Classic Education

The way I take notes in my faculty meetings is via Twitter. It's a very 21st century style way of documenting one's thoughts, I admit, and whether or not it has any permanent value is open to debate and research, but despite its trendy way of recording information, I find it useful. One is that I write faster on the computer than I do by hand. Additionally, my coworkers who are on the hashtag can explore ideas quietly with each other while the rest of the conversation shifts to different ideas. Normally, I'd say it'd be better for us to speak aloud so that others can hear what we have to say, but there are two reasons why I prefer it this way: One, they can see it by looking up the hashtag themselves, thereby learning what we talked about; and two, we have a vociferous faculty. Meetings always go long because we love to talk, share ideas, and enthuse about our common vocation. If I were to say aloud everything I tweet, we'd never be done.

Today, we had a large, long training on what classical education looks like. There were a lot of really interesting points, and I wish I could have felt open to share my ideas and experiences more. Sadly--as mentioned above--we have a vociferous faculty. Too many people were involved, and though I think we all benefited from the training, it was too unwieldy for me, personally, to get into the fray very much.

There are seven principles that our facilitator talked about today. In order, they are (cribbed from Twitter):

1. You, not them
2. Inspire, not require
3. Classics, not textbooks
4. Mentors, not professors
5. Structure time, not content
6. Simplicity, not complexity
7. Quality, not conformity

These were explored in depth in the meeting, so I don't want to rehash them too much. Rather, I want to look at them as a whole and try to parse out what I think connects them--or, at the least, consider how I see them as being useful in my own classroom.

Really, looking at the list again, I think what I can put there is a focus on student learning. That sounds kitschy and too much like a buzzword/power phrase, so let me clarify: I think what these seven principles allow a teacher to do is reevaluate what matters and why. 

One of the things that has a lot of educators split is the validity of grades and standardized tests. While my school doles out both of those, they're not really something we look at closely. At least, I don't look at them closely. A faculty member has this quote on her whiteboard: "If you're not going to use the data, why give them the test?" That really stuck with me, and I've since dropped all tests save the school-required finals. In a similar way, while I still think that standardized tests have a value and place in schools, I'm becoming less and less convinced that, as they're currently used, standardized tests assess what we wish they would. Nevertheless, the focus on these seven principles helps to justify that particular stance.

What does a test demonstrate about the students in the first principle? How does a test help me understand them? There are ways, I think, where it can, but I don't generally process that information or do anything about it. It shows me that what I care about isn't the test, it isn't that data. 

What about inspiring versus requiring? Yeah, well, no one ever goes home and says, "That test was amazing! I learned so much by doing it!" There are other assessments that can generate enthusiasm, so I'd rather put my efforts in that direction. 

Classics, not textbooks is a fancy way of pushing against more formal, test-based styles of assessment. Socrates never, so far as we can see, answered multiple choice questions. He mattered because of the depth of his thoughts, and that's what we emulate nowadays, too. Focusing on the classics in my classroom helps me find the material that matters most. When I do try to figure out what they have to say, it needs to be essay or discussion based--a more classical way of expressing that knowledge. 

It's much simpler to not grade and make a test than it is otherwise, so on a surface level that's there. But I think my classes' successes come from one of the simplest forms of education: talking. We discuss things. We read (a complex act) and speak (another complex act) and write (another complex act), and that's probably enough complexity. Fortunately, these highly specialized behaviors are so ingrained in most kids that it does feel simple. And when a kid can't do one of those three things, she really struggles in school--for that same reason. So I rely on these basic complexities in order to explore more. That exploration is more invigorating and exciting than data entry in a gradebook. 

Lastly, the quality, not conformity approach to tests is perhaps the easiest to see why I'd reject it. If I want to see if kids remember trivia, then I need them to conform to traditional tests. They have to conform to that process. And there can be times when raw memorization is needed. That's the only way to grow vocabulary, for example--you've memorized the definitions or the roots to tease out the definitions. There's nothing wrong with that. But I'd much rather my students appreciate the beauty of Milton's poetry than be able to rattle off when the poet was born (9 December 1608, if you care to know. And I only looked it up after I wrote that to make sure I was right. I was off by a day. I fixed it. That's the right date.) I mean, the important parts of my curricula are best experienced through diversity, not uniformity (the uniform is for the students to wear in the class, not in the way they think). 

While maybe this is a slap-dash approach to the topics I studied today, I think it's interesting to see how they relate to my classroom in general, as well as think of other ways I'd like to improve my teaching through them. Particularly the first one, I have to remember that I can only provide 50% of the education--the other half is on the student to want to learn.