Postman Quotes

I’m currently in the process of writing an academic paper on classical education as a subversive entity in our postmodern world. It was originally going to be a paper on David Hicks’ Norms and Nobility, and that book is certainly still a huge influence, but I naturally tied that book with Neil Postman’s work on the detriment of technology to our culture, Amusing Ourselves to Death. But since that book is not really focused on education, I decided I would get Postman’s book The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School. I’m about half way through today, and I love it. I should probably read Postman’s Teaching as a Subversive Activity and any of his other books on the subject before fully being satisfied with the paper.

For the purpose of this blog, however, I want to comment on a few of my thoughts on Postman. He certainly defeats the myth that all smart people are Christians. That’s probably a stupid thing to say, but it has amazed me to no end that Postman rejects the Christian story even though he has so much truth in his writing, and he uses Christian language a lot, for instance, regarding the story of America, he says the first chapter opens, “In the beginning, there was a revolution.” Unlike many people who use Christian language, his does not seem to do a disservice to it. And in fact, reading just the prologue and the first chapter of The End of Education, I was struck with the similarity of Postman to Stanley Hauerwas. For instance, this quote:

“With some reservations but mostly with conviction, I use the word narrative as a synonym for god, with a small g. I know it is risky to do so, not only because the word god, having an aura of sacredness, is not to be used lightly, but also because it calls to mind a fixed figure or image. But it is the purpose of such figures or images to direct one’s mind to an idea and, more to my point, to a story– not any kind of story, but one that tells of orgins and envisions a future, a story that constructs ideals, prescribes rules of conduct, provides a source of authority, and, above all, gives a sense of continuity and purpose.” pp. 5-6, bold emphasis mine.

His first chapter is titled, “The Necessity of Gods,” and as he explained in that quote, he uses the word god synonymously with the word narrative. His whole first chapter is about different myths. He thinks that it is dangerous to just embrace one myth, however, which will promote fanaticism, and so is arguing that the public schools embrace a variety of good myths. What makes a myth “good,” on a technical level is if it survives, or works, and on a metaphysical level if it has a transcendence to it that instills purpose.

The need for a transcendent force in education (including a sense of morals and ethics) is the central theme of my paper, in light of the scientific model of education that is only concerned with efficiently making mass amounts of facts accessible, and has a lot to do with accumulating skills for a life of economic success. In Postman’s words,

“The faith is that despite some of the more debilitating teachings of culture itself, something can be done in school that will alter the lenses through which one sees the world… What this means is that at its best, schooling can be about how to make a life, which is quite different from how to make a living.” (p. x) bold emphasis mine.

This is very similar to Hicks’ view that we have been so concerned with what can be done that we have neglected whether it ought to be done. Postman says that the story of science gave us both understanding and power… and now the story of technology has just given us power.

Having been educated in a classical school (albeit flawed), I think the hope can be in this model of education, especially Hicks’ version, known as moral classicism. Pushing forward a story that provides a purpose for students is the biggest subversion that can be offered in a culture of hopelessness and despair. Here is one last quote from Postman:

“What is relentless is our education, which, for good or ill, gives us no rest. That is why poverty is a great educator. Having no boundaries and refusing to be ignored, it mostly teaches hopelessness. But not always. Politics is also a great educator. Mostly it teaches, I am afraid, cynicism. But not always. Television is a great educator as well. Mostly it teaches consumerism. But not always. It is the ‘not always’ that keeps the romantic spirit alive in those who write about schooling.” pp. ix, x. bold emphasis mine.

Norms and Nobility: A Review

Norms and Nobility is a book I read during my time as a teacher’s assistant. It was a difficult book for me to begin, honestly. The cover was a simple maroon that didn’t entice me much, and then when I began the language was just antiquated enough that I didn’t want to have to discipline my mind enough to put in the extra effort to understand it. But, finally, I was on the train back from Michigan and the two and a half day journey with nothing to do but read gave me the environment i needed to go ahead and read it. And once I did, I loved it! Here are some comments on it.

In this book, Hicks argues for the implementation of classical education because of its effectiveness in making the lives of students meaningful in a world inundated with meaninglessness, a world that Solomon might have described as “vaporous.” In the prologue, Hicks explains that classical education’s chief aim is to educate the young to 1) Know what is good, 2) Serve it above self, and 3) Reproduce it.

Drawing from the musings of Aristotle, he claims that while Aristotle’s theories of democracy made “the good life” possible for every one, classical education puts that theory into practice by teaching man that ultimately “the good life” is a life of virtue, or a life of serving a “self-transcending ideal.” Classical education will also secondarily benefit the state by giving individuals the role to “preserve and develop culture [paideia],” articulating society’s purposes and values.

Although teaching virtue in the classroom has become unnecessary to modern educators who are simply concerned with teaching in a utilitarian manner that is only concerned with teaching the student how to live, teaching a life of virtue makes that existence worthwhile by asking the question “how.” This is done by teaching the student to question not just whether something can be done, but if something ought to be done.

At the center of Classical Education is “the word,” which Hicks describes as a crossroads between the mythos (man’s imaginative and spiritual effort to make the world intelligible) and the logos (man’s rational attempt to make the world intelligible). Implemented in the classroom, the beauty of the mythos is experienced through studying literature and history, “eventually fill[ing] the young person’s head with the sound of voices: the impassioned debate of the many great figures of myth and history concerning what is good, beautiful and excellent in man.” The logos is served through ushering students into a dialectic maturity, wrestling with what Hicks refers to as “dogma.” It is the teacher’s role to embody “dogma” and allow students to wrestle with the embodied dogma, rejecting unimportant aspects and affirming what they ascribe to be true. The teacher is to “teach himself,” as opposed to the modern method of teaching objectively and analytically.

At its core, the classical education that Hicks describes is very truthful in light of the Christian story. In a world that is hauntingly “not right,” Christians can courageously have faith because of the story that teaches us to hope in redemption. Part of living that redemption is to live a meaningful existence. Classical education teaches students to lead a meaningful existence by asking, “What is the good life?” and perhaps in fact proving that part of “the good life” is asking that very question.

Teaching the Communist Manifesto… to 9th Graders.

It is a horribly distasteful feeling to look into seventeen pairs of eyes belonging to the brightest freshmen I know… and see blank stares. Irritably, I cannot even interpret why they look blank; are they bored, apathetic, did they get enough sleep the night before, or do they just not see me as someone they can learn from? Of course, my real hope is that they are actually learning something, despite the evidence to the contrary.

I am a senior in high school, and the reason I was teaching The Communist Manifesto is because of my role as teacher’s assistant, and the teacher was out of town. I petitioned for the role of TA because I thought I wanted to be a teacher; but to be honest, I don’t know if teaching is even a profession I want to go into. I know I love to learn, and that I would love others to love to learn as much as I do. Not to mention the numerous ways my life has been changed by those who see their identities as “teacher” not just their occupation. But do I have the gifts and strengths to be a teacher myself? That is a question I hope I won’t have to wrestle with for a few years. But for the time being, I know I wanted to do my best in this role.

The class curriculum itself is quite fascinating in and of itself, even for me; the freshmen are learning things most people do not learn until college, if they learn it at all. The highlight of the year is the number of months they spent on the Enlightenment, reading literature that correlated with the time and/or themes of the Enlightenment. Now they are struggling through “The Communist Manifesto” by Karl Marx, the most difficult reading they’ve had all year.

I began reading it myself, and it certainly was not a piece of cake. The language especially is the difficult aspect for a group of 14-year-olds who would much prefer the writing style of Ted Dekker than the antiquated language of Karl Marx (and… perhaps I secretly speak for myself as well). So not only did I face the challenge to lead a discussion over the message of Karl Marx and its long-reaching implications (which I was not even sure if I understood correctly), but I also had to be able to tell them what specific paragraphs and words meant. It’s one thing to read something and have a nice summary to use for inspiration in an abstract discussion; quite another to actually encounter the text itself.

When it got down to it, certain things were disastrous. I selected a number of quotes that I printed the day before on transparencies, only to find the next morning I had not allowed the ink to dry before stacking them on each other, leaving them smudged and pretty much useless. Then I had thought we would start from page one, spending the most time on the first section, and if time allowed, move on to the second. Apparently I was not present (or paying attention) previously, since the class had already talked about the first section. In hindsight I realize I should have asked someone to summarize, both for my benefit and theirs, but instead I was so flustered I just opened it up to questions and jumped right into the material. I’m not sure if this was a good strategy on my part, especially because in some ways I made it clear to them that I really had no idea what I was talking about. Not to say that I told them I was unqualified (although they could have taken it that way) , or that nothing could be learned; I just wanted them to know that my comments and explanations were undoubtedly imperfect, even if my experiences gave me a better context from which to interpret the passages more accurately than they could.

For the majority of the period, I opened it up to specific questions the students had, and after having them read the paragraph they were struggling with, I’d try and explain it in layman’s terms. I had a dictionary on my desk for the words I had never heard of, or did not want to explain poorly. All-in-all, I think it went… alright. of course, there’s always things that can be improved. But, on the positive side of things, we parsed out exploitation, discussed why Marx would want to abolish things like private property, the family, and eternal truths and religion. I even tried to talk about metanarratives with them at the very end, but with about three minutes on the clock I think I just confused them more than anything. Hopefully it was at least a starting point for further conversation.

My biggest obstacle was not knowing whether or not they actually cared about trying to learn the material. A lot of my experience as a student has shown me that in most classrooms, the learner is almost entirely passive. As I’m studying teaching, however, I’m realizing that if true learning is taking place, it is the student who is the main character in the classroom, and as such should play a very active role. As a student myself it is a little uncomfortable to do that in classrooms in which my peers are content to be passive, and in which the teacher has some sort of agenda that makes them prefer to be the main character in the classroom. Because I am chiefly a student, it felt like I was masquerading as a teacher for the period, and I had no way of knowing whether or not the students saw me as someone they could truly learn from or someone not worth their time. Ultimately I hope despite their passivity and my own experience, learning occurred, at least in a foundational way that can continue to be built upon.