Halloween Eve

Despite the promises I made to post on a regular basis, it's been quite some time since I've updated my blog. I have developed a tremendous sense of respect for those of you who find the time to write (and publish) on a regular basis. To date, I haven't been ableto muster the discipline needed to do so.

Another Halloween has come, the third since I entered graduate school. Despite the fact that my workload has gradually precluded my ability to enjoy "free time", my wife and I managed to celebrate many of the traditions we've acquired over the past few years. Following an incredible dinner of beer-glazed bratwurst, salt potatoes (an upstate New York delicacy), and two or three Black and Tans, we settled in to watch our usual array of movies, not the least of which were It's the Great Pumpkin Charlie Brown and The Legend of Sleepy Hollow. All in all, it was a great evening, one that left me feeling prepared to resume my work schedule.

Reflections on The Da Vinci Code

Over the past weekend my wife and I saw The Da Vinci Code, a film we’ve looked forward to for quite some time. Though flawed in some respects, I enjoyed it immensely. Movies seldom do justice to the books that inspire them, but this was not the case in this particular instance. In fact, our local newspaper, The Columbus Dispatch, chastised the film’s director and screen-writer for genuflecting “before the altar of incredible sales figures (a reported 60 million hardcover copies) and [treating] the material with grim sanctimony and undue awe.” I can’t help but wonder whether Mel Gibson was criticized for similar reasons when he released The Passion of the Christ two years ealier. Then again, given the nature of the current political climate, I don't suppose any film that suggests Jesus was married to Mary Magdalene, let alone that he fathered a child with her, can expect to escape criticism. In light of this fact, I would attribute the film's lackluster reviews to its contraversial subject matter, rather than its artistic merits.

If nothing else, the furor surrounding the film (and Dan Brown's novel) serves to underscore the power of ideas, and the fear they can invoke. Various religious groups have been busy hosting lectures intended to highlight the "historical" inaccuracies in Brown's work. At one such conference, hosted in Manhatten, Craig Smith, founder and president of Shepherd Project Ministries, encouraged his audience to arm themselves with the truth. "'Know the Truth,' Smith told the hundreds of attendants who used the Bible as their only reference throughout the conference. 'If you know the Truth, when you read The Da Vinci Code, you're not going to be swept off the path of righteousness.'" In a story posted on MSNBC, Bryan Fischer, who spoke on behalf of the Idaho Values Alliance, suggested that the film was "a collection of absolutely absurd fabrications," and noted that his group intended to take a "proactive approach to connect with movie-goers before they're 'exposed to the virus of errors' in the film."

Lost in all of this, of course, is the fact that Brown's book is a work of fiction. Then again, this isn't likely to matter in an ideological contest. Whether or not the events depicted in The Da Vinci Code are accurate is of little concern to fundamentalists. What does matter is their fear that people, if left to think for themselves, will recognize them as such. In the end, this is the danger to be guarded against.

A Long Awaited Rest

Prior to starting classes this year I made two resolutions. First, I promised to not let graduate school completely consume my life. This was short lived. Second, I promised to exercise on a regular basis in an effort to preserve some semblance of sanity. For most of the year I found time to get to the gym, and ran on a consistent basis. Halfway through the third quarter, however, my schedule fell apart, and opportunities to visit the gym were few and far between. Having finished classes, I was looking forward to spending the weekend outdoors running and hiking. Unfortunately, it rained for most of the weekend, which, for the most part, kept me housebound. In the end this turned out to be a blessing in disguise. I knew that this past quarter had taken its toll on me, but I'm not not sure I realized the extent to which this was the case. Though I've been exhausted for the past two days, I haven't been able to slow down. I suspect it’s going to be quite some time before I’m able to do so. On Saturday afternoon my wife and I took in a movie (a rarity for us), then spent the evening at home talking and watching mindless television (even rarer). It was great to spend time with her and not feel guilty for doing so. I’m looking forward to more of the same in the weeks to come.

Teacher Man

For Frank McCourt, the Pulitzer-Prize winning author of Angela's Ashes, writing serves as a vehicle through which the past can be examined. This is the case in Teacher Man, a memoir that examines the author's experiences as a high school English teacher in New York City's public school system. In many ways the book is not unlike other accounts written about teaching. The author complains about school administrators, and depicts a bureaucratic system that treats students like products as opposed to people. What makes Teacher Man unique, however, is McCourt's objective. Throughout the text he reflects on the extent to which his identity as a teacher was embedded in his lived experiences. "I had to find my own way of being a man and a teacher," McCourt writes, "and that is what I struggled with for thirty years in and out of the classrooms of New York City" (p. 20).

In Teacher Man McCourt recalls his long and arduous journey through teaching. As a novice in the classroom he questions his ability to do the job, and worries that he is cheating students out of the education they would have received if they had worked with a more "qualified" teacher. That McCourt’s pedagogical practices are unconventional is certain. In addition to other things, he asks the students to compose "excuse notes" for famous figures (i.e., Adam and Eve, Judas, Al Capone), perform literary readings of recipes, and debate the aesthetics of fairy tales and nursery rhymes. Most significantly, he tells stories. "It was clear," he confesses, "I was not cut out to be the purposeful kind of teacher who brushed aside all questions, requests, complaints, to get on with the well-planned lesson. That would have reminded me of that school in Limerick where the lesson was king and we were nothing. I was already dreaming of a school where teachers were guides and mentors, not taskmasters" (p. 24).

The stories McCourt shares in Teacher Man are designed to provide the reader with a glimpse into both his classroom and his past. The tales die-hard fans have come to love are all here; the cruelties the author suffered at the hands of schoolmasters; the nagging sense of self-doubt he experienced as a result of his Catholic upbringing. By sharing his stories with his students McCourt forges a unique relationship with them. At the very least, they are always eager to hear more. "Hey, teacher man," they shout, "you got any more stories?" (p. 38). To their delight, his reserve is endless.

In addition to entertainging students, McCourt's stories serve as a vehicle that allows him to reflect on his life. This is one of the work's strengths, for in laying bare his past he shows himself to be a person with dreams and aspirations, many of which lay beyond the classroom. "I wanted to be something adult and significant," he explains," going to meetings, dictating to my secretary, sitting with glamorous people at long mahogany boardroom tables, flying to conventions, unwinding in trendy bars, sliding into bed with luscious women, entertaining them before and after with witty pillow talk, commuting to Connecticut" (p. 184). What he gets instead is a career in the classroom, one he is never wholly able to leave. His peers often caution him to avoide sharing personal stories with students. "They're kids," they tell him. "You're the teacher. You have a right to privacy... You can never get back the bits and pieces of your life that stick in their little heads. Your life, man. Tell 'em nothing" (p. 20). One is left to wonder whether this possible in a profession that depends on share relationships between students and teachers.

Returning to My Post(s)

It’s been a while since I last published a post, primarily because I’ve been buried in work for the past three weeks. One would think that after having spent two years in graduate school I’d be accustomed to the whirlwind that is the end of the academic year. Unfortunately, that’s not the case. After several late nights, one or two tankards of coffee, and a few frantic prayers, I managed to stumble across the finish line upright and in tact. As of four o’clock yesterday afternoon I submitted my last course paper, and in doing so brought to an end to what has been the most demanding quarter to date. I now look forward to a reprieve…well, sort of.

Having grown disenchanted with the headaches of renting, my wife and I finally decided to purchase a home. Now that classes are over I’ll be helping her box up our books (no small feat) and other belongings in preparation for the big move. I’m hoping to sustain the momentum I’ve built up this quarter and complete the move as quickly and efficiently as possible. This is my third move in two years, and I’m not thrilled at the prospect of having to move boxes around in the heat. Since my wife is working, much of the burden for moving falls on my shoulders. Still, this is a small price to pay for the chance to settle into my own home once again. No more suffering through cold winters in a drafty old house. No more wrestling with a landlord to have things fixed. Best of all, no more handing over my monthly living stipend to someone else.

Following the move I start work on a research project, which constitutes my summer job. Since I’ll be coding I get to work at home (my own home), which will be nice. Outside of that my goal is to spend the summer writing as much as I can. One of the paradoxes of graduate life is that you’re pressured to publish articles you don’t have time to write. I’ve accepted the fact that so long as I am observing pre-service teachers, teaching classes at the university, taking a full course load, and trying to maintain a healthy relationship with my wife, I won't be writing articles. At the same time, however, I've seen considerable development in my writing simply because I've been writing so much as of late. Since I don't want to slip backwards I’ve decided to create a schedule for the summer and approach my writing as if it's a second job (which, in a way, it is). This should keep me productive and allow me to get some of my own work done for a change. My other goal for summer is to blog on a daily basis. Though I began blogging because it was a requirement for a class I took, I've actually come to enjoy it. If nothing else, it's a welcome relief from the writing I have to do for school.

Random Musings on the Situated Learning Wars

To some extent the conflict between cognitive constructivists and situated learning theorists resembles the long-standing feud between proponents of traditional instruction and child-centered pedagogy. Like the latter group, situated theorists have been accused of supplanting the curriculum in favor of accomodating students’ interests. Anderson et al. (1996), for example, felt that situated theorists’ arguments reflected an “implied or expressed claim that school knowledge is not legitimate” (p. 6). They also worried that, when taken to an extreme, such arguments would threaten “the legitimacy of school-based instruction” (p. 8). Having identified commonalities between the two camps’ thinking, they wrote (as if in relief), “We no longer have to contemplate abandoning the classroom” (p. 18). Why would cognitive constructivists want to preserve the shape of formal schooling? At the risk of exposing myself to criticism, I believe they are partly driven by a desire to defend their own vested interests.

According to Greeno (1997), the instructional practices valued in schools are the progeny of cognitive theorists, a fact he attributed to cognitivism’s triumph over behaviorism in an earlier paradigm war (p.15). Far from neutral, Greeno’s article was imbued with a spirit of educational reform. Using language that mirrored the rhetoric espoused by child-centered reformers in the early twentieth century, he suggested that “the important question [was] how to make school learning more beneficial beyond the classroom, providing students with general resources for reasoning both in and with the concepts of subject-matter domains” (p. 14). Given that cognitive theories inform current instructional practices, one might assume any attempt to promote reform would be met with resistance. To some extent Sfard (1998) shared this belief. Pointing to the power of tradition, she wrote, “Whichever of the two interpretations is chosen, what used to be called ‘subject matter’ may change so dramatically that some people would begin wondering whether the things we would then be teaching could still be called science or mathematics” (p. 10). Given her suggestion that knowledge consitutes a form of capital, her observation is of no small consequence. In fairness, Anderson et al. (2000) wrote, “As researchers, we neither endorse the view that all currently prevalent practices should be maintained nor that sweeping (or even moderate) changes in school instruction should be adopted” (p. 13). Nevertheless, I felt the strength of their position was tempered considerably by the inclusion of the latter caveat.

In addition to arguing about the shape formal schooling ought to assume, the two factions are at odds over what does (and does not) constitute “scientific” research. At the conclusion of their article Anderson et al. (1996) wrote, “In the absence of disavowal from the cognitive science community, misguided practices can have the appearance of a basis in scientific research” (p. 10, emphasis added). I understood this to be an attack on the qualitative practices employed by situated theorists. Responding to this challenge, Greeno noted that situated theorists employ the research “methods and conceptual frameworks of ethnography, ethno-methodology, discourse analysis, symbolic interactionism, and sociocultural psychology” (p. 7). In their follow-up article, Anderson et al. (1997) suggested social cognition was best understood “through serious attention to what goes on in the human mind, and not simply through external observation of social interaction” (p. 20, emphasis added). Again, these exchanges seemed to suggest that there is more at stake in the learning wars than questions of learning. They constitute a battle for the supremacy of epistemological and ontological beliefs as well. Like Sfard (1998), I view these theories as different tools that can be applied to learning-related problems. Neither theory is superior to the other. In the end, they represents different ways of understanding learning.

Anderson, J. R., Reder, L. M., & Simon, H. A. (1996). Situated learning and education. Educational Researcher, 25, 5-11.

Anderson, J. R., Reder, L. M., & Simon, H. A. (1997). Rejoinder: Situative versus cognitive
perspectives: Form versus substance. Educational Researcher, 26, 18-21.

Anderson, J. R., Greeno, J. G., Reder, L. M., & Simon, H. A. (2000). Perspectives on learning,
thinking, and activity. Educational Researcher, 29, 11-13.

Greeno, J. G. (1997). Response: On claims that answer the wrong question. Educational
Researcher, 26, 5-17.

Sfard, A. (1998). On two metaphors for learning and the dangers of choosing just one.
Educational Researcher, 7(22), 4-13.

A Democratic Education

In the opening chapters of Democracy and Education, John Dewey depicted education as a process through which societies bequeathed their practices, beliefs, and tools to their young. This allowed them to preserve their practices across time and space, and also assured that successive generations were not required to continually reinvent the past. Consequently, it was possible for progress to occur. It is significant to note that Dewey viewed education as a naturally occurring phenomenon. In his opinion, learning resembled an apprenticeship process of sorts. Children learned by observing adults, and by working alongside them in daily undertakings, whether at home or in the community. As the body of knowledge needed to sustain a society grew in size and scope, it became necessary to adopt new methods to pass on culturally relevant information to the young. For Dewey, formal schooling represented one such approach, albeit a less effective one.

A recurring theme in the book suggested that formal schooling represented an artificial means of learning. In Dewey’s opinion, schools viewed education as an end in itself, rather than as a means to an end. As a result, they mistook learning for the acquisition of knowledge, rather than the mastery of practices. Consequently, they sought to impart information to students using transmission processes. Seldom were students given the opportunity to interact with information in a manner that allowed them to appreciate its cognitive and emotional dimensions. As a result, Dewey felt they remained unprepared to carry the habits they formed in school with them to other contexts and problems.

In order to address formal schooling’s shortcomings, Dewey examined education as it occurred in more natural settings. He argued, for example, that efforts to achieve social control via the application of external forces and constraints were likely to prove ineffective. Instead, he felt control was best achieved when students entered into learning communities. Membership in such communities entailed a commitment to work toward mutually agreed upon ends, and a willingness to regulate one’s activities. It also necessitated a willingness to recognize other’s right to exercise their strengths and talents. For Dewey, relationships of this sort fostered a more robust form of moral development than was possible under more traditional models that sought to impose external restraints.

By aligning education with personal growth, Dewey portrayed learning as a life-long process, rather than a clearly defined end. In doing so, he dispelled the myth that suggested children were empty vessels into which knowledge was poured. Like adults, children possessed a wealth of experiences and interests. In spite of the allegations leveled against him by critics, he did not encourage adults to indulge the whims of children. To the contrary, he felt doing so would arrest their development, and reinforce habits that were socially undesirable. Instead, he encouraged teachers to use children’s interests to introduce them to the cultural tools and practices that would allow them to participate as functioning members of society.

For Dewey, education, learning, and personal growth were the results of individuals’ relationships with society. This view of education was significant in that it eschewed the idea that learning was an individual accomplishment. Whereas schools sought to mold students to socially prescribed norms, Dewey encouraged them to equip pupils with the tools they needed to reinvent society. He stressed the importance of fostering interpersonal relationships, and highlighted the destructive nature that accompanied illusory beliefs in one’s independence. As a result, it was possible to recognize his vision regarding the role schools ought to play in a democratic society. In Dewey’s opinion, schools were to foster learning communities that allowed students to apply their talents to mutually agreed upon ends. By dedicating themselves to a common good, students constructed moral codes that fostered self-control, the result of which diminished the need for external restraints, and prepared them to participate as members of a democratic society.