Who told you you were smart?

If you are interested in education at any level, in any way, you should read John Taylor Gatto's The Seven Lesson Schoolteacher.

I've been saying this for years now, practically since before I was interested in education myself. Few (if any?) people have taken my advice, and based on their expressions I don't want to know what the education majors were thinking after they had read it. Education majors don't particularly like me; I should probably look into that. In this case, however, it's understandable - as a high school teacher in New York City, Mr. Gatto had some pretty hard things to say about public education. Speaking in an exceptionally sardonic tone, he claims that America has a national curriculum that does not educate, but rather schools children into bad habits that "produce physical, moral, and intellectual paralysis."

We use The Seven Lesson Schoolteacher in a course required for student ministry majors called "Contemporary Adolescent Culture." The course itself seeks to provide insight into and discussion of the experience of adolescents in America that is most notably influenced by family, mass media and public education. In an interesting twist, most of the students enrolled are freshmen and therefore land squarely in the category of "adolescent," although many of them fail to make this connection. I, as a grad assistant and sometimes instructor, have the opportunity to watch those who have made the connection engage this article as a sort of deconstruction of their understanding of what can be learned, and how, and whether intelligence is really a 'thing.'

This last question is usually of great concern; if there is more to the merit equation than innate intelligence and effort, not only might these students realize a realm of social injustice they had never considered before, but they often lose faith in the identity given to them by their high schools. Why are they the ones who made it to college? and, is it possible that they're not actually 'smart'?

To be completely honest, if all my students left the classroom that day asking those two questions and earnestly following the answers they find, I would consider the class a success. In fact, the attitude of humility they inspire might be considered a win for liberal arts as a whole and we could graduate them then and there. In contrast, the more traditional response of students has been disbelief and anger. As they attempt to invalidate Gatto's 'lessons' they often unwittingly reveal how very well schooled they are. Here are a few examples:

"It's not 'confusion,' there are just some things that aren't connected at all! Like math and art." (Oh, yes, DaVinci would be proud...)

"But what would kids do if they didn't have homework?!" (Spend time with their parents? Build a better mousetrap? Be kids? Unfortunately, we may never know)

"Will we have to know this for a paper or exam?" (personal favorite of mine)

Every year a particular 'lesson' seems to rub a particular group of students the wrong way. This year it was Class Position - the one where students are placed in a certain class and taught to stay there. Despite well-sounding exhortations "to higher levels of test success, hinting at eventual transfer from the lower class as a reward," "if I do my job well, the kids can't even imagine themselves somewhere else, because I've shown them how to envy and fear the better classes and how to have contempt for the dumb classes." This year I listened to an extensive explanation from a student that no one had ever told him/her that they were smart, it just was that way; and certainly no one just decided that other people weren't smart, they just, you know, weren't. But they weren't treated any differently.

I was homeschooled K-12 and I am aware of some of the pitfalls of that education, but the more I hear about the way education works in this country the more concerned I become. Two minutes later, while illustrating another argument, the same student explained, "Our school was doing construction for a while and they got a trailer to use for a classroom. There was one group of students in a regular class that had to walk out to the trailer every day... they didn't want to make our honors class move out there." I kid you not. And I ask again, When did they start telling you you were smart? Because I'll bet it was before the 'regular class' was moved to the trailer and you weren't.

Teaching and Shalom

As a student of Higher Education, I spend a portion of every day (including Sundays) immersed in literature, in new and old perspectives of what education could be, should be, how it is and might be done, and every now and again I get to meet some of the people who make these things happen. I am always daunted at the prospect of blogging any of my thoughts; first, because I cannot be sure that my audience is familiar with the material, and second, because I might be wrong. (I know, it would be absolutely tragic to put a potentially incorrect statement on the internet - who does that?)

In our most recent class, however, we have been reading from Nicholas Wolterstorff's book Educating for Shalom. I am almost certain, based on the title and a certain repetitive refrain within the collection of essays, that Wolterstorff is arguing that the end goal of Christian Higher Education is "shalom" - that is, the biblical vision for justice that goes beyond our usual definition: "Shalom incorporates right relationships in general, whether or not those are required by justice; right relationships to God, to one's fellow human beings, to nature, and to oneself. The shalom community is not merely the just community but is the responsible community, in which God's laws for our multifaceted existence are obeyed" (23). The byline of the book - Essays on Christian Higher Education - makes it clear that Wolterstorff is writing to a very particular audience; in fact, he writes to an audience that should be easily convinced by his pedagogy.

I have not found a way to deny his premise. To be entirely honest, it may be too broad for anyone to deny: who in their right mind rejects world peace as a worthy goal for any societal institution, let alone higher education? However, since there will always be people who, from choice or disposition, require that all questions be answered, I had to ask the following question of this premise: if this is true, can you - should you - really do it? Again, it would be odd to reject the idea that shalom is the appropriate end of Christian higher education, but what if we believe this but do not have the honor of working at a Christian institution?

Can I advocate for shalom to students who are not looking for it? Is it unfair to a student to "indoctrinate" them rather than to give them a fair "objective" choice between this and any other end? I would say that the question is better phrased "Can I not do these things?" Because shalom is good. Absolutely good. That is the point of it, to be good for all people, closer to the love and reconciliation of Christ. If we really believe it, then we cannot help wanting this. We have to believe that every student wants this, that this will improve their human experience... even if they are not looking for it.

The question is raised again as I write my "philosophy of education." If I were submitting this statement to a public institution, how would I state my case without what I believe about humanity made Imago Dei? If the role of the professor is to profess truth, and what I believe to be true is recognizably Christian, what do I do?

I may be simplifying the issue, but I am convinced that there is nothing for it - at some point, perhaps far earlier than we would imagine, the only answer is Christ. Christ-followers may be reacquainting themselves with the embodied gospel, the gospel that demonstrates love and justice instead of simply talking about them, and that is a good thing. However, we cannot hide behind our actions and pretend it is enough. If we truly believe what we claim to believe, action will not be enough.

At some point, the words must be said; God help us say them well.