[review] Why Don't Students Like School?

Modern psychology has generated an explosion of knowledge about how the human mind works -- how memory is stored, how one's minds constantly processes information extra-consciously, and how differences in brain function help to define differences in our personalities. Much of this new knowledge raises provocative questions, not least of which investigate human nature itself.

Yet, the question remains: "How will we use this knowledge?" Other scientific fields, such as chemistry and genetics, have increased food supply and developed medical miracles. What about psychology and neuroscience? Shouldn't these disciplines impart the same kind of social benefits from their studies?

Daniel T. Willingham would tend do think so. In his work, Why Don't Students Like School?, Willingham poses nine questions teachers often ask -- summed up in the question that is simultaneously his title -- and answers each, utilizing his background cognitive psychology citing empirical studies, and suggesting ways for teachers to improve their practice accordingly. His principles are clearly articulated, effectively substantiated, and pedagogically revolutionary. Below are a few exceedingly brief summaries of select principles from Why?

So, why don't students like school? Willingham suggests, for one, that school requires students to do something our brains are not designed to be good at or to enjoy: critical thinking. When the human intellect encounters a task that requires mental exertion beyond the status quo, it is critical that the task be challenging enough to hold the mind's interest, yet not so difficult that it leads to an inevitable, intellectual surrender.

Unfortunately, traditional schoolwork rarely keeps the minds of students sustained in the state of "flow," resulting in boredom and displeasure. The challenge, for the teacher, is to design lessons and exercises that will maximize interest and attention by balancing challenge with predictable success. When this balance is struck, the mind finds pleasure in focusing for long periods of time, and will eventually acquire the intellectual ability to think critically about a particular topic.

Critical thinking, though, is a frequently misunderstood and misconstrued term according to Willingham. He notes that students cannot apply generic "critical thinking skills" to material which they do not have the basic tools -- the requisite background knowledge -- to understand. The same can also be said of learning to read: attempting to employ "reading strategies" -- like searching for the main idea in a passage -- will be futile if you don't know enough facts to fill in what the author has left unsaid.

It should be said that Mr. Willingham, a psychology professor at the University of Virginia, is not in favor of merely making learning "fun" or "creative." He advocates teaching old-fashioned content as the best path to improving a student's reading comprehension and critical thinking. Such a view makes Mr. Willingham something of an iconoclast, since contemporary educational theory is often ruled by concepts like "multiple intelligences" and "learning styles."

The trendy notion that each person has a unique learning style comes under an especially withering assault. "How should I adjust my teaching for different types of learners?" asks Mr. Willingham's hypothetical teacher. The disillusioning reply: "No one has found consistent evidence supporting a theory describing such a difference...children are more alike than different in terms of how they think and learn."

It turns out that while education gurus were promoting the uplifting vision of all students being equal in ability but unique in "style," researchers were testing the theory behind it. In one experiment, they presented vocabulary words to students classified as "auditory learners" and

"visual learners." Half the words came in sound form, half in print. According to the learning-styles theory, the auditory learners should remember the words presented in sound better than the words presented in print, and vice-versa for the visual learners.

But this is not what happened: Each type of learner did just as well with each type of presentation. Why? Because what is being taught in most of the curriculum -- at all levels of schooling -- is information about meaning, and meaning is independent of form. "Specious," for instance, means "seemingly logical, but actually fallacious" whether you hear it, see it or feel it out in Braille. Mr. Willingham makes a convincing case that the distinction between visual, auditory and kinesthetic learners (who supposedly learn best when body movement is involved) is a specious one. At some point, no amount of dancing will help you learn more algebra.

Throughout the work, Willingham challenges other common educational theories, from fixed intelligence to static cognition. He endorses the development of reading comprehension, but by the means of developing the necessary background knowledge. Willingham also endorses answering tough intellectual inquiries, but encourages teachers to "spend sufficient time developing the question." In general, Willingham is not out to overturn modern pedagogy, but perhaps realign its means to achieve (nearly) the same ends.

One might be tempted to criticize Why Don't Students Like School? in one respect. The text is peppered with attention-grabbing pictures, such as when Mr. Willingham cleverly describes an episode of the TV medical drama "House" to illustrate how experts think differently from novices. In this case, he uses an episode to illustrate how experts don't necessarily "have" more knowledge, but they do process the most relevant information at a higher rate. One might see the partner photograph -- nearly a full page -- to be wasted space.

Of course, it takes only a slight nuanced analysis to realize that these tactics are Willingham at his best. Here, he employs a diversified and unorthodox communication style constructed around the data from his cognitive studies and engages the reader holistically. One can only hope that Willingham's readers, educators or otherwise, will be able to do the same.

[JSD]

on birthdays

"There is a good reason they call these ceremonies 'commencement exercises'.

Graduation is not the end; it's the beginning."

-Orrin Hatch
______________

Though I was pleased to receive my final transcript in the mail recently, I remain deeply convinced that my decorated parchment cannot account for long nights of study, meals with respected professors, or residence life shennanigans of the past four years.

Perhaps I should have negotiated a better deal?

Having reflected on graduation for some time now, I have come to realize that, in one sense, commencement signifies far more than the receipt of a diploma. Indeed, tossing one's tassel signals not the conferring of academic credentials: it's an abrupt ending to an all-encompassing, exasperatingly brief existence, where new alumni relinquish their once-daily connections to collegiate neighbors, employers, church community, and full-time vocation. After four years of developing my niche in the Cedarville University community, I feel as if I have managed to leave just in time.

And I have a diploma, an absurd hat, and a few tassels to show for it.

Though my graduation experience felt distant and platonic, for many the event of commencement is deeply exhilarating. But make no mistake: graduation imparts about as much personal development and maturation as a child's birthday party.

My youngest brother's birthday was a few weeks back. He is a fairly simple homo-sapien, with a few distinct interests and likes. His birthday highlights amounted to putt-putt Goofy Golf, Sonic drive thru (for the roller-skating servers, of course) and a few Dairy Queen deserts courtesy of a calendar-savvy Sunday School teacher's timely gift card. The word "rut" means nothing to him; we've shared the same peanut butter-covered Eggos the last five mornings, and his birthday breakfast was no different.

Unique qualities aside, my brother's birthday had next to no tangible effect on my brother's development. No doubt, my brother has developed progressively since his last birthday. He's since learned to wash the dishes, earn a GameCube high score, swim enthusiastically, sing a bit, and even do his chores from time to time.

But none of those benchmarks, frivolous or otherwise, came about as a direct result from a birthday event. The blowing of candles, height measuring, gift unwrapping -- these added an enjoyable chapter to his narrative; they did not rush in a complex character change.

No, my brothers personal accomplishments arose not from birthday events, but from the practice of his daily activities, the sorts of things that make him into who he is today.

I suppose the same can be said for graduation.

The diploma which students are conferred does not likewise confer a developmental growth spurt equivalent to the ceremonial hype. There's really no impartation of growth at the moment of diploma conferral; the college life's greatest rewards come in the form of caring professors, rigorous classwork, challenging church communities, and patient friends.

There is no doubt that commencement signified a tremendous achievement for each student that navigated his or her way across the stage. It's function, however, is a call to both reflect on and appreciate the past in pursuit of the future.

Kind of like a birthday.

[JSD]

cool [*] compassion

It would appear as though compassion has become the new cool.

Globalization has produced more than mere connectivity. The “shrinking of the globe” draws the impoverished and marginalized astonishing close to the privileged.

As a result, disparity and oppression is becoming more obvious. Western society appears to be gravitating toward the not-so-new ideas of altruism and justice. Regular, everyday citizens want to “get involved.” Even youth seem more interested in starting 501c3’s than a neighborhood garage band.

It’s as though it’s officially cool to care.

Cool Compassion, as it were, didn’t simply become. The infusion of bright, young people into the non-profit scene has led to smart and savvy cause-marketing. That blend has developed an entirely new sort of activism, where individuals do good while consuming goods. Special product lines promise purchases that will meet a consumer demand and simultaneously defeat AIDs, shoe an orphans feet, or simply make a difference. It’s a brilliant and subtle strategy designed to draw people into global philanthropy.

In one sense, I find myself donning my proverbial rally cap. I can’t help but think more people becoming more “involved” is necessarily good, and has the potential to lead to a kind of worldwide relief efforts on behalf of “the least of these” described in Matthew 25.

Yet, I also find myself invariably wary of the synthesis of contemporary compassion and modern consumerism. Cool Compassion – in its current form – embodies both the best and worst of globalization, consumerism, and the incomplete status of contemporary altruism.

Consider, for example, the stylistic of Cool Compassion, or what some call "aWEARness." A combination of fashion and philanthropy, aWEARness attaches peer-pressure coolness with the trendiness of combating poverty and human trafficking. Sure, you knew world hunger existed, but it didn’t coincide with your ache to belong until Joe tied aWEARness to his feet, Sally wrote it on her wrist, or GAP immortalized it on a red hoodie.

As a result, the causes with the coolest stuff – and, consequently, the hippest following – are the ones in which generate the greatest interest. As a result, you may actually give more because someone gave you something for giving something.

Sound a little shallow? Take a closer look.

Certainly, there is cause for suspicion, but at some level we’re all consumers, and aid-based goods provide a unique alternative to products of more contemptible origin. What’s more, Cool Compassion exposes consumers to a range of issues with which they might have otherwise had little to no interaction. An aWEARness purchase turns your wardrobe, your house, and even the bumper of your car into regularly reminder of a particular cause. If that extended exposure does bring about action, it would make that $20 t-shirt worth every pretty penny.

Then again, it’s difficult to determine which draw is hijacking which. Has compassion enlisted the support of savvy marketing, or have providers corned demand by manipulating consumer’s good intentions into a purchasing trend? And if Cool Compassion is a mere trend, then what distinguishes it from the other well-intentioned inconsistencies of our privileged society? After all, we prudently choose Diet Coke – with a Quarter Pounder and large fries. We chug gas-sucking SUVs to environmental awareness events. We’ll even arrive at the gym thrice a week – and subsequently take the elevator to the second floor exercise bikes. Our noble intentions are often misguided and inconsistent, addressing the symptoms rather than the source of trouble.

Ultimately, there’s nothing intrinsically wrong with wanting to belong, purchasing apparel, or nifty designs. There’s just much more to true Christian benevolence than a mere monetary transaction. Indeed, Christian charity is a lifestyle characterized by sacrifice in inevitable response to the Gospel of Grace. “For you know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ,” the Apostle Paul states in his first letter to the Corinthians, “that though he was rich, for your sakes he became poor, so that you through his poverty might become rich.” Certainly, trendy aWEARness cannot stand in the shadow of Christ’s cross.

In the mean time, what if Cool Compassion challenged consumers to “earn” an aid-based product, rather than settle for and perpetuate the aWEARness status quo? What if we applied market principles of scarcity and required consumers to spend a week alongside freed prostitutes shaping jewelry before they kept some for themselves? Or turned a $15 t-shirt into 15 hours – or 15 days – of serving among the States’ urban poor? Can we create venues that that lead millions of people to own a cause rather than purchase its product?

Then, perhaps, Cool Compassion might begin to channel a deeper transformation of the consumer’s choice into a lifestyle of true charity.

[review] Life at the Bottom

In A Discourse on the Origins of Inequality, Jean Jacques Rousseau suggested that the conduct of a greedy and grasping few – men who had usurped more than their divinely allotted share of things – had promulgated the misery of the poor and downtrodden. In The Social Contract, Rousseau allowed that, in order to restore both socio-economic spectrums of society, it would be necessary to redistribute wealth: taxes for the propertied; government welfare for the property-less. August Comte, in the same vein and Rousseau, later contended for a revolutionary sociology, which postulated that individual human beings do not so much act on as react to external circumstances, and society must therefore cure the social environment of the poor’s vices and curses. Cure, yes, as Comte saw evil as sickness rather than sin, and misbehavior exterior of the agent’s responsibilities. Consequently, the just and humane prescription for crime must not be punishment but therapy; not judges but physicians. The contemporary welfare state and a "freedom from want," then, will eventually actualize a crime-free utopia, where individuals are provided all that they need.

Conversely, Theodore Dalrymple condemns such ideologically-driven vies are dangerous illusions. In his work, Life at the Bottom: the Worldview That Makes the Underclass, Dalrymple describes how the Weltanschauung – or, worldview – established by misguided ideologues has created and corrupted the British underclass, the group that was meant to be its main beneficiary. He illustrates, through poignant anecdotes, the world of the underclass as one wracked with crime, senseless violence, drug abuse, illegitimacy, nihilism and a complete refusal to accept personal responsibility of one's conduct. Additionally, he contends that these are simply byproducts of a system of "subsidized apathy" in which there is nothing for which to hope, nothing to fear, nothing to gain, and nothing to lose. Ultimately, Dalrymple emphasizes a poverty not of wealth, but of hope.

A psychiatrist of humble origins and the son of a militant Communist, Dalrymple served in a number of Sub-Saharan African countries and the east end of London before his retirement in 2005. An avid writer, Dalrymple spent his off duty hours scribing essays about the problems and pathologies of his patients. His work frequently appears in City Journal, The British Medical Journal, The Times, and The Daily Telegraph. He has also authored a number of books besides Life at the Bottom, including Our Culture: What's Left of It and Spoilt Rotten: the Toxic Cult of Sentimentality. In his writing, Dalrymple frequently argues that progressive views prevalent within Western intellectual circles minimize the responsibility of individuals for their own actions and undermine traditional mores, contributing to the formation within rich countries of an underclass afflicted by endemic violence, criminality, sexually transmitted diseases, welfare dependency, and drug abuse. Much of Dalrymple's writing is based on his experience of working with criminals and the mentally ill. Life at the Bottom is a specific collection twenty-two separately penned essays during his London working days, published from 1994 to 2001. Each of these diminutive masterpieces seamlessly weaves accounts of Dalrymple’s miserable patients with passionate indictments against social institutions which have worsened rather than improved the plight of the poor.

Dalrymple views the British underclass as suffering neither from poverty nor from oppression, as usually presumed, but from self-destructive habits fostered by policy makers and government bureaucrats guided by beliefs that have filtered down from ivory-towered intellectuals. To support this charge, Dalrymple provides anecdotes: heart-rending stories about the people with whom he served on a daily basis. Dalrymple acknowledges that these stories would prove little if taken singly, one by one, but he rightly believes that they acquire evidentiary force as well as emotional power when, told together, they begin to display a pattern. His aim is to assemble enough anecdotes to make the pattern manifest.

Dalrymple’s account of the British poor begins with anecdotes about violent criminals: murderers, rapists, thieves, burglars, drug addicts, and the abusers of women. Most notably, these criminals apparently manifest Comte’s theories and blame any resulting consequences on social construction, mental affliction and environmental circumstance. One man excused his chronic thievery on the grounds of “addiction.” Other men denied being the agents of their actions: “The knife went in” was stated by more than one murderer serviced by the doctor. As Dalrymple observes, sophisticated and convoluted rationalizations like these are not likely to have been thought of without the help of intellectuals, who have encouraged belief that, since the causes of conduct always lie outside the criminal, it is not he but “society” that should be made to answer.

What society is guilty of, sociologists often contend, is allowing the abusive rich drive people to crime by causing their poverty. The proper – and only – response is to eliminate poverty by redistributing wealth. Conversely, Dalrymple contends redistribution hardly mitigates crime. The virtual elimination of poverty in Britain and elsewhere has actually multiplied rather than reduced the rate of crime. Given any sensible definition of poverty, Dalrymple states, “the underclass in Britain is no longer poor” (54). As the government continues to provide housing, food, schooling, medical care, and monthly checks to nearly a third of the British population, citizens lacks neither basic comforts nor material necessities. By global standards, in fact, Dalrymple suggests the “poor” of Great Britain are rich. Yet, contrary to what would be predicted on the theory that crime is caused by poverty, Dalrymple points out that the crime rate in Britain is now several times higher than it was in generations past, when poverty was both real and extensive.

In Dalrymple’s view, the main cause of the spectacular rise in crime with the rise in prosperity is simple reluctance of the police to do their jobs. As Dalrymple angrily demonstrates with more stories, the police in modern day Britain often show less solicitous concern for the victims of crime than for its perpetrators. Frequently repeated offense against the law is not enough to get a man jailed where the police, afraid of being derided as tools of the dominant class, believe that hardened criminals have a special claim on victimhood status that entitles them to special tolerance. Thus, a man who successively assaulted the nurses in Dalrymple’s clinic and a physician in another hospital was not arrested but twice turned loose in the street outside. Similarly, a middle-aged woman’s pleas for protection went unheeded although she had been repeatedly robbed in the street near her regularly burglarized and frequently vandalized home. As Dalrymple observes, police practices – infiltrated the same problematic ideology that has demotivated the British poor – of this sort encourage criminals by sheltering them from both shame and fear of punishment, while denying basic security to their hapless victims.

Theme by theme, Dalrymple reminds the reader that the demoralized behavior displayed by such pitiable people is not the result of poverty. That they live in squalor he acknowledges, even emphasizes. The problem of the underclass, yet, is that their self-defeating habits are facilitated by public policies predicated upon false ideas created by distant intellectuals. He is right, of course; many domestic policies are the greatest incentives to broken families and impoverished living. He is wrong, though, in ignoring the many other socio-economic hindrances faced by many of the lowest socio-economic class. Be they goods provided, jobs offered, or neighborhood conditions, citizens of impoverished conditions undoubtedly struggle to stabilize in a manner worth of their middle-class peers. Dalrymple narrowly avoids the typical snob-nosed condemnation that both accumulates all underprivileged persons into a lethargic, ambivalent caricature and yet provides no alternative, remedying response. Indeed, many critics of the impoverished West launch their critiques from long-distance, entirely unwilling to engage the poor they pretend to understand. Dalrymple cannot be subject to this criticism, as he has devoted much of his life to serving those Christ described as “the least of these.” In fact, Dalrymple’s desire is to see “a proper adjudication” of the cotemporary poverty situation. Understood rightly, his work should inform effective response to the reality of Western poverty; it should not, as it undoubtedly will, provide ammunition to short-sighted politicians enamored with invisible hands and wealth accumulation.

It is commonly argued that philosophy is an idle pursuit which makes little difference to anyone’s workaday life. This apparition can survive only in the minds of people who take too shortsighted a view of human affairs. No one knowledgeable of the historical twentieth century can fail to be impressed by how thoroughly philosophies have permeated institutions and imbued the world views of its populations. Dalrymple’s work, though a bit cynical and shortsighted at times, states with emphasis the vast consequence of modern social philosophy on the poor: in effect, he ironically caricatures an ideological oppression of the underprivileged.

"that great city, [detroit]"

"Should I not have compassion on that great city of Nineveh, in which there are more than a hundred and twenty thousand persons who do not know the difference between their right and left hand?" [Jonah 4:11]

"Why Detroit?" I have been posed this question on numerous occasions.

I am quickly realizing that the notion of transposing one's life into the sprawl of the American inner-city is not nearly so straightforward as it appears. Kudos to the Cooks, Sims and Luptons of the world.

Allow me to state the obvious: Detroit is no Cedarville. Neither is it a Springfield, or even a Dayton. The sheer frequency of crime is staggering, notwithstanding Detroit's well-renowned red light districts and high homicide rate.

Crime, however, is but one distinct challenge. The bankrupt public school system is near collapse. Newly-appointed Rob Bob (I couldn't make it up) is currently responsible for remedying the DPS fiscal nightmare. Unfortunately, some necessary cut-backs have led to tragic side-effects in the classroom.

Conversely, there is substantial opportunity for redemptive living.

Amidst the various tribulations, a stubborn community holds out. True stories of grit and spiritual renewal are no longer anomalies; there is a Work going through the city. They are beginning to take ground.

And then, there are the students: walking dreams driven to silence the living nightmares that define their day-to-day.

Makala Conner | Age 12 | Grade 7

"I want to be a world-renowned pediatrician. I would like to attend Harvard University. I will travel around the world helping children and babies."

Kamarri Coleman | Age 13 | Grade 7

"I want to be a lawyer when I get older because I want to help people stay out of jail. I don't like seeing people go to jail..."

Javon Gossett | Age 8 | Grade 3

I want to be a police officer because I want to find lost children with my K9 dog and solve crimes. I'm going to protect people by making they're OK."

Da Maiyah Hopkins | Age 12 | Grade 6

"When I get older, I want to become a special-ed teacher. I want to help kids read and write. I also want to help my community to have more jobs and more houses."

Marquis Bradon | Age 19 | Grade 12

"I see myself becoming a lawyer, or owning my own company...I also see myself with a wife and kids."

I have few greater joys other than knowing that I'm a hop, skip and a TFA-jump from entering into their lives. I envy their inspiration.

No doubt, the transition from the cornfields of Ohio to downtown Motown will be messy and complicated. But should I -- should we -- not have compassion on that great city of Detroit?

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it." [John 1:5]

[JSD]

annihilation / transformation

"Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away and the sea was no more. And I saw the holy city, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God..." [Revelation 21:1-2]

This past Sunday, the RCC congregation focused on a passage spanning Isaiah 63 and 64. Though I'm not convinced our collective focus was appropriate (i.e. proper thematic/prophetic context), I was taken in by the themes of Isaiah's desperate call to God.

A brief analysis of the text reveals Isaiah's posture toward the broken status of the world around: the prophet is in the midst of a great lament over the separation between God and his people. Consider the following pattern:

• 63:15 -- Look down from heaven, and see from your lofty throne...
• 63:17 -- Return for the sake of your servants...
• 64:1 -- Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down...
• 64:2 -- ...come down to make your name known....
• 64:9 -- Oh, look upon us we pray, for we are all your people.
• 64:12 -- After all, Lord, will you now hold yourself back?

In response, God -- in chapter -- manifests his disdain for sinful rebellion, yet promises redemption unmerited by covenant faithlessness. His response culminates in the famous eschatological text of Isaiah 65, where God promises to establish a "new heavens and new earth."

The concept of the "new heavens and new earth" has produced a substantial amount of contemporary, scholarly debate. In sum, there is substantial divide over whether whether scriptures speaks of an annihilation of the present cosmos and the creation of a new universe, or whether scripture indicates the transformation of the present cosmos.

I tend more toward the latter for the following reasons:

• [1] the ordering of Revelation's eschatological process:

The Millenial Reign of Christ precedes the descending of the New Jerusalem; Christ hands over a perfected and established kingdom to the Father [1 Cor. 15:24-28], not a failed realm deserving of obliteration.

If, in fact, the old order is simply obliterated, to what end or purpose does Christ's reign function or fulfill?

• [2] basic exegesis of Revelation 21

The introduction of the New Heavens/Earth, and the descending of the New Jerusalem manifest two important evidences:

"Then I saw a new heavens and a new earth, for the first heaven and first earth had passed away." [Rev. 21:1]

The Greek translated as "passed away" is aperchomai, which literally means "to pass or change from one condition to another." It does not indicate complete destruction or ceased existence.

Consider verse 5, as well:

"And he who was seated on the throne said, 'Behold, I am making all things new." [Rev. 21:5]

It is important to note that verse 5 does not not indicate complete annihilation. God states with clarity that he is renewing all things, not creating all new things. The process described here does not parallel the Genesis 1 creation account, in which God creates ex nihilo from the formless void.

• [3] substantiating OT and NT passages

There are a host of OT and NT texts which seem to indicate that God's ultimate purpose for Creation has been and continues to be its redemption through the establishing of Christ's kingdom. Examples from the OT include:

Isaiah 11:1-9 | Jeremiah 31:31-40 | Ezekiel 37:21-28 | Daniel 2:44-45; 7:13-14

And the NT:

Matthew 6:5-14; 19:28 | Romans 8:18-25 | 1 Corinthians 5:12-58

2 Corinthians 5:16-20 | Philippians:20-21 | Revelation 21:1; 21:5

• [4] the narrative of Scripture en sum

Scripture seems to harmonize around the redemptive, renewing work of God. Indeed, God's redemptive work seems to lead more toward renewal through destruction rather than complete annihilation of the creation, marred by sin. Consider the words of Paul, who states in 2 Corinthians that "the old has passed away" and that "all things have become new."

I am reminded of C.S. Lewis's Narnian character Eustace Scrubb, and his encounter with Aslan. Gradually and painfully, Aslan removes Eustace's dragon scales, producing a final product that is entirely different in character and conduct. Eustace is not destroyed, per se, but his former self has aperchomai -- passed away -- and has been replaced with a renewed self.

N.T. Wright's book, Surprised by Hope, far exceeds my stream-of-conscious blog post in effectively introducing the complexity of this topic. Indeed, there is far more to say on the subject, not only in regard to the scholarly discussion, but also significant implications for Christian ethic, Christian participation, living redemptively, and so on.

[JSD]