Precept by choice

I’m sure some people — especially those of you in the sciences — are already disagreeing with me, and rightfully so. What I am about to say mainly applies to humanities, because humanities precepts often feature the inanity known as “class participation points.” We have all grumbled at some point about how these points ultimately cheapen the academic experience, reducing it to fact recitation and elegant, yet meaningless, reiteration of others’ statements. Early in our Princeton careers, we learn that it is futile to do the readings when using a friend’s notes will suffice, that feigning attention is easier than actually trying to pay attention and that asking many stupid questions is more effective than asking a few intelligent ones. During our precept “conversations,” we foster the illusion of learning at the expense of actual learning. Precepts make actors out of us all.

I admit that this is a generalization: Indeed, some departments handle precepts better than others, and some preceptors are naturally gifted teachers, while others demonstrate all but schizoid reclusiveness. However, I believe my two years at Princeton permit me to deduce an underlying thread that fundamentally undermines all humanities precepts: In most courses, they are evaluative tools.

Whether we engage in discussions about the readings, argue over the fine points of abstract theory or give PowerPoint presentations, we are judged and analyzed as part of the precept process.

This makes all the difference. The entire dynamic of the class is changed: Instead of preceptors working for the students, students struggle to impress the preceptors. This necessitates that knowledge be obtained before the precept, not during it. Ultimately, precept becomes a performance, a one-way exchange in which students haphazardly throw around key terms with the hope that some of them will stick to the preceptor’s grading dartboard. Precepts have become a very boring game of Russian roulette.

You may have already known all of this, or at least suspected it. But what can be done?

Since the essential flaw of the precept system (as I perceive it) is the fact that precepts are graded, what would happen if we simply eliminated grading based on class participation? If students are still obligated to attend all precepts, they will do so begrudgingly. They might not prepare for class or do the readings, and spend class sessions Facebook stalking or boosting their Robot Unicorn high scores. The preceptors’ words, worthwhile or not, will fall on deaf ears.

But instead of backpedaling, let’s take it a step further. Let’s make precept attendance, like lecture attendance, 100 percent optional. At first glance, this idea seems destined to end in catastrophe. In many precepts, attendance would plummet. However, I believe students will stay when the precepts are engaging, useful and/or legitimately educational. These factors are not independent; they are intertwined and denote the true quality of successful teaching. Under these assumptions, optional precepts seem to be a valid solution: The spirit of economic prudence would dictate that the University fire preceptors with empty precepts while keeping the good preceptors on board. By virtue of “survival of the fittest,” the quality of preceptors, and therefore the precept experience, will eventually improve.

This solution would work if the University were directly in charge of hiring preceptors, which isn’t precisely the case. Unlike the original preceptors hired by Wilson solely for the purpose of leading precepts, the majority of preceptors today are not recruited based primarily on their teaching ability. Instead, preceptors (most of whom are graduate students, lecturers or professors) are often recruited to the University by their respective departments for their own academic merit, expertise in the field or research promise. In my view, only after precepts are made optional and preceptors are hired primarily to teach will the day come when professors do not have to coerce students into attending precept. Precepts will be attendance-worthy on their own merit.

These claims aren’t unfounded. Psychology professor Danny Oppenheimer runs an entirely optional precept for his PSY 101: Introduction to Psychology class, yet he has nearly perfect attendance.

“If a student isn’t motivated to come of his or her own accord,” Oppenheimer explained in an e-mail, “then the student won’t be contributing to the discussion much anyway, and may even detract from the atmosphere I’m trying to create. As it was, by divorcing the precept from grades, students were able to relax, not stress about the material, and just enjoy learning. And if they aren’t learning, then they’re wasting their time by coming; why would I want to mandate that?”

This is how I envision a true preceptorial system. Undoubtedly this idea has flaws; it is simply my solution to the precept enigma. Princeton has some of the most motivated, dedicated and academically intelligent people on the face of the planet, so I have trouble seeing the current mandatory system as anything but patronizing. The fact is that some students get nothing out of precept, while others benefit greatly. Does the school not trust us to do what is in our own best interest?

The real shame — the true tragedy — is that the preceptorial system has the potential to be extraordinary. However, as it exists today, it is simply a bastardized version of Wilson’s vision, which itself is a watered down adaptation of the British tutorial system. It is time to rethink precepts and rebuild them in a way that promotes the genuine educational atmosphere for which Princeton mistakenly prides itself.