Here’s
a mix of silliness and profundity: Immanuel Kant and View-Masters are my
favorite analogies for education.
Kant
was the phenomenological philosopher of the 1700s. View-Masters are those
little thingies you hold up to your eyes and click through a wheel of slides to
see different images.
They
are related in my mind because Kant said we can’t help but see the world
through the “lenses of space and time” – they are irremovable goggles. His
(vastly oversimplified) model is of a single way to see the world. Contrast
that idea with a View-Master model – where that you can ‘flip’ through
different ways of seeing – that is my model of a good education. A poor
education leaves you like Kant – with a single way of seeing the world. A good
education allows you to change your view as you wish.
An
example of this central idea I guide students through, of different ways of
seeing, is the farmer’s market. The biologist walking down the street would
probably notice particular things: the displays of cultivated fruits and
vegetables, the trees lining the sidewalks, the invasive pigeons. An economist,
however, would be aware of a totally different market: the setting of prices,
the haggling, the effects of abundance and scarcity, the competition of the egg
vendors. Still again, the photographer while winding through the crowds is looking
at light, angles, potential subjects, and strong contrasts.
Each
experiences the farmer’s market in a different way. An education should,
ideally, allow one to flip through these ways of seeing at will. The educated
person should have the choice to walk through the market however they choose.
The
world has specialists – rare, talented, students with an outstanding gift in
dance or math, poetry or programming. The kids who can’t take off the
goggles of the scientist or the painter. We, as a society, all benefit from
those schools that nurture those unique gifts. For the rest of us mere mortals,
though, a well-rounded model is best. How come?
Some
argue education is to get you ready for the workforce, but this is not very
persuasive. With the current rate of change, a large number of students will
work in fields that don’t yet exist. The original education system was
developed in the industrial revolution – and the goal was, indeed, to ensure a
workforce that could handle the factory system. But, nowadays, as technologies
progress, every field has had to adapt. Whether you want to be a journalist or
a musician, the role of technology in just the past five years has radically
altered your world: so, can we really say education is to get job training?
Exploring
your passions is another reason for education, some say. There is some truth to
this – if your passion is part of school. Alas, as many of my middle school
students will lament, Fortnite and Karate are not part of the curriculum. If
your passion is basketball, American History, or writing stories, school is
great. But we are fooling ourselves if we think that schools cater to all passions.
We do our best, allowing students to explore their passions through clubs,
electives, and extra-curriculars – but must admit, due to limitations, that
school serves a different function.
No, the
best reason to develop well-rounded people, students who have the View-Master
of vision instead of the Kantian irremovable goggles, is because we all live in
this world together. We share a society, and are fortunate enough to have a say
in that society. When you go to the polling place, or to the gym, the coffee
hour at church, or the office party, we all do well to see the world through
the eyes of others. To be able to make decisions that are open-, rather than
narrow-, minded. To consider the effects of a policy, or a law, from all the
angles we are capable of. We educate, in short, so that our children see the
world through as many pairs of eyes, and “ways of seeing”, as possible. Armed
with this pluralism of vision, our students will be able to take on everything
the future holds, far better than if limited to a single viewpoint, or simple set
of skills.
* * *
When
living in Singapore I gave a repeated lecture, in different areas around the
island. The topic was on how to teach History – of interest to me, since I am a
History teacher. It opened, after pleasantries, with the following:
“History is unique in the
global curriculum. Most classes you take teach you how to do the subject they
profess – the subject in the title of the course. In a Science class you do
science. You complete lab work, write lab reports, formulate hypotheses: in a
word, scientific research. In literature courses you learn how to write
fiction, write criticisms, analyze texts, and gain some familiarity with the
classics.
“History
doesn't do this, and is unique for it. No professional historian sits around
memorizing facts. Not a one. The only poor souls who have to do that are history
teachers. In the US I teach World History. This is a course that covers
everything – everything worth knowing apparently – between Australopithecus and
the Renaissance. No joke.”
My
Singaporean audience was often startled and amused by this notion. The lecture
continued:
“Why is this useful?
“The predominant argument
comes from E.D. Hirsch, the main name behind cultural literacy. Basically, if
you and I share a cultural background, we can communicate through cultural
shorthand. An example: You are feeling guilty about treating someone badly. To
convey that I'm aware of your distress, I can look at you and say, in a certain
reproachful but leading tone, ‘Out, damned spot!’ If you know Macbeth it
makes sense. If you don't, it doesn't. We use this shorthand all the time: A
Faustian bargain, his Achilles heel. Of course, it's not just literary: movies,
comics, music: nearly all media is part of our shared cultural literacy.
“The problem is, since
cultures are geographically bound, so, too, are historical events part
of this literacy. If you live in America there are certain historical names,
events, and places of significance: the Alamo, Graceland, Gettysburg, Franklin,
the 49ers.
“This is what history classes
teach, the world over. Only, now that the world is globalized, it has become
necessary to not only know your own stuff, but everyone else's, as well. Now
that I'm in Singapore what do I teach? The Cold War. Because they need to know
about McCarthyism, Stalin, and the Brandenburg Gate. That's not fatuous – they
really do need to know.”
At this point in the lecture
I gave a quick history of History (how meta!) which is, perhaps surprisingly, a
very young field of study. You could get a University degree in North Africa in
theology in the 900s, or a medical degree in Italy by 1300. Oxford’s been
handing out law degrees for a millennium. But American schools didn’t recognize
History majors until the Civil War era.
So, what do these
Historians do, if not sit around memorizing facts? From the lecture:
“On my American syllabus – it
doesn't matter for which course – I begin with a simple statement: ‘History is
about questions, not facts.’ Facts help us answer questions, but the same facts
can be manipulated to serve opposing interests. (Entering WWI all the countries
had the same facts, but each came up with histories, influenced by Nationalism,
that ‘proved’ that they were the superior country.)
“What instead of memorizing
facts, should historians do? Historians, professionally, try and answer questions
about the past. They need facts to do this, of course, but it is the questions
that motivate them, and drive their work. But how often do we let students
devise their own history questions?
“If we were to get students
together in a room and say: ‘This is a class on The Cold War. Each of you
brainstorm your individual research projects, and I'll discuss them with you.
In three weeks expect to present what you've written.’ Now we've gained what
historians actually do, and if history is to be taught like other classes, this
is what it would have to look like. But the flip side is we've lost what the
classes currently provide: cultural literacy. Do we want students
walking around who don't know what Gettysburg or 1776 is? No.”
The lecture’s conclusion was
that the most radical approach was to teach History would be neither as
cultural literacy, nor mirroring the professional actions of historians:
“Maybe research
methodology isn't the ideal classroom. I propose that history isn't
about questions, but is instead, not a discipline at all. It could be
that history is a mental tool, like logic or scientific method. Merely a tool
for making sense of things. You can apply history to anything, just as you
could apply logic or scientific experimentation: some things it will work well
on, others it won't. It won't work on everything: just as a wrench won't help
when you need a screwdriver. When applied to the proper field, it can lend new
insight. Art history is an example – by studying pieces of art, in sequence, we
can reach a new understanding on what art is.
“Maybe, then, we can just teach this historical mindset.
Maybe, like logic, we can teach how historians see and make sense of the world,
and have students then apply history to different subjects, such as math,
literature, and science. But maybe that’s more of a dream, I suppose, than a
move to teach historical research methods.”
A few final pleasantries and recap, and the TED-talk-style
lecture was over.
