I have the privilege of teaching one of Winebrenner’s Doctor of Ministry courses this summer entitled Contemporary Theological Issues in a Pluralistic Culture. I’ve been preparing for this class by working on which books students should read, schedules for the weekly class meetings, individual assignments, and group activities. These various items represent the energy the students (and instructor) will put into the course during the summer trimester. At the conclusion of the class each student will earn a grade for the work he or she has completed. And, once all the work is complete, the student will receive three credits on his or her transcript indicating they are one step closer to achieving their goal of graduating with a Doctor of Ministry degree.
This experience is so familiar that we fail to see the many assumptions at work. But, today, I want to return to my previous post where I suggested that the credit hour functions more as a proxy than a true measure of learning. That observation, while important, does not go far enough. The deeper challenge is this: the credit hour is not only an insufficient measure of learning. It is not a reliable measure of time either. An over-emphasis on the credit hour combined with a focus on “inputs” such as readings, schedules, and assignments, has the potential to create an obstacle to true learning and discipleship.
Sylvia Manning, then president of the Higher Learning Commission, described in a 2010 congressional hearing: “Will defining that input measure, the credit hour, with more specificity contribute to the assurance or improvement of quality in American higher education? I do not think so. The apparent precision of the credit hour as originally defined, based on the fact that it has numbers, is an illusion: underneath the numbers lies the mush.” [you can read the full hearing by clicking here.
Despite its widespread use, part of the “mush” mentioned by Manning is due to the fact that the credit hour is a socially constructed unit. “Socially constructed” is a fancy way of suggesting that it creates the appearance of standardization, but it does not actually deliver it. What counts as a “credit hour” varies across schools, contexts, and delivery models. And yet, we continue to treat it as if it carries a consistent, objective meaning. This raises a more disruptive implication.
If the credit hour cannot reliably measure learning or time, then it cannot bear the weight we place on it. Perhaps it should not be used to guide decisions about curriculum design, faculty workload, or financial models. And yet, in many cases, it quietly governs all three. Unfortunately, this is where the conversation often stops short. Systems built on proxies require reinforcement. Time must be tracked. Participation must be verified. Learning is often assumed. As I noted last week, “Cracking the Credit Hour,” provides more depth to both the utility and the limitations of time-based metrics, like the traditional use of the credit hour.
Many critiques of the credit hour remain at a tactical level, focused on adjusting formulas, redefining contact hours, or exploring alternative delivery models. While these efforts may be helpful, they rarely address the deeper issue: the credit hour continues to function as a controlling assumption within the overall system. It shapes decisions because it is the accepted language and measure and not because it is accurate.
In this sense, the credit hour operates less like a measurement and more like a form of currency. It enables transferability between schools. It provides a shared language for transcripts and degrees. It allows systems to function at scale. But like any currency, its value is not intrinsic or universally fixed.
A course assigned six credit hours carries a certain level of recognition and legitimacy, but that number is often the result of convention and optics rather than a precise reflection of learning, time, or cost. The number “works” because it is familiar, not because it is exact. This realization invites a deeper question: what kind of power does the credit hour actually exert?
Historically, even systems of financial currency were not neutral. As Douglas Rushkoff has noted, standardized currency emerged, in part, as a way to create control and manage economic relationships at scale. It provided stability, but it also introduced new dynamics of power and value distribution. There are echoes of that history here.
The credit hour did not emerge simply as a tool for measuring learning. It also developed as a way to standardize and manage faculty workload and compensation. As more and more schools utilized items governed by the credit hour, it became embedded in accreditation, financial aid, and institutional planning. Since the Association of Theological Schools is a membership organization, it was only a matter of time until the actions of the individual schools would be reflected in the various accreditation standards, which extends the credit hour’s influence far beyond its original purpose.
This does not mean the credit hour has no value. It continues to serve important functions within the broader ecosystem of higher education. But it does mean we should be more cautious about the authority we grant it. When a constructed unit is treated as an unquestioned standard, it begins to shape reality rather than simply describe it. This brings us back to the question of formation.
As I shared in a recent post, this series is an effort to expand upon some themes emerging within the Novare Center for Organizational Formation. Part of the project is to name those items that may have contributed to a “de-forming” of our organizational structures and cultures. Novare is an effort to “re-form” our organizations in ways that more closely align with a Kingdom mission and reflect Jesus’ Kingdom values.
If we are serious about cultivating fresh expressions of theological education, we must be willing to examine not only our practices, but also the assumptions that underlie them. That work is not merely technical, it is adaptive. It requires us to reconsider how we define learning, how we recognize growth, and how we structure shared life as an educational community. It also requires a different kind of trust.
Trust allows us to loosen our dependence on proxies that promise certainty but deliver estimates. Trust creates space for more integrated, contextually grounded ways of understanding formation; ways that cannot always be reduced to a number, but can be discerned through engagement, relationship, and transformation.
This is not an argument for abandoning structure. It is an invitation to hold our structures more lightly and more truthfully. The credit hour may continue to serve as a kind of currency within seminaries like Winebrenner. But it cannot carry the full weight of what theological education is meant to cultivate. And perhaps that is the point.
- Brent C. Sleasman, President