Learning Outcomes

If you have been following this blog, you'll have noticed that after posting reflections on some of my past teachers, I've taken a bit of a late-summer break.  The last several weeks have, in part, been spent preparing to teach a college course that I've never taught before, and, while it's new to me, it's a standard part of a liberal college education across the country.  

I'm teaching "Writing 101," the introduction to academic writing for first year students. I'm excited to take on a new challenge, and comforted to have colleagues at my school who are experienced and supportive for those moments when I'm not sure what to do next.  Much of the last six weeks has been spent trying to sort through the vast array of "tips and tricks" that writing instructors offer to their neophyte colleagues.

But the process of teaching and learning has led me to ponder something deeper than just what to do in class, and which writing projects to assign to my students.  You see, there's a trend that's taken root in the last decade in higher education (and most likely across grades K-12 as well).  It's the demand that every course have "learning outcomes," measurable goals that a student who applies themselves to the course content can expect to achieve.  And for many courses, especially skills-based courses, or fundamentals in an area in which a student will major, and later expect to be employed, this is a reasonable approach to the learning process.

But life doesn't have "outcomes" that can be pre-set before someone signs on.  Most of my courses address World Religions from various viewpoints, and I'm not all that interested in whether a student can recite the 10 Commandments or the 5 Pillars of Islam. I am deeply interested in whether they can attend a wedding or a funeral for a friend of a religion different from theirs, and conduct themselves respectfully. I am deeply interested in their ability to go beyond facts and enter into the complex arena of ideas about life, and death, and the things that make life meaningful, whether they call those things religious or not.  And I'm well aware that for many of my students, those lightbulb moments when ideas become relevant and useful often take place long after the semester is over.  But those are the real outcomes that I desire.  I can't measure them, I can't promise when (or if) they will happen, and I certainly can't list them in the syllabus on the first day of class.

In my heart, I believe that learning is relational, and evolutionary, and ultimately more spiritual than cognitive.  Maybe someday I'll be able to put that in a syllabus.  For now, I'll work out the course outcomes as best I can, and hope that space opens up between my students and me for the other forms of learning to unfold.