In their
introduction to Teaching and Christian
Practices: Reshaping Faith & Learning, David I. Smith and James K. A.
Smith identify a limitation in the foci of Christian conversations in higher
education upon “the integration of faith and learning”. First, they say there
has been a focus upon the content—what
Christian ideas will be taught—in the integration of faith and learning. Second,
there has been a focus upon the sorts of learning faculty ought to have in the integration of faith and learning.
While recognizing the necessity and value of these two foci, Smith and Smith
argue that little to no attention has been given to the learning of students. They ask, in effect, what historically
Christian practices can inform and impel the education of learners in a
classroom setting? Or, to put it another way, what makes any method of teaching
and learning distinctively Christian? Moving beyond the ideologies of Christianity that form the presuppositions of
Christian education, Smith and Smith want to focus upon Christian practices; specifically, how practices
shape virtues and habits in the formation of learners. The focus upon practices
relies largely upon Alistair McIntyre’s After
Virtue, where he defines practice as:
[A]ny coherent
and complex form of socially established cooperative human activity through
which goods internal to that form of activity are realized in the course of
trying to achieve those standards of excellence which are appropriate to, and
partially definitive of, that form of activity, with the result that human
powers to achieve excellence, and human conceptions of the ends and goods
involved, are systematically extended. (quoted in Smith & Smith, 8)
According to McIntyre, a practice
is social and largely inherited; it possesses certain internal goods to be realized in its
course; and it maintains relevant standards
of excellence, which are pursued and extended. What is, or is not, a
practice? Consider the example of chess, for a moment. Playing chess in order
to sharpen one’s thinking in preparation for law school would not constitute a
practice, for although one’s participation in chess could be social and inherited as well as have standards
of excellence to be sought, the
goods involved terminate outside of the activity itself; the “good” of playing
chess comes apart from chess itself. One’s “realization” of the goods associated
with chess would only be deemed successful insofar as one saw their impact upon
one’s legal education—chess is but a means
to another end. However, one’s participation in the practice of chess would include motives terminating in the goods internal to chess itself, such as
the analytical skill, strategic imagination, and competitive intensity that
comes in the activity of playing chess. One’s “realization” of the goods
associated with chess would be successful in the playing of chess itself, that
is, playing chess according to its own standards of excellence within the
social environment.
Within Classical
and Christian education we could conceive of a similar bifurcation between a
full-orbed practice, and education as
a means to another end. The student
who wants a Classical and Christian education primarily in order to boost test
scores for college and gain more scholarship money is not engaged in the practice of Classical and Christian
education. Neither is the teacher whose instructions emphasize grade
achievements or other goals that terminate outside of the content and process
of learning as such (even the goal of “pleasing one’s parents” would not
constitute one’s Classical and Christian education as a practice).
In a lecture
delivered at the Alcuin Retreat held at Calvin College in November 2012, David
I. Smith provided an excellent example of how methodological habits can disrupt
rather than cultivate the internal goods that
educators strive to emphasize in their courses of learning. Smith’s son came
home one day asking for his father’s help to study for a theology exam that was
coming up the next day. The teacher described the course material as, “eleven ideas
without which no one can understand the New Testament.” The test was to cover
the eleven terms (e.g. “sanctification,” and “justification”) and their
definitions. While quizzing his son on the definitions of, differences between,
and examples of sanctification and justification, Dr. Smith’s son,
exasperatingly exclaimed, “But Dad, I don’t really need to know these that
well.” That is to say, Smith’s son had learned that when the teacher (whom
Smith described as one of the best at the school) gave terms and definitions,
only two kinds of assessment were likely: multiple choice questions or matching
terms and definitions. In order to ace the test, and “understand the eleven
most important ideas for understanding the New Testament,” one needed only to
memorize the patterns associated with the terms and their definitions. To
illustrate, Smith changed the terms and definitions into Wingdings font and it
was still possible to discern which terms went with which definitions. In other
words, one could ace the assessment without having ever achieved the ostensible
goal set by the teacher—that is, to grow in one’s ability to correctly
understand and apply the ideas most important in the New Testament. Because the
teacher had not reflected upon the assessment in terms of whether it was really
suited to meet the goal—in other words, by not adequately integrating all the
elements in the course into a coherent practice—the
chances of his students failing to receive the desired learning outcomes were
increased, if not missed altogether.
What then would be distinctively Christian practices that bring consistency between "classical and Christian education" and teaching "classically" and "Christianly"? Perhaps it would include singing songs together to begin the day, or reciting a corporate prayer, or ritual conversational topics desired to stir up one another for good works (discussed once a week during lunch). Perhaps it would include topical prayers offered prior to assessments, such as, "Lord, as I endeavor to fulfill the task of this assignment, let my mind be clear of selfish ambitions, distracting desires, and other temptations of which I am unaware. If I have not prepared as I ought, forgive me, and teach me through my weaker efforts to desire greater diligence in preparation; showing mercy unto me according to your lovingkindness. If I have prepared, may my efforts be an acceptable service in your sight. Amen." There are plenty of possibilities, many of which may already be in place in your home, school, job, or church, and only need to additional realization to make the practice more understandingly performed and more gratefully appreciated. Maybe there are many more, which you could begin considering and working to implement. What practices have you in mind?
