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A syllabus is more than just a checklist or collection of policies and procedures. In fact, approaching it as akin to a “contract” — while that’s a popular analogy in higher education — is not the way to create an effective syllabus. We should aim to do more than badger our students with arbitrary dictates that suggest we fully expect them to misbehave. The course syllabus is, in most cases, the first contact that students will have with both us and the course. As the cliché goes, we don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. The syllabus sets the tone for the course. Rather than emphasize what they can’t do, an effective syllabus is a promise that, as a result of our course, students will be able to do a number of things either for the first time or at least better than they could before. As you create a syllabus, then, the question you ought to keep at the center of the process is: What am I saying to my students?
With that in mind, this guide is aimed at showing you how to create or redesign a syllabus so that it’s not only an effective map of your course’s nuts-and-bolts logistics but also an invitation to actively engage in the learning process. Whether you’ve been teaching for years or are embarking on your first course as instructor of record, you’ll find in this guide the resources, recommendations, and tips and tricks to craft a syllabus that will guide students through your course and motivate them to succeed in it.
You won’t need much to get started, but it helps to have the following on hand before you begin syllabus construction:
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Conversely, there are some common attributes that ineffective — or, to be blunt, just plain bad — syllabi have as well. Whether you’re creating or revising a syllabus, make sure the following are not part of the document:
If you’re teaching a blended or online class, you should include a description of that format here. Give an explanation of the expectations and requirements for a course of this nature (and how those differ from a face-to-face class). It’s also useful to give a brief description of the course here so students can quickly gauge its scope and content, and be aware of any prerequisites or corequisites; the description listed in the course catalog is often ideal for this role.
While the previous section is relatively straightforward, information about you — the Instructor — involves more reflection and choices. Some instructors include brief biographical information; for example, where they did their graduate work, or a brief explanation of how their scholarly and teaching interests intersect with the course topics. It might read something like this: Welcome to “U.S. History to 1877.” As a historian who specializes in the Revolutionary and early national periods of U.S. history (my Ph.D. is from one of the oldest universities in the country), I really enjoy teaching this course, and I look forward to sharing some of what I’ve learned in my own research on this period as we journey together this semester. It’s up to you how much information you provide, or whether you include a biographical statement at all. But if you feel that it’s a good idea to emphasize your credentials and qualifications (something that many academics who are not white males have to consider, unfortunately, given what we know about the biases that lead some students to question the expertise of female and/or minority faculty members), then a short biographical introduction could be the opportune moment to do so.
Whether or not you choose to include biographical material, I highly recommend incorporating a statement of your teaching philosophy. There are a number of ways in which taking the time to discuss your pedagogical approach makes the syllabus more effective: It helps personalize a potentially dry document, it projects a caring and welcoming stance (particularly important if you’re teaching a large lecture class, in which “impersonal” is the default setting), and it creates a larger framework for your particular goals, assignments, and expectations. It might seem difficult to conceive of a philosophical statement like this in the relatively abbreviated space available in a syllabus (as opposed to the two-to-three-page statements of teaching philosophy you might have included in your job applications). But this needn’t be a full-blown exposition of your pedagogy — that will become apparent as time goes on in the classroom. Rather, it should be an overview — the “elevator talk” version — of your pedagogy that gives students a good sense of how you approach teaching and learning. As you consider how to effectively and concisely convey your teaching philosophy, you may find it helpful to consider the following questions:
Once again, this doesn’t have to be an extended essay. A brief paragraph that gives students a sense of your excitement and interest in the course and in their learning can be an invaluable tone-setter. The process of formulating such a concise statement can be a clarifying exercise for you as well.
Finally, an effective syllabus should include information that makes it as easy as possible for students to meet and/or communicate with you outside of class. A quick glance at the beginning of your syllabus should convey the following:
A common lament is that students never come to office hours, or that they write vague and/or unprofessional emails that leave you mystified as to what they’re trying to find out. A clearly defined section of the syllabus that not only provides the contact information they need but also explains the process and expectations surrounding out-of-class communication is a vital way to set the stage for positive faculty-student interactions.
Some call them learning outcomes. Whichever label you use, you are very likely required by your institution to articulate some for your course. Without goals/outcomes, you won’t know what to assess, and you won’t be able to talk about your students’ learning in any coherent fashion. Regional accreditors tend to look unfavorably upon that. “Assessment” is one of those words that often elicits faculty grumbling, usually the product of cumbersome and ineffective procedures that aren’t collaborative. But at its root, and done well, assessment is the vital practice of telling your pedagogical story: What are your students learning? How well are they learning? How can we prove that learning is occurring? Your syllabus can play a crucial role in answering those questions.
How to articulate course goals and objectives. There are reasons beyond assessment (and those pesky accreditation requirements) to articulate a good set of learning outcomes. If the syllabus maps where you and your students are going, then the course goals are the destination. Well-constructed goals convey the purpose of the journey to students (and can help you clarify it for yourself, on occasion), and they also can provide the starting point for course design. In their influential 1998 book, Understanding by Design, Grant Wiggins and Jay McTighe outlined how to use “backward design” to ensure that all the various elements of your course are in alignment. Backward design suggests that you begin with the end in mind — that is, with your course goals. Then work backward:
Here’s how that might look in my own history course:
In a well-aligned course, goals, objectives, assessments, and activities act like a set of Russian nesting dolls, the smaller resting neatly within the larger.
From a student’s perspective, a well-crafted set of course goals can provide a handy framework for organizing and synthesizing the material throughout the term. Your course goals belong at the front of the syllabus, if not on the first page itself. To introduce them, consider using phrasing along the lines of “As a result of this course, you will be able to …,” or “This course will help you develop the necessary skills to…”. Framing the goals in that way is what Ken Bain sees as the basis of a “ promising syllabus.” In his 2004 book, What The Best College Teachers Do, Bain pointed to a common element he found on the “best” teachers’ syllabi: “First, the instructor would lay out the promises or opportunities that the course offered to students,” which “represented an invitation to a feast.” The invitation was the crucial element, according to Bain — “giving students a strong sense of control over whether they accepted” and motivating them to pursue the work involved in fulfilling those promises. The syllabus “was the beginning of a dialogue” and “became a powerful influence on setting high standards and encouraging people to achieve them.” Motivation is a key ingredient in effective learning, and a syllabus that puts these types of “promises” front and center, and shows students the possibilities open to them, is a great way to seed that motivation within their initial encounter with your course.
Embrace all of your course content. One other factor to consider as you frame your course goals: the “noncontent content” you teach. For example, a class I teach on the history of the ancient world features specific content from ancient societies through the fourth century CE. But students in that class also create course blogs on the ancient world using WordPress, and in the process, acquire proficiency on that platform and learn to create digital pieces of text and media. Those skills are a significant aspect of my course that can be useful outside the context of ancient history. One of my course goals, then, states that students will learn to write in a digital medium for an online audience. Academics talk all the time about the larger academic and intellectual skills that we teach beyond our content area. Incorporating those skills into a course goal presented on the front page of your syllabus is an excellent way to make that point explicit for students (and for other audiences, like assessment committees that use syllabi to determine what students are learning from particular courses and curricula). Moreover, a course goal built around “noncontent content” lends itself to the idea of a “promising syllabus” that stokes student interest and motivation. For courses with a reputation for being difficult, or in subjects (such as mathematics) around which students feel significant anxiety, this is a particularly salient point.
There’s a lot to think about when it comes to course goals. The key question becomes how to present them on a syllabus without either giving them short shrift or overwhelming students (and ourselves) with text. One strategy is to consider grouping course goals by theme. Are there a few “meta-subjects” into which your specific goals can be sorted? For example, if there are content-based goals grouped around disciplinary knowledge, and application-oriented goals that come from a laboratory or recitation component, that might be the schema you use to present those goals on the syllabus. Alternatively, many instructors choose to organize their course goals around conceptual frameworks such as Bloom’s Taxonomy or L. Dee Fink’s Taxonomy of Significant Learning Experiences. Both offer a natural way to organize your course goals. And you can see for yourself whether you’re paying sufficient attention to all of the cognitive areas you want to see your students develop (e.g,, are you focusing too much on simple understand-and-remember outcomes at the expense of higher-order thinking?).
It is essential, whichever structure you choose, to phrase your course goals clearly and carefully. As Ken Bain’s discussion of the “promising syllabus” makes clear, presentation matters. Creating a set of thoughtful, explicit learning outcomes provides a powerful opening statement for your syllabus and for the class itself. Course goals framed as opportunities — rather than abstract or generic goals (the kind that make students’ eyes glaze over) — set the table not only for a successful and engaging learning experience but also for the rest of an effective course syllabus.
Clearly, this part of your syllabus is context- and discipline-specific. Lab courses require different materials from classes built around lectures and discussion. Students will be asked to acquire a much different array of tools for a studio-art course than for one on managerial accounting. Still, there are some considerations to keep in mind regardless of the type of course you’re teaching:
What and why. This section is the heart of a course syllabus. Most institutions and syllabus templates refer to it as “policies and procedures.” Here is where you discuss course expectations and logistics — what students will be be asked to do (and discouraged from doing). It’s where you begin to create the type of climate you want to see in your classroom. It’s also the portion of a syllabus that can be the most fraught. Many of the pitfalls that make for an ineffective syllabus reside here, and the potential for unintentionally conveying negative or counterproductive messages is significant. All too often, it’s in this portion of a syllabus where things bog down, where the instructor’s initial enthusiasm turns to jaded cynicism. Too many times, this section is where you simply cut and paste institutional boilerplate or fall into the trap of peevishly reciting all of the things you don’t want students to do. Even if you don’t mean for it to happen, your syllabus can slouch into the type of adversarial tone that alienates rather than welcomes students to the course.
Sections of policies can come across as adversarial. Avoid that by discussing policies in constructive terms that highlight the reasons rather than the consequences.
With each policy you list, keep the key question for syllabus construction in mind: What are you saying to your students? Reflect not just on the specifics of your policies and procedures but also on the reasons you have them. The “policies and procedures” section can devolve into a laundry list of thou-shalt-nots for two primary reasons:
In short, every syllabus — brand new or redesigned — should have a policy section that’s the product of significant discernment and reflection about what is included, why it’s there, and how it’s worded. Here is a list of the most common types of course policies, with some thoughts and questions that might help you articulate what they look like for your specific course and students.
You may be required to adhere to an attendance policy set by your institution or your department. There might be a cap on the number of “allowable” absences, perhaps a percentage of total class meetings or, in most cases, a specific number. Perhaps there’s a policy about the types of absences that should be excused (with any missed work made up for credit), and the ones that shouldn’t (meaning that penalties will ensue). Conversely, some of us are at institutions where these matters are left to the discretion of individual faculty members. If you’re unsure where you fall on this continuum, it’s best to consult your department chair or dean.
Strict attendance policies don’t ensure attentive students. A flexible policy reduces stress and makes life easier for you as well.
The foundational question of an attendance policy is, Why is it essential for students to be in class? (I’m defining “in class” broadly, so as to cover online courses as well.) The answer ought to be how you introduce your attendance policy on the syllabus. For example: “Because class discussion is at the heart of this course, you are required to be in class, and what we do in the course of our class meetings will determine a large portion of your grade.” Note, I’ve underscored that attendance is important, and I’ve tied its importance to the very way the course will be conducted. Policy derives from philosophy, which helps make clear to students the legitimate pedagogical reasons behind these expectations.
But perfect attendance almost never occurs. What then? What about those occasions when students do end up missing a class session (or online unit or module)? Some instructors with the latitude to do so categorize all absences in the same way — capping the number of classes a student can miss without penalty and making no distinction between “excused” and “unexcused.” Most instructors (and most institutions/departments) opt to keep that distinction in place, and attach penalties only to the “unexcused” variety. I recommend the more flexible approach — it’s a recognition that life happens. Worry about academic penalties shouldn’t be added to an already stressful situation like a family emergency or illness.
Additionally, forcing students to choose between attending class and participating in a university-sponsored activity (which might be connected to a scholarship that pays their tuition) places them in a lose-lose situation. Avoid that if at all possible. Incorporating these additional considerations into my sample attendance policy would make it read something like this:
Because class discussion is at the heart of this course, you are required to be in class, and what we do in the course of our class meetings will determine a large portion of your grade. Of course, I understand that sometimes emergencies or other unexpected circumstances arise that make attendance that day impossible. If this is the case, please talk with me as soon as possible so we can make arrangements to get you caught up (this provision will not apply to nonemergencies like oversleeping). If you will be absent from a class for a university-sponsored activity, please make arrangements with me — beforehand — regarding any work you might miss.
That’s a concise statement that outlines a policy, makes the necessary distinctions between what is excused and what isn’t, and informs students that they will need to take responsibility for initiating the process to make up missed or late coursework.
Will you accept late work? If so, how late? What, if any, adjustments will you make to the assignment’s grade if a student submits it past deadline? Perhaps you are less deadline-focused and have a rolling submission policy. Some instructors set assignment deadlines in collaboration with their students. When it comes to late policies, a compelling case can be made for one that offers a grace period and abandons hard-and-fast deadlines. As Ellen Boucher argues, “It’s time we give our students the same respect and flexibility that we demand in our own careers” and not make a priori assumptions that late work stems from some academic or character deficit instead of real-life circumstances. On most syllabi, a late-work policy will be closely tied to the attendance policy, as a majority of instructors allow for the submission of late work without penalty if an excused absence is involved. However you choose to deal with deadlines in general — or with late submissions, missed exams, and the like — your syllabus should convey your policy clearly. That will save you from spending the semester adjudicating every case of late work. More important, students will know ahead of time exactly what to expect if they turn in assignments past the deadline.
Drafting a policy on academic integrity and cheating is one of the thorniest areas of syllabus construction. The ready availability of online resources raises a plethora of issues around paraphrasing, attribution, and plagiarism. Some students cheat intentionally by buying papers from online essay mills, but many end up plagiarizing unintentionally simply because they don’t know how to use digital sources properly — a difficulty exacerbated by the often hazy line between paraphrasing and outright expropriation. Cheating has become a matter that’s both increasingly relevant for academe and increasingly byzantine for students. That trend is reflected in course syllabi, where academic-integrity policies have become both longer and more punitive in tone. My own institution, for example, mandates that all syllabi include a two-page academic-honesty policy, much of it given over to a detailed description of the appeals process should a student be charged with a violation. While I understand the logic — clearly the previous policy didn’t work — I don’t think adding a long section of campus boilerplate that reads like a criminal statute is particularly effective. Once again, you’re essentially telling students you think that many of them will cheat, and you’re already weighing how to punish them.
Yes, academic integrity is important. Yes, this is increasingly complex terrain. You have an ethical imperative to be abundantly clear about your policies on your syllabi. So how do you talk about academic honesty without descending into the language of pre-emptive indictment? Two strategies can help you deal with this constructively:
Even if you’re required to add lengthy and/or punitive campus policies on cheating to your syllabus, you should still try to put them in language oriented toward equity and the ethics behind these requirements. Ideally, a discussion of academic honesty will complement other elements of the syllabus, like the description of your teaching philosophy and the assignments/assessments section. Most important, though, frame this section with that key question in mind: What are you saying to your students? Tone and approach matter, especially when it comes to an issue as complex as academic integrity.
Chances are, faculty members on your campus have been collectively stressed out over the easy availability of AI tools and the implications of that for college teaching and learning. And it’s similarly probable that you’re worried about if, and how, you should deal with this on your syllabi. When it comes to course and syllabus design, few subjects are as fraught as ChatGPT and other large-language-model tools. There’s been no shortage of wild claims: ChatGPT will be the “end” of writing instruction; students will use this tool to plagiarize on any and every occasion; and/or we as instructors need to completely rethink our approach to “cheating detection.”
Many institutions have yet to adopt formal policies on generative AI tools. It might be tempting to ignore the elephant in the classroom (“my course doesn’t lend itself to AI tools,” you might claim, or you may believe that your assignments can’t be completed by nonhuman labor). But from what students are telling us, the use of ChatGPT and other AI tools is ubiquitous — and the days of brushing them aside in our course and assessment planning are over.
So, yes, you probably do need to add an AI policy to your syllabi. Here are some next steps.
First, do the reading. Before you start drafting, make sure you have an adequate handle on AI tools — what they are, what they can do, and, just as important, what they aren’t and can’t do. Without some baseline knowledge, any course policy you devise might have unintended effects, and be inadequate or unnecessary.
What to factor into your AI policy. Professors will not win an arms race with AI tools, and attempting to do so is both unrealistic and unsustainable. That is a key consideration to keep in mind as you write. Your course policy should be clear-cut, but be mindful of how lengthy it is compared with other policy language on your syllabus. Be specific enough that students understand the rules but not so in the weeds that they stop reading. Among the minority of instructors who have already integrated ChatGPT into their teaching, there is no one-size-fits-all approach. Some ask students to engage critically with AI tools, using them in particular tasks with the aim of assessing their strengths and limits. Other instructors seek to pre-empt cheating by explicitly incorporating these tools in assignments. Still others eschew AI entirely, and devise assignments that students must complete without the aid of external content generation. Whatever approach you choose needs to be conveyed to students transparently. Here are some effective strategies for figuring out how you want to deal with AI on your syllabus.
Revisit your institution’s policies on academic integrity. You may find language there that you can adapt. Or you might not: A common problem for many colleges is that their antiplagiarism policies specifically proscribe the unattributed use of material produced by other people — whereas ChatGPT is not a “people.” If you seek to place limits on the use of generative AI tools for coursework, just be sure to use accurate language on your syllabus policy.
Remember this landscape is changing quickly. Try to avoid handcuffing yourself and your students to inflexible policies that aren’t easily modified, as necessary. Simply producing a list of “thou shalt nots” will be ineffective, not to mention will set the wrong tone for your course. Explain the thinking behind your AI policy. You might use this section of your syllabus to spark a class discussion, not just about ChatGPT but also about knowledge creation, attribution, and citation ethics. Consider including some language about the limitations and/or inherent biases built into generative AI. Many students (and faculty members) believe these tools are more “trustworthy” dispensers of content than they actually are. Here, too, use your syllabus to open a larger conversation with students.
Be detailed in your dos and don’ts. If it’s OK for students to use these tools for some things (generating ideas or creating outlines) but not for others (writing drafts or preparing bibliographies), say so directly on the syllabus. Make sure it explicitly describes, with examples, which types of coursework fall into which category. For instance, for assignments in which you allow use of an AI tool, you might indicate on the syllabus something like: “If you use these platforms in [assignment title], please add a note that describes where in your process you used AI and which platform(s) you used.”
Do your assignments, projects, and tests need a makeover? Do the topics, tasks, and criteria lend themselves to easy completion via ChatGPT? To put it bluntly: If an AI tool can earn an A on a particular assignment, that’s likely a problem with the assignment, not the AI tool. Whether you decide to allow or prohibit the use of these tools in a course, Derek Bruff, an educator and writer, offers a useful set of questions for what he calls “assignment makeovers in the AI age”:
Workshop your syllabus language with colleagues. If you work with peers and colleagues from outside your campus, you will discover that not only are you not the only one struggling to figure this “AI thing” out, but that some teachers and scholars have already been putting a lot of thought and care into the ways in which they communicate with students about AI tools, coursework, and academic integrity. You can find some guidance in this crowdsourced document where academics are sharing syllabus language: “Classroom Policies for AI Generative Tools,” curated by Lance Eaton, a doctoral student in higher education at the University of Massachusetts at Boston. It’s one of the most helpful and comprehensive such documents I’ve come across as of this writing. (Feel free to add your own syllabus language if it adds to the variety of examples available there.)
Perhaps no area of the syllabus has changed more in recent years than the section on how students use technology in our courses. When I became a college teacher, in 1998, the only reference to technology on my syllabi was a requirement that final drafts of essays and research papers be typed or word-processed. (I know, “typed.” How quaint.) Now, however, there’s a whole section of my syllabus devoted to how to handle email communication and use our learning-management system, how to create accounts for the course-blogging platform, and how to access online readings. Here, too, you must discuss your expectations for technology clearly and thoroughly without becoming pedantic or hectoring students. Make sure your technology policy covers these two areas:
Ask your students. One solution to the “what do we do about potential disruptions” conundrum — whether it relates to technology use or student behavior in general — is to invite students to collaborate with you on the policy. Set aside class time early on and allow students to help set the community norms for the course. I’ve previously written about this practice, which has been a successful one. I’ve found that students have a sense of ownership over class meetings, hold themselves to a higher standard, and are more invested in learning when they’ve had a say in coming up with the technology policies and other classroom rules. Then, when a conflict arises, I remind students that they created the class rules. So maybe leave this section of your syllabus blank, with a note that says “to be determined by the class,” or the like. Whatever you decide about technology and other sorts of etiquette policies, though, your syllabus should be explicit and transparent about your expectations as well as the philosophy that informs them. Showing students that you made these decisions intentionally and carefully is the key to a classroom-policies section that complements the rest of an effective syllabus rather than switching the tone from inviting to scolding.
More and more institutions require at least some language on syllabi about accessibility and inclusion. Even without a requirement, devoting space to those issues on your syllabus can pay significant dividends. While the two areas overlap (accessibility can be seen as a subset of inclusion), it’s probably best to deal with them distinctly.
Accessibility. Some professors discuss accessibility on their syllabi under the heading of “disability.” Not only is that an inherently stigmatizing and exclusionary way to approach the issue, but it undermines a broader conversation you could be having with your class on diverse ways of learning. An accessibility policy that is limited to specific accommodations for students with “official” documented disabilities may satisfy the letter of the law, but it leaves other important issues unaddressed. You and your students are better served thinking about accessibility in the terms proffered by the advocates of Universal Design for Learning (UDL). Learning, UDL advocates argue, is something that can occur effectively in a variety of ways rather than in one “true manner” that treats “accommodations” as a less-satisfactory deviation. On your syllabus, rather than a “disability policy,” define what “universal” or “diverse” learning looks like in your course. Invite students to discuss any learning issues they have with you, but do so within the larger framework of describing how everyone in the course can fully participate. Reframing “accessibility” as a matter for the entire class — and not just a few student “exceptions” who need to be “accommodated” — can contribute to the inviting tone and motivational qualities that make for an effective syllabus.
Inclusion. Academe is finally catching up to what student protesters have been saying for years: that a commitment to diversity and inclusion is crucial, both pedagogically and institutionally. Inclusive pedagogy is a worldview rather than a specific set of techniques. But as institutions welcome a student population that is more diverse than ever, and wrestle to reach more learners with less money, creating an inclusive learning environment is especially challenging. And making your position on inclusion clear on your syllabus is an excellent first step. The terms “diversity” and “inclusion” are so ubiquitous they can seem like buzzwords on a syllabus rather than signifiers of a genuine commitment. Consider the following questions to avoid falling into that trap:
Whatever form it takes, this section of your syllabus should be the product of thoughtful reflection and should effectively convey how and why you value these aspects of the learning environment. Using your syllabus to tell students they matter — even via seemingly quotidian means like letting them know you will use their preferred pronouns or emphasizing your commitment to the principles of Title IX — is a powerful way to foster an inclusive course climate. An effective syllabus should do all it can to foster that climate.
This is one of the sections (if not the section) to which students turn first, so there’s a powerful impetus to set the right tone. Moreover, striving for clarity and transparency in your discussion of assignments and grading will pay off over the duration of the course. You will see less student frustration, anxiety, and/or complaints with a thorough and accessible presentation here. Here are some particular elements to ponder as you frame your grading policies.
Offer a complete assignment list. Ideally, students should be able to peruse this section of your syllabus and know everything they’ll be asked to do in the course. That doesn’t mean you have to list every assessment one by one — but the number and various types of assignments should be clear. One strategy is to group assignments into categories, specify how many will be required in each category, and briefly describe them. For example:
Examinations: There will be three in-class examinations during the semester, and a final examination at the conclusion of the course (see the course calendar for specific dates). The in-term exams are worth 100 points, and the final exam is worth 150 points. Each exam will contain objective (multiple-choice) and short-answer questions, as well as a brief essay prompt. I will distribute a study guide about a week in advance of each exam, but bear in mind that the best way to prepare for these exams is to keep up with the readings and our in-class activities. We’ll take some time in the week before an exam to talk about study strategies, and I’ll be happy to answer any review questions you may have. The purpose of these examinations is to assess your command of the material we’ve covered in a particular unit (the objective and short-answer questions), as well as your ability to synthesize concepts into an evidence-based argument (the essay).
It’s a useful practice to include some mention of the assignment’s outcome or purpose. Why are you asking students to do [X]? Or, to put it a different way: When students ask why they have to take a test/write an essay/post on the discussion board, do you have a good answer ready? Think of the assignment description as the pedagogical analog of the dissertation or thesis “elevator talk” — a thorough but pithy overview that gives the details one needs to know at the outset, with the insinuation that more information is to come.
Grading schema and scale. It’s easy to lament students’ single-minded focus on grades — we want them to learn, not argue with us about the difference between a B-plus and an A. — but their fixation merely reflects what they have been told since childhood. Grades and grade-point averages have always been a metric by which they’ve been judged. That mindset is worth trying to undo in college, but I don’t think it’s fair to expect students to not care about grades when they begin our courses. Grades are not only omnipresent but anxiety-inducing as well, which is why it’s important to be as clear as possible about how students’ work will be assessed. What “counts,” and how can students track their progress? Are you using letter grades? Percentages? Points? Tiny multicolored beads? Whichever system you adopt, be sure your syllabus explains it clearly. How many points do they need — or what is the percentage cutoff — for an A, a B, etc.? Does your institution have a standard grading scale, or is this something left up to individual instructors? Do you use simple letter grades, or is there a plus/minus dimension as well? Spelling all of that out in your syllabus creates a useful reference and may decrease the potential for complaints.
Exceptions and distinct features. If you incorporate any sort of measure that is different from the standard grading procedures that students are used to, be sure to make it clear in this portion of your syllabus. For example:
There’s nothing wrong with using unconventional grading systems so long as you think you have a good set of pedagogical reasons for doing so. But keep in mind: Students aren’t nearly as familiar with different grading approaches as you are, so their use needs to be accompanied by a clear and understandable explanation.
Frequency and distribution of assessments. The number and type of assignments in a course will vary widely by discipline, class level, and other factors. But a few general principles bear directly upon your grading policy. First, it’s important to ensure that students have some opportunities early in the course to receive both qualitative and quantitative (graded) feedback. If your institution employs any sort of “early alert” practices, by which instructors can identify students who are struggling academically early in the term so that they can be connected with the appropriate support services, you’ll want to ensure that you have enough data to make that system effective. So time your assignments on the syllabus accordingly. In a larger sense, it’s simply good pedagogy to give students a sense of where they stand, preferably via a mix of mostly low-stakes assignments and a few high-stakes ones. Classes in which grades are determined solely by the average score of three or four high-stakes exams make it difficult for students to alter their approach or seek out assistance. (And it’s questionable whether those exams accurately measure student learning in a course.) However, courses that offer a range of short, predominantly low-stakes assignments in the early weeks of the term allow students to adjust their approach to the material and help you identify who among them are struggling. As you construct your syllabus, make sure the workload and the pace are appropriate for the type of course and the level of students.
How will your students know what to do, and when? A course schedule and/or calendar is a crucial ingredient. Surprisingly, many institutions list it as an optional component within their recommended syllabus formats. Yet it contains much of the information that research shows students use most frequently — the topic(s) for a particular session, the assessments scheduled that day, and the due dates of assignments and readings. Ignoring it in your syllabus will only confuse and frustrate your students and convey the sort of message you don’t want to send: that you’re disorganized and don’t place a lot of value on regular coursework. Or, worse, that you don’t care about students enough to help them plan for the semester. It’s vital to include a clear and thorough course schedule and/or calendar.
At the very least, your syllabus should offer a breakdown of the course by weeks, units, or modules, listing all the readings and assignments associated with each chunk. Ideally, you will provide more detail, such as a session-by-session accounting of topics, assignments, and important course dates. An effective course calendar includes the following elements:
A clearly formatted and easy-to-read course schedule is a crucial part of your syllabus. Monthly calendar templates work well for this section: You can provide a significant amount of detailed information yet retain a clear and accessible organization. Whichever mode you use, your course schedule/calendar accomplishes several important things: It conveys your expectations regarding coursework; it presents a visual guide to the organization and flow of the course; and it gives students the information they need to plan for the entire term.
You don’t need to be a graphic designer or web developer to produce these types of documents. Simple steps like adding color, varying headings, and incorporating images or graphics (think infographics) go a long way toward creating a more interesting and creative syllabus, one that students are more likely to read and remember. Don’t be afraid to ask for help. If you have a teaching center on your campus, chances are it has sample syllabi and expertise with the tools you’ll need.
At first glance, the answer may seem obvious: My students will have access to the syllabus when I pass it out to them the first day of class. But for those who teach blended or online classes, that’s not the case. Moreover, even in traditional face-to-face courses, many instructors are rethinking how and when to make the syllabus available. For online classes, it’s generally seen as best practice to send an email and/or post an announcement on the course web page that includes an introduction and directs students to the syllabus. It’s a good idea to adopt this practice for in-person classes, too. Consider emailing a PDF of your syllabus, or posting it on your course web page, a week before class begins. You might introduce the document by directing students to a few of the sections you know they’ll be most interested in, such as assignments and grading, or the schedule. If you want to draw their attention to other sections, highlight them in the email. Not every student will read the syllabus before the first day of class, but providing it early can (a) set a professional and organized tone and (b) assist those students who like to plan ahead.
Here are a few specifics to consider if you decide to go the digital route:
While these considerations may not be at the top of your syllabus-construction agenda, accessibility is and will continue to be an urgently relevant matter for both students and institutions. If you’re not in the habit of ensuring that your course materials are accessible, it’s time to start. The syllabus is an excellent place to begin.
There is a cottage industry of “It’s in the Syllabus!” gear — T-shirts, coffee mugs — that joke about the seemingly universal student trait of not knowing what’s in the document you’ve spent so much time and energy preparing. But is it really true that students ignore the syllabus? Only if you’ve given them reason to ignore it. Here are some strategies to make sure they don’t:
There will very likely come a time when — no matter how thoroughly you think you’ve explained specific assignments, policies, or other material — a student finds a loophole (or, if you prefer, an ambiguity) in the syllabus. I experienced this the first semester that I asked students to submit assignments via our campus learning-management system. My usual practice had been for them to hand in assignments by the end of class on the due date, and I simply assumed this would continue with digital submissions. As it turned out, students interpreted the “due date” on the syllabus as meaning they could submit the assignment any time that day, so long as it was before 11:59:59 p.m. Digital submissions were time-stamped, so their interpretation made perfect sense. Of course, it took me asking “Why did most of you not turn in the essay?” — and then receiving bewildered responses along the lines of “Um, we still have time, don’t we?” — to realize what was happening. In the end, I’ve left the end-of-day specification for due dates, as it makes more sense and is what my students are used to. But the larger point: Be prepared to adjust your policies on the basis of new technology or other changes that lead to loopholes on your syllabus.
When a student challenges an ambiguity on your syllabus, the first question to ask is whether you have, indeed, presented information unclearly. If your language is unambiguous and the student has simply misinterpreted that portion of the syllabus, a constructive conversation can be had. But if a student challenges you over phrasing that is genuinely open to interpretation — like a wishy-washy due date or a late-work penalty — don’t get defensive and reject the request. Rather, work with that student and then go back and fix the syllabus issue before you offer the course again. It’s both unfair and unethical to penalize a student for a misunderstanding that’s your responsibility, as frustrating as that might be to admit in the moment.
Conversely, be careful about the exceptions you make to your syllabus policies. As the instructor, you certainly have the discretion to work with students whose life experiences have interfered with their studies. But it’s problematic if you allow one student to make up an examination because she overslept, while denying that chance to another. Students expect fairness and consistency — and that’s a professional obligation for any instructor. If you have a blanket (pun intended) makeup policy for students who overslept, that’s great — so long as it’s offered consistently. Also, if you’re lax about your stated policies until late in the semester, when you suddenly become a stickler, that will only confuse and frustrate your students. Again, the key is to remain fair and consistent. One final consideration: If your syllabus specifies penalties for late work, and you never enforce them, then you might be placing colleagues who do in an awkward position.
Perhaps it’s not a student, but you who notices a vague or contradictory passage on the syllabus after the course has started. Or maybe it becomes clear after three weeks that the reading assignments are overly ambitious. Sometimes weather-related campus closures play havoc with the class schedule. There’s nothing wrong with revising your syllabus in the midst of a semester. Indeed, attempting to rigidly adhere to something that’s obviously not working is a recipe for disaster. Just be transparent about any changes, and make them for clear reasons. Ideally, involve students in the conversation if the needed change stems from something they’ve identified as a difficulty. Post any revisions in the same manner as the original syllabus, and clearly identify the changes as addenda to the document. You will find yourself on firmer ground here if you include a statement on your original syllabus that reserves the right to modify its contents — something to the effect of: “This syllabus, like our course, should be seen as an evolving experience, and from time to time changes might become necessary. As instructor, I reserve the right to modify this syllabus, with the stipulation that any changes will be communicated to the entire class clearly and in writing.” That way you can make revisions while remaining fair and consistent.
After the semester ends, it’s good practice to critically reflect on your syllabus (and the course itself) and discern what worked well and what didn’t:
Even though the end of a course is often a flurry of grading and other work, take the time to reflect on how the syllabus worked while it’s still fresh in your mind. It’s also worth keeping tabs on what changes are occurring in the departmental and/or institutional environment. Perhaps there’s a new, department-wide attendance policy that you’ll need to incorporate in syllabi, or new boilerplate that your college is requiring you to include on your next syllabus (a frequent occurrence). No doubt you hope students will reflect on what they’ve learned in your course, but you should take the time to do that, too.