Teaching Tibet: Chapter III

Index

 * CHAPTER III: INTRODUCTION TO TIBET: HISTORY, RELIGION, CULTURE AND POLITICS	75
 * NOTIONS ON TEACHING	76
 * LESSON PLAN AND CURRICULAR CHANGE	84
 * THE THREE METHODS	91
 * TIBETOLOGY AS A DISCIPLINE	97

Chapter III: Introduction to Tibet: History, Religion, Culture and Politics
Seven hours before the first session of “Introduction to Tibet,” I received a message from Professor Laura Wenk, my previous committee chair. Initially, the two of us did not meet eye to eye on the scope, the shape and the direction of this project. As we worked together, however, I developed a deep respect for her, and relied on her wisdom, critiques and keen editing skills in my times of confusion. My approach towards teaching changed continually as I worked with her. In her message, Laura sent her regards, and then suggested that I not be afraid to experiment with what I do in my class. She continued, Remember, this is probably more important for your learning than it is for your students (though of course you want them to learn too). It is a formative experience for your teaching, though. And you owe it to yourself to think about what works, what you might try differently, etc. The most reflective practitioners don't go for comfort and don't expect everything to work all the time. These words were at the forefront of my mind the whole day, and once again, my entire outlook on my Division III project, my course and on teaching had shifted. As we will see, change is the recurring theme of this chapter. The overall project I am engaging with revolves around finding a synthesis between two relatively disparate subjects: Tibetology, and Pedagogy. This course, “Introduction to Tibet,” is the practical application of such a fusion, where my theoretical notions about education and the real environment of the classroom meet. Chapter III will focus primarily on documenting, explicating and to a lesser extent analyzing the changes that took place between course inception and execution. This is a very wide angle to approach from, so before we continue, I must clarify the different themes that this exploration will follow. Primarily, I will be examining how and why changes occurred in four elements: my teaching, generally (the ways in which I thought about teaching prior to the class, and my own growth as a teacher); my dynamic experience with the three teaching methods described in chapter I; the differences between the initial curriculum, the revised versions (where applicable) and the actual classroom experience; and finally, how my notions about the study of Tibet have undergone similar transformation. “Introduction to Tibet” has been a critical cornerstone to my study of both Tibet and pedagogy, and has been a crucial period of growth not only on an intellectual level, but also on the personal level. Accordingly, this section will be more self-referential than previous chapters. Through this project I am an active, participating witness to my own growth and development as an instructor, as a learner and as resource to my students. This very notion is truly remarkable and life-changing, not to mention a rare opportunity. It is exactly these kinds of experiences that have kindled a deep and abiding passion for learning in my own life, so it is with a profound excitement that I present this dynamic process of change.

Notions On Teaching
My overall philosophies on instruction have evolved a great deal as a result of teaching “Introduction to Tibet.” It is precisely this kind of actual, practical teaching experience that I feel is necessary for such changes to take place. One can read volumes and volumes of work on how to teach and the various methods of teaching, but nothing can replace experience. At the same time, it is critical to balance this experience with a solid theoretical foundation. I already have learned very important lessons about how I can be a better teacher in terms of conveying knowledge, as well as in terms of creating a compelling and stimulating environment for active and successful learning. When speaking about informative and resourceful direct instruction, I have discovered that when trying to convey knowledge, whether through lecture, offering up questions or through audio/visual presentations, it is absolutely essential to be perfectly clear. Any ambiguity or confusion is detrimental to learning. This can be understood in terms of framing a film or a lecture, or delivering the lecture itself – in either case, the point is the need for transparency and a mutual understanding of what is being studied and why it is important. As a result of teaching, my lecture style has greatly improved. My initial encounter with lecturing as a Teaching Assistant for Professor Abraham Zablocki’s “Constructing Tibet” resulted in a boring and joyless monologue. During an eighty-minute lecture on the history of Tibet from 600 to 1950, I was not connecting to the students, my voice was droning, and I had the distinct feeling that I was speaking at them, rather than with them. During this class, I evidenced many of the potential shortcomings of the lecture style we identified during chapter I. I was entirely too attached to one way of thinking about classroom instruction, and hence my teaching – and students’ understanding of the content – suffered. My progress has been slow, and in some classes, I felt very similarly to that day during “Constructing Tibet.” During class IT #3, our exploration of the foundations of Buddhism, I felt that I was not being effective as a teacher. During this class session, I had students split up into three groups, outline the aspects they felt were most important about the first three of the Four Noble Truths, and then report back to the group as a whole. I felt that this practice was successful, but some students found it to be redundant. During IT #5, my lecture on the history of the dissemination of Buddhism in Tibet, I felt equally that I was being met with empty stares, and that my lesson did not actively involve students in the learning process. Examining this class session, I realized that I left little room for student questions (although when I checked in with students, they had none), and that this centralized approach was useful in terms of gathering information, but largely uninteresting. I feel that given my limited experience as a teacher, these disappointing class sessions were to be expected to some extent, but to a much greater extent, they presented me with personal and pedagogical challenges to overcome. I do feel that some progress has already been made; I am more able to convey not only information, but also interest and passion in my lectures. Transitions have become smoother, and my speaking has become less halting and broken. This is the result of not only teaching experience, but also careful introspection and an effort to be honest with myself and aware of the areas of teaching that I can improve upon. I also have the sense that much of my success in this area is due to a more comfortable feeling in the classroom, both among students and within myself. In terms of creating a positive environment for learning, I have made far more progress. First, I have come upon the realization that there is a remarkable difference between a) what you yourself keep in mind for a lesson plan, b) what you actually plan, and c) what happens when getting up in from of the class, even before speaking. Suddenly everything changes, and perhaps what seemed most important in writing becomes of very little interest, or this essential argument that was essential just a few moments ago does not seem to fit anymore. I have thought long and hard about this change that happens within myself, what causes it, and what it means for my teaching. I feel that to some extent, it speaks to the fact that there is a great divide between proposed or theoretical teaching and actual teaching – the difference between theory and practice, and massive components of this change are the presence of, and participation from, students. To the extent that it is dependent on these students, it is also a heavily social phenomena, and by definition not simply about a change within me. Students bring with them their own notions, hopes and interests, as well as questions, and a truly dynamic lesson will change because of this. Indeed, their contribution and involvement defines much of the course itself. As my committee members Alan Hodder and Kristen Luschen have often reminded me, I can prepare and over-prepare my lesson, but when the time actually comes to teach, it will almost certainly unfold in a radically different way from what I expect, precisely because each student brings something to the classroom. A part of this change also stems from some amount of anxiety I feel towards teaching. Most of my evaluations from Hampshire College tell the same story: that I am a productive and thoughtful member of class, but that I do not often speak during discussions. Conversely, this course on Tibet finds me occupying the front of a classroom twice a week, and to some extent, I am intimidated by this. This aspect of my difficulty with teaching, however, has already begun to lessen with time, my limited experience, patience, effort and preparation before class, though these aspects may not totally explain the easing of this obstacle. One of the most profound changes that occurred during this process was precipitated by a teaching experience outside of “Introduction to Tibet.” My final semester at Hampshire College has exposed me to a great deal of teaching: I am a Teaching Assistant for Kristen Luschen’s “No Child Left Behind” class, I am teaching “Introduction to Tibet,” and as a part of my Five College Buddhist Studies Certificate, I am also enrolled in a 300-level course: “Buddhism During the Colonial Period.” During the week of March 10, I was asked by Professor Ryan Bong Joo to teach his three-hour “Buddhism During the Colonial Period” class, because he would be on a plane to South Korea at that time. The readings focused on the first American encounters and reactions to Buddhism, as well as how Americans of the late Victorian period presented Buddhism as being compatible with the modern science of Darwin’s evolution, while also upholding principles of optimism, theism, individualism and activism. I developed a lesson plan comprised of two parts: part one addressed a specific reading from Thomas Tweed’s American Encounter With Buddhism. Part two focused on a reading by David McMahan, which focused on the presentation of Buddhism as a scientific faith. During the first part of the lesson, I adhered to the lesson very strictly. I identified nine critiques that Victorian Americans made about Buddhism, wrote them on the whiteboard, and then I asked students to identify the ways in which Buddhist sympathizers portrayed the faith as being congruent with social norms of the time. At times, this part of the class felt like “pulling teeth” – only a few students spoke, and they alone kept the conversation afloat. When we moved on to the second part, I decided to experiment; I continued with my lesson plan, but I tried to relax the way in which I approached it. I did not explore the points and ideas central to the discourse in the same linear or sequential way as in part one; instead we moved freely from idea to idea. The wording in this last sentence is very intentional; when we explored the Tweed reading, I was thinking from the perspective of ‘I’ as a learner – what made sense to me, what I felt were the most important aspects. In the second part of the session, during our discussion of the McMahan article, I approached the class with ‘we’ in mind. I did not consciously make these distinctions, but rather I feel these were the underlying perspectives under which I was operating. Students began to speak up and voice their thoughts. I interspersed our conversations with anecdotes, stories, and the occasional tangent for variety. I also brought up some larger, more complicated and problematic questions that have no real ‘right’ answer. For example, I asked, how do we differentiate between ‘organized religion’, ‘religion’, ‘spirituality’ and ‘philosophy’, and students took great interest in this question. We did not simply express opinions and self-involved statements; we reconnected these bigger ideas to specific examples from the readings, such as the American Paul Carus and his understanding of Buddhism not simply as a faith, but as “scientific religion.” Furthermore, we explored the ways in which many Protestants in America viewed Buddhism simply as a well-intentioned philosophy, and nothing more. This also afforded me an opportunity to see how they felt and thought about these highly contested and subjective terms like ‘philosophy’ and ‘religion’. In the first portion of the class, one or two students were at the center of the discussion. By the end of the second part of the class, everyone was engaged and actively participating, eager to voice their ideas and express what they felt was important about the readings. I do not suggest that such vague and opinionated subjects of discussion (on which everyone has something to say) equate to productive, informative discourse, but rather that they can be used as a tool of discourse. Getting participants talking about broader topics that did not necessarily rely on the readings turned into a way to simultaneously “break the ice”, and then talk about the readings at hand. This one experience taught me a great deal about how I can create a vibrant and open environment for the exploration of ideas. Right away, I made a direct connection between the stringency with which I followed my lesson, and the classroom outcomes. When I was too focused on the lesson, I lost sight of the students and what was pertinent for them and their exploration. It is not that I failed to realize this simple notion earlier, but there is a remarkable difference between reading about this scenario in a book, and having it happen to you during a class. I also made another connection between the kinds of questions I asked (those that required knowledge of the reading, and those that did not), and the kinds of student participation I encountered. From this experience, I extracted a central idea: the ‘art’ or ‘flow’ of teaching that I see mastered by my best professors and teachers is often just creating an opening for exploration and discussion. Though it is an open conversation, it does not necessarily mean it will be substantive – these two must be held up in a careful balance. The capacity to loosen up my expectations and the degree to which I follow the lesson plan is crucial in establishing this productive space. My lesson makes sense to me, but I am not the only person in the classroom, and if anything, my lesson really should not be about me, anyway. An instructor may have more information than the students, but the students are the ones who need to understand it. The objective, then is twofold: first, to avoid attachment towards one specific way of teaching; and second, to open up a discussion with ample room for exploration, questions and also the chance to talk about the larger ideas that float to the top. This realization was catalyzed by my experience teaching Ryan’s class, but the foundation for this realization comes from my experiences with teaching “Intro to Tibet.” For example, during class IT #4 – our discussion of Buddhist philosophy – a similar event transpired. My lesson was very careful and followed along methodical, logically sequential progressions, going from simpler ideas to more complicated ones. I suggested that there are three lenses or central themes through which to examine Buddhist philosophy: selflessness, interdependence and impermanence. When I got up in front of the class and began writing on the whiteboard, however, the dialogue went in a very different direction from what I was expecting. We still followed the three overarching categories, but we moved freely from one heading to another. Student questions and reactions directed a great deal of the instruction time, and provided me with cues in terms of which concepts to explain further and revisit. For example, during this class one student expressed that she did not understand how the Fourth Noble Truth (the path to the cessation of suffering) led to understanding the Third Noble Truth of Nirvana (the cessation of suffering). This informed my own understanding of how I could be of use to them in this exploration, and we went on to discuss exactly how the Fourth Noble Truth outlines a program of training in conduct, wisdom and meditation that results in the cessation of suffering, the Third Noble Truth. This class taught me the same lesson: that my own expectations and goals for a class must meet and find balance with student hopes, interests and questions. If there is too much of the former, then class becomes boring, stifling and rigid. If there is too much of the latter, then students may miss out on key concepts and ideas that are not readily visible at first glance. It is absolutely vital to note that these epiphanies have not come all at once, but rather in bits and pieces. The process of teaching is slow going, and some days I found myself thoroughly disappointed in my own abilities. I am reminded of Laura Wenk’s words, that I cannot expect everything to go perfectly, and that the most reflective teachers do not go for comfort. There are many areas where I can improve my teaching, and these will be explored in the next section. This discussion of my notions of teaching is intended to provide a solid understanding of how my approach and mindset have changed as a result of the experiences I have gained in the classroom. These six weeks of instruction have powerfully changed my own overall notions of how to teach and be effective.

Lesson Plan and Curricular Change
These changes in my own notions of teaching are evidenced in the broad curricular shifts and also the specific lesson plan changes that occurred during the course of “Introduction to Tibet.” As the curriculum changed, as I experimented with the three teaching strategies, and – most importantly – as I received feedback from students, the course evolved into something very different from what I initially planned in January. This second segment of chapter three will explore these curricular and lesson changes, the ways in which the class evolved as it progressed, and will end with a discussion of the three teaching methods. On a broad level, the curriculum changed in many different ways. Most significantly, I incorporated assessment into the course, one key element that had been missing until just before the class began. This assessment (in the form of open feedback from students) was employed in order to get a more concrete sense of how students understood the content and the direction of the course itself. It was absolutely crucial for me to understand not only what they liked about the class, but also what they understood, what needed further explanation, and which elements of my own teaching and the content we explored needed to be bolstered. To say that there were no assessment elements in place is somewhat misleading – the responses I asked students to write served this purpose quite nicely, when students actually wrote them. I asked students to write a one to two page open reflection on the readings, and insofar as they wrote these, they were remarkably useful for providing me with insight into their own understanding and exploration of the content. This was one challenge I encountered as a result of teaching a course that students would not (except for one) get credit for; few students actually did the requested work, despite constant requests in class and through email. While useful, this assessment provided me with no perspectives on the students’ feelings toward the class itself, or toward my own capacity as instructor. I asked students to turn in course feedback in order to account for this void. I suggested that they write about how the course was progressing in terms of: a) what they understood, b) what was wanting for clarification, c) how I was performing as an instructor, d) what they would like to see more of in the course, e) any of their interests they would like to explore further, and f) if they were enjoying the course. I persistently encouraged students to turn in their assessments of the class at the end of each session, and from this, I received nine pieces of written input, in the form of statements, questions, and suggestions. I also administered a final course evaluation for students to provide suggestions and reactions. The feedback I received gave me a great deal of insight into my own teaching practices and the ways in which I was organizing the content and the exploration of said content that I myself was unable to glean. This outside perspective was critical in the development of the course, and provided me with constructive critiques, neutral suggestions and positive feedback. For example, students gave me feedback on past activities, such as the reading aloud of short excerpts on Tibet in class. Their resounding critique of this exercise was that it would have been more useful as homework. As one student wrote, “I would rather have more reading in between classes so we could spend the class time doing something else. I mean, each class is only an hour long. Why waste it doing something we could do outside of class?” In this context, such feedback will help me design my future courses more effectively, should I teach “Introduction to Tibet” again. Another student made a comment about the vague discussion questions I had used. She wrote, “I think maybe some more specific discussion questions might help: usually ‘what did you find interesting’ is enough to get us started, but if the discussion stalls it might be useful.” Taking this suggestion to heart (and realizing that there is more to successful understanding than just finding something “interesting”), I outlined both broad and specific questions, the earliest implementation of which can be seen in IT #4. Students also gave me general suggestions for the class that were not necessarily positive or critical. One student suggested that when examining Sino-Tibetan relations, we examine articles from the Chinese government’s perspective, and following this suggestion, I incorporated this view into the class readings. Other students expressed interest in watching films about Tibet, resulting in the screening of Verner Herzog’s Wheel of Time (a documentary about the Kalacakra Tantra initiation in Bodh Gaya), as well as a short clip of Martin Scorsese’s Kundun, screened during IT #11. The students also gave me feedback on which elements of the course were being taught effectively. Students generally felt that the readings were well chosen and interesting. Also, the slideshow of stills I scanned into my computer that I screened on IT #1 and #2 were met with resounding approval, and provided a compelling lens through which to view Tibet. Similarly, during IT #7, I brought in several objects pertaining to Tibetan Buddhism – statues, images, paintings, ritual objects, and the like, in an effort to illustrate the content in as many different ways as possible. This, too, was met with positive feedback from students. The inclusion of this assessment was undoubtedly the most critical element in the continuing evolution of the course. Beyond assessment, the biggest broad curricular change I encountered revolved around the student research and presentations on Tibetan Buddhism that were originally slated to take place during IT #6 – however, I only assigned this at the end of IT #5. I realized that to ask students to research and prepare a five- to ten-minute presentation over the course of one day would be fruitless, and unreasonable. I postponed the presentations for a week, thinking that seven days would be ample time for such an assignment. In the interim, I screened Herzog’s Wheel of Time, and my friend Pema Dorje came in and prepared tsampa, a traditional Tibetan food for the class. This class provided students with a break from the constant readings and class discussions, while also providing them with another view into Tibetan Buddhism (through the film), and Tibetan culture (through the food). I planned that this class would take the place of IT #11, which was initially dedicated to exploring student interests, of which a resounding one among all participants was to watch a film on Tibet. I hoped to spend some time talking about the film in class, but this escaped my attention, and I subsequently did not make room for such a discussion in any of the following class sessions. I fear that this failure on my part resulted in students’ not actively engaging and critically analyzing this filmic portrayal of a central Tibetan Buddhist practice and ceremony, although some students wrote about it in their responses. This is one area where I can improve my teaching – when presenting such information, it is vital to spend some time digesting this information, exploring and discussing this content as a class. When students were supposed to give their presentations during IT #7, only two students were in class, one of whom was not prepared to give her presentation. Although it was a pleasant and informative exploration into the world of reincarnation and the Tulku recognition system used to discover reincarnates, I was disappointed that so few had come to class prepared. Some students emailed me earlier informing me that they had other engagements that required their attention, however, some simply did not come to class. I felt strongly that these presentations were an integral part of the course, because it was the first major opportunity for students to conduct independent, in-depth research (an element of learning they felt was crucial) and I could tell many put a great deal of effort into them. With this in mind, I extended these presentations to the next class, IT #8, where three more students gave presentations on Tibetan astrology, Tantra and the Sakyapa sect. In hindsight, this was a wise decision. Students worked hard to gather this information and for the most part, their presentations were excellent and carefully researched. A further effect this had on the course was that I was then forced to shift the schedule of readings and topics. IT #7 and #8 were initially slated for our exploration of Tibetan governance from 600 C.E. – 1913, and from 1913-1950, respectively. These were pushed forward to IT #9 and IT #10. This, in turn, pushed our analysis of Sino-Tibetan relations up as well. I originally planned for IT #12 to include student presentations of their final projects, but given the way the course was moving, I decided to set the due date for final projects to April 17th, well after the course was finished. This freed up more classroom time, and I dedicated this final class to an analysis of Sino-Tibetan relations in a contemporary context, given the riots and protests in the weeks following March 10, 2008. The Tibetan Government-in-Exile estimates 140 Tibetans were killed in police crackdowns during the three weeks after the March 10 uprising, and to leave this out of an introductory course on Tibet would be a mistake. These changes revolving around presentations and student work required me to rearrange the entire schedule of the curriculum, but for good reason, and with positive result. On a more specific level, I made many small changes to lesson plans. Right from the very first class, I began rearranging the lessons; IT #1 was originally supposed to be simple overview of the course, reviewing the syllabus, and expressing my own goals and hopes for the course, as well as those of the students. On Alan Hodder’s suggestion, however, I moved a slideshow and excerpt reading from the second class to this first session, in an attempt to grab students’ attention and get them interested in the course. This left me with a hole in my lesson plan for IT #2, because this was going to be the primary element of the class. However, because I did not read all the excerpts I selected, I added a handful more to the list, scanned in more images, and changed the lesson for IT #2: the students would read the excerpts, and we would discuss them as a group. This was a useful activity, although it took up far too much instructional time, extending into IT #3. As I mentioned earlier, this point was reflected in student feedback. Another lesson plan change revolved around the very shape of the lessons themselves. As the class progressed, I came upon the aforementioned realization that following my lessons too closely had the potential to stifle student creativity and interest. Moreover, I understood that to have a truly interesting and compelling class session, my own goals and interests had to find a balance with those of the students’. When examining the lesson I wrote for IT #5 as compared to IT #12, this becomes fairly apparent. The lesson plan for IT #5 is heavily structured; a well-organized, logical and carefully plotted examination of Tibetan religious history. IT #12, by comparison is a far more open-ended exploration of Sino-Tibetan relations over the last 58 years. While this lesson is also a logical flow of ideas, I came to approach these lesson plans as general guiding notes as opposed to exacting, schematic blueprints. Another effect this realization had on my lessons was that it made me reconsider the effect of questions in the classroom. I became far more interested in asking the students questions and in uncovering the questions they had as a result of the readings. IT #11 featured an initial classroom practice where I asked students to write down some of these questions, and this started off our discussion of Sino-Tibetan relations. As I mentioned earlier, I designed both broad and specific questions in an attempt to get a dialogue started, and also to touch on specific aspects of the readings and content that I felt were important, respectively. Generally, prior to each class, I reviewed the lesson plan I designed in January, and nearly every plan underwent revisions. I attribute this to a simple matter of shift in perspective: I had never taught a class before; when the class began, different students brought different understandings, interests, needs, hopes, and experiences into the classroom; my own notions of what I saw as being important shifted. Much (though not all) of this shift can be attributed to the fact that I have been exposed to a certain notion of student participation through my education here at Hampshire College, and that I am replicating such a vision in my own class. For all of these reasons, these lessons have changed in many small ways. Another element that underwent similar revision was the way in which I approached the three teaching methods.

The Three Methods
I noted at the end of chapter I the importance of revisiting the three methods I employ in the classroom (Socratic, group interaction and lecture), specifically exploring how these three methods were employed, how my understanding of these practices changed, reevaluating their efficacy, and how I can be more effective at employing them in the class. The Socratic method of questioning in order to elicit student reactions is sometimes difficult for me to use in the heat of the class. Often when students express their own ideas and notions about a topic, it simply does not occur to me that I should follow this statement up with questions to expand their (and my) understanding of the concepts, terms and assumptions the students are using to articulate their positions. This requires an active vigilance on my part; it creates a need for me to think on my feet, to ask useful questions. I feel that this forgetfulness is in part due to the anxiety I mentioned earlier. When I get up in front of the classroom, I begin to think about the lesson very differently, and any preparation or careful planning is subject to change. So, if I make room in a lesson plan for these questions, I may just forget about asking them. This is one example of how I can use teaching experience as a way of improving my teaching methods; observations about my teaching style can provide insight into areas that need improvement. This is not to say that I have not implemented the Socratic method of questions whatsoever; indeed, I have used this method with success. During class IT #10, for example, I asked students to characterize the monastic system that was so strong especially during the de facto independent period, 1913-1950. One student remarked that the monasteries were “Buddha factories.” I knew what she was hinting at – the principle of mass monasticism – but I wanted to draw this idea out a little. I asked her to explain what she meant by that, and she noted that the monasteries were packed with monks – that the focus was on the sheer quantity of monks rather than quality of their training. I continued by asking why this was – what kind of impact did the monastic community (which dwarfed the military presence of Tibet during this time period) have on society at large, and why there were so many monks? This opened up the discussion further into an exploration of the social functions of the monastery. In this sense, it is not necessary to use this method – I understand what the student is saying – and yet, it is absolutely vital to use this method, because it illuminates students’ thought processes not only for themselves, but for the other students as well. Having to restate one’s thoughts can be a remarkable tool for learning, because one must articulate these ideas in a way that makes sense to oneself and to others. Group interaction has been a useful instruction method, although I did not find many instances where it was useful. I used group interaction as a way for students to share ideas among one another, before speaking together as a class. For example, during IT #3 I had students split into three groups to discuss and identify what they saw as the most important aspects of the first three Noble Truths. In IT #10, I asked students to group themselves and identify the themes and elements of Tibetan governance from 1913-1950 that seemed most important. This provided students with the opportunity to work with one another, to collaborate and identify the concepts they felt were pertinent, in a more relaxed and social setting, working with their peers. As the class progressed, I searched for new ways to employ this method. Through my lectures, I began to see that students were receptive, but would probably enjoy multiple learning environments, another being the group setting. I noted that I did not find many instances where group practice was useful, and I attribute this to two factors: time, and number of students. With only an hour of classroom time, and with a maximum of six students (and a minimum of two), group interaction as defined in chapter I was not emphasized as much during the actual teaching of Introduction to Tibet. With only an hour to spend on each class, I felt compelled to spend this time in discussion working with students to unpack and analyze the readings, or in lecture, to fill in the gaps. More importantly, with such a small number of students, class-wide discussions often felt like group work. When I employed the group interaction method, it was only when all six students were present, so that at the very least they could be in three groups of two. With more students in a course, I feel the group interaction method could be applied more effectively, and with better results. When initially designing the course, lecture was emphasized above the other two methods, primarily because it was the teaching method I was most familiar with. Although it has been employed frequently over the course of this class, this method did not unfold as I envisioned, either. IT #4, and #5 all featured mixed lecture as a central part of the class. Other classes like IT #3, #9 #11 and #12 featured lecture, not as the focal point of the class, but rather as framing or as a short, informative explication. In this latter context, the lecture method was employed in a way I had not originally anticipated. When I outlined my curriculum in January, I viewed a lesson where I used any lecture as being a lecture-centered lesson, meaning that it would be the core teaching method employed during the entire class session. As the class progressed, however, I noticed occasions when students needed some explanation of one aspect or another, and in those instances, I gave shorter mini-lectures that were still full of student reactions and questions. For example, during IT #11, I framed our discussion of the Chinese invasion of Tibet in 1950 with an overview of the historical moments where China asserts that it has a right to control Tibet. I also found that the lecture method was necessary when students came to class without a firm grasp the readings, as was the case during IT #9. Most of my questions to the class were met with silence, and when I went over important historical moments, I saw students writing feverishly. This, I feel, had much to do with the very complex and detailed intricacies of Tibetan history – it takes a great deal of time and constant revisiting to clearly understand. I began to notice that I employed other teaching practices beyond the three outlined in chapter I. I found that two practices in particular found a great deal of use over the course of the class: general discussion, and task-based learning. Especially with a small group of students (“Introduction to Tibet” never had more than six students), class conversations involve group collaboration, questions, and participation from every student. I often posed questions to the whole class and we analyzed them together, worked through them, although not always to some definitive answer. For example, during class IT #4, I asked students about the Five Aggregates (a complicated topic in Buddhist philosophy), and as a class, we worked cooperatively to understand what these Aggregates entail. Similarly, during IT #10, we explored the central themes in Tibetan governance from 1913-1950 as a large group, speaking about the hierarchy of the government, the importance of the monastic system, and the requirements for government positions. These wider discussions were initiated by my questions, and/or by student questions, and in terms of addressing critical points from the readings, they were incredibly useful and often compelled every student to speak. Task-based instruction was also very useful, and two specific examples come to mind. During IT #7 and #8, students presented their research into Tibetan Buddhism, and judging from student feedback, this task was very useful for familiarizing students with this content. This method was also used for IT #12, when I asked students to find an article or two in the news about the protests and riots that erupted in Lhasa and eastern Tibet after March 10th, 2008. This provided students with the opportunity to become more familiar with the current situation in Tibet, while also presenting their findings to their fellow students, and to me as well. Assigning students such a task created an impetus for more in-depth work, which was very useful in an introductory level course, where the emphasis was more often placed on breadth of subjects as opposed to depth. I often struggle with this question: how can I become a better teacher? I think it is absolutely vital for me to become more familiar with when and how I can employ these different teaching strategies effectively. This is one area that I am very new to, and as my teaching experience grows, and as it synchs differently with my goals at various points during the course, I feel I will become more adept at noticing and utilizing these opportunities. For the Socratic method, I need to become more vigilant and aware of when student statements require further elaboration; this method has a great potential for exposing nuances in students’ understanding. When used to an extreme, however, it can be very detrimental; this conjures images of a toddler who incessantly asks “why?” to every answer from their parents. When using group interaction, I feel I can become more effective at utilizing this method if I have more students in a class, and if I ask them to work on a task that is not redundant, a complaint I received in regards to the group activity during IT #3. Group interaction can also prove to be a counterproductive teaching method if used to an extreme; students will only communicate their own ideas, and anything they do not personally note may go unattended. Finally, my lectures should be used when specific themes need clarification, or when I need to frame a discussion, activity or a reading, and should remain mixed -- full of student comments and ideas. The top-heavy way in which I employed lecture during IT #3 and #5 should be used sparingly, because it has the potential to stifle student interest and input. I do feel, however, that lectures that guide this input and interest, as in the case of IT #4 (our exploration of complex ideas within Buddhist philosophy) can be used with positive results. My notions of these teaching methods have changed in much broader ways as well, a topic that will be addressed in the next and final chapter of this work.

Tibetology as a Discipline
I have been studying Tibet closely for four years, and during this time, my understanding of the discipline has changed dramatically. As I have discovered more about Tibet, and about the history of Tibetology, my conception of the study of Tibet has become more informed, more comprehensive and more carefully articulated. The changes that my understandings of this discipline have undergone in the past two semesters has been equally remarkable. Much of this change is due to the influence of Edward Said’s Orientalism, as I noted earlier. Said’s critique of the West’s historical tendency to portray the East as being of a singular nature (in opposition to the rational, logical, familiar notions ascribed to the West by the West) raised in my mind the need to portray Tibet through multiple perspectives. Although I was very much conscious of this need for a plurality of views in the preliminary planning of “Introduction to Tibet,” this notion did not fully sink in until after I consulted Said’s work further. As a result of this, I have an increased interest in presenting Tibetan voices, as well as western ones. The Westerner may be more approachable, but not always as valid. The contemporary anthropologist is given more legitimacy over their predecessors in terms of their ethnographic tendencies. Generally, contemporary scholars on Tibet work with the actual culture, rather than just reports of it; they are not strictly philologists and “armchair anthropologists,” but rather they are often fluent in Tibetan, and work in Tibet, or with the Tibetan exile communities. Although this is the case, I find that Westerners still function as translators of sorts, explaining Buddhism and the like to a Western audience, unpacking dense philosophical terms and providing comparisons for explaining unfamiliar ideas. Hence, it is not enough to simply consult Melvyn C. Goldstein’s account of Tibetan history; we must also consider those of His Holiness the Dalai Lama, Tashi Tsering, and everyday Tibetans as well. There must be views from many sides and many angles, to properly paint the multifaceted picture of Tibet – angles that both celebrate and critique traditional Tibetan society. This point of critiques and celebrations of “old” Tibet is a perennial tension, one that will receive proper attention in the next chapter. I mentioned in the previous chapter the need to articulate ‘new knowledge’ about Tibet, and that this creation of knowledge would be a primary focus of the course. I feel this has been an ongoing process – any time we consulted content that was new to the students, our classroom discussion and work was dedicated to this creation and synthesis of information, drawing personal experiences, interests and previous understandings into the fold. For example, we created this new knowledge when students delved deeply into topics on Tibetan Buddhism, and during students’ final projects for the course. This creation involves a few processes: the discovery of information that was previously unknown, as well as the revisiting of previous knowledge, and the transformation or alteration of that knowledge. For example, during class IT #10, one student remarked on the presence of serfdom in the traditional Tibetan society with great surprise. This involved the invocation of their previous knowledge about Europe’s feudal past, but also involved displacing this knowledge in this particular instance, because the Tibetan serf system was quite different from that of the Europeans’. Tibetan serfs, although they were indentured and lived a difficult life, enjoyed more rights and privileges than their European counterparts; some serfs were wealthy enough to have serfs of their own. This focus on the creation of new knowledge within the class was maintained as a constant and integral part of the classroom, although I must admit my own difficulty with clearly understanding the myriad ways that this dynamic process can unfold. Lastly, this teaching experience changed my understanding of Tibetology in two other ways: first, I became incredibly familiar with the areas of the discipline where I need to improve my knowledge and understanding; and second, I realized very acutely the importance of a strong familiarity with the content and ideas present within the discipline. When students asked questions during the class, I did my utmost to provide an answer where appropriate, or lead them toward understanding the complicated nature of their question. At moments, I also found myself without the requisite information to field some of their questions. When students inquired into subjects like the everyday experience of a serf, some practices and policies of the monasteries (there are vast quantities of both), the kinds of class distinctions in everyday Lhasa society, the pre-modern experiences of rural Tibetans, Tibetan astrology and medicine – subjects and topics such as these are all areas where I must bolster my understanding. Through their curiosities and areas of interest, the students have challenged and stretched my understanding, and have encouraged my own work in building links between seemingly disparate concepts. They have shown me where many gaps in my knowledge lie, and to the extent that I fix these gaps, I will become a better teacher, and a more capable facilitator of knowledge. I have come to understand very clearly the need for such information and understandings. Speaking to a wide range of ideas and also making connections between them is the mark of a truly adaptive, expert and thoughtful teacher. In my own reflections on the teaching practices of my professors at Hampshire, I am always astounded by those who can see a periphery of subjects floating around any central topic of discussion. What I have learned from them, and what I have also discovered through my studies in cognitive science about expertise speaks to this notion. Experts retain an efficient organizational schema that recognizes different, often overlapping concepts; the meaningful relationships between them; and how these schemas are grouped together. A heightened level of expertise is vital in this discipline, and it is a constant and elusive goal I challenge myself to accomplish. This chapter has mostly been focused on this element of change, for this practical classroom experience has been a great vehicle for my own growth and change in perspective in the arenas of my notions of teaching, my use of curriculum and lesson plans, and my understanding of the discipline in which I work. In the following and final chapter, I turn my attention toward a more analytical view of the course. Specifically, I hope to uncover and highlight many of the continuing tensions, perennial concerns and vital considerations for the future.