LOST Finale Reflections Part 1: Who invited Shyamalan? (SPOILERS!)

Jack and Locke in the ChurchWhile I generally enjoyed watching the finale with a good friend, with plenty of commercial time analysis, I was completely disappointed with the final ending and twist. At the moment, my reason for disliking the final “answer” provided to us is twofold. First, it was a cheap and hokey trick. Second, it was too forced with its odd blend of religious soup. I’ll take up that last point in part two of this post. Also, remember that I wasn’t really looking for answers, so I may have had a different expectation than you.

So, apparently, they decided to go all Shyamalanian on the series (making this April Fools joke pretty ironic). A Shyamalan film is what it is and ever since the “Sixth Sense,” we’ve known what that is. It’s like the whole movie is building up to this “Oh, I guess I am dead people” moment. With LOST, the Shyamalanian sort of twist on it, revealed in the last fifteen minutes or so, cheapens the entire series for me. I agree with one blogger who compared LOST to Shyamalan’s Signs: “Signs was a 2 hour movie.  Lost was a 6 year series.  With a lot more twists and turns and unanswered questions.  I think in the end, I felt like the first 5 seasons were one show and this one was something that belonged on PAX.” I’m not sure I’d wrap together the whole season that way, because they could have gone another way with the sideways world. But, yeah, the twist explanation ruins it for me.

A lot of people thought the ending was beautiful. I have a hard time seeing the beauty when I feel like the whole “answer” to the big question this season (”What’s the deal with the two parallel worlds?”) was a cop out: the easy, cheesy way to go with it. It reminds me of when I was starting out in my brief high school acting career (you know, a couple musicals, a couple plays) and totally blew an audition to a sought-after play at the school. The audition included an improv game portion, similar to “Whose Line Is It Anyway?” You’d freeze the two people who were performing some scene, and then jump in and replace one of the improvising actors. I had never done anything like this, so I waited until someone was making some really strange pose. I froze them and jumped in to say, “What are you DOING?!” Of course it was lame, everyone groaned, and I didn’t get a part. Instead of trying to come up with some original and creative new narrative, I just put all the responsibility on the other guy, showing I had no improv skills. To me, the last fifteen minutes or so of the finale took a similar “easy way out.” How do we explain this strange alternate world? Afterlife! That solves everything! Yeah, and then we can really ham it up and make people cry about it too.

But maybe you like the Shyamalan thing.

James McGrath mentioned that many people are saying the finale was more emotionally satisfying than intellectually satisfying. After it was over, I suppose my cold and heartless side came out. People were trotted out for the local late night news after the show and asked, “What did you think of the finale?” They were all choked up at how beautiful it was, I just thought, “Are you kidding me?? Those people are going to get mocked at work tomorrow.” I’m not real impressed with the “emotional satisfaction” of an otherwise intellectually satisfying series.

[continued in part two . . .]

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The Difference that Funding Makes

I have just learned that I have been awarded the major grant that I applied for: the Graduate Research Mentorship. The program provides a large stipend (even more than a TAship) and tuition remission. In the age of California’s budgetary apocalypse, student protests over UC tuition hikes, and my department’s inability to pay for copies of classroom handouts, I am dumbstruck by my good fortune. The UCLA Graduate Division describes the program:

The Graduate Research Mentorship (GRM) Program is designed to assist students in acquiring and developing advanced research skills under faculty mentorship. The Program is open to doctoral students in the humanities, social sciences and other disciplines where students have little opportunity for academic apprentice appointments or other University funding relevant to their graduate training. An expected outcome is to increase the number of students who complete the PhD degree and who show promise as candidates for faculty appointments. Faculty mentors are expected to be in the same locale as the student participants and assist them with research leading to the development of a doctoral dissertation.

My project will deal with the social functions of apocalyptic thought in early Christian communities. My mentor will be Ra’anan Boustan. I explained in my proposal, “The topic of apocalyptic thought is a particularly nebulous research area, for which ten-week seminars do not provide ample time for processing. Working closely with Prof. Boustan on the relevant concepts and scholarship for an entire year would offer an invaluable opportunity in terms of my progress in the program and my ability to develop original insights in my field.” For me, this program will come on the heels of my participation in the summer version of this grant (the “Graduate Summer Research Mentorship”) with my advisor, Scott Bartchy, on a related topic this summer.

The downside of taking this grant is that it means I will not teach next year. I love teaching. It is the most fulfilling thing that I do. But being a teacher and a researcher at the same time is like leading a double life (and that’s not even factoring my family life!). The two (teaching and researching) are both academic enterprises, but they often feel so disconnected — especially when I’m teaching Western Civ. (”Circa A.D. 843 to Circa 1715″) and doing research on the Deuteronomistic History, as I’m doing at the moment. How do I find time to immerse myself fully into two completely divergent topics in the span of a ten week quarter? I can’t. So, I come up with a compromise — such is the academic life.

Next year, this fellowship means that I won’t have to compromise on the time I devote to my research, and also that I can complete my Ph.D. earlier and, thus, find a teaching post somewhere sooner. One former UCLA Ph.D. student told me recently that receiving the GRM grant made him feel like he had a two year head start on his dissertation. That’s what I’m hoping for. Also, though, I have a couple language exams yet to take and then my comprehensive exams will be coming by the end of next year. I hope to have all of my exams completed before the 2011-2012 academic year (my fourth year at UCLA) begins. The GRM gives me the space to run with that task.

As my fellow Bruin, Kevin Scull, explains (see this post too), funding for our program is a bit of a buried treasure that you need to seek out. Nobody in my program is offered a guaranteed “funding package.” Hopefully, we can be an encouragement to other Ph.D. students out there to seek out that funding!

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Entering the Mystery: “The ‘Lost’ Decade” and My Brain

I often wonder why it is that I am so drawn to apocalyptic thought in my research, not to mention why people seem to be paying more and more attention to the topic generally speaking (e.g., see this upcoming conference). What I consider my “bad romance” with apocalyptic  thought began in the summer of 2006 in a course on early Judaism taught by James VanderKam. I simply read 1 Enoch and it was like the intellectual engines turned on. But today, I read an article in the Washington Post (HT: James McGrath), that gave me some broader context for why my brain might be so drawn to this mysterious line of research.

Lost statue

In that article, Hank Stuever interprets the run of ABC’s epic and mysterious “Lost” as an indicator of our collective identity for the past decade. Steuver notes, “It was the perfect show for our frustrated ’00s era, in which no one had to answer for anything much — not for the real estate and Wall Street busts, the levee floods, the bad war intelligence.” Widening the net further, he assesses: “At its most essential, the show was about an airplane crash, told from every possible angle. That’s also our story — wounded by the events of 9/11 and the controlled chaos that came with new battlefields and the worst economy in 70 years.” And still further defining our decade with “Lost”: “We’ll go on living in the future; the people of ‘Lost’ will forever belong to the 2000s, which some are already calling ‘the lost decade.’”

I don’t know who these people are that call the 2000s “the lost decade” — when I googled it, I got some things about Japan and investments — but the idea strikes a chord with me nevertheless, even if for not all the same reasons it does with Steuver. Going back even earlier than 9/11, our culture’s understanding of the decade began with bewildering anticipation about whether the first moment of 2000 would bring about the end of the world. The fanaticism that surrounded Y2K served as one of the cultural backdrops of my first year and a half in college.

Still, I didn’t realize my intellectual calling (as an academic) until my senior year of college, which was indeed the year of 9/11 and the subsequent upheaval of global politics. Academically, I struggled to find a truly satisfying research area. Meanwhile, as our 2000s culture began to explore–for whatever reason–television shows and movies of apocalyptic import, my brain got sucked into it all. Replacing my teenage obsession with Friends (perhaps my deepest connection with ’90s culture), my imagination was drawn towards shows like Lost, Heroes, Jericho, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles, and now V and FlashForward. “Lost” began the year before I entered seminary.

Without a doubt, I appreciate working with concrete social issues, such as gender roles or economic stratification, in my research. But in the deepest core of my intellectual passions, my ultimate academic search is for complex, hidden mysteries. There is something I love about living with more questions than answers. Is that “Lost’s” effect on me or my attraction to “Lost” or both?

In any case, when people are all concerned about whether we will be “satisfied” with finale, I have a difficult time relating. For me, “Lost” was an apocalypse — an invitation to a world of hidden mysteries. But to be honest, just as I found my attraction to apocalyptic literature by entering the world 1 Enoch, I am more satisfied simply entering the mystery than I am with any attempt at explaining the mystery. For me, the “Lost” finale need not connect all the dots. Rather, I will simply mourn the loss of my biggest cultural partner in my research. Thankfully, I don’t think our culture is done with hidden mysteries.

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UCLA’s Center for the Study of Religion Gets a Facelift

CSR LogoFor the past academic year, the Center for the Study of Religion (CSR) at UCLA has been going through a transition from one director to another. My doctoral advisor, Scott Bartchy stepped down from his tenure as director for the CSR after over a decade of skillful and passionate leadership. Another professor with whom I work closely, Ra’anan Boustan, has taken up the reins and brought me on staff as he builds upon the strong foundation that Prof. Bartchy has laid.

One of the central projects of this transitional year has been the recreation of the CSR website. The old website had served its purpose well, but it was time to move on and UCLA’s Center for the Digital Humanities (many of you may know about this center through its Instructional Technology Coordinator, Bob Cargill) helped us out big time. I encourage you to go check out the new site. We’ve got some cool things going on.

If you’re reading this blog post, chances are that you generally, well, read blog posts. If that’s the case, please do check out and subscribe to the CSR blog! Here’s the link for the RSS feed. Visually, the blog is currently a little bare bones, but we’ll be working on that. As far as content goes, we will be hosting many guest posts, including an upcoming one from Dr. Cargill himself, explaining our multidimensional icon (see the “o” in the logo above). One of our instructors for the Study of Religion summer courses will be contributing as well. I hope keep it active and include interviews and reflections on CSR events and topics.

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It Doesn’t Matter if Noah’s Ark Existed

In my previous post, I ranted about those who feel the need to call the Bible 100% accurate about historical facts. The Bible is not about historical facts. Indeed, I imagine there are very few historical facts in the Bible that might actually make any difference in anyone’s life. At the moment, I can think of only one event whose historicity (whether or not it actually happened) is made important by a biblical author (see 1 Cor 15:13-14). Certainly not Noah’s ark. In my last post, I mentioned Noah’s ark as a relevant example of this principle. Bob Cargill, a fellow Bruin, has published an article at Biblical Interpretation addressing this theme regarding Noah’s ark: “Forget about Noah’s Ark; There Was No Worldwide Flood.” The following bit hits on my point exactly:

It is time for Christians to admit that some of the stories in Israel’s primordial history are not historical. It is ok to concede that these stories were crafted in a pre-scientific period and were designed to offer ethical answers to questions of why and not questions of how. Christians and Jews must concede that the Bible can still be “inspired” without being historically or scientifically “inerrant.” . . . Simply because a factual error exists in the text of the Bible does not mean that an ethical truth or principal cannot still be conveyed. It is time for Christians to concede that “inspiration” does not equal “inerrancy,” and that “biblical” does not equal “historical” or even “factual.” . . . It is time Christians conceded that there was no flood. . . . It is time for groups of evangelical amateurs to stop making sensational claims about discoveries they did not really make. And it is time for people to stop looking for Noah’s ark. [emphases mine]

Right on, Bob (check out his iTunes lectures on Jerusalem, by the way). To his comment “answers to questions of why,” I would also add “who.” That is, these stories also indicate who is the highest God and, by extension, define a people: the people of that God.

By the way, your faith is not in vain if Noah’s ark didn’t exist . . . even if Jesus refers to it. A commenter on Bob’s biblioblog [not to be confused with "Bob Loblaw's Law Blog"] raises this issue: What about the fact that Jesus talked about Noah? The commenter (who is certainly not alone with this argument) says:

If the Noah’s Ark story is merely fictional, how do we interpret NT passages referring to it? (Matthew 24:37-39, Hebrews 11:7, I Peter 3:20, II Peter 2:5)

I can accept that the epistle writers’ understanding of the OT may be culturally bound, but what about Jesus’?

He’s willing to go further than most, granting that the epistle writers are culturally bound. But why can’t Jesus be culturally bound? Seems to me (reading his culturally bound parables, for instance, or about his culturally bound crucifixion) that he was. It also seems to me that suggesting otherwise feels a bit like docetism. Furthermore, even if we granted that there was no way anything Jesus said could have been culturally bound, the fact of the matter is: we don’t have the direct words of Jesus. He didn’t write anything, at least nothing that lasted (John 8:6). If the epistle writers are culturally bound, then why aren’t the gospel writers? And finally, the specific reference in Matthew is figurative apocalyptic discourse anyway. The historicity of Noah’s ark makes no difference to the point the Matthean Jesus is making in the passage.

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The Bible Is Not a History Textbook

I know that some people feel that they have to use the word “inerrancy” to describe the Bible in order to be part of their community of faith (generally, more conservative evangelical or even fundamentalist groups). I have friends who are graduate students in biblical studies and are in this boat. They are pushing the envelope in their research, willing to admit the Bible may not be 100% historically accurate, but they’d be willing to sign a statement of faith with the word “inerrancy” in it. They explain inerrancy in such a way that, as I see it, it really no longer is inerrancy.

I recently read this statement from one educational institution’s website. It is included in the statement of faith that any professor would have to sign. If you feel so inclined, you can google it. It’s not the institution itself that really concerns me right now, but the social phenomenon that it represents:

The Scriptures of the Old and New Testaments are without error or misstatement in their moral and spiritual teaching and record of historical facts. They are without error or defect of any kind.

Really? No error or defect of any kind? I mean, there’s no getting around this one. You can’t explain it away. So, if Matthew and Luke seem to conflict in regards to the dating of Jesus’ birth (Herod versus the census), then what? That’s going to destroy the foundation of the faith? This sets us up for the contradiction game. The atheists tout all these contradictions in the Bible and then the evangelicals swoop in and “harmonize” the “apparent” contradictions because, “apparently” their faith depends on it. When did the Bible become a history textbook?

Heck, history textbooks are not even history textbooks. That is, history textbooks are not “just the facts, ma’am.” They also include analysis, some claim of meaning, cause and effect, in the midst of those facts, events, etc. I tell my students in Western Civ. that, yes, you need to learn some facts in this class, but that’s not what we’re about. It’s about learning to think critically and analyze historical texts and assumptions: struggling to figure out what it all means.

If history itself is not simply a string of facts, then why must the Bible be? Doctrinal statements like the one quoted above do a disservice to the Bible. When we make the Bible into a collection of accurate facts and events more than a witness to the story of God and God’s people, we demolish the power of the message in the text. The beauty of the Bible is not historical accuracy, but its mysterious and profound story.

When we make the Bible into some grand textbook, some unquestionable repository of facts, we use it as the authoritative weapon to crack people’s heads with “truth.” But truth is not about an absence of factual errors or “defects” but about what gives meaning.

Thus, for instance, even if there were an ark of Noah that were found in Turkey (which there isn’t) what good would that do for our understanding of the meaning of the story of Noah?

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Guest Post: Bridging Tech and “Old School” Respect in the Classroom

Responding to my recent little series on laptops in the classroom (see parts one, two, and three), I got a lengthy comment from Barry Goldenberg, one of my current students in Western Civilization (Circa A.D. 843 to Circa 1715) at UCLA. Barry’s comment was so thoughtful that I figured it deserved its own post. Some interesting things that I have learned about Barry is that he is on the UCLA tennis team (I gather he maintains their Twitter feed) and, in the fall, was an intern for a US Senator. Barry’s comments are a nice first person account of one undergrad trying to live in that in-between space of the technology generation, but also with some “old school” values (his words). So, without further ado, here’s Barry . . .

This is a great topic and one, as I continue to grow and change as a 3rd year undergraduate student, struggle with myself. Coming out of high school, it had rarely ever occurred me to use my laptop in classroom. Even though I came from a public school in St. Louis, Missouri, I had originally felt it was disrespectful to use laptops; I guess I was “old school” and felt that you take notes in your notebook, make eye contact with the Professor, do not wear hats, etc. Obviously, coming to UCLA from a suburb outside of St. Louis is–and continues to be–a culture shock and experience.

Regardless, I do not think I used my laptop my first year in the classroom, especially not in discussion. I effectively developed a “system” that worked to do well in college for me in terms of folders, color coded notebooks, my specific pen to takes with, and the works. And, quite frankly, I saw no reason to change. My old-fashioned notetaking (even amongst the large lecture halls) seemed to work as well as held to my beliefs about respect for my Professor (unfounded or not). This continued throughout my 2nd year at UCLA, until I specifically remember an instance in the Spring where I finally stopped being stubborn and thought about using laptops.

I spent all quarter furiously taking notes during Prof. Gelvin’s Israeli-Palestine conflict, in which his lectures were very dense, provided much information, as well as relevant practical information to debate with in the real world. Regardless, a student next to me sat next to me in the front row one day and with her Mac (I had gotten a Mac for the first time that year), opened up her Word document and typed in a “notebook-esque” way as the computer recorded the Professor speaking in line with her typing . . . I was amazed, I did not know I could do that! I thought to myself, “Why would anyone NOT do this?” The next day of lecture, I brought my computer and recorded my Professor while typing notes and I realized I would be foolish to not do so for a class that the Professor talks fast and provides a lot of information.

After that Spring quarter revolution, I now decide the format of the class use my computer (despite continuous peer pressure to always use one when the majority of the class uses it). In a class without a PowerPoint Presentation, I always take notes by hand because it provides me the best way for me to organize what the Professor is saying by ways of diagrams, arrows, stars, brackets, etc. When there is a PowerPoint, I still try to take notes by hand but if there is “too much” information presented, then I will think about using my laptop or if there is information in lecture that I want to repeat to in the future.

Overall, the laptop in my opinion, is a very powerful tool and sometimes I feel so foolish for insisting to always try to take notes by hand. To me, there is just “something” special and rewarding about having a notebook for of notes over a digital copy. But I know that notes on my computer will provide me easier access to information (as Pat mentioned about searching for specific things) as well as provide an invaluable recording of the lecture. However, if I don’t find it necessary to have either of those things in the context of the class and its structure, I still feel better taking notes by hand.

Above all, always sitting in the front row of every class, it just feels more respectful to do so for the Professor and especially in a discussion section; engaging in the material, making eye contact instead of staring at the computer screen helps me create a more personal experience/connection with the lecturer or class. However, I recognize how beneficial a laptop can be and have reached the point, at least now in my college experience, that I sometimes use them in class when I feel it will help me do better. As I continue my education, maybe I will have to/need to use them all the time inside the classroom, but for now, I usually do without.

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Lectures and Laptops: Adapting Teaching Methods

To continue this series on laptops in the classroom (see parts one and two) . . . There is another issue here and that is whether we need to change the way we teach rather than ban laptops. Both Chris and Tim mention it: even the lecture shouldn’t be a straight lecture, but should encourage active student learning. I’m a bit on the fence.

Before UCLA, I had never experienced discussion sections. The big classes at UCLA have large lecture halls (somewhere between 120-300 students or so) with smaller sections that meet once per week for discussion (around 15-25 students, depending on the department). So, I would like to agree with Chris and Tim about the need to change the passive lecture into a more active learning experience, but I would like to qualify it a bit:

In a class like those at UCLA (lecture sessions + discussion sessions), there seems no real point in making the lecture into something reserved for the discussion sessions — where active learning can be much more effective. On the other hand, the lecturer should work hard to be animated and to speak in a conversational style. As an avid podcast listener (and a former high school thespian), I am a firm advocate for the power of the spoken word.

The lecture need not be a dictation-transcription sort of relationship. Make it fun! I think the lecture should tell a story in a way that excites the presenter. Occasionally, students could be called up to volunteer and act out some sort of historical scene or to model the manner of statues in a particular age or the like. But the focus of the lecture should, I think, be on the transferal of information in an engaging way. I do not believe the lecture is dead yet, even if John Cleese is carrying it over his shoulder trying to toss it on the cart for the dead.

For a large course without discussion sections (over 50 or so), it’s difficult to create an environment of active participation. One of my Fuller profs handled it well by assigning small groups that would share electronic responses with each other each week. Another Fuller prof handled it by creating small groups that would consistently meet together as a portion of the long class time each week. I like both approaches.

I may have appreciated the course content in large lecture classes otherwise, but my learning experience suffered if the professors made absolutely no attempt at connecting the students in any sort of meaningful way. Having a few people speak up in response to questions during large lectures usually descends into having a handful of outspoken students “ask questions” that are mini-lectures in themselves to show off their “intellect.”

For a survey course with a smaller amount of students (under 30-40 or so), it still seems to me that some sort of “lecturing” needs to occur. It is a class surveying material and I believe that students should have someone who can ably guide them through that material. Again, the lecture need not be dull. But the smaller classroom, even if it needs to have some sort of basis in information review, also allows for more active classroom activity: small group tasks, debates, and the like.

For a seminar type classroom (maybe 5-15 or so), I believe there should be very minimal “lecturing” (aside from the occasional rant about some perspective or approach of the material) and mostly student discussion.

    What happens to the laptop in all this? I believe there is a place for the laptop in all of these environments. In the lecture course, as an educator, I don’t want to babysit students. It’s really impossible to enforce rules about laptop usage unless you want to ban the laptop (and as I’ve noted in the past two posts, I don’t want to ban the laptop). Making your TAs enforce laptop usage is really unfair to the TA’s and makes them into police rather than educators. The policing can even be more distracting than the inappropriate laptop usage.

    So, as I’ve noted in this little series, I think for lectures we need to treat students like adults and let them do as they will with their laptops. I think I like the idea of asking students who plan to distract themselves sit in the back, as one Fuller professor did. As the classroom sizes descend smaller into more discussion based sessions, I still believe laptops have a place, even if it needs to be regulated a bit (like taking a point off their final grade for inappropriate laptop use as I do).

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    Laptops in the Classroom: An Autobiography

    Sharing my own experience, I would like to follow-up from my earlier post on what to do about laptops in the classroom. I feel like I’m embedded in the generational transition into this technological problem. I am part of the “in between”. When I was an undergrad, nobody brought laptops to class — even my senior year (2002). After three years had passed and I entered seminary (2005), everybody had a laptop in class (all but a very, very small minority). From what I’ve seen, UCLA students are somewhere in between (though, my wife tells me that her Master of Public Health classes at UCLA had about the same laptop numbers as my Fuller Seminary experience).

    From what I can see, there are at least two types of classrooms that need to be addressed: the lecture hall and the discussion classroom. So, here’s a bit about my own time in both:

    Taking notes in lecture. I was not the ideal student as an undergrad. Let’s not go into too many of those details, but one of my problems was my entry into the digital age before it really took off in the classroom. For me, taking notes in class by hand felt so useless because I couldn’t search for things later. Relatedly, I was terrible at organizing papers, whereas I’m great at organizing things on my laptop. After the semester ended, both problems escalated: there was no way I was going to be able to control dozens of pieces of paper from each class each semester in any useful manner. Taking notes on paper just seemed (and still seems) futile to me. The notes I have taken on my laptop as a graduate student, however, have been invaluable, even years later. “I remember David Scholer mentioning some interesting Greco-Roman parallel to the Lukan prologue . . . what was that? . . . [searching files] . . . ah, yes, there it is. . . .”

    I also tend to agree with the college student from the NPR story I mentioned last time: “‘It’s like high school. I mean we’re college students. I mean we’re paying tuition to come here, a lot of tuition to come here. We shouldn’t be treated like we’re elementary school students.” Yes, laptop computers (particularly when connected to the internet) are a bit risk for distraction. But in the lecture class (I’m talking somewhere over 50 students), I think students need to make the decision for themselves. If they decide to play Farmville instead of listening to the lecture on the agricultural revolution, they will probably get lower points on the exams. They should be free to make that choice, as long as distractions to others can be limited.

    Laptops in the discussion-based classroom. Jared believes that laptops should be banned in discussion classrooms, while Chris believes we should be leveraging student attachments to technology. In my discussion sections at UCLA, I have found that there aren’t enough students with laptops to really leverage their presence as Chris suggests. But I am far from coming to Jared’s conclusion. I suppose it is from my own experience as a student. I can’t imagine myself without my Bible software in a doctoral seminar on, say, Deuteronomy. The extreme ease of going from one passage to another to a ancient near eastern inscription to a commentary to a lexicon to a Bible dictionary, etc., makes discussion so much more enriching. Not to mention how helpful it is to take notes on my laptop, as mentioned earlier.

    While the undergraduate class on Western Civilization that I teach doesn’t need to be jumping around so much, it may help them to search for a key term in the primary documents we read for that week or to jot down some notes from the discussion. Perhaps even jot down a question before they ask it and then write down any responses to it after they ask the question.

    Since attention is so essential in creating an effective discussion environment, I still deter nonessential laptop use by penalizing students’ grades. None of this frivolous “bring donuts in for everyone next time if your phone rings” stuff. If you’re messing around with the laptop, texting on your phone, or even doing the old school newspaper reading, you get one point off on your final grade each time. So, I may not ban laptops, but I have found that my policy (and my demonstration that I mean what I say) allows for a healthier laptop-to-discussion-classroom relationship. And I still (usually) have excellent participation.

    Okay, I still have more to say, but I’ll will leave that for a “part three” to come, addressing different teaching methods we might take for different types of classrooms . . .

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    Another “Laptops in the Classroom” Article

    My father-in-law forwarded this article from the Washington Post about laptops in the classroom. NPR covered a similar story yesterday on Weekend Edition. You may remember the article in the Chronicle last year. The two recent stories have a similar tone (NPR even uses this phrase): “be careful what you wish for.” Many universities offered laptops to all incoming students. More and more schools are doing this. But now that the students all have the laptops, they have the problem of laptop distraction in the classroom. Both NPR and the Post include a bit about Kieran Mullen freezing a laptop with liquid nitrogen and destroying a laptop in class to make the point (see the video).

    The NPR story includes a point that you can also find made by Chris Heard last year. An undergrad interviewed in the story says: “I went through a history class that was just every single day death by PowerPoint. And it just, it was awful.” A professor interviewed agrees: “I think if no one in your lecture hall or your classroom is paying attention to you and you complain about that, that is like the baker complaining about the bread.” Chris believes that “enforced Ludditism does nothing but flex the professor’s power muscles.”

    The Mullen laptop destruction presentation is a great example of professorial power muscles. Bolstering this perspective is the further point that distractions did not begin with electronic devices in the classroom. Chris makes this point, as does the professor interviewed in the NPR story. On the other hand, Jared made a good point last year as well, that doodling does not have the same sort of distraction power as does the connected laptop.

    So, on the one hand, students have always found ways to embrace distractions. On the other hand, the distractions truly are more accessible and more difficult to avoid with the internet at one’s fingertips. Not only that, someone checking sports on their laptop screen is much more distracting to other students than someone doodling or even reading the newspaper. I had one professor at Fuller adjust for this by asking any students who plan to distract themselves online to sit in the back row, so as not to distract any students behind them. An interesting approach.

    This getting a bit long, so I will stop here with the promise of a “part two” later, on my own experience as both student and educator. . . .

    For further reading, you can see older reflections from Tim and Tyler. Tim touches on another point raised in Chris’ post, that of needing to change the way we teach, to encourage more active learning. I’ll come back to this.

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