Daniel Wirls–Teaching Statement 2000-01
Associate Professor, Politics

Though many considerations enter into my approach to teaching, I anchor my undergraduate teaching in the following premise: My job as a professor of politics is, primarily, to produce effective communicators and thoughtful citizens, not political scientists. From that basic proposition three balancing acts emerge.

To help students become more effective communicators, I devote considerable attention to their writing and, where feasible and appropriate, their speaking. The temptation is, of course, to think of oneself as a specialist whose job is to pass on particular knowledge. The corollary is that if students don't know how to write, that's not my responsibility; someone or something else failed along the way. That latter conclusion might be true, but it is the easy way out. I am a public employee and I deal with the students I have, not some ideal-and perhaps mythical-student body I might wish for. The balance is between my primary identification as a specialist and the extra work that it takes to get students to think about and improve their communication skills. Only a handful will end up in a careers that draw extensively upon their education in political science; nearly all will need to communicate effectively regardless of the exact path they take. Besides the attention to detail given to every paper I read, I also usually engage the class as a whole in a conversation about the relationship between form and content, how one becomes a good writer (imprinting, practicing) and why one should try to speak in the same way. I try to do this in ways that show them that I am not attacking their generation, their habits-though a little humor along this line goes a long way-but, instead, working with them, for them, to get them to take control of what could be the most important part of their education.

The second balance is between teaching and research. A myth that persists among undergraduates is the direct tradeoff between research and teaching. One is at the expense of the other. This myth, like many others, is based on some conditional facts and truths. After all, who knows better than a professor that less teaching would allow for more research? But the dominant version of the myth among students is different: that professors who do significant research devote little energy or care to teaching and sometimes can teach nothing but their research. Though the inverse relationship between quality of research and quality of teaching is a myth, there is, nevertheless, a delicate balance that maximizes the positive effect each can have on the other. I endeavor to have my research inform but not dominate my teaching and, when appropriate, have the classroom be an inspiration for my research. Though this might seem obvious enough, in political science there can be an especially ironic tension between the sometimes abstruse concerns of the discipline and what is valuable and necessary to convey to undergraduates, both as budding political scientists and as citizens. I think teaching can suffer when theoretical debates within the discipline overwhelm the very stuff of politics that is so intriguing and important to students. A balance must be struck between the intellectual rigor that the concepts and debates within political science can provide and the less formal discussion of political events, issues, and choices, both past and present. For example, I thoroughly enjoy the challenge of getting my students of congressional politics to appreciate the rules and procedures that govern the House and Senate, what to most of them is at first glance an utter bore (especially as dealt with in the professional literature). Once they understand how rules and procedures shape their lives and outcomes in all sorts of institutions, they suddenly find the formerly dull and arcane to be quite interesting and relevant.

The final balance is not to let my politics overwhelm my teaching of political science. While hardly a concern exclusive to my discipline, the role of one's own political predilections and commitments in the classroom requires constant vigilance. My goal is to engage, provoke, and inspire without preaching, pandering, or proselytizing. This is probably the most difficult equilibrium to maintain (it's one reason not to read the newspaper just before going into class!). The balance, when struck, facilitates my goal of informed, critical citizenship. My job is to provide a coherent analysis of political choices and issues from which students can draw their own conclusions, which they will have to do, sooner or later. As I often tell my introductory students: Ultimately, politics in a representative democracy is not a spectator sport, unlike many things in life, including some other subjects you might study. You cannot avoid citizenship; you are active even in your inaction. You play even by not playing. You cannot avoid citizenship and participation; you can only choose the character of both. And this-my teaching-is, in addition to being a job, a conscious act of participation on my part. If nothing else, if this course has gotten you to think about your role as a citizen (here or elsewhere) and how you might participate, or if it informs your political choices in the future, then my time at least has been well spent.

Much of the art of teaching lies, I think, in finding these balances, as well as others I have not discussed, including that between solemnity and humor. To challenge and stimulate without overwhelming or alienating for the sake of one's research or political agenda. And to draw inspiration from the process of conveying knowledge, and even (dare I say it?) to learn from your students, without forgetting that you teach for their benefit, to serve their educational interests.