Easy and Inexpensive Faculty Development

For a faculty to grow, it needs tools and forums in which to develop. David Hicks spoke of this as The School Within The School. I came across this fine article on-line today about the value to faculty of reading a book together and discussing it. I hope you are doing something like this already.

We recommend reading Norms and Nobility by David Hicks.

What it Takes to Teach

When a teacher is afraid to think her own thoughts, she cannot possibly teach classically. If she wants a text book to tell her what to think, if she can’t dig into the subject or artifact beyond what the text book publisher tells her, if she doesn’t continually learn, if she can’t unfold the heart of the story then all she can do is sit brooding on the surfact of her own life with little to offer her students, year after year after year.

A Call for Learning Teachers


In the world of higher academia, the old adage “publish or perish” is a guiding principle (even if somewhat stereotypical and exaggerated).  Why the emphasis on publishing? 

One could argue, quite easily, that it is the inevitable result of a pragmatic view of education – if the faculty of the university is not “producing,” then they are dead weight.  Additionally, if professors are not producing works which are “publicized” then they are not helping to draw in students interested in those respective fields. 

But, is there a less sinister, more significant reason for the stress placed upon faculty production?  Perhaps.  There is at least an important lesson which could and must be drawn, in altered form, from the old adage and applied in classical schools.  “Publish or perish” is an attempt at keeping teachers honest.  It seeks to keep faculty members from atrophy; intellectual stagnation. 

Does it go too far?  Most likely.  Intellectual growth is not always measurable in the form of CEU certificates, published writings, or graduate credits.  The cultivation of wisdom does not always leave a paper trail. 

The point, however, should be clear – that in order to teach, one must learn.  As another old adage claims, “To cease to learn is to cease to teach.”       


Reflections on Progressivism, Part II

Not only the child and his knowledge are reduced by Progressivism. So are what we used to call virtues. Nietzsche reduced virtues to values to underscore his theory that we all have our own values which are dynamic and relative. No adult has the right to impose values on a child because values themselves are unstable. What you claim to value may be exposed by experience as a sham. What you do value may be altered by experience.

The premises are somewhat obvious. I am such stuff as dreams are made on, and consequently what I think I value, what I want to be committed to, may expose me to ridicule when I fail to live up to my beliefs and values. Fine. Adults should not impose values on children. A fine application. Only, the application doesn’t arise from the lesson. If values are unstable and relative, whose to say I shouldn’t impose values on children. Why should I submit to the values of the tyrant who insists on such an absolute application?

But what if there are values that are not unstable and relative? What if there are things we ought to value? In that case, the question of imposing values on children is altered. Of course I must not impose MY values on children. But if the cosmos itself emodies values, or if God Himself has revealed His values, then my role is not to impose but to submit.

What reason is there for the Progressive educator not to impose his values on children? What would compel him, for example, to limit the extent of his experimentation? What would compel him to treat children with dignity? What if he changes his mind? Law and a sense of common decency help. But what happens when the Progressive educator determines that law and decency no longer hold the value they once did. After all, both have changed significantly over the past century.

On the other hand, there is plenty to restrict me in my relations with children. I am bound by the law of nature and of nature’s God to respect their infinite dignity. I cannot harm the child, not because my unstable value system forbids it today, but because God and Nature (two things expelled from Progressive thought) prohibit it permanently.

Children know right and wrong, probably better than adults, we do a fine job of confusing them when we convince them that they only can know what is scientifically demonstrable and that they should follow their impulses. Convince them of those two things and children become helpless against clever adults.

Even  meaning is reduced in Progressive theory. Experience is meaningful and language makes it so. Here is how he puts it, “When an event has meaning, its potential consequences become its integral and funded feature. When the potential consequences are important and repeated, they form the very nature and essence of a thing: it’s defining, identifying, and distinguishing form. As meaning, future consequences already belong to the thing.”

Thus, if I understand him rightly and in context, Dewey has reduced meaning to consequences. I cannot possibly argue that meaning does not include consequences. But that it is reduced to only consequences is a consequence of his radically empirical theory.

Something means something to us if it alters things, if it changes us, if we can act on it. But it has no meaning in and of itself and to me it has no meaning that is not related to me. I would submit that in so arguing, Dewey is making “man the measure of all things.”

You can imagine that if the Progressive theorist reduces method to only scientific experimentation,  the child to merely a material being who responds to material and efficient causes, knowledge and knowing to nothing more than an interactive process, virtue to unstable values rooted in environmental interactions, meaning to consequences, then, along with all these reductions, there must also be an alteration in teaching.

And indeed there is. Because of time and the nature of this forum, I will list a few of these consequences. Perhaps I’ll be able to discuss them more later on. I hope you’ll feel to respond with your own insights.

First, working backward, Progressive theory places extreme emphasis on “consequences,” especially as they are measurable, related to application, and affiliated with power.

Second, it displaces contemplation, because contemplation is rooted in the notion that there is something other than me worth knowing, something that is stable and knowable. You see the diminished value of contemplation in the tendency to avoid geometry in modern math programs and in the tendency to approach literature as samples to be collected instead of embodied ideas to be meditated on.

Third, the grand scale of the experiment leads to a quasi-standardization and the overthrow of uniqueness and personality. This is ironic, because Progressive educators clearly value uniqueness and personality development, but because they see education as a vast socially funded experiment they are continually bound by the bureaucracies they create.

Fourth, an excessive emphasis on “appropriate instruction for the developmental stage”  leads to the loss of great ideas, great books, great works of art, and great discussions.

Fifth, an excessive emphasis on methodology arises from the need for controlled, measurable, and predictable outcomes.

Sixth, the formal side of learning, in math, language (e.g. grammar and usage) are dismissed as mere conventions, thus undercutting the child’s faculties in these areas.

Seventh, the will is neglected, disregarded, and even overthrown. After all, the will is a spiritual faculty and cannot be controlled by material and efficient causes.

Finally, while multiple theories have come out about learning styles and intelligences, these are usually a response to the sameness inflicted on the American classroom by the general standardization of education.

The Progressive educators had much to teach American schools. They challenged the Idealism and hyper-rationalism of 19th century thought. They tried to bring the teachers attention back to the individual, specific realities and experiences that made up their worlds and relationships. They wisely noted the radical changes going on in society and technology and raised the concern that religion and moral theory were unable to deal with these changes. They made a noble effort to respond to those needs.

But by reducing all things to flux, they played into the hands of the very forces of change they sought to respond to. Their theories and practices have contibuted to the wide spread insecurity and feeling of insignifance, the desperate attempts to find meaning for life in any new cause, the worship of change as a good in itself, and the disparagement of what had long been regarded as knowledge, wisdom, and virtue.

It is to the Progressive educator that Lewis’s words in The Abolition of Man is most aptly directed.

The difference between the old and the new education will be an important one. Where the old initiated, the new merely ‘conditions.’ The old dealt with its pupils as grown birds deal with young birds when they teach them to fly; the new deals with them more as the poultry-keeper deals with young birds – making them thus or thus for purposes of which the birds know nothing. In a word, the old was a kind of propogation – men transmitting manhood to men; the new is merely propoganda.


Reflections on Progressive Education

For the Progressive theorist, education is one great, extended experiment for which society is bound to pay. Here in America the progressive experiments (it would not be just to call it a single experiment) have continued for nearly 100 years, during which the inevitable resistance and the internal contradictions of progressive theory have convinced many that the assumptions of Progressive education need to be re-examined.

Yet, because Progressivism is an on-going experiment, there is no end in sight.

If we can find a counter-thesis to Christian classical education, it would be Progressive education. (More realistically, education is triangulated: on one hand is Progressivism and on the other Rationalism. Balancing the extremes and integrating what is just in each is Christian classical education.)

Progressive education claims to be entirely empirical, appealing to the methods of the natural sciences as the only means to certain knowledge and the only reliable source for trustworthy teaching methodologies. Consequently, Prog Ed concerns itself only with material and efficient causes – that which is observable and measurable – and dismisses as superstitious such notions as purpose (final cause) and idea (formal cause).

Because Prog Ed accepts only the scientic as intelligent, the children they teach are reduced to material beings, lacking a spirit, if not a soul. Knowledge is no longer a spiritual reality, but at its most stable a chemical mixture in the brain. Knowing, formerly a contemplative activity, is reduced to an unstable process of transaction or to a “memorandum of conditions of their appearance.”

“Things in their immediacy are unknown and unknowable,” Dewey tells us. If he simply means that we cannot know them scientifically while we are encountering them, he is quite right. But my concern is what he has done with knowledge. He doesn’t suggest that we can know “things in their immediacy” in some other way, but that they are “unknown and unknowable.” Clearly he has little or no notion of what James Taylor describes in his book, Poetic Knowledge.

And yet, this very notion of poetic knowledge should have been the strength of Dewey’s theory. He clearly grasps the unified, interactive, and existential nature of experience. He holds to a dynamic, flowing, experiential theory of knowledge; but, for whatever reason, he never grasps this idea.

The reason he doesn’t may be found in that last word.

The Progressive educator does not believe in ideas in any philosophical sense. He is convinced that Darwin proved that things do not have a permanent nature, that nature itself is in perpetual flux, and that nothing is eternal. Thus, the child is not the Image of God and what the child’s mind does has no link to anything eternal, but only to the material world around him. Ideas themselves are, therefore (and since they exist only in the child’s mind) not eternal, but always in transition: permanently changing.

Dewey was responding to the extreme idealism of the 19th century, especially as formulated by Hegel. But it seems to me that he went to far the other way. The child is material. Knowledge is entirely contingent, changing itself and of changing things, therefore unstable. Knowing is itself an ongoing experiment by the knower. It is not that we see through a glass darkly, knowing only in part. Rather, there is no part that is always there to know. In any old-fashioned sense, we cannot know at all.

Knowledge is done by a changing material object and is of another changing material object. It is a transaction between two changing things, not an acquisition by a person (a subject knowing) of some permanent quality in another person or thing (an object known). An idea, therefore, is the fancy of a mind, but has no independent, permanent existence.

I can see how Dewey and Progressive educators can come to these conclusions when they have begun their discussion with the insistance on natural science as the only legitimate form of inquiry. But I have two problems, both of which merit mention.

One, as a Christian, I am not bound by that limitation. I believe in authority outside myself. I recognize that as an empirical matter virtually everything everybody knows is derived from what somebody else has told him. That is why the topic of authority is such a vital part of classical rhetoric: we need to learn to assess and judge authority, not to assert our arbitrary authority over it.

Two, as a practical and empirical matter, Progressive theories undercut education. They do so in a number of ways, some of which are hinted at above. Here I will merely point out the pervasive despair and hypocricy that permeate American education precisely because students no longer believe knowledge is possible but they also recognize that their success and income are tied to their academic performance. Dewey’s sophisticated explanations of the dynamics of knowledge are hard to understand. It took me quite a lot of reflection to figure out what he was getting at and I got mostly B’s and above in college.

What the typical high school takes out of Dewey’s explanation we can’t know because the typical high school student is never taught the theories behind the experiments to which he is being subjected. But he drinks the water of Progressive education when he walks the halls of his center of information administration, known falsely as a school, from class to class through a dis-integrated sequence of unrelated activities. After a few years, cynicism takes a firm hold of his mind and soul. And also of the disheartened teachers who expected to accomplish so much when they left the Progressive teacher’s college, learning the fine art of knowledge as flux.

More later.

The Importance of Stories

Brightest Heaven of Invention, a book by Dr. Peter Leithart, was composed as a guide through some of Shakespeare’s greatest writings.  The book was quite insightful in its treatment of Shakespeare, but I found Leithart’s preliminary comments about the importance of literature even more helpful. 

Why is it important to read literature?  Why do stories matter?  Among other reasons, Leithart points out that “Our lives are story-shaped….When you ask someone to describe himself, you are expecting to hear a story or a series of stories…Individual identity is bound up with the stories we have lived.”  We learn to make sense of our lives, and the lives of others, by the telling and hearing of stories.

Stories also provide a guide through the maze of history.  While it would be physically impossible for one to remember every detail of any one day, even large periods of history can be retold and remembered through the use of stories (especially as told by those who experienced the event).  Stories are made up of a multitude of details in personal and memorable form. 

With all this in mind, it could be said that stories teach us the art of life, both past and present.  What have we to say, then, of the modern abandonment of the story?  Of its replacement with textbooks which, if providing them at all, do so only in abridged versions? 

Further Reflections on the Nature of Classical Education

Five ideas that distingiuish Classical education from conventional:

  1. A unifying principle that orders all learning, thus an integrated, proportioned course of learning
  2. Recognition of the transforming power of ideas, thus an emphasis on training students to contemplate ideas rather than merely retain content or master processes
  3. Virtue as the end of education, rather than mere application, thus a concerted and rigorous effort to cultiavate every human faculty in every student
  4. Recogntion of the need for mentors, models, examples, etc. who are masters of their area of knowledge and who are the kinds of people we hope the students will grow up to become. In a word: honor and recognition to genuine authority.
  5. Endless emphasis on reality over mere appearance, thus the recognition that perception is powerful, but it is not necessarily reality. When one is taught that perception is reality, accountability and the need to grow are either relativized, trivialized, or removed altogether.

A Strange May Fever

Things are different now.  You are stricken with a strange fever and so are your students.  Oddly, the news fills you all with both dread and exhilaration.  Dread, because there is so much to be done before the end comes.  Exhilaration because of what awaits you on the other side. 

The temptation is to think that these “last days” are irrelevant, even pointless.  But deep down, the importance of finishing well echoes in your mind. 

What is this ailment that looms over you, conveying such a mixture of emotion?  It is…the last day of school!


“Therefore, my beloved brothers, be firm, steadfast, always fully devoted to the work of the Lord, knowing that in the Lord your labor is not in vain” (1st Corinthians 15:58).

My friend Marshall

A Protestant guy, a Catholic guy, and an Orthodox guy all sit down to dinner.  No, it’s not the beginning of a religious joke, it actually happened to me on Sunday.  My wife and I have some wonderful friends who are Orthodox Christians and we were invited over by this gracious family to celebrate Pascha (or the “real Easter” as they call it) this past Sunday.  They even had us over to celebrate our own “schismatic Easter” a couple of weeks ago, which, now that I think about it, was a kind of backhanded display of generosity.

While I was there on Sunday, I met an interesting man named Marshall (the Catholic at the beginning of the corny joke) who is dying of cancer.  Shortly after I was introduced to him, he told me of his condition and made some surprising, inspiring, and convicting statements.  He said, essentially, “If I knew how much fun life could be when you really have your priorities in line, not just saying it – God first, family second, and everything else tied for third – I would have started this dying thing a long time ago!  I’m having a blast!”

Allow me to share a few thought-provoking questions that came to mind when I heard his words – Do I really live out the priorities I say I have?  What evidence does my enjoyment of life (or lack thereof) show that may answer that?  Why does it take such tragedy to lead us into doing what we should have done all along? 

Pliny the Younger once wrote, “Utinam tales esse sani perseveremus quales nos futuros profitemur infirmi” (Essentially – If only we would become when well, the men we promise to become when we are sick).