For some students, the first day of my course might be the first time they see a numbered-premise argument. It might also be the first time they talk to a native speaker of English.
I’m a professor at Wuhan University, in China, and nearly every semester I teach a service course that I call “Philosophical English”. It’s a strange course. Every graduate student in the School of Philosophy must take it — PhD students, MA students, students who intend to study Anglophone philosophy, students who intend to study traditional Chinese philosophy — everyone.
As I teach it, the central goal of my course is to cultivate the ability to hold a productive philosophical conversation in English. In practice, this amounts to balancing two sub-goals: to develop an understanding of key philosophical concepts, and to develop a fluency in holding a productive conversation. In previous iterations of the course, I also addressed writing skills and professionalization. But I’ve since come to the conclusion that narrower goals make for a more productive and less frustrating semester.
With respect to content, the course is a survey-based introduction to (Western) philosophy divided into three units. In Unit 1, I cover some of the basic tools of philosophy, and I explain the ways arguments, objections, and counter-arguments can fit together in a broader philosophical conversation. Then, in each week of Units 2 and 3, I survey an area of philosophy, covering its basic aims and digging a bit deeper into one of its issues. In Unit 2, I cover “core analytic philosophy”, which I guess is supposed to include the philosophy of language, epistemology, metaphysics, and the philosophy of mind. In Unit 3, I cover “value theory”, including normative ethics, applied ethics, political philosophy, and aesthetics. To be clear: I don’t like these demarcations insofar as they represent problematic and inaccurate disciplinary boundaries. But they are pedagogically useful, and they roughly correspond to the bureaucratic divisions that my students have already been squeezed into by the time they enter my classroom. I can’t fight every battle if I hope to win some.
The major assignments are three 10-minute recorded conversations — I call them podcasts. In these podcasts, my students are supposed to discuss a topic with their group in a way that incorporates material covered in that Unit. The topic may be straightforwardly philosophical, like “What do you think about Pascal’s wager?” But the topic may also take a piece of current events or culture and treat it philosophically, like “How do epistemic duties relate to sharing information on social media?” In the past, I’ve encouraged my students to come up with their own topics. I now give them a list of around 15 topics related to that Unit’s material. My students invariably choose a topic from that list. I don’t fully understand why, or why it leads to better podcasts. But, hey, if it works — it works.
There’s nothing especially novel about the basic pedagogical elements of the course. (Well, maybe the podcasts are a bit unusual!) Where things get interesting is where those basic elements are adapted so as to accommodate how varied my students are. This variance is spread along at least two dimensions. First, students vary immensely with respect to their English language skills. Some of them could study at an Anglophone university without missing a beat. For others, it is a struggle to have a basic conversation about the weather. The students also vary (though thankfully not quite as much) with respect to their background in philosophy. For some of my students, my course is a simplified version of stuff they’ve already been learning for years, just in a different language. For other students, they might be familiar with the traditional Chinese philosophical canon, or they might be familiar with the dominant Marxist philosophical tradition, but they might have only a faint sense of who Plato was (just as for many students in the United States, they might have only a faint sense of who Kongzi was).
In my experience, the best way to accommodate these varieties of variance is through extensive group work. Students operate in groups of 3 or 4 to work on their in-class activities, their weekly homework exercises, and their podcasts. Groups are effective for many reasons. But, most importantly, groups provide a safe space for struggling students to get help. For several reasons, it is nearly impossible for my struggling students to share with me that they are struggling, and so it is nearly impossible for me to help them individually by myself. Group-work allows those students to get help from the other students. I see this happen after giving them in-class activities to work on. In the first few minutes, the more advanced students explain — in Chinese — the directions for the activity. Then the group works on the activity — in Chinese — and in the process the more advanced students explain the relevant content. Finally, they all spend a good chunk of time preparing to share their answers by consulting dictionaries and asking each other for help with translations. When we reconvene as a class, everyone has something to share — in English. And so I set aside a significant amount of time for everyone to share. The whole process is often awkward and sometimes painful. But it is always productive. And their response is overwhelmingly positive — they even get annoyed when we run out of time and they don’t get to hear from everyone!
I’ll end by briefly mentioning a paradigm that I was recently exposed to, English as an international language. The basic idea behind it is simple: English is no longer a language specific to a country like the United States, but is instead a language used around the world in all types of contexts, most relevantly as the lingua franca of academia. What is not so simple are the implications of this linguistic reality. Plausibly, though, we should reject the idea that English “belongs” to its native speakers, thereby giving them the final say about linguistic norms governing grammar, pronunciation, and style. I’m still thinking through how to integrate this paradigm about the English language with how I teach Philosophical English. As I mentioned, all students are required to take this course. Interestingly, though, it is taught exclusively by non-Chinese faculty, and primarily by native speakers of English. I understand the impetus behind this administrative decision. But I question its effectiveness, and I wonder how I can teach Philosophical English in a way that encourages my students to take ownership of the language that they use.
The Syllabus Showcase of the APA Blog is designed to share insights into the syllabi of philosophy educators. We include syllabi in their original, unedited format that showcase a wide variety of philosophy classes. We would love for you to be a part of this project. Please contact Series Editor, Dr. Matt Deaton via MattDeaton.com or Editor of the Teaching Beat, Dr. Sabrina D. MisirHiralall via sabrinamisirhiralall@apaonline.org with potential submissions.
Peter Finocchiaro
Peter Finocchiaro is an Associate Professorial Research Fellow at Wuhan University. He is interested in testing how Western-developed pedagogy is best extended to a Chinese context. He is also interested in metaphysics and social philosophy and the places at which they intersect -- like, for instance, the metaphysics of sexual orientation.
