by Marion Brady
Published in "Transecence" Vol. XIX, 1
continued . . .
Other assignments can explore the dynamics of change: Alternative shapes,
sizes, locations and furnishings for the school and for classrooms can be
imagined and the possible consequences of each traced. Hypotheses can be
generated about the probable and possible consequences of various
technologies, of, say, tying together by computer or fax every desk, home,
library, school, religious institution, business and social service
agency. New tools for transport or for communicating can be invented and
their potential impacts on the school's physical form, demographics,
student patterns of action and perceptions of reality can be considered.
Mind-stretching work like this requires no textbook, no equipment, no
larger budget. What is required is a reasonably self-confident teacher and
a willingness to experiment. The first such effort might last only a few
days, but the teacher who keeps at it will eventually discover that just
about every major aspect of human experience manifests itself in some form
in the school, where it can be dealt with first hand. It will become
apparent that the here-and-now is a textbook far richer, far more
powerful, more relevant, real, useful and intellectually stimulating than
anything a publisher can produce. (This is not to say that formal
instructional materials would not be of great value. Schools could develop
their own situation-specific reference materials that succeeding
generations of students would find useful.)
That reality itself is appropriate for study is, of course, not a new
idea. Eighty years ago, Alfred North Whitehead observed that "the second
handedness of the learned world is the secret of its mediocrity." John
Dewey had much to say about learning by doing. The whole of the inquiry
movement was a recognition of the teaching power of direct experience.
Most of us recognize that the really complicated things we know we learned
through active involvement.
Thoughtful educators, research and common sense testify to the power of
"hands on" experience. Nevertheless, traditionalists will almost certainly
find much to criticize in what it being proposed. Some will consider it
trivial. How, they will ask, can such a focus of study so mundane be
justified? Steeped in tradition and textbooks, it will be difficult for
many to accept that the present moment is significant, that the
here-and-now is, in fact, what life is all about. And the subject matter
is real, with all the attendant implications for relevancy and student
interest. Finally, to study with thoroughness and precision some small
manifestation of reality is not to ignore the wider world. The student who
studies immediate experience is creating a comprehensive conceptual
structure--a model of reality--that allows events and conditions in the
larger, parallel world of work, of neighborhood and of nation to be
systematized and thereby better understood.
Still other, probably more determined critics will maintain that what is
being advocated lacks balance, that it is weighted toward certain
disciplines to the neglect of others. They should note, first, that what I
am describing is a general education core, not the whole of the
curriculum. Such a core would leave ample time for specialized study of
the traditional disciplines. They should also recognize that life itself
is not "balanced," is not equally concerned with the subjects we happen to
have chosen to require students to study. The traditional "equal time"
curriculum has helped to create a citizenry of specialists who are often
unable to see the larger picture, unable to discern the trends of the era,
unable to grasp the relationship of their lives or their work to the whole
of human experience, unable to explore significant moral and ethical
issues their specialties raise, unable to maintain a balance between
personal benefit and civic responsibility. We should be seeking balanced
people, not an arbitrary, artificial balance of subjects in the
curriculum.
A few critics will have no philosophical objections to what I am
suggesting for a curriculum--may even find my proposal intriguing--but
will be convinced that it cannot work because school hallways, classrooms,
cafeterias and playing fields do not provide sufficient depth of
experience for continuous intensive and worthwhile study. Those who object
on those grounds are not in touch with the complexity of everyday life.
They should give thought to the old saying, "A fish would be the last to
discover water." Every school is filled with endless opportunities for
studies in science, mathematics, geography, and every other discipline, at
whatever level of complexity is desired.
A conceptual model of reality relates all academic disciplines, identifies
vast and important areas of study not now part of the curriculum, and
provides criteria for selecting, organizing and integrating the content of
general education. Perhaps its greatest value, however, lies in its
capacity to create new knowledge. The basic process by means of which
knowledge is generated is through the exploration of relationships. A
formal conceptual model of reality provides comprehensive banks of
concepts which are potentially relatable. It is necessary only to
juxtapose two or more concepts and speculate about the nature of their
intersection.
Is what I am advocating controversial? Who will argue that we should not
study our perceptions of reality? That such models should remain
unconscious and unexamined? That studying reality requires no model? That
such a model should be random rather than organized and systematized? That
a single model is more complicated than the collected, unintegratable
models of the various disciplines? One could perhaps argue that the idea,
although utterly simple, is too unorthodox to implement. But how much
sense does it make to adhere to something that is not working simply
because it is familiar?
Broad interest in the content of the curriculum is just now emerging. Loud
voices are insisting that the solution to curriculum problems is simply to
teach the traditional academic disciplines in disciplined ways. Other
voices call for the curriculum to support this or that political agenda,
help in the cure of various social ills, or focus on the distinctive needs
of individual students. Some think the important curriculum issues have to
do with race or sex, with course distribution requirements, with the mix
between classical and contemporary or between process and content.
Of all prescriptions for what ails the curriculum, those most appealing in
eras of uncertainty are those that push "cultural literacy," those that
demand that the young know what the elders know. It is, of course,
essential that every society have a language of allusion, else it cannot
function. To stop at that however, to base a curriculum merely on what the
"educated" know, is suicidal. The static nature of such a curriculum would
make its implementation relatively easy, but while we settled back to
enjoy comfortable communication with our clones, the sociocultural systems
within which we must function would become increasingly mysterious,
propelled by the dynamics of social change. Eventually, our good
conversation would become quaint. Nothing more.
It is not what the educated know, but what the educated ought to know that
should structure the curriculum. As any good conceptual model of reality
will demonstrate, there is a great deal of difference.
Note: If I were writing this today, I'd put more emphasis on the ease of
the transition from its "micro-scale" phenomena to the study of any
reality, large or small, at any point in time or space.
Marion Brady
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