Is there a secret recipe for what Marcus Aurelius called the Ingenium Docendi, the talent for teaching? I once heard an Oxford hiring committee argue, after watching mock lectures from all five finalists for a professorship, that great teaching is ultimately a matter of ‘innate talent’. This may be true, although I am convinced that regular practice and self-improvement can often bridge the gap. After a decade of teaching history (God how time flies) I have come to see pedagogy mostly as a craft; one that is nurtured by theory yet empirically honed through classroom experimentation. In this blog post, I am sharing seven pedagogical principles, based on my experience, to foster student engagement in the classroom.
First, bear in mind that the old Platonic command nosce te ipsum, or know thyself, is not enough in the classroom. You should learn who your students are. Not just their academic background, but also to get a broad sense of their motivations and goals in taking your class. This will help you frame your lectures in subtle ways that resonate with their interests. It is not pandering to the students, rather, in good old Ciceronian fashion, about gaining basic knowledge about your audience. When your students can see how your lecture relates to their aspirations, they will be more inclined to engage with what you have to say.
Second, students must feel comfortable answering questions in the classroom. This can be excruciatingly difficult when they are having a bad day, are shy, and have not done the readings (‘was this for today?’). They will sometimes remain (inexplicably) unphased by your rather elegant dive into eighteenth century French natural law. This is because learning history is not just about absorbing facts, but also about grappling with complex ideas and debating interpretations. You can encourage your students to accept their struggles as part of a broader learning curve, by telling them for instance how your erstwhile student-self overcame similar difficulties. Personal anecdotes do not need to be authentic to help break the ice, a point cleverly argued by Andreas Rydelius in his aptly titled Necessary exercises of reason for all kinds of students who wish to have sound thoughts (4 volumes, 1718–22).
Picture of the Swedish theologian and philosopher Andreas Rydelius (1671–1738) with the title page of his book ‘Förnufts Öfningar’ (Necessary exercises).
Another useful tip is to make space for co-learning. I have found that by asking frequent yes/no questions (an easy bait) followed by an open-ended ‘why?’ you can better draw students in. Then jot their answers on the board and let them marvel at how their contributions are shaping the direction of the lecture. Collaborative teaching also allows for students to explain arguments or summarize texts to one another, a well-loved classic in the classroom.
Whenever possible, employ immersive and active techniques. I have had success with narrative-driven approaches, that is, presenting arguments as dialogues or stories that invite students in, a tried-and-true method since Plato. Mind maps and visual plans also help students see connections, while group exercises work well to break down more complex historiographical questions.
When it comes to assessment, think of it as an opportunity to help your students grow. Encourage them to read a lot and focus on giving them feedback they can use. Research diaries have become a popular way to encourage reflective thinking while reducing reliance on AI; in my opinion, oral presentations can work even better. Presenting orally develops the students’ ability to articulate their ideas in public, a valuable skill to have no matter where their career will take them. Whatever approach you choose, be upfront and transparent about your assessment methods and your AI policy: it will help build trust with your students.
Sixth, don’t treat your teaching materials as afterthoughts. I design my lecture slides to enhance what I say, not to merely transcribe it. My slides are rich with historical images, nice looking fonts, and feature clear outlines to mark progression through the lecture. At the end of each section, I offer takeaways to consolidate learning points; these structural cues help flag transitions while summarizing key arguments. They take very little time to implement yet often make a big difference in sustaining the students’ attention.
Finally, treat pedagogy itself as a process of inquiry. I am still trying out new methods, improving my visual materials, and reflecting on what works and what doesn’t. I listen to critical feedback from colleagues and students because what matters is to remain flexible and committed to help students think historically. For any historian stepping into the classroom, I’d say that these strategies are worth considering or revisiting. It would be easy to blame shrinking attention spans for a disengaged class while being oblivious to our own dull delivery. As educators, we can and ought to do better. We owe it to our students – and to Marcus Aurelius.
