Tag: Misses

  • The Push for Viewpoint Diversity Misses the Point (opinion)

    The Push for Viewpoint Diversity Misses the Point (opinion)

    Much of the controversy around the Trump administration’s “Compact for Academic Excellence in Higher Education” has focused on its push for viewpoint diversity and the claim that open inquiry does not exist in our classrooms. That push builds on a long-standing conservative critique that today makes hay out of the fact that the vast majority of faculty in U.S. colleges and universities lean left.

    Recent data supports that claim. In elite institutions, like Duke and Harvard Universities, surveys suggest the number of faculty identifying as liberal exceeds 60 percent. The percentages differ not only by type of institution but by discipline, with the humanities and social sciences leaning more liberal than STEM. Some even claim that political bias corrupts academic disciplines.

    Liberal faculty and commentators on higher education sometimes take the bait and respond defensively to what often is a politically motivated attack. In an op-ed in The Guardian, Lauren Lassabe Shepherd argued that the purpose of the conservative critique has been “to delegitimize the academy … [and] return colleges to a carefully constructed environment not to educate all, but to reproduce hierarchy.”

    Whether or not she is right, you don’t have to look hard to see that institutions of higher education are feeling growing pressure to right their ships—to create campuses and classrooms where open inquiry flourishes, where students feel free to say what they think and to challenge ideas they disagree with. Colleges have responded by scrambling to incorporate more ideological diversity into their course offerings, to implement new programming and to recruit guest speakers who challenge progressive thinking.

    All this misses the point and distracts us from the work that needs to be done to further improve the quality of the education students receive in American colleges and universities. Put simply, instead of fixating on who is in the classroom and whether they are liberal or conservative, we should be focused on how we are in the room.

    Higher education’s greatest challenge to achieving open inquiry is not one of ideology or viewpoint diversity, but of disposition. Harvard University’s 2024 report from a working group on open inquiry gestured in this direction but did not flesh it out.

    If we are to truly commit to open inquiry, we need to step back, pause and reflect not just on what we think, but on how we acquire knowledge, how we think, whether we are interested in learning more or if we are content with what we already know.

    You can decorate campuses with all the colors of the political rainbow but not make them better places to learn.

    The issue is how we show up with others. Data suggests that students in our classrooms don’t feel comfortable pushing back on each other or on their professors when they disagree. They engage in what psychologists Forest Romm and Kevin Waldman call “performative virtue-signaling.”

    In conversations with students at Amherst College, we have heard that they are not just constraining their expression in academic settings but in social settings, too. It seems we are afraid of each other.

    It is no wonder. The academic and public squares have not proven themselves to be especially kind or generous as of late. We need look no further than the vitriolic reactions to Charlie Kirk’s murder, and the as-vitriolic reactions to the reactions to his murder. When we do, we can see that the rush to righteousness operates across the ideological spectrum.

    The work of college education is to dislodge the instinct to judge and replace it with a commitment to rigorous listening. The work of college teachers is to model an approach to the world that puts empathy before criticism.

    What if instead of just talking about the right to speech, we emphasized the right to listen? But we don’t just mean any kind of listening; we mean listening in a certain way. Deep listening. The kind of listening that takes in ideas in slow, big gulps and lets them settle deeply, and sometimes uncomfortably.

    It is listening that seeks to catch ideas in flight and carry them further. This is a disciplined kind of listening that resists defensiveness and instead burrows into curiosity.

    To foster it, we have to cultivate in ourselves and in our students a disposition to wonder. Why does someone think that way? What experiences, places, relationships, institutions and social forces have shaped their thinking? How did they get to that argument? How did they get to that feeling? How is it that they could arrive at a different perspective than I did?

    This is the heart of open inquiry, and it is much harder to achieve than it is to bring more conservatives to campus. Without the disposition to wonder, doing so will produce enclaves, not engagement, on even the most ideologically diverse campus.

    This kind of open inquiry would demand that we remove the stance of moral certainty and righteousness from our ways and practices of thinking. That is the real work that needs to animate our colleges and universities.

    It is hard, slow work. There is no magic bullet. Teachers and their students, liberals and conservatives, have to commit to it.

    While open inquiry is a social disposition, it is also about how we orient our thinking when we are alone. We need to challenge our students to wonder not just about others but about themselves.

    What would happen if we all got into the habit of asking ourselves: When was the last time we changed our mind about something? When was the last time we left a conversation or finished a text and actually grappled with our orientation to a subject?

    We yearn for our students to practice open inquiry not just when they are in our classrooms, but when they are in the library or in their dorm room with a book to read, an equation to solve, a painting to finish.

    The promise of this type of inquiry is exhilarating, freeing. And it opens up great possibilities of seeing the world differently or in more complicated ways.

    At the end of the day, the literary scholar Peter Brooks gets it right when he says, “To honor, even only nominally, the call for ‘viewpoint diversity’ is to succumb to a logic that is at its heart hostile to the academic enterprise.” At the heart of that enterprise is a belief that viewpoint diversity is not the same thing as open inquiry. That belief requires changing the culture of learning on our campuses.

    Maybe the shift does not seem responsive to the political clamor of the moment. Maybe it sounds like it demands too much and will be hard to assess.

    But whatever the case, it feels revolutionary to us.

    Austin Sarat is the William Nelson Cromwell Professor of Jurisprudence and Political Science at Amherst College.

    Leah Schmalzbauer is the Clarence Francis 1910 Professor in the Social Sciences and associate provost and associate dean of the faculty at Amherst College.

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  • The American Historical Association Comes Close, but Misses

    The American Historical Association Comes Close, but Misses

    I believe it to be very important for disciplinary bodies to issue statements/guidance on the use of generative AI when it comes to the production of scholarship and the work of teaching and learning.

    For that reason, I was glad to see the American Historical Association issue its Guiding Principles for Artificial Intelligence in Education. One of the chief recommendations in the concluding chapters of More Than Words: How to Think About Education in the Age of AI is that we need many more community-based conversations about the intersection of our labor and this technology, and a great way to have a conversation is to release documents like this one.

    So, let’s talk.

    First, we should acknowledge the limits of these kinds of documents, something the AHA committee that prepared the principles acknowledges up front at the closing of the preamble:

    Given the speed at which technologies are changing, and the many local considerations to be taken into account, the AHA will not attempt to provide comprehensive or concrete directives for all instances of AI use in the classroom. Instead, we offer a set of guiding principles that have emerged from ongoing conversations within the committee, and input from AHA members via a survey and conference sessions.”

    —AHA Guiding Principles for Artificial Intelligence in Education

    I think this is obviously correct because teaching and learning are inherently, inevitably context-dependent, sometimes down to the smallest variables. I’ve used this example many times, but as someone who frequently taught the same course three or even four times a day, I could detect variances based on what seems like the smallest differences, including the time of day a particular section met. There is a weird (but also wonderful) human chemistry at play when we treat learning as a communal act—as I believe we should—but this means it is incredibly difficult to systematize teaching, as we have seen from generations of failed attempts to do so.

    Caution over offering prescriptions is more than warranted. As someone who now spends a lot of time trying to help others think through the challenges in their particular teaching contexts, I’m up front about the fact that I have very few if any universal answers and instead offer some ways of thinking about and breaking down a problem that may pave the road to progress.

    I cringe at some folks who seem to be positioning themselves as AI gurus, eager to tell us the future and, in so doing, know what we should be doing in the present. This is going to be a problem that must be continually worked.

    The AHA principles start with a declaration that seeks to unify the group around a shared principle, declaring, “Historical thinking matters.”

    My field is writing and English, not history, but here I think this is a misstep, one that I think is common and one that must be addressed if we’re going to have the most productive conversations possible about where generative AI has a place (or not) in our disciplines.

    What is meant by “historical thinking”? From what I can tell, the document makes no specific claims as to what this entails, though it has many implied activities that presumably are component parts of historical thinking: research, analysis, synthesis, etc. …

    To my mind, what is missing is the underlying values that historical thinking is meant to embody. Perhaps these are agreed upon and go without saying, but my experience in the field of writing suggests that this is unlikely. What one values about historical thinking and, perhaps most importantly, the evidence they privilege in detecting and measuring historical thinking is likely complicated and contested.

    This is definitely true when it comes to writing.

    One of my core beliefs about how we’ve been teaching writing is that the artifacts we ask students to produce and the way we assess them often actually prevents students from engaging in the kinds of experiences that help them learn to write.

    Because of this, I put more stock in evidence of a developing writing practice than I do in judging the written artifact at the end of a writing experience. Even my use of the word “experience” signals what I think is most valuable when it comes to writing: the process over the product.

    Others who put more stock in the artifacts themselves see great potential for LLM use to help students produce “better” versions of those artifacts by offering assistance in various parts of the process. This is an obviously reasonable point of view. If we have a world that judges students on outputs and these tools help them produce better outputs (and more quickly), why would we wall them off from these tools?

    In contrast, I say that there is something essentially human—as I argue at book length in More Than Words—about reading and writing, so I am much more cautious about embracing this technology. I’m concerned that we may lose experiences that are actually essential not for getting through school, but for getting through life.

    But this is a debate! And the answers to what the “right” approach is depend on those root values.

    The AHA principles are all fair enough and generally agreeable, arguing for AI literacy, policy transparency and a valuing of historical expertise over LLM outputs. But without unpacking what we mean by “historical thinking,” and how we determine when this thinking is present, we’re stuck in cul-de-sac of uncertainty.

    This is apparent in an appendix that attempts to show what an AI policy might look like, listing a task, whether AI use could be acceptable and then the conditions of acceptance. But again, the devil is in the details.

    For example, “Ask generative AI to identify or summarize key points in an article before you read it” is potentially acceptable, without explicit citation.

    But when? Why? What if the most important thing about a reading, as an aspect of developing their historical thinking practice, is for students to experience the disorientation of tackling a difficult text, and we desire maximum friction in the process?

    Context is everything, and we can’t talk context if we don’t know what we truly value, not just at the level of a discipline, or even a course, but at the level of the experience itself. For every course-related activities, we have to ask:

    What do we want students to know?

    and

    What do we want students to be able to do?

    My answers to these questions, particularly as they pertain to writing courses, involve very little large language model use until a solid foundation in a writing practice is established. Essentially, we want students to be able to use these tools in the way we likely perceive our own abilities to use them productively without compromising our values or the quality of our work.

    I’m guessing most faculty reading this trust themselves to make these judgments about when use is acceptable and under what conditions. That’s the big-picture target. What do we need to know and what do we need to be able to do to arrive at that state?

    Without getting at the deepest values, we don’t really even know where to aim.

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