That is, students take what they’ve learned about a particular ethical theory and then ask how that theory applies in a given scenario. When most people hear about this activity, they think of it as an example of a Bloomian “application” of concepts. They then made decisions within the game based on the philosophers’ frameworks. Students worked in groups to create characters based on different philosophers that we read, taking into account not only the goals, flaws, and beliefs of each thinker, but also the particular backstories that might lead the character to have that particular ethical framework. In the spring of 2019 and the fall of 2020, I dedicated the last several weeks of my Ethics classes to playing D&D. In other words, I want my classes to feel like a D&D campaign.Īnd so, that’s what I did.
I want my classes to be full of laughter, excitement, delight, adventure, and exploration, and also challenges, discomfort, bewilderment, disappointment, and even, at times, anger. When it comes to teaching philosophy, I want nothing more than for my students and me to be swept away by joyous and playful thinking together. Is the goal to have the best strategy? To create the most complex characters? To explore an elaborate world? To live out a fantasy of another identity? A D&D campaign can be all of these things and more.Īs I’ve reflected on it further, I’ve come to realize that this sense of playful co-creation is exactly what I love most about teaching and what I’m always chasing in the classroom. The players decide its purpose, its pace, its themes, and its dynamics. It’s not just that the outcome of the game is affected by the players’ choices, but on a deeper level, the players – together with the Dungeon Master (DM) – determine what the game is. Like almost no other game, D&D is truly co-constructed by the players. What I love most about D&D is that it is both open and restricted in a way that allows for an immersion in communal play, story-telling, and imagination. It was hilarious and exhilarating and fascinating and fun. We didn’t have to fight the goblins if we didn’t want to we could do whatever we wanted. This first encounter revealed to me the radical openness of the game. Jorsten stood in the middle of the road humming to himself and flipping a gold coin in the air, while the rest of us hid in the trees, waiting to ambush the goblins (whom we ended up charming instead of fighting so that they could lead us back to their lair). We decided to set a trap and sent my friend Doug’s character, a scholarly gnome wizard named Jorsten, in as bait. Our first encounter in the game was with some goblins robbing unsuspecting travelers on the road.
My first character was a swamp druid named Altheia, a foul-smelling hippy with low charisma, who often wandered off from the group to talk with forest animals and make rave-like light shows with her druidcraft spell. And what I discovered is that role-playing games have a lot to teach us about the importance of community and playfulness in the classroom.Īlthough Dungeons and Dragons has been around since the 1970s, my first time playing was in 2015. A few semesters ago, I embarked on my favorite teaching experiment yet-I played Dungeons and Dragons with my Ethics classes. Sometimes, my pedagogical experiments fail miserably, and other times they lead to unexpected and delightful encounters that transform my students and me in unexpected ways.
I’m always searching for ways to make my classes more joyful, meaningful, relevant, and fun. As a philosopher who thinks a lot about teaching and learning, I have a tendency to experiment wildly in my teaching methods.