Douglas A. Bernstein
University of South Florida
Note: This article is based on a chapter to appear in R. J. Sternberg & W. Niu (eds.), A Multidisciplinary Approach to Critical Thinking. New York: Palgrave.
Anyone who has been teaching psychology for more than a few weeks knows that most of our students are nice, reasonable people who are anticipating an interesting course and hoping to do well in it. There are always a few exceptions, though, so we sometimes have students who challenge us in various ways. In the distant past, as when I started teaching in 1966, you could deal with these students without too much drama. That was because teachers had the power to establish and enforce policies about attendance, grading standards, make-up exams, deadlines, and the like and students were expected to accept those decisions, even if they weren’t happy about them. If they didn’t like you or your course, the worst they could do was give you lousy course evaluations. And unless most of the class did so every semester, those lousy evaluations were unlikely to have significant consequences for your pay raises or your prospects for tenure, promotion, retention, or teaching awards. This uneven distribution of power was comforting for teachers, though some of them tended to abuse it. For example, in 1975 a colleague at Western Washington State College (now University) proudly declared that “the tenured full professor represents the last bastion of absolute power in the world.”
I doubt that this was ever true, but since then, and especially over the last 10 or 15 years, the balance of power has been shifting in the opposite direction as administrators in higher education in North America have become ever more sensitive to student complaints about faculty as communicated through course evaluations, petitions, social media campaigns, and other channels. On some campuses, faculty have faced formal complaints, as well as organized protests and demands for disciplinary action or dismissal in response to something they said or did in class that even one student interpreted as oppressive or insensitive or harmful or hurtful or violent or racist. Even enforcing deadlines and setting high grading standards may be interpreted by some students as offensive signs of elitism, privilege, or worse. One observer described teaching in higher education today as “an exercise in avoiding tripwires” (Pettit, 2023). A database maintained by the Foundation for Individual Rights and Expression (FIRE) shows that in the last two years alone there were 63 student-initiated attempts to punish professors for what they said or did in the classroom (in 2000, there was one). More than two-thirds of these cases resulted in sanctions, up to and including suspension or dismissal, mainly against untenured faculty (Honeycutt, 2024).
Of course, some professors do behave in ways that deserve reporting, and those people should face the consequences of their bad behavior, but the cases in the FIRE survey involve situations in which faculty were attacked unreasonably (e.g. Cascone, 2024; Jones, 2022). And even though, as a percentage of all the students and professors taking and teaching courses in the United States every year, 63 student-initiated punishment attempts is a miniscule number, cases in which professors are unfairly targeted can—like the rare shark attacks and plane crashes that create fear of beaches and flying—create widespread fear among faculty.
It is no wonder, then, that according to a recent survey by the Chronicle of Higher Education, many college and university professors at all levels of seniority worry about doing things that might make students feel distressed, angry, or vengeful (McMurtrie, 2024). For example, about half of them give trigger warnings designed to prepare students for potentially upsetting course material (Kamenetz, 2016). Though there is strong evidence that such warnings are probably unnecessary, not very effective, and potentially counterproductive (e.g., Bridgland et al., 2023; Jones et al., 2020; Kimble et al., 2021, 2022; Sanson et al., 2019), professors still provide them, partly to establish themselves as trustworthy allies (Chew, 2023), but also to forestall students’ complaints, especially on course evaluations. One respondent to the Chronicle survey described the current preoccupation with student complaints as creating a “culture of fear and pandering” in which faculty who might otherwise employ firm but fair teaching methods and high grading standards are now adopting a more permissive approach. Another said, “I don’t discuss alternative values and arguments for positions I know my students hold.”
This last comment should be particularly troubling to psychology teachers because if fear of upsetting students prevents us from challenging their preconceptions, biases, assumptions, and misconceptions, it becomes much more difficult and potentially dangerous to ask them to consider multiple perspectives and alternative interpretations of research on sensitive or controversial topics. For example, based on what they have heard elsewhere, many students are likely to enter our courses believing that intelligence tests are inherently biased against minority groups (see Reynolds et al., 2021), that recovered memories of childhood abuse are common and accurate (see Hyman, 2000), that stereotype threat significantly impairs performance on high stakes academic tests (see Fourgassie et al., 2025; Steele & Aronson, 2000), or that most people (especially white people) harbor unconscious bias against other races that causes them to discriminate in various ways (see Charlesworth & Banaji, 2019; Oswald et al., 2013). Some of these students may not react well if their instructor presents evidence that qualifies, let alone contradicts those beliefs.
Concern over such reactions is not a problem for teachers whose courses don’t cover topics like these, or who play it safe by presenting the conventional wisdom about them that is typically presented in textbooks (e.g, Bartels, 2023). However, if you do address such topics and if you ask students to consider alternative interpretations of research about them, I am sure you have asked yourself how to do so while minimizing the risk of formal complaints, protests, or other undesirable consequences. If it were me, the first step would be to consider whether my teaching style provides a context in which challenging students’ preconceptions and sensitivities is expected and acceptable.
Tripwires and Teaching Styles
The teaching styles that we most often see in the classroom echo the four styles of parenting identified more than 50 years ago by developmental psychologist Diana Baumrind (1971). As you probably know, her classification system crosses two levels of parental involvement/support with two levels of demand for discipline to create permissive-neglectful, authoritarian, permissive-indulgent, and authoritative styles. Let’s consider what these relationship styles look like when applied to teaching (Bassett et al., 2013).
Teachers who personify a permissive-neglectful style do little more than come to class, deliver the same lectures year after year, discourage questions, and escape the classroom with as little student contact as possible. They generate plenty of student complaints, but these usually take the form of bad course evaluations, not protests or petitions because these teachers are not involved enough in their courses to address sensitive or controversial material, let alone promote critical thinking about it. Teachers who fit an authoritarian profile are similarly low on involvement but are preoccupied with enforcing strict discipline. Like authoritarian parents, they offer students little or no opportunity for discussion or argument. (These people are not necessarily bad teachers. Like me, you may have fond memories of tough instructors from whom you learned a lot, even though you might not have had much fun doing it.) Authoritarian professors are likely to march straight through academic minefields, teaching as they always have, and letting the chips fall where they may. Permissive-indulgent teachers tend to be deeply involved with their students and, like “helicopter parents,” perhaps too much so. They worry about the effects of academic stress on students’ mental health and self-esteem, and as a result, their courses may be only moderately demanding. They may believe that students’ efforts to succeed are at least as deserving of reward as the outcome of those efforts, as embodied in test scores and other performance assessments. This teaching style is the safest one on campuses where student activism is prevalent because it combines sensitivity to students’ sensitivities with flexible course requirements and deadlines.
An authoritative teaching style blends high involvement with firm but fair discipline. Authoritative teachers care about their teaching and their students, but they reward outcome, not just effort. They see students as responsible adults, so although they are willing to help, they are careful not to create dependency or to let themselves be exploited or manipulated. They reward student success with praise as well as high grades. They grant requests for special consideration only when justified by confirmed conditions or circumstances, and in accordance with institutional policies. They think carefully about their rules and standards, announce them in advance, explain why they are necessary, and enforce them consistently.
Like all category systems, this classification of teaching styles is not perfect, if for no other reason than that most teachers probably adopt elements of different styles in different situations, but my years of experience lead me to nominate a mainly authoritative teaching style as the best one overall. I say that first because it allows teachers to deal fairly but firmly with students’ special requests, grading complaints, and the like, but also because it has advantages that go beyond handling everyday administrative matters. One of the most important of these is that, because authoritative teachers consider students to be responsible adults, they can ask them to sign classroom contracts that establish agreements about how the course will be run.
The Syllabus as a Contract
Virtually every psychology teacher in North America offers a syllabus, and most teachers (and administrators) consider them to be formal agreements between themselves and their students. Some teachers even ask students to acknowledge having read, understood, and agreed to course policies about grading standards, the use of AI, definitions of plagiarism, and other topics. An outstanding example comes from my colleague Jennifer Coleman at Western New Mexico University (J. Coleman, personal communication, July 6, 2024). She requires her students to read and initial a list of course rules and policies and then sign the following statement:
I have read all policies and informational items, as indicated by my initials above. I understand that these are intended to support my success in the course and, more importantly, my learning and growth as a student. By signing here, I acknowledge that I will follow all policies and utilize the resources, including the schedule of due dates and writing checklist, as well as supplemental resources… and tutoring resources available, as needed.
I think the course syllabus is also a natural place to present the terms and conditions of a classroom contract whose mutual promises and commitments set the stage for critical thinking. For example, it can include statements designed to assure students that their teacher will: (1) be respectful toward them, (2) base grades solely on course performance, (3) present course material in an unbiased manner, (4) teach how to think about psychological science, not what to think about it, (5) encourage the free exchange of ideas, (6) welcome the expression of diverse viewpoints, including unpopular ones, and (7) be open to hearing complaints about the course. It can also convey expectations that students will: (1) recognize that some course content might be distressing, (2) agree to be open-minded when considering that content, (3) be tolerant and respectful of their classmates’ viewpoints, even if they find them offensive, and (4) bring complaints about the course to the instructor before taking them to others.
If you want explicit permission to challenge your students to think critically about sensitive and controversial topics, you can get it by asking them to initial a statement that reads something like this:
I agree to let you challenge me to think critically about the concepts, principles, and phenomena associated with (course title). I understand that you will ask me to consider and evaluate the validity of claims and evidence underlying its theories. I agree to keep an open mind about evidence and points of view that might conflict with what I know, or think I know. I understand that you will not be trying to prove that I am wrong, but to prompt me to ask myself if and why I am right. I acknowledge that the process of critical thinking might at times be distressing, but I recognize that experiencing a certain amount of discomfort is a vital part of my education.
Of course, even when students agree to be challenged and to think critically about those challenges, they may not always do so. Still, I would argue that when they initial that statement and remain enrolled in the course, it provides a framework that justifies, legitimizes—and may head off complaints about—your efforts to promote critical thinking about even the most sensitive and controversial course material.
Suppose, for example, that you plan to use a critical thinking framework that prompts students to ask themselves five questions about whatever course topic is under discussion: (1) What am I being asked to believe? (2) What evidence is available to support the assertion? (3) Are there alternative ways of interpreting that evidence? (4) What additional evidence would help to evaluate those alternative interpretations? and (5) What conclusions are most reasonable given the evidence available? (Bernstein, 2020). If that topic is, say, the claim that intelligence tests are unfairly biased against racial minorities, the most potentially contentious comments and inflammatory reactions are likely to come in response to the third question, because it is in relation to that question that you might be presenting evidence that challenges students’ existing assumptions and beliefs.
This is when a course contract can help. If there is pushback against your efforts to provoke critical thinking, be ready to display the slide you stashed in every PowerPoint deck that summarizes the contract terms and conditions that your students initialed. Doing so can provide them with a useful reminder of their agreement to entertain potentially distressing material and perspectives, while reinforcing your status as an authoritative teacher who can deal with any classroom situation in a firm, fair, and respectful manner.
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