Another side track onto a trunkline.
Yesterday, I was watching a YouTube clip of the final five minutes of
the eleventh episode, "Knowledge or Certainty," of Jacob Bronowski's thirteen
part ASCENT OF MAN, " In it, he warned of "the assertion of dogma that closes
the mind." To which, I would add, the closes the heart as well.
It really struck me. I wish I had had the students in the Holocaust
class watch the entire episode, especially those last few minutes. That little
phrase reminded me of another of my "one thing for students to learn" that I
wrote on the whiteboard and we discussed during the first days of the term:
"Don't just answer questions. Question answers."
Questioning is the assault weapon against certainty, dogma, and
absolutism. It's the cure of mindless acceptance. It's the gauntlet of
challenge. It's the fount of curiosity. It's the foundry of creation and
innovation. It is the tool of reflection, examination, experimentation,
movement, imagination, change, reform, revolution, transformation, growth.
As for me, when I was a classroom professor, during the discussion of
these particular words, I'd always say, "Don't be afraid to ask me why we do
things. If I can't tell you why we do something in a way you understand, I'll
throw it out. Now, you don't have to agree with me, but you should understand
my 'why' and that I'm not doing something either on a whim or because everyone
else is doing it. Just see that there's always a 'method to my madness' and a
'madness to my method."
And, taking advantage--maybe testing me--ask they did. As they
inevitably peppered me with questions throughout the semester, I learned so
much from all those "why do you do this" or "why do we have to do this" that
they'd throw at me: why did they have to write on the whiteboard a one word
"how I feel" as soon as they come into the classroom, what did sending me
confidential daily journal entries have to do with learning history, why did we
briefly discuss "Schmier's words of the day" every day, why did they have to
work in communities, why did the communities have to be stranger, gender and
racially mixed, why did we devote so much beginning-of-the-term time to
classroom community building "getting to know ya" and "rules of the road"
exercises, why didn't I lecture like other professors, why did I care so much
about them, why did they have to watch YouTube film clips, why did they have to
write "issue papers" for each project, why did they have to do hands-on
projects, why didn't I give tests like all my colleagues, why didn't I believe
in and give grades, why did I come up with my "Teacher's Oath," why did they
have to take the course that has "nothing" to do with their major, and on and
on and on the questions would run. And, I would patiently answered everyone of
their questions either individually outside class or in the class.
Thinking about their questions and answering them kept me on my toes
. They kept me sharp. They held my feet to the fire. They forced me to
honestly look at my "why." They helped me make sure I wasn't unthinkingly
engulfed by some pedagogical rage, by some "sounds good," or jumping on some
technological bandwagon. Those questions kept me out of the prison of
certainty. Those questions always banished the "ho-hums" of routine and
welcomed "wows" of newness. They kept me constantly in what I call "my
four-step program": (1) think slowly about doing something, reflect long and
hard on whether it was applying the results of the latest findings on learning,
being sure that it aligned with my reflected upon and articulated vision and
not just something I had picked up at a conference that sounded good, and then
carefully figuring how to do it; (2) implement it; (3) watch closely what was
happening as it was happening, whether it was working or not; (4) consciously
learning from it, that is, whether it was turning out to be a partial or total
"oops" or an "aha."
Their questions so helped me clarify my thinking and define my
feelings. They kept me honest and made sure I didn't succumb to the easy,
quick, comfortable, convenient, and safe; that I didn't substitute efficiency
for effectiveness. They constantly required me to reflect on the purpose and
meaning of things we did and what visions pushed me. They constantly kept me
experimenting, tweaking, adjusting, modifying, and even throwing out. And, I
gained deeper insight into myself and my purpose.
Make it a good day
-Louis-
Louis Schmier
http://www.therandomthoughts.edublogs.org
203 E. Brookwood Pl http://www.therandomthoughts.com
Valdosta, Ga 31602
(C) 229-630-0821 /\ /\ /\ /\
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/ \ / \
/ \/ \_ \/ / \/
/\/ / \ /\ \
//\/\/ /\ \__/__/_/\_\/
\_/__\ \
/\"If you want to climb
mountains,\ /\
_ / \ don't practice on mole
hills" - / \_
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