Principally Yours

I recently stumbled upon a videotaped presentation (a TEDtalk ) by Benjamin Zander, the conductor of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra, on the subject of classical music.  I admit, I found it on Youtube, that treasure trove of many things trivial and a few profound.  This video fits into the latter category.  I was particularly taken by Zander’s opening story of the two early twentieth-century shoe salesmen who ventured forth to the continent of Africa in hopes of expanding shoe sales.  After the first day the salesman each wrote a telegram back to the head office in England.  The first wrote, “Situation hopeless.  Stop.  They don’t wear shoes.”  The second wrote, “Glorious opportunity.  They don’t have any shoes yet.”  Zander goes on to observe that classical music is enjoyed by a very small minority of people on the planet.  And then, like an evangelist, he goes on to convince everyone in the audience that classical music is the most wonderful thing in the world.  One theatre audience down, billions of people to go – what an opportunity!

All of this brought to my mind a traditional theory of education that I learned at the Faculty of Education, so many years ago; namely, that students are but barbarians at the gates of civilization, and that it is our job as zealous educators to bring each one of them safely across the threshold (see, for example, “Education as Initiation” by R.S. Peters, at  page 55)  Although this theory is decidedly out of fashion, I think that it is worth our reconsideration, for there is an essential quality in good education that is captured by Zander’s attitude to classical music – a deep conviction that what we have to impart to the students is so incredibly valuable that it would be nothing short of tragic to have our students remain outside the gates.

Surprisingly little in educational discussions is devoted to the importance of what we teach our students.   If fact, we don’t even talk so much about teaching anymore; it’s all about learning.  Differentiated learning focuses on the learner.  The teacher responds to the interests, preparedness and learning style of the learner.  We talk about the teacher as a facilitator of learning.  With the advent of the internet, a laptop in front of practically every private school student, and the rise of electronic distance learning courses, one might begin to wonder what role the teacher has to play.  But if the teacher is fading into the background of educational issues, how much more so is the value of what is learned.

At the high school level the question of what is essential knowledge and skills has become increasingly difficult to discern.  A student graduating from an Ontario high school need only study a single course in each of physical education, French, the Arts, history and geography, and two courses in Science, most of which will be completed by the end of grade 9.  And our inability to identify essential knowledge and skills is only compounded when one moves to post-secondary learning.   At University, the number of faculties has grown exponentially, with both the increasing specialization within the arts and sciences and the development of interdisciplinary studies.  Within applied sciences and technological studies the sheer number and rate of change of areas of study is beyond the capacity of most guidance counselors to keep pace.  Long gone are the days when learned people all knew and valued the same things.

Long gone, too, are days when learned people could have some hope of keeping up with the world’s store of knowledge. As one famous Youtube production proclaims ” It is estimated that a week’s worth of the New York Times contains more information than a person was likely to come across in a lifetime in the eighteenth century.”   When faced with such a daunting prospect, we are immediately overwhelmed.  How will we keep pace?  How will we remember it all?  How will we access the information when we need it?  And the number one problem – which facts really matter?

It is the question of value that plagues the developed world in the 21^st century.   Over the past two centuries, advancing democracy and the freedoms that go with it have opened wide the floodgates of values and their expression.  Whereas at one time a single religion and culture gave clear direction as to what was worth knowing, human migrations on a world-wide scale have diversified the range of legitimate religious and cultural expression witnessed in our daily lives.  Capitalism has guided and misguided our tastes and values, such that we find it difficult to determine what it is that we really need or want.  Overshadowing all is the blanket of relativism, a way of thinking that colours every judgement, forever raising the question, can I claim anything more than a subjective preference for this over that?  And of course, fueling it all has been the rise of the computer and the internet, putting all of these views, facts, sounds, and images within our daily reach, diluting all sense of authoritative value.

Is it any wonder, then, that education would not easily be conceived today as the process of introducing barbarian children to a neatly laid out city on the hill, a celestial kingdom of ruling concepts, a holy grail of eternal knowledge.  How could educators claim to have the truth?  And yet, I wonder if we will ever solve one of the essential problems of education so long as we are ambivalent about the value of what it is we teach.  How will students be motivated to learn if we don’t believe that what we have to teach is of supreme value?  Whatever problems we might have in deciding what needs to be taught, a teenager has no difficulty deciding between finishing a game in which he has the prospect of taking over a virtual world and finishing the math homework that his teacher assigned from the Ministry-approved textbook.

Despite all of the forces that might lead us to give over learning to the students, and release us from the responsibility of determining what is truly valuable to learn, I believe that educators must continually address the question of value, and that the question must be approached with openness and not defensiveness.  It is not good enough to say, “I am teaching you this because the government curriculum requires that I teach it to you, or because it is on the final IB exam.”  Nor is it good enough to rely upon our own ancient history of learning – “I learned this in school, and so should you.”  Rather, as educators, we must see our task as finding and articulating the best rationale for teaching this material to these students right now.

How can we equip our teachers to grapple with these important problems of value?  First, as administrators, I think that we have to make it our business to ask questions of value, and to require teachers to give reasons of substance.  If we don’t ask it first, the teacher will have to deal with the many students who will ask it, each and every day, silently and aloud.   I am convinced that a deep learning community will thrive in an environment of respectful and intentional questioning.  We have to model that.

Secondly, I think we have to help teachers find time and opportunities to engage in the activities that will prompt significant questions and help shape profoundly felt answers.  We put a great deal of emphasis in our schools on the learning experience of the student.  We should never forget that our teachers must also be exposed to rich learning experiences.  Fortunately, it is frequently the case that when teachers collaborate with one another in producing a deep learning experience for their students, they also come out with a deeper appreciation of the value of the subject matter that they are introducing to their students.  Again, it is the role of questioning that brings value and meaning to the surface in these collaborations.  More often than not, there is no consensus on meaning when teachers first come together to plan a lesson.  This is particularly true when teachers come from different cultural backgrounds, or when teachers work on interdisciplinary projects.  It is in the clash of different world views that deeper meanings can be revealed.

It is also fortunate that deep learning experiences for our students can result in deep learning experiences for their teachers.  Teachers who take risks and push students beyond the edge of the known academic box will be pulled along themselves.  Thus, we must encourage our teachers to take risks with their students’ learning, and to support those teachers who take those risks.  I was recently “pulled along” as I joined a group of twelve students and two language teachers who had decided to spend part of their March break on the French-speaking island of Martinique.  I had spoken very little French since I left my grade 13 French class, more than thirty years earlier, and so boarded the plane with some slight trepidation.  I knew that this would be a good learning experience for the students, but I really had no idea what it might mean for me.  From the moment we were greeted by our tour guide at the Martinique airport with the characteristic kiss on each cheek, I knew that my North American view of what is valuable would have to undergo some degree of revision.  As I stumbled through umpteen different verb conjugations, each one bringing me a bit closer to the Martinique people, I soon came to have a greater appreciation of the value of what my Modern Language teachers were doing for our students.  Suddenly I saw language teachers as bridge makers, and language as the key to the human heart.  Even for me, the gates were being opened, and a glimmer of golden treasures was being revealed.

Thus, we must give our teachers the scope not only to find the reasons that led them to love their subjects in the first place but to discover new reasons for drawing our students through the gates.  It may be a journey shared with colleagues who hold a similar interest, or those who have a similar vision of educational goals.  Or it may be a dynamic that evolves between teachers who are excited to break new ground and students who are game to follow.  In a rich environment of significant questioning and risk-taking, it is my hope that our teachers will come closer to discerning what is valuable about what they teach, and inspire them to continue to open the gates wide and treat each student as a “glorious opportunity” to be brought inside.

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