Mikey D

During my undergrad years I was told I needed to develop an "Educational Philosophy" (or 'Teaching Philosophy'), which is basically how it sounds: my own set of principles of education.

I always thought it was the most awful of things I've had to sit down and write. How do you go about defining a philosophy on something that should not be determined by you in the first place? I mean, if every educator, from your kindergarten teacher to your ancient college professor, had their own educational philosophy, nobody would be on the same page! Educational standards and expectations would be all over the place!

So I did what I usually did in college. I bullshitted. I think it sounds good.

I am starting my graduate work this coming fall, and I have begun reading a book by Howard Gardner called "The Disciplined Mind". Gardner is highly respected in the education field, and I read a couple of his books awhile back. Today, while reading, I found myself liking Gardner a little bit more.

I'm sure I'm going to be breaking all sorts of copyright laws here, but I wanted to share this part, as it struck a chord with me:

"At conferences, I try to avoid unpleasant exchanges. But the speaker- a prominent neuroscientist- had managed to raise my hackles. In front of an audience of influential policymakers, he had made a bald assertion: "This is the decade of the brain. We are going to know what every region of the brain does and how the various parts of the brain work together. And once we have attained that knowledge, we will know exactly how to educate every person."

Extreme statements beget extreme responses. Standing up in the audience at the conclusion of the talk, I retorted, "I disagree totally. We could know what every neuron does and we would not be one step closer to knowing how to educate our children."

After the session, I engaged the speaker in discussion. I began by asking for an example for what he had been claiming. He immediately cited the teaching of language: "We know now that children easily absorb patterns, and particularly the patterns of language, when they are young. Therefore we should be teaching foreign languages to children during the early years of life."

"I am not convinced," I replied. "In the first place, everyone (and everyone's grandmother) has always known that young children pick up languages- and particularly accents- with ease. We did not need brain study to tell us that. Second, some research suggests that the military knows how to teach languages far more effectively than do parents and grandparents."

I went on: "But that is not my principal point. I'm arguing that decision about what to teach, when to teach, and even how to teach entail value judgments. Such decisions can never be dictated by knowledge of the brain. After all, if children learn patterns well when they are young, that constitutes equal reason for teaching them math, music, chess, biology, morality, civility, and a hundred other things. Why should foreign languages get priority? You can never go directly from knowledge about brain function to what to do in first grade on Monday morning. And the decisions one makes about teaching languages might well differ, and properly so, depending on whether you live in Switzerland, Singapore, Iceland, or Ireland."

And so our discussion terminated. I don't think I convinced the speaker, and I admit, in retrospect, that I overstated my case. I find brain study- and its first cousin, "mind study"- fascinating; I would be the last person to question their importance for society as a whole, and for those of us interested in the education of future generations. But my central point stands. Education is too important to be left to the classroom teacher, the school board, the central ministry, the neuroscientific community, or any other single person or group. Decisions about education are, in the final analysis, decisions about goals and values; those are properly made by the larger, informed community and not by any privileged sector, even one fortunate enough to be unraveling some of the mysteries of the human mind."

***

There was a reason my educational philosophy assignment was awful: it was unfair to ask me to make a decision on what goals and values I would instill. Do I have an opinion? Sure. But it's not my opinion, or the opinions that a few of my colleagues and I might share together, that should define a philosophy on education...I could spend a few pages writing on this, but I'll just end it with, what I think, is a fitting analogy: It'd be like choosing the flavor of a cake for a party of a million people without first asking/surveying the group on their preference. I may think they want carrot cake, but if they end up wanting chocolate...then what?

It's a bad party.

~Mikey D