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"Define Your Terms: Dictionaries, Medievals and Thinking about Concepts" PS: Political Science and Politics (September 1995). Copyright (c) 1995 by Darius Rejali, all rights reserved. This text may be used and shared in accordance with the fair-use provisions of U.S. copyright law, and it may be archived and redistributed in electronic form, provided that the editors are notified and no fee is charged for access. Archiving, redistribution, or republication of this text on other terms, in any medium, requires the consent of the author and the notification of the publisher A good grasp of concepts is essential in every area of political science, not just in political theory. In what follows, I describe one pedagogical strategy I use to help students learn to define the concepts they work with. This strategy involves compiling a dictionary of key political concepts over the course of a semester. Encouraging students to compile a dictionary of concepts may prove to be a more helpful and flexible way of integrating course readings than a paper or an exam. Learning to compile a dictionary might serve as a supplement to covering key debates in a subfield, as a way of reinforcing a literature review, as a way of reflecting on the changing priorities of researchers, as an introduction to different methodological perspectives, or as a means of tracing the formation of a subfield. Here are some ways a dictionary can be adapted to a variety of standard courses in political science:
The dictionary project then can be adapted to a variety of different courses. I particularly enjoyed using this project as a way to think about medieval political theory, and I will lay out its advantages in that context as an example of how a dictionary project might unfold. The Concept of a Concept I turned to the dictionary project because I repeatedly encountered an all too familiar problem, a problem I suspect that is much more common than many imagine. Many student papers are hampered by conceptual confusions, and I often have to explain to puzzled students why a particular argument failed because of a poor conceptual understanding. "Look here, you needed to define your terms better here," I say, and the student nods knowingly. Yet what seems to be a tacit understanding may in fact disguise a deep chasm between the student and me. What the student thinks is involved in "defining" a "concept" may not be anything close to what I understand while I may miss the opportunity to aid the student to make up for this deficiency. Inevitably, this situation ends with the same confusions appearing in the second paper. Once again, I discuss what defining concepts means, but now the frustrated student responds, "But in my second paper I did exactly as you said!" Well, not quite. Thinking about concepts is a complex task, and the lessons students must learn are not easy ones. One lesson is that concepts are not non-linguistic entities we grasp with our minds. Rather, we need to pay attention to the words used to express a concept and the contexts in which these words are used. In clarifying the context in which words are used (e.g.by examining what arguments are made and what authorities are invoked) we learn a great deal, perhaps according to some, all that there is to learn about a concept. A student must learn next what seems like quite the opposite lesson, namely, that concepts and words are not identical. For words may mean different things, and the same words might come to express different concepts. We know that this has occurred in texts we are reading because the different authors use the same words to do different things. As the context in which the words are located changes, new concepts emerge. Students must learn as well that there can be great ruptures and mutations in political science, and that concepts have a history. Many of our conceptual confusions are explained better by remembering what we have forgotten about a concept's history. Like geological strata, the layers of meaning in a concept are confused, perhaps because no one has bothered to figure it out, or just as likely, because they are often closely associated with certain great, and highly contested human projects that are passed on from generation to generation. So when I ask a student "Do you understand concept X?" I may be calling on very different intellectual habits. I may be asking: do you know how to use this concept in an argument, do you know what this word does in this text, do you know the conceptual confusions hidden in this concept, or do you realize that this word changes meanings in these two texts? Asking how familiar a student is with a concept is much like asking someone how well they know Rome. No one can know Rome in its entirety, but they possess different kinds of savoir faire or know-how for getting around the city. In the city of political science, mastering a concept may call on different kinds of knowledge and require students to master very different kinds of skills. The Dictionary Project Now having explained what is involved in mastering concepts, let me make a more controversial claim, namely, that there is no easy place within a political science curriculum where "defining and using a concept in a sentence" can be learned well. A moments reflection will explain why. Supposedly, students can master conceptual thinking by watching how the teacher does it (in lecture or conference), writing arguments, and careful reading. Each of these however has crucial weaknesses. The way a good teacher clarifies a conceptual confusion might be enthralling, but it is not substitute for learning. Students may be able to imagine how one works with a concept, this does not mean they can do it without practice. Working with concepts involves "know-how" not just knowledge. One can learn a great deal about concepts by trying to figure out what's wrong with one's argument, but this approach leaves developing a good conceptual eye to chance. Sadly, often students come upon their conceptual confusions after the argument has been written and long forgotten. As for careful reading, I fear we teach students to learn the opposite habit. Given the extensive reading teachers often assign, students learn quickly that what matters is the "main idea." The habit of scanning the reading is taken to be the same thing as reading it. This is not to take away from the strengths of these kinds of exercises. Political scientists must also speak well, criticize effectively, write logically, and synthesize extensive readings clearly. What is important for my purposes here is that none of these exercises is suited to mastering concepts yet they all clearly presuppose them. So I want to turn to the dictionary project now and explain why I think it is well-suited to this task. Let me discuss first its basic elements. 1. Format. The basic dictionary entry resembled the Oxford English Dictionary. Each entry included main definitions as well as subsidiary meanings, and each meaning was illustrated with a quotation from the required texts. Quotations had to include author, text, date of the text, and page number to the standard editions we used. In order to recognize the key word, I asked that that the word be shortened to its first letter capitalized. A standard weekly submission looked like this:
2. Writing. Students wrote the dictionary in two stages. At first, each student submitted 6 short sentences (or adaptations of previous entries) a week based on the readings assigned for that week. I reviewed and returned these, with brief comments and suggestions. In five weeks, my twenty students had produced 600 definitions, and this material constituted the raw material for the dictionary. Since 600 definitions is ample in my experience, the larger the class, the fewer the required weekly entries. The next stage was to edit this material since the students had often duplicated each other's work, used the same quotation to illustrate different meanings, and improved their ability to define concepts with time and familiarity with the readings. So I created four editorial groups of about 4-5 students each and assigned each to a portion of the dictionary (A-G, for example). I asked them first to eliminate 1/3 of all the entries in their section in one week. Students found this the hardest part, but their team work here enabled them to work better on the next task, namely, to discuss, pare down, and consolidate various definitions into ONE clear, well-developed entry. Each group submitted their section at the end of the semester, and we appended these together to make the dictionary. The final dictionary was about eighty pages long with about 100 entries. Each group section was about twenty pages. In addition to the entries, students had often provided "commentaries" on a definition and included cross-references to other concepts in the dictionary in the manner of a philosophical glossary (See attachment). 3. Teaching Aids. I provided several aids to help the students with their work. I provided a centralized computer file in which students could deposit their definitions anonymously. So while I read and commented on their submissions individually, students could learn from each other. In the editorial stage, students were also able to edit entries more quickly. Yet the computer is not indispensable for such a project; a central log or file might work just as well. What is important however is that the teacher safeguard the anonymity of the entries so that paring down the definitions later does not become a matter of personal pride. On the first day, I also provided students with some "ideal" dictionary entries, standardized reference forms for the main texts we read, and a list of concepts they might want to keep an eye out for while they were reading. I also provided some "compilation rules" which cautioned students against the most common errors. These rules included the following
Furthermore, I set aside a few classes towards the end of the semester for editorial work. While different groups worked on different sections, I moved from group to group fielding questions and discussing problems. I also arranged a brief tour of the library reference section, introducing students to the main dictionaries and encyclopedias they could use in doing their editing. 4. Grading. I based the final grade on the weekly definitions each student submitted in the first six weeks, the final edited section of the dictionary each group produced, and a required group evaluation submitted by each student at the end of the course and class participation in the course more generally. Grading is an onerous business, yet I found grading these class assignments much more interesting than grading the usual papers and exams. Aside from the novelty of the design, I found grading to be a genuine educational experience. I learned a great deal as I tried to figure out where a student went wrong or right. I was forced to deal with sentences I had never noticed before as well as translations that left a great deal to be desired. Teachers often say how much they learn from their students; the great advantage of the dictionary is that your students teach you whether they know it or not. In any case, let me turn to the grading details. I graded the weekly definitions on a scale of 1-5 points. (1) indicated that the student defined the concept thoughtlessly, i.e. the student did not wonder whether the word was important in political thought or at the very least in our class discussion and put no effort into finding an adequate quotation to illustrate the point. (2) indicated that the student had defined and illustrated the concept roughly within the rules, i.e. good choice of definition but the quotation did not pertain to the definition. (3) indicated that the student had defined and illustrated the point within the rules I specified for compilation. (4 or 5) indicated that the student had gone beyond this, choosing major concepts and quotations of significance or perhaps compiled more than one sense of the concept. I should add that, as is traditional at Reed College, my students never received grades on their assignments. Instead of numbers, I designated the major problem with the submission: "lack of agreement," "parrotting the quotation," "why is this a significant concept?," "redundant phrasing," or "too many equivocations in the definition." This helped students identify the particular problem they had in defining and using concepts on a weekly basis. I used several criteria to evaluate each section of the dictionary. These included whether the students defined the concept parsimoniously, whether they precisely defined the different senses the concept had, whether the quotations illustrating the meaning were clear and in agreement the sense in question, and whether the terms and quotations discussed were significant and based on our class work. Often students provided commentary on their definition, citing research that they had done in the reference section of the library. While this was not necessary, I did consider this in assigning the overall grade. Since students worked in groups on their own, I also asked students to complete a group evaluation form. The form asked for the following information: 1. Describe the group process: who did what, when, where and how? Include the chores (like formatting) as well as the intellectual work. (if you prefer you may answer 2 instead)? 2. Answer these with one or two names at most. Who was the most punctual in the group (always got there work done on time, always there etc.)?
Adapting the Dictionary to Your Own Purposes Every teacher uses assignments to achieve overall course objectives. My overall course objectives in teaching medieval political theory were much more than simply teaching students the useful skill of defining a concept. Rather, I hoped to breath some life into how students read medieval tomes like Marsilius' Defensor Pacis or Aquinas' Summa. I wanted to introduce the students to families of concepts, in this case, the relation between Christian and Greek concepts in medieval texts. I hoped by examining different senses of concepts, they would notice fissures and tensions in the texts, as well as how authors tried to bring some coherence to a complex intellectual inheritance. Let me discuss these a bit more extensively. Medieval political theory is the least offered course in a theory curriculum and the reasons for this are not surprising. With Hobbes and Locke, we have at least characteristically modern problems; students have no difficulty recognizing their relevance. The study of the ancient Greeks does not have this visceral advantage. Yet the Platonic dialogues are wonderful to read, and while Aristotle has some controversial views, they are views that can be usefully questioned. Students find Aristotle and Plato comfortably secular thinkers and give them their due as somehow foundational thinkers in the Western tradition. A teacher who sets out to introduce medieval political theory cannot depend on any of these supports. Medieval texts are odd, ponderous books. Their shape and structure does not compare to the elegance of a Platonic dialogue. Their subject matter seems to have little relevance to any modern political problems and are often grounded in historically obscure contexts. Finally, medieval theory suffers from its confusing jumble of Christian and Greek thought, the latter too faint to command attention and the former so strong as to make students ask why they are reading political theology. To these formidable obstacles, I must add requirements I place upon myself as a teacher. I prefer as much as possible to use original texts rather than secondary readings or anthologies (which are, after all, scholarly arguments in another form). I prefer as well to avoid lecturing and to encourage interaction between students. And finally, I prefer students to understand not only medieval political theory but also to re-inforce a key skill. Students may forget what Aquinas said or how Christine de Pisan responded, but I would hope that they picked up a key disposition that will help them in their other courses. To this end, I chose to teach my course as a combination of lectures, conferences, and the dictionary. I devoted two hours a week to student conferences and one hour a week to either lectures or the dictionary editing groups once they got started. The lectures introduced students to the texts, sometimes providing historical or philosophical background. The dictionary provided the focus for the small discussion groups. In the dictionary, the students found a precise task that did not require constant facilitation on my part. The lecture or editing days were followed by the conferences in which I facilitated the students through assigned readings. III. Evaluating the Project Student evaluations of the class were extremely positive. Almost every evaluation appreciated the balance of lectures, conferences and small groups. As students quickly found out, paying attention to a single concept and looking for a good illustrative quotation can alter how one understands a text, how one reads, and how one engages another student in class. Arguments in class improved as students' conceptual eye improved. As we proceeded chronologically, students began recognizing differences in the way words were used and how concepts changed significantly from author to author. One student observed that if she ran across the same word in another class on a different subject, she could not help wondering what this indicated about how the concept had changed and developed. In other words, what had begun as a skill had now become an intellectual habit for her which she could not turn off at will, and one that many a teacher would recognize as a virtue. With regard to the dictionary, students described writing the dictionary as "a unique experience." On the negative side, students thought the effort was "a little over-ambitious" for undergraduates. On the positive side, students appreciated the notion of an "ongoing assignment" which provided "a nice sense of continuity" to the class. As one student remarked, "I quite enjoyed working on the dictionary, using it as a conceptual sounding board." What I found more interesting in the student testimonials was that even the critical comments on the class reflected the influence of the dictionary project. Some wanted to explore certain tensions they saw among natural law thinkers more clearly (especially Ockham and Aquinas), and insisted that I eject Marsilius or some other text to this end. Another remarked, "Quite honestly, I wish we could have had the time to do a final paper. For me, it would have meant coming to a very thorough understanding of the relationship between medieval concepts. Editing was helpful in this, but not as much as the paper would have been. Perhaps you can have the next class work of our dictionary as to eliminate the time spent on finding quotes." This is a good idea for the next class now that the dictionary exists; the final dictionary is not without its faults. A paper would no doubt have served the purpose of capping the dictionary project, providing focus now that the students also had depth and breadth. While I think many students would have appreciated this focus, doing two major projects would probably have meants doing both poorly. What I think is especially important here is this: I wonder if the topic on which the student wants to write here would even have been imaginable had the student not gone through the dictionary project. Setting aside the student testimonials, I found class discussion was richer, if not also more chaotic and imaginative. Reading medieval texts became like detective work in which quotations were suspects and concepts were seized upon with enthusiasm. As the contours of a concept, and its possible usages, became apparent, students found they could identify more clearly the philosophical problem to be discussed and solved in a text. They also found that the Christian and Greek senses of concepts gave them windows onto what they knew of Plato and Aristotle as well as onto later conceptual confusions that emerged in modern political thought; the jumble of usages became a source of strength rather than confusion. All of this was done, as I had hoped, through a syllabus composed solely of medieval texts. In most courses, a teacher uses the apparatus of scholarship to educate students. In this class, I handed over the apparatus of scholarship to the students so that they could educate themselves. What they discovered once they learned the skills necessary is what we all learn about real research, namely, that the focus of our research has to come from us, not from our teachers. No doubt, assigning papers and exams can serve to teach students about the finer points of Aquinas or Marsilius; the dictionary project is no substitute for this kind of craftsmanlike detail. These assignments, however, cannot substitute for the genuine confidence students need to get on with their lives. The dictionary project resembles a scaffolding which, once its lessons have been internalized, can be dispensed with as students move on to their own intellectual projects. Postscript Since writing this essay in the spring of 1993, I have used the dictionary project in other classes, and it might be helpful to indicate how I have adapted it. I most typically use the dictionary in my class on the philosophy of social sciences, a course that reviews the debates around scientific status of the social sciences. I administer a midterm exam and then offer the students a choice as to their final project: a paper or a dictionary. I provide the students with a very long list of possible words to consider for a dictionary and ask that they work with 40% of the list. The list has several columns including one for words pertaining to "truth", "desire", and "power". This list mitigates the need for editorial groups because it delimits the field of words. I emphasize to students choosing the dictionary option that they should select a theme around which to organize the dictionary. This is especially important in the philosophy of social sciences since not only are concepts contested, but also the criteria for using them properly. I've received dictionaries on schools (e.g. a dictionary of behavioralism or structuralism) and on conceptual controversies (e.g. a dictionary on "power and agency" or "a feminist dictionary for the social sciences"). I still encourage students to work in groups, but many do work on their own thematic interest. Roughly half the students each year choose to do the dictionary rather than the paper. In order to enter into their senior year, all political science majors must pass a junior qualifying examination, and one third of the exam is based on this course on the social sciences. The seniors report that the dictionary was just as helpful as a paper in helping them synthesize material for the exam. In their study groups for the exam, students who did the dictionary complemented the students who wrote papers: the former raising the conceptual distinctions and the latter presenting the arguments. FROM THE FINAL DICTIONARY DOMINION (A) Control over others
(B) Control over territory
(C) having a position of guidance
NOTES: Note that in (A) dominion is considered by all the authors as a negative thing, indicating Dominance and Slavery more than simple rule. Dominion over territory, however, is considered noble and good. SEE: DUTY, KINGDOM, COMMONWEALTH, EMPEROR DUTY A) a formally enforced responsibility
(B) a formally unenforced social obligation
NOTES: Notice that duty has the connotation we might have expected from dominion. It is perhaps possible that Augustine prefers duty to dominion because of his fundamental distrust of mankindŐs impulses. He likely feels that men are unlikely to have the self-control described by Aquinas in Dominion (C), and that if any good is to come of them, men must feel a sense of obligation, rather than empowerment. SEE: VIRTUE
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