Because half my work this term involved co-directing a center for teaching excellence at UH, I just presented a talk about CTEs and organizational learning at a conference in the scholarship of teaching and learning (SOTL) in Statesboro, GA.
My argument was that teaching centers play an important role when they help faculty and academic units organize more effectively around instruction. In the same way that universities are just beginning to grasp the full complexity of student learning, teaching centers help make visible the struggles of faculty in their own learning process, as they work to improve their own teaching.
Both books address the relationship of disciplinarity to broader problematics of teaching and learning. Weimer, for example, is interested in developing a stronger, more credible literature of teaching, with more robust connections between practitioners’ narratives and the more academic genres of higher education research (which often deploy social science or at least quantitative methodologies). Weimer tries hard not to impose a hierarchical relation between the two, but she seems uncomfortable with the affective or narrative components of much of the practitioner, first-person accounts of teaching (e.g., “how I improved my teaching with X”), largely because of the unabashed advocacy of many of these writers.
To make this scholarly literature more accessible as well as more credible, she would like those producing first-person accounts to look beyond their own disciplines and journals, and to conceive of their own teaching in a broader context. And, indeed, I think that faculty in the various departments and disciplines often forget how much our students resemble one another, whatever their majors, simply because they come from the same general population. That is the virtue of addressing the “horizontal” university, the university as it is experienced by students, parents, and the neighborhoods and regions surrounding the school.
Rosenthal’s and Heiland’s anthology, however, insists just as strongly on the need to maintain a contextual and disciplinary perspective when confronting the problems of learning about learning. They write: “In keeping with our hypothesis that the tools of the discipline are the best ones to exploit in assessing the learning intended to take place, we have focused on the literary figuration of the sublime, which is above all a way of trying to understand the ineffable.” In other words, if learning takes place within a particular domain and context, why should one abandon the terms, traditions, practices and procedures that give learning its meaning in that context?
Yet putting it this way only begs the question of what, precisely, students in literature classes are learning if they are taking classes in the sublime and the ineffable. And what is the difference between an introductory and a senior course on the sublime? I suspect that literary scholars could draw up the respective syllabi more easily than they could explain the differences between the two to researchers in other fields. And it seems harder for literary scholars than others to agree upon the fundamental terms (i.e., the “pedagogical content knowledge”) that would enable us to teach basic and advanced courses organized around distinctively literary topics like close reading, literary periods, or histories of particular genres.
Ultimately, I think that the moment we recognize the multidimensionality of learning, we must also accept the notion of the multidisciplinarity of knowledge, along with the notion that no single discipline or method has privileged access to what people learn or how they learn it.
At this point in time, the “vertical” university of the disciplines, as these are constructed, aggregated, reconfigured, torn down, or recreated at an organizational level, have become the only means we have to confront the full complexity of knowledge. And literature and literary knowledge–because of their unique emphasis upon the non-generalizable detail, the ineffability of experience, the rhetorical stance, the affective dimension of knowledge, the value of the first-person point of view, and the serial, narrative aspects of language–all these features of literary studies allow it to serve as a place-holder for the forms of experience that do not fit easily within other disciplines’ epistemologies. But probably the best place to begin the work of comprehending both perspectives, the vertical and the horizontal, is by looking at what happens in the literature classroom.