was shocking and refreshing. These were not anonymous. The students clearly recognized that how they worked as a group to write the chapter had a directly relationship to the quality of their work, and the changes that they offered were process oriented rather than simply outcome oriented. As this class has emphasized the close relationship of methods and processes in the production of knowledge, it was heartening to see that students have internalized this approach to learning.

2. Repetition and Learning. One the shortcomings of my previous class in the Scale-Up room was that we spent all semester writing a single chapter of a history textbook. This allowed us to spend a good bit of time managing research, structuring the chapter and revising the prose, but we only engaged this process one time through. There was no repetition to reinforce or refine the processes developed over the course of the semester, but the end result of our careful work was fairly refined.

The midterm quality was not nearly as good as the work from the final project last semester, but I’m hoping that the opportunity to reflect and revise their process will improve the final product at the end of the semester. It has taken a bit of discipline on my part to allow groups to find their own work rhythms and to turn in products that I know could be better with more time and revisions. At the same time, I think bringing a part of the class to an end and presenting a final evaluation has a kind of impact that revisions and other provision assessments do not have. In short, the students need the grade to establish their own sense of progress and performance in the class. 

3. Peer Review and Consequences. My students are terrible peer reviewers. In the most recent round of peer critiques I provided them with a template that asked them to award a grade to the paper that they peer reviewed. No matter how bad the paper was, how incomplete the ideas, and how poorly proofread the prose, my students found ways to give it a high-B or A. This astounding act of generosity promised to leave their fellow students buoyed with confidence at their progress in the class and free to spend spring break taking some well-deserved down time.

Of course, this kind of uncritical engagement with their fellow students’ work is not at all helpful to anyone. While the concerned pedagogue in me worries that the my criteria for grading are not clear or that the students have not internalized the key components of a good paper, the practical teacher sees these overly optimistic grades as a result of a reluctance to engage critically their fellow students’ work and a tendency to put a superficial loyalty to classmates over a longterm commitment to collective learning. The pedagogue’s concerns are fixed by articulating once again, and maybe with different words, the expectations for these papers; the teacher’s concerns are best resolved by some mildly apocalyptic penalties meted out to students who offer uncritically inflated provisional grades to their fellow students. Middle ground is probably best in this case.

———

With my first short article submitted on my experiences teaching in the Scale-Up room, I’ve begun to think about a follow up article or two. While I’m slated for sabbatical next year, I’m sorely tempted to ask to teach in the room next spring as part of a three year research cycle that focuses on three iterations of my class in this kind of learning-centered environment. That would be the topic of a second article of a trilogy. The third article would look at the relationship between learning-centered spaces and the changing architecture of higher education with references to online teaching, MOOCs, Scale-Up rooms, and traditional lecture bowls. This paper will take some research and more careful consideration, but as this blog has suggested, our growing interest in process and making “invisible learning” visible has clear echoes with 20th century modes of industrial educations that run counter to disciplinary tendencies to history (or the larger humanities project) as craft.

For more of my reflections on teaching in the Scale-Up go here.

Teaching History and Embracing Ambiguity in the Scale-Up

One of my favorite experiences of teaching history in the Scale-Up classroom at the University of North Dakota is watching students who are given substantial freedom to design their own projects tentatively approach the ambiguity that this entails. The Scale-Up

This past week, we finally got to the stage in my Scale-Up class where we began work on our textbook chapters. Each table received a time period (Archaic, Classical, or Hellenistic) and one of 5 or 6 different thematic topics (culture, social history, political history, economics, or military history). Each table was responsible for a single 2000-3000 word section that focuses on a particular issues.

I’ve asked the students to frame their chapters with a clear statement of intent and to then provide an outline that sets out what their chapter will say. The goal of this is to show both me and other groups how they intend to proceed with their analysis. In some places, chapters will overlap. For example, the social history of the Archaic and Classical period offers significant opportunities for overlapping content (at least as imagined by 100 level history students). Likewise, the Archaic and Classical economies could have significant overlap in the hands of generalizing undergraduates. To prevent this, I have suggested that the two groups interact and work to define their own boundaries.

It’s sort of remarkable to see how students respond to this kind of ambiguity.

Most students embrace it with a certain amount of enthusiasm. While intent on doing the “right thing,” they seem to understand that the structure of an argument is as important as the content and structure of the argument. I provide the students with multiple textbooks, a small selection of primary sources, and lots of tips and pointers how to find more sources. For example, I directed students working on the Archaic economy to Hesiod’s Works and Days and nudged students looking at the Classical economy to Xenophon’s Oeconomicus. In other cases, such as Athenian politics of the Classical period, sources are more readily obvious.

 In an introductory history course, I’m less concerned about students being “right” (whatever that means) and producing “accurate” historical content, than I am with them developing the confidence to explore a topic in an independent way, to formulate an approach to presenting what they learned, and to write a section of a chapter setting out their interpretation of the past.

It is interesting to note how students respond to this freedom of analysis.

1. Demand Definition. Some students demand that we provide them with more formal definition of their topics. Particularly troublesome to students are the borders between social, cultural, and economic history. While professional historians rarely set firm boundaries between these arbitrary categories of historical analysis, my students struggled to understand what topics might be “acceptable” in their chapters.

Some of this reflects a problematic understanding of such broad and abstract concepts as culture and social history (and my rather superficial explanations to the entire class were unsatisfactory). More important, it speaks to how students in this 100 level history class expect firm divisions within their own classroom experiences and in the production of disciplinary knowledge.

So as faculty and administrators continue to talk excitedly about “breaking through boundaries” and “escaping silos” that define our disciplinary knowledge and ways of knowing, our students continue to look for rigid divisions in disciplinary structure.   

2. Putting the Cart before the Horse. At the start of the  give students a little list of things that they should do, in order, to write their chapters. Here’s the list:

1. Collect Evidence
2. Concoct a Thesis
3. Develop Outline
4. Write Draft
5. Share Draft
6. Peer Review
7. Revise Draft
8. Submit draft

Despite this list, groups get eager to delve into the writing component of the assignments and will often start to write, get frustrated, and ask for help before even formulating a thesis or establishing an outline. With words staring at them from the page, they quickly become frustrated that they can’t marshal order from their hastily arranged ideas.  

Other groups, jump on the first three or four examples that they can find and attempt to force these into order. They then become frustrated when they can’t write a thesis that brings together combine randomly selected bit of information.

Managing student frustrations as they figure out how to push their way through these assignments is my biggest challenge right now. I am impressed by students’ willingness to dive right into a complex assignment, but I wish I was better at managing their energies.

3. Critiques and Revisions. One of the challenges that I’m looking forward to addressing this next week is getting students to provide critical feedback to their peers and taking this feedback constructively as they revise their drafts. Much like the ambiguity associated with the assignment itself, students often want a single body of clear directions in the revision process rather than a conflicting mass of suggestions from their peers. Getting the students to filter the peer reviews and focus their revisions is among the most challenging (and productive) aspects of the class.

So, the greatest challenge now that the chapter writing is underway is managing student responses to rather more open-ended assignments than they commonly experience in introductory level courses. Getting the students comfortable with defining fuzzy boundaries, slowing down and managing their frustrations, and critically reading peer reviews before making revisions are all parts of the same process of getting students to approach problems and tasks independently and with confidence.

For more on my adventures in the Scale-Up classroom, go here.