A Framework for Professional Ethics Courses in Teacher Education

Journal of   Teacher Education 62(3) 273­–285 © 2011 American Association of Colleges for Teacher Education Reprints and permission: http://www. sagepub.com/journalsPermissions.nav DOI: 10.1177/0022487110398002 http://jte.sagepub.com

Bryan R. Warnick1 and Sarah K. Silverman2

Abstract Evidence suggests that professional ethics is currently a neglected topic in teacher education programs. In this article, the authors revisit the question of ethics education for teachers. The authors propose an approach to the professional ethics of teaching that employs a case-analysis framework specifically tailored to address the practice of teaching. The framework is designed to expose the prima facie moral considerations that are relevant as teachers make judgments about ethics. The framework does not produce absolute answers, but it leads to a process that increases procedural objectivity in ethical decision making. It therefore helps respect student moral autonomy while resisting the slide into relativism. Keywords professional ethics, moral education, teacher education, philosophy

Serious discussion of professional ethics education in medical, law, and business schools began to occur in the 1960s. Work on professional ethics education for teachers, however, lagged behind this development for at least two decades, with scholarly articles on the topic not appearing in substantial numbers until the mid-1980s (see, e.g., Lasley, 1986; Reagan, 1983; Rich, 1984). What emerged in the 1980s was an effort to connect teacher education programs with the trend toward ethics education in other professional circles, such as medicine and law. This led to the development of ethics courses for teachers modeled on the other professions. There is some evidence, however, that this movement failed to gain traction in teacher education. In a recent review of the curricula of 156 religiously affiliated colleges and universities, it was found that only 9% of teacher education programs offer ethics courses as program requirements or electives, compared with 71% of business programs, 60% of nursing programs, and 51% of social work programs (Glanzer & Ream, 2007, p. 281). Although the authors of that study were rightly cautious about generalizing this finding beyond their specific sample, the study gives some indication that ethics is less emphasized in education programs than in other professional schools. Of course, a lack of a specific ethics courses may not be a problem in teacher education if ethics is being integrated across the curriculum, but the authors found no evidence of this in course descriptions. Indeed, course descriptions in which the language of ethics could have appeared (in classroom management or multicultural education) usually avoid “framing any of these issues in specifically moral ways,” thus leaving the authors suspicious

about “whether such integration is occurring” (pp. 284-285). The apparent lack of attention to ethics education in teacher education, compared with other professions, might be a problem; after all, education surely presents ethical dilemmas as difficult as many other professions. We need to ask whether ethics education is valuable for teachers and what such an education should look like. There are few empirical studies of the effects of professional ethics education courses (Winston, 2007) and, from what we can see, fewer still in the field of teacher education. The small number of empirical studies from other professional fields gives us tentative reasons to believe, however, that ethics education can make some difference, particularly with respect to measures of moral reasoning (see, e.g., Canary, 2007; Klugman & Stump, 2006, Krawczyk, 1997; Schlaefli, Rest, & Thoma, 1985; Smith, Fryer-Edwards, Diekema, & Braddock, 2004; Windsor & Cappel, 1999).1 Many of these studies also suggest that ethics education programs seem to work best when they include stand-alone ethics courses that focus on group discussion of real-world cases. With respect to other possible goals of ethics education, such as attitude change, the evidence is mixed, with some studies showing that ethics courses had no effect on 1

The Ohio State University, Columbus, OH, USA The New Teacher Project, Brooklyn, NY, USA

2

Corresponding Author: Bryan R. Warnick, The Ohio State University, School of Educational Policy and Leadership, 121 Ramseyer Hall, 29 W. Woodruff Avenue, Columbus, OH 43210 Email: [email protected]

274 attitudes (Brody & Bowman, 1998; Klugman & Stump, 2006) and other studies showing significant attitude change after ethics courses (see Plaisance, 2007). Research also suggests that different professions might require different forms of ethics education (e.g., McCabe, Dukerich, & Dutton, 1994). Thus, what works in medical education might not work in teacher education. This empirical research on professional ethics education gives us a starting point for rethinking professional ethics education for teachers. It suggests that ethics courses for professionals can make a positive difference, particularly when it comes to improving moral reasoning. At the same time, the difference among professional groups suggests that teacher education needs to develop unique ways of thinking about professional ethics. In what follows, we examine what sort of ethics education classes might be appropriate in teacher education. We first survey different approaches to ethics education for preservice teachers, and then we suggest a framework that can guide ethics courses in the future.

Approaches to Ethics Education for Teachers There is much debate in philosophy of education about what ethics education for teachers should look like. Some have argued that ethics education for teachers should be built around professional codes of ethics, usually the ethical code of the National Education Association (NEA; Rich, 1984). Others have argued that ethics education should be focused on learning to apply ethical theories to teaching practice (discussed by Soltis, 1986, and Howe, 1986), while still others have said that it should involve the close analysis of realistic ethical dilemmas (Strike, 1993). Although each approach captures something important about ethics, each also presents significant problems. The first response to this question is that professional ethics education involves learning a professional code of conduct and being able to apply that code of conduct in teaching practice. The most developed form of this approach was that of John Martin Rich (1984), who suggested an ethics seminar concurrent with the preservice student-teaching experience in which students learn to apply the NEA code of ethics. We agree that teaching the NEA code of ethics is useful. First, the code highlights the fact that educational ethics is an important concern of larger professional communities and is not simply about individual opinions or preferences. Second, a code also serves to clearly illuminate previously obscured moral dimensions of teaching practice. For example, we have found that many preservice teachers do not consider the moral dimensions of teacher gossip until they read and discuss the NEA code, which forbids disclosing information about students obtained in the course of professional practice. In this way, the code serves to deepen the socialization of teacher candidates into the moral realities of

Journal of   Teacher Education 62(3) teaching. Being introduced to a code also gives students a feeling of having gained some real ethical guidance from ethics courses, in which a common focus on “hard cases” often makes clear advice difficult to come by. In that sense, learning a code serves to help correct a moral hopelessness or lazy relativism. There are several difficulties, though, with this approach, some of which stem from the limitations of the NEA code and others from the limitations of ethical codes in general. Joseph Watras (1986) pointed out that the teaching profession itself does not have a code of ethics; the NEA has a code, of course, but the NEA is not a professional organization in the sense of, say, the American Medical Association. It is difficult to see how a truly binding code can be formulated and enforced given the more fragmented organizational and professional identities of teachers. Furthermore, the NEA code, as it currently stands, surely does not encompass all the ethical dimensions of teaching. Strike (2003) points out that there is an unclear articulation of a broader vision of teaching that might serve to guide ethical practice. On an even more general level, Soltis (1986) argued that the elements of any code can often conflict among themselves, so students must necessarily be taught how to go beyond a code of ethics. Furthermore, teachers need to know not only what to do but also how to justify their actions to others. If a teacher knows only a code of ethics, he or she might be ill equipped to engage in substantive moral discourse with those who do not owe any allegiance to the code (e.g., parents). For these reasons, it seems to us that an exclusively code-based approach to ethics education is problematic. Another way of looking at ethics education, a favorite among traditional philosophers, is to see professional ethics education as an opportunity to learn about philosophical theories of ethics. Under this approach, the students are taught one or more ethical theories (usually utilitarianism, Kantian deontology, or care theory) and are then taught to apply these theories to resolve, or at least inform, ethical dilemmas. Among philosophers of education who have looked at the ethics to teaching, however, it is generally agreed that this applied-theory approach to ethics education is particularly problematic. Soltis (1986) argued that although learning about ethical theories can be a rewarding experience of liberal education, it is usually far removed from the concerns of professional practice. It often leads to a superficial fixation on labeling ethical positions, and it can even promote an unhealthy moral relativism as students realize that even the most carefully applied theories do not produce any one straightforward answer. This concern about relativism has been voiced by Norman Bowie (2003), who argued that although using an ethical theory may seem to make ethics more objective, it can also have the opposite effect. The same ethical theories can often be used to defend both sides of an argument, he noted, thus leaving students to believe that there is no right or wrong answer to the ethical

Warnick and Silverman question. A different sort of criticism has been offered by both Ken Howe (1986) and Barry Bull (1993), who worry that this applied-theory approach forces students to make hurried decisions about the superiority of one ethical theory over another and to ignore the specific dimensions present in each problem case. For his part, Kenneth Strike (2003) argued that our moral lives are fundamentally constituted by a diversity of moral values that transcend one or even multiple theories. To focus too much on teaching a few ethical theories is to ignore this fundamental value pluralism. We believe that this last reason, especially, is persuasive. No one moral theory has captured the complexity of what we value as human beings. A more mixed assessment of applied ethical theory was given by David Carr (2000). On the negative side, Carr argued that the applied theory approach creates a two-horned dilemma: If multiple ethical theories are taught and applied, the theory that tends to be selected is simply the one that supports the students’ existing prejudices; however, if only one theory is taught and applied, it will lead to a destructive moral inflexibility. On a more positive note, ethical theories can present “partial accounts of the logic of moral discourse” (p. 34). They can, in other words, point us to different ways of approaching a situation. As we will argue, they can illuminate hidden aspects of a problem, even though they may not ultimately solve the problem. They are tools to see with. In the end, although ethical theory might retain a role in ethics classrooms, ethics education must go beyond simply applying one to two ethical theories to the practice of teaching. Seeing the limits of the theoretical approach, many ethicists have turned to discussions of cases and dilemmas as the best way to teach ethics to teachers, an approach that has some support in the empirical literature (see, e.g., Eckles, Meslin, Gaffney, & Hleft, 2005; Krawczyk, 1997; Schlaefli et al., 1985; Smith et al., 2004). In this approach, students are guided by an instructor in carefully examining the specific details of cases, pinpointing the features of the cases that have moral implications, exploring possible avenues of action, and working together to arrive at a justified conclusion. Soltis (1986) wrote, Realistic vignettes depicting classroom situations in which ethical dilemmas arise can be used to sensitize future teachers to ethical issues found in the class regarding such concepts and principles as fairness, respect for persons, intellectual freedom, the rights of individuals, due process, and punishment. (p. 3) Through case analysis, teachers develop what Strike (1993) called dialogical competence: “the ability to talk about, reason about, and experience appropriate phenomena via a certain set of concepts” (p. 105). Looking at specific cases can serve as inductive evidence for the construction of normative principles, as practice in grasping problems and

275 constructing novel solutions, as opportunities to develop moral insight, or as chances to exercise the moral imagination (Bowie, 2003). This approach, however, is also not without its critics. Carr (2000, p. 233) argued, first, that the necessarily simplified nature of the cases used in classroom analysis can never deliver the amount of detail required for an intelligent resolution and, second, that the resolution to one case can hardly ever be used as a pattern for other cases. The problems are even more pronounced when the focus is on hard ethical cases, which are often chosen in professional ethics education for their ability to promote discussion. Teachers who use case studies often note that when students see the difficulties of solving such complex cases, a sense of moral despair may sometimes creep in. This response is further reinforced because it seems like cases are ultimately resolved—if indeed they are resolved at all—through “mere intuition” rather than systematic decision procedures. This can sometimes give the appearance that resolving problematic cases is a matter solely of following one’s personal feelings and opinions (see Bowie, 2003; Nelson, 1985). Thus, just as in the case of the applied-theory approach, we think there is reason to worry that the case analysis approach also leads to relativism and moral subjectivism, especially when the cases are extremely difficult. When faced with the advantages and disadvantages of each approach, most authors sensibly end up endorsing something of a mixed approach. The influential textbook Ethics for Teachers (Strike & Soltis, 2009) uses elements of ethical theory, case analysis, and the NEA code of ethics to develop an ethical knowledge base, deliberative abilities, and analytic skills. In his own commentary on these issues, Soltis (1986) argued, “Teaching about the code and the systems of ethics needs to be supplemented with teaching that creates ethical sensitivity and develops knowledge and skills useful in ethical decision making” (pp. 3-4). Dawn Schrader (1993) seems to agree with this sort of multipronged approach to ethics education, although the details are different. Using a Kohlbergian framework, she wrote, “Including components of moral dilemma discussion, case studies, personal reflection, or analytic journals in professional training programs can provide the support needed to facilitate moral stage development” (p. 96). She also pointed to studies showing that explicit instruction in moral theory can also further moral development (p. 95). We too endorse this mixed case-study approach, not only because it is more satisfying philosophically but also because it seems to be supported by the empirical literature. Such multifaceted approaches that combine things such as ethical theory, codes of ethics, and case analysis capture, at least partly, the complex nature of our moral lives. Questions remain, though, about how such elements can be integrated into a coherent curriculum. Many of the authors who endorse this heterogeneous approach do not give any guidance relating to

276 how this integration is to proceed. Strike and Soltis (2009) gave examples of the mixed approach in their textbook, but their approach remains unsatisfying: the NEA code is briefly explained, but the relationship between the code and the resolution of individual cases is not developed. The case studies in the textbook are intertwined with an analysis of ethical theory, but the authors do not go beyond the theories to consider other systematic ways of analyzing cases that might be helpful. The authors used ethical theories to examine cases but offered little wisdom as to how (or even if) the theories are used in the process of making a final decision with respect to a case-based dilemma. In fact, the book never shows the authors actually making a decision. The point of this approach is almost certainly to encourage students to think as autonomous moral agents and to help them realize that ethics is not about following an external authority, even the authority of an ethics textbook. But in the end, the nature of ethical decision making remains completely mysterious, and thus, the book may sometimes end up promoting the sort of ethical relativism it vigorously seeks to defeat (Nelson, 1985). The debate over these different approaches to ethics education reveals an important tension in ethics classrooms: Students not only need to learn that ethics is more than just offering their individual opinion, but they also need to be encouraged to think autonomously. Teachers need to offer some hope that an intelligent and principled resolution of ethical dilemmas is possible, but at the same time challenge students to reject the teachers’ authority to simply give them these resolutions. Instructors can attempt to highlight the objectivity of ethics by teaching adherence to codes, laying down one or two foundational theories as normative guides, or presenting a model for resolving cases. Or instructors can urge students to think autonomously by eschewing codes, encouraging the open use of multiple ethical theories, or emphasizing difficult cases that arrive at no clear resolution. But it might be difficult to do all of this, because these goals pull in different directions. Is there a way, then, to promote open-ended ethical inquiry without giving the impression that an ethics of teaching is merely a matter of subjective personal opinion?

Increasing Objectivity Through Structured Process Conflicting conclusions provided by philosophical literature appear to leave us in a quandary over the best ways to educate future educators for strong ethical reasoning. One way out of the dilemma, we suggest, is to introduce to student teachers a process of thinking about ethical problems. Examinations of the notion of objectivity in philosophy of science have recently centered on procedural notions of objectivity. Objectivity, it is argued, is best thought of as matter of degree and it can be increased through certain processes of rigorous examination, such as peer review (Longino, 1990). Although such processes,

Journal of   Teacher Education 62(3) even when they work well, do not guarantee truth or a singular answer, they make science more objective in the sense that they force researchers to be exposed to multiple viewpoints and considerations. A procedural view of objectivity in ethics, we believe, may serve the same purpose. The process we have in mind will involve a framework using the different elements of ethics education—codes, theories, and so forth—and will help ease the pedagogical tension between promoting moral autonomy and maintaining the possibility of moral objectivity. With a properly constructed process, an ethics teacher can be open to differing student conclusions, while not giving the impression that “anything goes” or that ethics is only about subjective opinion. We want to differentiate a “process” of ethical decision from a “method.” A method is a set of procedures that, if followed, are likely to produce a certain result. A method provides some sort of final mechanism or calculation procedure for making an ethical decision. An act-utilitarian method of ethics, for example, would urge a person to calculate the respective predicted utility of various options, compare all the options, and choose the option that is projected to produce the greatest overall utility. A Kantian method, in contrast, would universalize a possible ethical option to see if it can be applied in all potential cases without conceptual or practical contradiction. If it can, the choice reflects a valid maxim of action because it can take the proper universalized form of a moral law. What we offer is not a method because it lacks this final decision-making or calculation mechanism. The reason for this is, frankly, that we do not know what such a mechanism would look like. Both the Kantian and utilitarian methods, taken by themselves, lead to notoriously bad decisions in certain cases, or at least decisions that go against our considered moral judgments. To do its job effectively, such a decision mechanism would somehow need to capture the complex, multidimensional nature of moral life. After all, we have many different values that have different implications for our actions. We value, for example, happiness and friendship, pleasure and keeping our commitments, rational consistency and creativity, personal development and individual achievement. It is hard to think of one set method, together with a decision procedure, that would do justice to all these competing values. For this reason, various philosophers, starting with ancient philosophers such as Aristotle in his Nicomachean Ethics and ending with contemporary philosophers such as Thomas Nagel (1979), have been doubtful that any set of rules can be formulated to tell us how to decide among the various competing factors in any particular case. The famous 20th-century philosopher W. D. Ross (1965) argued that inspection of any particular situation often reveals several competing prima facie considerations, considerations that, taken by themselves, have objective moral standing that demand respect. There are considerations relating to promises we may have made, to the

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Warnick and Silverman consequences of our actions, to “perfectionist” ends (i.e., ends that involve the full development of human talents and abilities), and so forth, and these sometimes point in separate directions. When we make an ethical decision, these prima facie considerations are somehow balanced to form a final, all-things-considered judgment, a sans phrase judgment. Constructing this final, considered opinion is not an act of rule following; it is, rather, more an act of perception or intuition. Although it might be possible in theory to formulate a set of decision-making rules, we do not yet have these rules.2 The final decision involves an intuitive judgment about how all the different values fit together in the particular case at hand. A number of criticisms of Ross have been raised over the years. Some have claimed that Ross’s theory violates certain commonsense beliefs about ethics (Pickard-Cambridge, 1932). Others, such as John Rawls (1971), have pointed out that Ross’s type of intuitionism denies prioritizing criteria and that without such “reasonable ethical criteria” the “means of rational discussion have come to an end” (p. 41). Still others have criticized Ross’s deep intuitionism or his belief that ethical principles are “self-evident” to reflective people. Ross’s view, in fact, involves a sort of intuition on two levels: first on the level of establishing the prima facie duties, which are selfevident and count as genuine ethical knowledge, and second on the level of balancing those duties in making the all-thingsconsidered opinion. People have pointed out, understandably, that intuitions differ in moral matters and thus do not provide any basis for moral knowledge. Some of these criticisms are relevant to our project here, others less so. The worries about intuitionism are central. Conflict among prima facie claims, for Ross, is adjudicated by how one senses or perceives the relative balance among the competing considerations. We agree that this sense of balance in the final judgment is something of an intuitive judgment; we do seem to lack a decision procedure that consistently produces adequate, all-things-considered solutions. We are less convinced, though, that the initial prima facie judgments are to be taken as intuitive, self-evident knowledge. In a recent update to Ross’s position, Robert Audi (2004) argued that prima facie obligations can be inferred from other considerations. Indeed, it appears that we can give good arguments for why people should keep promises, for example, on the basis of a plurality of different reasons. Different moral theories, each capturing something of the logic of our moral discourse (namely, that consequences matter, that rational consistency matters, etc.), can help us see why some considerations have moral weight. Thus, although Ross’s intuitionism of the level of all-things-considered judgment seems inescapable, his strong intuitionism on the level of prima facie obligations should be rejected. Having said that, though, Rawls’s criticism of intuitionism at the second level would still be relevant. Does something like intuitionism bring rational discussion to an end? We do not believe that it does. Ross used the common intuitionist metaphor of “seeing”: We come to see how the prima

facie considerations should balance together. Sticking with this metaphor, it seems that simply because someone “sees” something, it does not end the rational conversation. In looking at a cloud, say, one can make arguments about why a cloud looks like something that may, in fact, allow one’s companions to “see” in the cloud what they did not see before. Less metaphorically, because we have rejected intuitionism at the prima facie level, rational arguments can still be made about the force of the prima facie judgments and about how they are to be applied, which would then have implications for a continuing discussion at the more intuitive second level, the level of the all-things-considered judgment. One could even argue that our Ross-inspired view allows for more rational deliberation than strictly prioritizing one of set of moral obligations over others, as Rawls does when he prioritizes liberty over his “difference principle.” This strict prioritizing also cuts out rational deliberation, after all, perhaps more so than Ross’s intuitionism. Still, our moral intuitions vary greatly and this poses a threat to objectivity in ethics. Even though we may not be able to specify the specific decision procedure that produces the final judgment, however, we can offer real help to students in improving the objectivity of their ethical decision making. After all, before one can balance and decide among the prima facie obligations in this somewhat mysterious act of moral perception, it is first necessary to be aware of what considerations are in play. Ethical decisions can go objectively wrong if relevant considerations are hidden or ignored. Indeed, if we can construct a process that will help students to uncover the prima facie obligations, then that is an achievement of real moral significance and it adds a dimension of increased objectivity to ethical analysis. Objectivity comes in degrees. Just as the process of peer review, when it works well, can be said to increase the level of procedural objectivity of science, the process we have described can increase the ethical objectivity of preservice teachers. Although neither process guarantees a single, absolute, true answer, the judgment of a student who takes account of a full set of prima facie considerations is objectively superior, in a certain way, to one who does not: the student has gone through a process that makes for better decisions. The judgment improves even more as the students discuss their decisions with others. With this process, room is made for different opinions (thus promoting student moral autonomy), but with some procedural standards that allow for evaluative judgments (thus promoting a degree of objectivity).

A Framework for Case Analysis What would a process of ethical decision making look like? Outside the field of education, dozens of ethical decisionmaking frameworks have been published in professional and semiprofessional fields ranging from medicine to social work. Because we were unable to find many developed

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Journal of   Teacher Education 62(3)

Figure 1. A Framework for Case Analysis

frameworks constructed exclusively for teachers, we looked to ethical frameworks of the other professions to provide general advice about decision making. We looked specifically for advice that appeared to be sound with respect to ethical reasoning generally, apart from the profession’s specific context.3 Although the proponents of these frameworks do not use this language, the frameworks serve to uncover these prima facie obligations we have discussed. We have collected a number of these decision-making frameworks and pieced together commonalities. The steps of a case analysis, adapted specifically to teachers, are summarized in Figure 1. These steps can serve as a basis of class discussion surrounding educational dilemmas. First, to unmask the relevant prima facie considerations, nearly all of the decision-making frameworks suggest that the person involved in making an ethical decision needs to be clear about the factual information (Beauchamp & Walters, 1994; Benbunan-Fich, 1998; Bivins, 1993; Gunby, 1991; Harris, Pritchard, & Rabins, 2000; Stadler, 1986). In this stage, the decision maker asks, What are the facts of this case and what is mere speculation? Is there additional information that would help solve this problem? How could additional information be gained? Are there any legal guidelines? These facts sometimes by themselves reveal a prima facie obligation (e.g., if an action is illegal or against the NEA code), while other facts might inform such an obligation (e.g., if a parent is abusive, it might lessen the prima facie

obligation to attend to parental rights). Being clear about the facts may also resolve the situation completely, for example, if the dilemma is based on an obvious misunderstanding or miscommunication among various parties. Second, the literature suggests that the interests of all the participants and stakeholders must be fully considered (Benbunan-Fich, 1998; Bivins, 1993; Fry & Johnstone, 2002; Gunby, 1991; Tymchuk, 1986; Yeo & Moorhouse, 1996). The idea in this sort of “stakeholder analysis” is to achieve a perspectival understanding: How do different people see the case, and why do they feel as they do about the situation? In this stage, the decision maker asks questions such as: Who are the people who care about how this problem is resolved? What are their concerns? Are different cultural and religious backgrounds an issue? Understanding the perspectives of stakeholders often involves an act of imagination that may sometimes be aided by exercises involving literature and film. Third, many of the ethical frameworks stipulate that there must be an assurance of conceptual clarity. The decision maker must clearly understand the nature of the ethical dilemma (Beauchamp & Walters, 1994; Bivins, 1993; Corey, Corey, & Callanan, 1998; Gunby, 1991; Harris et al., 2000; Tarvydas, 1998). In a true ethical problem, there are multiple and conflicting ethical principles at stake. The decision maker needs to determine what moral rules, standards, and values seem to be in conflict. Sometimes at this stage, it

Warnick and Silverman becomes clear that the problem is not so much a moral one (the right thing to do becomes quite clear) but a practical one that involves finding a technical solution. Fourth, the literature suggests taking a moment to identify possible options (e.g., Stadler, 1986; Tymchuk, 1986; Welfel, 1998). Often, it is quite easy to formulate two responses, either doing an action or not doing an action. The key to resolving ethical dilemmas, we have found, involves identifying other possibilities beyond simply doing or not doing a particular action in question. There are often imaginative third or fourth options that speak to the concerns of all parties or that satisfy more fully the ethical demands of the situation. These options may involve not simply doing an action (e.g., punishing a troubled student) but doing it in a particular way (e.g., punishing in private, with explanations and follow-up). We encourage our students to think of at least three options to consider. Fifth, the existing professional literature suggests that the moral dimensions of a problematic case can be further exposed through the use of multiple “moral technologies”: ethical theories, codes, and traditions (e.g., the “golden rule”) that help to expose the prima facie considerations that are involved and to analyze options for resolving the debate (Agarwal & Malloy, 2002; Beauchamp & Walters, 1994; Bivins, 1993; Benbunan-Fich, 1998; Forester-Miller & Davis, 1996; Reamer, 1995). Of particular concern in the literature is the consequentialist strategy of paying close attention to all the possible consequences of proposed actions (Brody, 1981; Forester-Miller & Davis, 1996; Gunby, 1991; Tarvydas, 1998; Tymchuk, 1986). At this stage, it is important to ask not only about the possible consequences a particular option might have for all of the stakeholders involved but also the likelihood of those consequences actually occurring. Questions having to do with ethically significant principles and rules are also relevant: Would it be okay if everybody solved the problem according to each of your options? How would you like to be treated if you were one of the stakeholders in this particular case? Are there any ethical codes (e.g., the NEA code of ethics) or widely held moral principles that might inform the situation? Notice that ethical theories and principles are used to understand the nature of the ethical dilemma at hand rather than to finally resolve the dilemma. These serve to remind us of the “logic of our moral discourse.” Time permitting, many commentators also recommend the seventh point, a period of research in which the person in the dilemma reads about the topic and discusses the problem with others (Corey et al., 1998; Reamer, 1995; Steinman, Richardson, & McEnroe, 1998; Welfel, 1998). At this point, a teacher may talk with experienced mentors, consult relevant scholarly commentary, or contact professional organizations for guidance. Eighth, with all these prima facie considerations on the table, a decision maker must make a decision and try to

279 construct reasons for why one option might be preferable to the others (Agarwal & Malloy, 2002; Bivins, 1993; Brody, 1981; Forester-Miller & Davis, 1996; Gunby, 1991; Reamer, 1995; Stadler, 1986; Tarvydas, 1998; Yeo & Moorhouse, 1996). This is the step in which the sans phrase judgment is made: with all the considerations of the problem exposed, one must justify an all-things-considered decision. This is the point, according to Ross, where method breaks down. The decision, although justified with reasons, is ultimately more of an act of moral perception than a rule-following procedure that can be explicitly taught. Even when a decision is reached, the task is not yet complete. Some of the literature suggests, ninth, that a case analysis must be forward looking. One must decide not only how to act in the case but also how to follow up after the decision has been made (Gunby, 1991; Johnstone, 1999; Reamer, 1995; Tarvydas, 1998; Welfel, 1998). After all, even if one makes a defensible decision at the time, there are often unintended consequences and people who are unexpectedly hurt. Resolving a case is a process that plays out over time rather than in an all-at-once decision and resolution. As one makes an ethical decision, it is important to follow up by asking questions such as: Will any apologies or explanations be necessary when this decision is made and to whom? How can one repair damaged relationships? Is there anything to be done, any policies or rules, which can be formulated in the future to prevent such dilemmas from arising again? How can the ongoing consequences of the decision be monitored? This stage of follow-up is crucial because, as Carr (2000) pointed out, “later revision of initial moral diagnosis (the wisdom of hindsight) will often uncover saliences which we may have missed at the time” (p. 233). Now, not mentioned in the literature from the other professions are considerations that relate specifically to teaching. Indeed, the role of a teacher highlights certain considerations, while deemphasizing others. First, being a teacher means that not all parties to an ethical dispute have an equal claim on one’s moral attention. A teacher, as Noddings (1992) reminded us, should pay particular attention to the well-being of students. A teacher has a special responsibility to care for student welfare, and this consideration should play a prominent role. Second, a teacher needs to pay attention to the particular moral dimensions of the school environment (Warnick, 2009), for example, to the aims and purposes of schools, the need for democratic accountability in schools, the fact that schooling is mandatory rather than voluntary, and so forth. Perhaps the most important distinctive feature of schooling is its educational responsibility. Teachers are there to teach. Although this is obvious, it has important implications for how teachers should resolve ethical dilemmas in schools. It implies not only that teachers do the right thing but also that they do it in way that teaches the proper lessons. Third, Strike (2003) argued correctly that teachers of academic subjects have a

280 responsibility to practice disciplinary integrity; that is, they have a responsibility to the fields of art, science, mathematics, and literature to teach the subject matter in a representative way. Fourth, teachers have a responsibility to the teaching profession. How a teacher acts reflects on the teaching profession as a whole, which is a profession that has a unique set of expectations and challenges. The teaching profession, in lacking the autonomy granted to other professions, is vulnerable in a way that other professions are not, and this can place higher expectations on teachers than on some other professions. These four considerations can be summarized, as Stefkovich (2006) suggested, as specific expectations stemming from the professional education community (the goals of schools, the profession, and the various disciplines) and from a heightened concern for the “best interests of the students” (p. 15). It is important, then, to add an additional step (Step 6) to our process of decision making that focuses the teacher on these particular qualities of teaching. There are a few things to highlight about this process that we have outlined. First, we believe that teaching this framework, and using it to help students examine cases, helps students to navigate a path between relativism and absolutism, between overconfidence in their ethical beliefs and moral nihilism. As we indicated, the literature suggests that this can be a difficult balance to achieve. Using the above framework gives teacher educators a way to evaluate ethical decisions in a more objective way (that is, in a way that ensures that a great number of relevant prima facie factors are considered), but it does not promise too much by offering a simple decision mechanism. This process will help students feel that they have gained something concrete and useful from their ethics course—something that will help them as they navigate real ethical dilemmas—but not something that will tie them down dogmatically. Another thing in its favor is that this process embodies how ethical theories are best put to use in practical ethics. The process acknowledges that moral theories embody legitimate moral wisdom but does not assume that any one individual theory captures the whole scope of moral life. This process sees ethical theories as instruments or tools to uncover prima facie considerations. The theories are seen as lenses that put morally significant considerations into sharper focus; they help us probe for unrealized dimensions of moral experience. In short, we believe a process guided by this framework for a case analysis is a contribution because the literature has not put the steps together in this way nor applied the steps to the field of education. We believe this process constitutes an advance over the sort of thinking that is modeled in Strike and Soltis’s (2009) text. Although many of these steps are implied it that text, putting them in a structured form gives students a greater degree of guidance and sends a stronger message that there is more to ethics than initial opinions. This is particularly true when a teacher of ethics

Journal of   Teacher Education 62(3) models using the process for his or her students in actually making a decision. This framework also includes elements of ethical thinking (such as follow-up and role-based considerations) that seem to be missing from Strike and Soltis’s text.

Applying the Framework Because the empirical literature stresses the importance of analyzing realistic cases, it may be worthwhile to imagine how our sort of case analysis might proceed. Consider the following case, which comes from our personal experience. Before beginning her first day of teaching, an eager young teacher at a small urban middle school wanted to learn more about the students in her mixed-ability English class. Students in her school came from diverse backgrounds, but over 80% hailed from low-income families, and many had experienced the concomitant difficulties of growing up in poverty. Her school catered to students whose academic achievement was well below the district average and to an uncharacteristically high special-needs population. In an effort to ensure that she had all the information she could garner about her students, she gained access to students’ academic and counseling files in the school’s special education office. Despite having learned about policies against reviewing or removing files without administrator permission, and feeling pressed for time, the teacher felt she was working in the best interest of her students when she removed seven files and took them home with her the weekend before school was to begin. The school was small, and administration was scattered because of the impending beginning of a new school year. As a result, the teacher was able to slip the records out of the school without being detected. Such unfettered access to student records may not be common, but this scenario highlights the sort of dilemma practicing teachers might face as they are thrust into situations in which they are asked to provide the best possible education to students they do not know. On one hand, any insight into their students’ very different upbringings seems valuable, but on the other hand one must violate school policy to get such information. Our example teacher was unlucky. Her car was burglarized the evening on which she removed the records. Her purse, which contained the records including sensitive student information and social security numbers, was stolen. She was forced to admit her action to school officials and ultimately lost her job. This case is not particularly difficult to evaluate, we believe, but it is sometimes important to examine cases that are not overly complex. An overemphasis on difficult cases could contribute to a sense of hopelessness or cynicism about ethics. This case could be used in an ethics course in several ways. For example, one could take the case back to the point at which the teacher faces the question of whether

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Warnick and Silverman to remove the records and ask, What should the teacher do? If we take the first track, examining the action at the point of decision, the analysis would look something like what we have constructed below.

Step 1: Compile Information About the Case The key facts in the dilemma may be summarized as follows: (a) The teacher is new to teaching, to her school, and to her students; (b) the teacher is nervous about beginning work and wants to learn as much about her students as possible; (c) the teacher has easy access to student files; (d) the teacher intends to return the files after taking them home to review; and (e) the teacher is aware of a school policy against accessing or removing any student files from the premises. It would also be helpful to know if there are alternative ways in which the teacher can obtain the same information: Are there opportunities, for example, to talk with other teachers or counselors about the students’ backgrounds? If this is, for some reason, the only way to obtain necessary student information, we might view the situation differently.

Step 2: Consider the Various Participants The participants or stakeholders in this situation may include (a) the teacher making the decision, (b) the students whose files are being removed and their families, (c) other faculty and staff members in the school, (d) other students in the school, and (e) the larger school community. The teacher herself has an interest in being a good teacher, and knowing about her students is rightly considered an important part of being such a teacher, and she also has an interest, of course, in keeping her job. It is important to note the demands of time and stress placed on young teachers, asked to do a demanding job with insufficient support. The students and their families, for their part, have an interest in both being taught well by an understanding teacher but also in keeping their personal information private. Privacy for students is a matter of personal dignity and also practical utility (e.g., decreasing the likelihood of identity theft). The other teachers and students, and the larger school community, have an interest in the reputation and climate of that particular school and schools in general. The school environment should be one in which the students are safe and well taught and one where trust exists. The school, already poorly supported, might not survive a major scandal, and it has an interest in protecting its reputation.

Step 3: Identify and Define the Ethical Problem In evaluating the situation, it seems the ethical problem could be framed in various ways. On one hand, it is commendable for the teacher to want to know more about her students; on the other hand, it is also important to follow the school rules,

respect the principle of privacy, and abide by legal statutes. Her dilemma could also be framed as a choice of competing goods and risks. On one hand, it is good to try to find out the background of one’s students; on the other hand, it is wrong to place students at risk. The question then becomes: Does the reward of background knowledge justify the risk? The question could be framed as the good of the students versus the importance of following important rules or, alternatively, between a possible student good and a possible student harm. The latter leads into a consequential analysis of which set of consequences is most likely, and the former sets up the question as a tension between consequential considerations (possible good vs. harm) and nonconsequential considerations (possible consequences vs. intrinsic principles).

Step 4: Identify Some Options Facing the situation, the young teacher could have considered various options. Although several potential options exist, we identify three on the basis of the facts outlined above: (a) She can review and remove the student files in an effort to pursue the best possible education for her students (which she in fact did do); (b) she can follow the rules and leave the files in their place; or (c) she can read the records as allowed under the rules, while developing alternative ways of getting to know her students, such as finding ways to communicate with parents and students or seeking guidance from the special education team regarding the background of her students.

Step 5: Do a Theoretical Analysis of Your Options Space precludes a complete theoretical analysis, but there are still some things we can say. From a consequentialist perspective, if the teacher reviewed and removed files (option A), she may be able to glean information about her students that she could put to use in her teaching. In this way, the consequence is that students learn more and may then go on to live more successful lives. It is difficult to judge the likelihood of this happening; although sensitive information certainly can make some difference, its actual importance in the long run is probably more mixed. The second set of possible consequences of option A occurs if the teacher’s actions become known. If this is what happens, her professional life is jeopardized, although probably not disastrously unless the third set of consequences materialize. Depending on whether people find out about this infraction, the sense of trust and reputation of the school could also certainly be damaged. The third set of possible consequences of option A has to do with the troublesome situation that the school rules were attempting to avoid: the revealing of personal student information to outsiders. The consequences of this are important, and include injuries such as identity theft. This outcome, although perhaps unlikely, is serious enough to weigh heavily on our minds. Moreover, the damage to the reputation of

282 the school, and to the trust the community has in the school, will almost certainly occur as knowledge of the action becomes widely known (the school would be required to contact affected parties, thus ensuring broad knowledge of the scandal). The consequences of option B are the opposite of option A. The opportunity to learn about the students is lost with option B, but the harms to the school and to student privacy are avoided. Although we seem to have consequential reasons for and against Option A and Option B, the picture becomes clearer when we look to Option C. Trying to find alternative means to student information might preserve the good consequences of Option A without risking the bad. The teacher could try to develop rapport with her students after they entered her classroom, communicating with parents or guardians, or pursuing alternative ways of learning about her students. This route may help her gain valuable information she could put to use in her classroom, and it would avoid the attendant risks. From a nonconsequentialist perspective, our teacher might have considered various rules and principles to enlighten the analysis. The NEA code of ethics presents some help. The teacher may have supported her position by pointing to the provision, which says, “Teachers shall make reasonable effort to protect the student from conditions harmful to learning,” on the grounds that her ignorance might have been one such condition. However, this principle cuts both ways, because a high-profile scandal might also have inhibited student learning. Moreover, the NEA code of ethics urges against divulging personal information, endangering student safety, or harming the profession. Applying nonconsequential tests of universality are less clear but still point in roughly the same direction. Would it be okay if all teachers violated school rules in search of student information? The answer to this question depends on the nature of the rule and the nature of information, of course, but in this case, the overall integrity of rules intended to protect students is important enough to incline us against weakening their force. When analyzed in terms of the golden rule (a different, and perhaps more flawed, universality test), the answer seems rather clear. As a student or parent, we would want the teacher to have the relevant information, but we would probably also want the teacher to get that information through talking with us; that way, we can share with her what we want to share. This shows respect for the fundamental moral principle of privacy, which derives from the respect we owe to persons as responsible moral agents, while opening an avenue of acquiring the necessary knowledge of students. Apart from consequences, the principle of respect for persons via privacy is a weighty consideration. Option C again seems preferable.

Step 6: Consider Your Role as a Teacher More than anything else, teachers must work in the best interests of the students. This may be interpreted as being

Journal of   Teacher Education 62(3) the best teacher one can be and also in protecting student privacy. Teachers are responsible both for making decisions that uphold the values of the profession and for providing instruction on ethical decision making. Engaging with students and families themselves seems like a much better way to gain student information, because reaching out to families is one way of showing care and concern for them. Talking with families to learn about student backgrounds is both the right thing to do, and it sends the right educational message (students are important). Again, it seems as if Option C protects both students’ interest in learning and their interest in privacy. Getting caught, however, risks sending the message that students cannot trust their teachers. The action is not only wrong morally, but it sends educational messages that go beyond the incident in question.

Step 7: Educate Yourself as Time Permits In making this decision, the teacher may have reviewed school policy, learned more about state and federal requirements, or even spoken with colleagues about her potential course of action. It would have been important to find out if there were alternative ways of getting the information she needed. There is also a scholarly literature on the moral status of privacy that may have been useful.

Step 8: Make the Decision At this point, the process does not give any formal decision procedure. The a priori considerations, though, are now on the table: The participants are known, the facts are as clear as they can be, the prima facie moral considerations have been exposed (partly through the help of ethical theory), and various possibilities have been considered. At this point, we must make a decision about what the teacher should have done. With everything on the table, the decision now “rests with perception.” In our judgment, not surprisingly, it seems that the teacher should have chosen Option C and that she exercised poor judgment in choosing Option A. Of course, knowing the aftermath of the case makes it much easier. The process we have gone through helps us not only “see” the right solution but also to construct a case for why Option C would have been preferable: It best protects the interests of the all the stakeholders in both good teaching and privacy, it has the most attractive (and least risky) possible consequences, and shows better respect for important moral principles, such as privacy. It is also the solution that coheres with the particular role of teachers in considering first the best interest of the students and in sending appropriate educational messages. This option would have met her specific obligations as a teacher in both helping students learn, in protecting their privacy, and in not jeopardizing the school or professional interests.

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Step 9: Decide How to Evaluate and Follow Up on Your Decision Let us assume we select Option C as our solution to the dilemma and decide that it would be better to seek information in alternative ways. No relationships will have been harmed with this decision, so no explanations or apologies are necessary initially. One thing to track, though, is whether the teacher is able to actually get the information she needs to be effective. Perhaps students and families do not trust her, as a young teacher, with much information about their backgrounds. Suppose further that this ignorance seems to be having a real effect on her success as a teacher. If this turns out to be the case, she will need to revisit the situation. Perhaps an alternative strategy needs to be formulated. If the teacher finds that there few opportunities to learn about student backgrounds, she could push for policies or programs that make it easier to acquire such information.

Conclusion There is some evidence to support the idea that professional ethics education can influence the moral reasoning and (to a lesser extent) attitudes of students in professional programs, although there has been little empirical research that looks at such ethics courses for teachers. On the basis of the modest research from other fields, we have reason to think that student teachers can benefit from a discussion-oriented, stand-alone course dedicated specifically to professional ethics for teachers. Consistent with this empirical work, we have constructed a framework for case analysis that, while drawing on work from the other professions, aims to integrate ethics education for teachers and to reveal to teachers the prima facie obligations they face. Teaching, we have said, is distinctive in several ways from other professions: It must focus specifically on the well-being of students, it must pay attention to the moral dimensions particular to schooling, it must generate solutions that are not only correct but correct in educationally sensitive ways, it must be true to larger disciplinary concerns and standards, and it must be connected to the larger teaching profession. The framework for ethical decision making presented here provides a strategy for bringing conceptual coherence to professional ethics courses for teachers. Declaration of Conflicting Interests The author(s) declared no potential conflicts of interests with respect to the authorship and/or publication of this article.

Funding The author(s) received no financial support for the research and/or authorship of this article.

Notes 1. In these studies, moral development was measured in various ways, for example, with the Moral Judgment Test, the Defining Issues Test, and more idiosyncratic measures. Although each test has its problems, for our purposes, we are interested in the potential of ethics courses to make a difference on measures of moral reasoning rather than the normative character of the test itself. 2. Understood in these terms, Ross’s view is compatible with other views of moral justification, such as Rawls’s (1971) reflective equilibrium, whereby we try to find general moral rules and theories that balance with our considered judgments about particular cases. Ross’s sans phrase judgment tells us what to do in particular cases, and this becomes the “data” that we then bring to dialogue with rules and principles. Once these principles are constructed, they themselves become prima facie considerations as we face new cases. 3. Cottone and Claus (2000) offered a helpful overview of this literature. We draw on some of their sources, while adding some of our own.

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About the Authors Bryan R. Warnick is an associate professor of the philosophy of education at The Ohio State University. His interests include the ethics of educational policy and practice. Sarah K. Silverman is an educational psychologist with research interests in structures that promote or inhibit justice, social responsibility, education policy, teacher identity development, and ethics of education. She is currently a project director with The New Teacher Project.