Posts Tagged ‘civic education’

Is economics an independent science, or a branch of moral and political philosophy as it was for Adam Smith? Here are two intelligent critiques of the idea that markets are morally inert.

We’ve been watching Michael Sandel’s popular Harvard course on Justice in philosophy club. Here is some valuable background. It turns out Michael Sandel studied Aristotle with Charles Taylor at Oxford – the seminal influence for his critique of the marketization of modern society, and the idea that laws exist for the good of society, rather than just individuals.

Cambridge economist Ha-Joon Chang gives a wry and playful critique while talking about his book, 23 Things They Don’t Tell You About Capitalism.!

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Here is a book review I wrote last year for the University of Winnipeg Student Anthology.

Gatto’s book had all the controversial themes that would make for entertaining reading – he’s a great teacher, a politically incorrect (for Canadians) American libertarian, a proponent of an interesting but far-fetched conspiracy, a widely-read shoot-from- the-hip kind of guy, passionate, and idiosyncratic (did I mention his American-ness?).


Can “open source” education be moral?

A book review of Weapons of Mass Instruction, by John Taylor Gatto

If you believe the Marxist educator Paolo Freire, education is always a political act. Its primary purpose is freedom – political freedom. But Freire was wrong to politicize all of education. Apart from politics, education is an exercise in a different kind of freedom – of the effort to think freely, and the ability to contemplate one’s purpose in life.

A teacher’s goal should be to form civic virtue among the citizens of a particular nation, and it so happens that part of being a good democratic citizen is the ability to weigh different views of justice with intelligence. So the kind of freedom we seek for our students lies somewhere between the political and the truly free or liberal, in the sense of “liberal arts.” There is no question that we would like students to conform to our political standards of human rights, multiculturalism and sustainability while giving them the tools to think and decide for themselves.

But wouldn’t you be confused, if you were constantly told you were free, but in reality were made to conform?

Enter John Taylor Gatto. He taught 30 years of public school in New York State and was named “Teacher of the Year” in 1991. He’s known for strong libertarian views and his attack on public schooling. The same year he received the award he wrote a column for the Wall Street Journal in which he promised to “stop hurting more children.” And then, he quit. His book Dumbing Us Down explained why. Public school, he claimed, was largely based on a hidden curriculum meant to remove students from actual life challenges. School replaced the self-worth gained by real responsibility with artificial “self-esteem,” granted to those who followed through with social expectations and phony assessment.

You should know about Gatto, not just because we are entering a period of Conservative majority, but because his methods of teaching were highly successful. And when the method works, you use it. More importantly, you look at how he got his ideas in the first place.

Gatto’s latest book, Weapons of Mass Instruction (2009), is a case for what he calls “open-source” learning. Inspired by the early American entrepreneurial spirit, he says students should develop and explore their own interests by solving problems in the real world and learning from competent mentors. Like Sir Ken Robinson, Gatto claims that schools kill creativity, only he believes it was a deliberate strategy on the part of America’s elite governing and corporate class.

Generations of New York students learned from Gatto that rules, bells, and protocol meant precious little in the grand scheme of life – a life meant to be lived with passion, devoted to self-knowledge, and free from capitalist mind control. At the beginning of every year, Gatto would create a profile for every student and then follow through on their interests and talents. He took his classes out of their cells and let them loose on the Big Apple, presenting them with the challenges of real life – to interview, observe, sketch, journal, plan, and create.

Gatto sought to cure men and women of their schooling and ensure that bored students would no longer graduate to become bored teachers. For him, students were young men and women, not adolescents. Gatto says the term was coined in 1904 by psychologist G. Stanley Hall and was literally a hospital chart meant to label a dangerously irrational state of human growth requiring “psychological controls inculcated through schooling.” Ironically, Gatto wanted to free these young men and women by working in the same system that churned out grown up adolescents.

As a libertarian, Gatto sees the individual and their freedom of will as sacrosanct – any government imposition is a denial of this basic freedom. You may recall this argument from the American “Tea Party” movement, some of whose members, like Fox News host Glenn Beck, have concocted elaborate conspiracy theories about how the government is preparing to take away your soul.

In Weapons of Mass Instruction, Gatto provides a parade of punchy quotes gathered in earlier research as a PhD in the history of American education. In short, his argument is as follows: industrial capitalists and the state have consciously sought to control the minds of the young by subjecting them to the methods of behavioural psychologists and consumer propaganda. They did this because too much entrepreneurial activity and freedom of thought would threaten the stability of society. Benjamin Bloom, for example, shows up as a “mad scientist” interested in knowing and thus controlling every stage of human development. America is a sort of Egypt waiting for the revolution of open source media, an oppressive regime that lives by the rhetoric of “liberty.” This magical word was immortalized by Thomas Jefferson who denounced slave trading while owning slaves himself.

Gatto takes aim at the pragmatist transformation of educational philosophy in the late 19th century. Charles S. Pierce, writing in 1877, placed social cohesion above freedom of thought. True individual liberty, he said, was a mirage. Science was the measure of truth and would lead to liberty for society as a whole. Only a handful of men could be trusted with logic and science:

Let the will of the state act, then, instead of that of the individual. Let an institution be created which shall have for its object to keep correct doctrines before the attention of the people, to reiterate them perpetually, and to teach them to the young; having at the same time power to prevent contrary doctrines from being taught, advocated, or expressed. Let all possible causes of a change of mind be removed from men’s apprehensions. Let them be kept ignorant, lest they should learn of some reason to think otherwise than they do. Let their passions be enlisted, so that they may regard private and unusual opinions with hatred and horror. Then, let all men who reject the established belief be terrified into silence…For the mass of mankind, then, there is perhaps no better method than this. If it is their highest impulse to be intellectual slaves, then slaves they ought to remain. (The Fixation of Belief)

Pierce taught a generation of American intellectuals the meaning of “liberty” from the halls of Johns Hopkins University, founded in 1876 on the Prussian model. Gatto portrays John Hopkins as the fount of all (Prussian) evil. It revolutionized American universities by displacing the liberal arts and making science king. One can see where Gatto is going with this – the modern research university spawned a class of social architects working closely together to improve mankind through science. And the engine of modern science is industrial capitalism. The proof for this is the legacy of Pierce’s students – 28th President Woodrow Wilson and John Dewey. You’ll recall that Dewey’s “progressivism” is based on the belief that it is more important to become socialized and absorb cultural values rather than understand them, and more important to “solve problems” rather than to ask the “why?” questions of life.

For Gatto, the “Prussian” model of education is a sinister plot against the inherent liberty of Americans. If it weren’t for Prussian mind-control educational methods in Europe, the first and second world wars might have been averted (this was also the opinion of Eric Maria Remarque and Dietrich Bonhoeffer). School boards in the US were increasingly centralized following the Civil War, making it easier for capitalists and government to control them.

Gatto’s libertarian streak may be easy to brush off, but remember that Noam Chomsky too is a libertarian of sorts, and they share a central concern:  they believe the goal of industrial capitalism conflicts with the aims of a true education. The best consumers are docile and passive, accustomed to think that freedom of choice equals freedom of thought. To give students a sense of freedom, we teach them “critical thinking” which develops the skill of analyzing advertisements, as long as they keep watching TV. Gatto’s critique of this kind of slavery oscillates in sync with the Frankfurt School Marxists, Horkheimer and Adorno, as well. In the 1960s, they argued that culture in America was becoming an industry. Enlightenment and a democratic leveling of taste was actually a “mass deception,” intended to flatter the consumer while pilfering their wallet.

One of the great redeeming qualities of Gatto, despite his provocative conspiracy theory, is his return to the classics. Through his own “open source” education, Gatto taught himself to read Adam Smith, who was very concerned about the effects of capitalism on the intellectual and moral virtues. In Smith’s treatise, Theory of Moral Sentiments, he argues that only a true education could heal the wounds caused by the free-market: the accompanying cowardice, stupidity, sluggishness, indifference to reality, and obsession with animal desires. These are certainly the demons of modern schooling, where video games and Paris Hilton conspire to thwart our best attempts at making curriculum relevant. But Adam Smith was not referring to public schooling as the cure for these ills. It was something much more – it was a liberal education. This is a problem for Gatto, and another of his interesting contradictions.

While praising the freedom of reading and experimenting widely in any area of interest, Gatto criticizes the idea of liberal education as elitist and un-American. In a 1909 speech, President Woodrow Wilson said that only an elite should receive a liberal education, while the masses should be prepared for manual labour. Gatto shows how this vision of public schooling was heavily funded by steel and oil barons Carnegie and Rockefeller. He also tries to show that literacy rates fell proportional to the expansion of public schools and literacy programs – in particular the lack of phonics teaching which has plagued readers since WWII.

Educational democratization is both an evil (in the form of public schools) and a good for Gatto (if it supports the freedom of each individual to pursue their interests). In hindsight, however, the outcome of educational democratization in public schooling did lead to the libertarian values Gatto espouses. Think student-led learning, type III enrichment (independent problem solving), flex programs, and fostering an internal locus of control to strengthen resilience in at-risk youth. Not to mention the ubiquitous access to technology that is the inspiration of “open source” learning.

But are we really free? Gatto claims we are far from it. So the question is: what kind of education will make us free? How does Gatto reconcile the “true” liberal education of Adam Smith with pure democratic equality? Gatto’s cult of the individual wins out in the end. While appealing to the concepts of liberty and equality in the US Declaration of Independence, Gatto conveniently sidesteps the famous “Federalist” debate in which Madison argued for a strong central government to guard against potentially dangerous opinions of the masses. He also seems to be caught up in the glamour of the entrepreneur, while decrying the evils of the industrial capitalist.

Gatto’s ideal model of a human being is Benjamin Franklin, who apprenticed at the age of 12 to a printer, opened his own shop at 17, and went on to found public libraries and become the ambassador to France. He was entirely self-taught. His book is full of examples like this – Lincoln, Franklin, human genome project leader Francis Collins, and aerospace inventor Richard Branson, to name a few. The key was that they followed their own genius. However, far from seeking wisdom and knowledge for its own sake, Gatto simply seems to be in love with the underdog capitalist. In this way, his libertarian vision of education is no less pragmatist than Charles Pierce. If only America would embrace an “open source” education, they would become competitive once again. What about training in moral and civic virtue?

The real value in reading Weapons of Mass Instruction is its willingness to explore the question: “what is the purpose of education?” It is important to note that Gatto incorporated methods such as individualized learning into his teaching because he thought long and hard about that question. He focused on a question in the liberal arts first, before looking to economic competitiveness, or other utilitarian or motives. The documentary Waiting for Superman didn’t go this far, preferring to frame the failure of public schools as a matter of global market competitiveness. For Gatto, education is about a relationship which encompasses all of life which is best experienced away from bells, rules, and phony self-esteem boosters. He quotes Immanuel Kant – “Any educational quest has four questions at its heart: What can I know? What may I hope? What ought I to do? What is Man?” The point is that Gatto thinks these questions are answered for students before they even step into the classroom, and hence their quest for independent thought has been, let’s say, pre-empted.

We need to find a way to balance conformity to political ideals with the tools that allow students think and decide for themselves. While fostering democratic independence and creative problem solving are key elements both of our economy and democracy, it doesn’t not quite address the spiritual and moral dimensions of the challenges facing youth today. To do this, we must seek an “open source” education into the universal questions. This requires an understanding of liberal education.

Contrary to what Sir Ken Robinson would have you think in his overused TED Talk, a traditional liberal education is not the face of rote learning and creativity destruction. Rather, returning to a liberal education in its traditional sense is exactly what our generation needs to cope with the dizzying disconnect between wisdom and practice. Knowledge is not what you put into the proverbial “jar.” Rote learning is fact-based. In a liberal education, knowledge is more like wisdom – the ability to categorize and order which knowledge is most useful in a given situation. What we need most today is to understand how to become free and moral citizens in a capitalist democracy. Politics, economics, and “open source” are only pieces of that puzzle.


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Back in 1999, Ken Osborne, a history teacher and retired faculty in the University of Manitoba education department, warned us of the lack of civic debate concerning the ends of public education.

His book, Education: A Guide To The Canadian Education Debate – Or, Who Wants What and Why? was intended to bolster this discussion beyond “the slogans that dominate the debate today.”

Osborne provides a concise, pragmatic, and slightly biased account of the debates, slipping in counter-arguments here and there for a traditional liberal arts education.

And who better to survey the distinctive character of Canadian education and history, with its unsettled compromises, than an Englishman and a progressive conservative? –

“One of Canada’s distinctive contributions to the world of politics is the idea of progressive conservatism. In education, I am best described as a progressive traditionalist, by which I mean that I believe in the value of a more or less traditional liberal education for all students, but I also believe that the so-called child-centred methods of teaching associated with progressive education are the best way to achieve it.”

On the whole, it is worthwhile book and achieves its purpose admirably. It’s greatest virtue in my mind is Osborne’s emphasis on the renewal of citizenship education in the face of an increasingly utilitarian and technologically driven society.

“As things stand, a vacuum exists as far as the purposes of schooling are concerned, with the result that those who wish to direct schools to serve economic goals are winning their case more or less by default” (24).

I met Osborne last year at the Social Studies professional development day, where he gave an excellent presentation on teaching history through dilemmas. His approach struck me immediately as humane – guided inquiry which helps students think through real life ethical issues and place themselves in historical character’s boots, making historical decisions themselves based on whatever evidence is at hand.

So how does Osborne define liberal education, and what role does it play in 21st century education?

First off, a slight bone to pick in the history of education department. Though his perspective is helpful and often pithy, Osborne’s view that citizenship education began only in the 20th century with public schools strikes me as very strange. Before the modern age, he says, education was about learning specific skills such as rhetoric in debate. It’s certainly not surprising that Osborne would reach this conclusion, given the plethora of error-filled histories of education that have been written. It seems that in his account, only democracies have citizens. Is it the elites and the masses who were taught only skills in days gone by?

As far as I know, Aristotle’s educational program for young aristocrats includes the Nicomachean Ethics, which is intended to be followed by his work on Politics. Isocrates, arguably the most influential educational thinker of ancient times and Plato’s contemporary, saw his method of education as a preparation for citizenship. Shakespeare’s father sent him to public school (British version of private school – confusing, I know) where he learned the classics and transformed Plutarch’s great character studies. And it is impossible to ignore the constant reading of Cicero throughout the ages, who was considered by statesmen such as Thomas Jefferson to be the ultimate guide to prudence and rhetoric. My excuse for appealing to the classics is their effect they had on the concept of the English “gentleman” – which indeed was popularized over the course of centuries and had much to do with the idea of civic engagement. But more on the idea of a gentleman later…

Osborne tacks in a familiar direction when discussing the advantages of a liberal education. After making a case for a civic-minded populace in today’s complex democracy, he says something rather startling to the “progressive” ears. The primary characteristic of civic-minded people people is their concern for the “Big Questions” of life. Cue the appeals to the authority of John Dewey, whose great legacy was to heap liberal arts into the dustbin of history in favour of pragmatic “socialization” of students. Big Questions? What have they to do with the economy, er, I mean the life of the average blue collar worker?

Osborne provides a few examples of these Big Questions from his experience of teaching history.  A true education, he says, is about teaching people how to think about tough issues. If he happened to be a philosophy rather than history major, he’d be advocating for the study of philosophy in schools. Whether teaching English, History, or Philosophy, the crux of the matter is the same: without a life of the mind, education becomes a preparation for drone existence, where we become “workers and consumers, fodder for the technological future” (22).

To paraphrase, civic engagement requires people who can think beyond their own physical desires, who know the difference between well and poorly formulated arguments, and especially people who use their leisure time to pursue a greater understanding of the whole. I am starting to hear the voice of Fitzwilliam Darcy from Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice. Gentlemen, we must not be carried away by our emotions. By studying history, students are “less self-centred by connecting them with other people in other times and places.”

The most important example of a Big Question which Osborne presents is the one Rousseau raised in his Emile in the late 18th century, and which especially dogs us today. Citizenship is the “difficult art of balancing personal freedom with social responsibility.” In Grade 9 Social Studies we all learn that we have rights and duties. The question is, how are we to go about doing this balancing act?

Osborne mentions the need to be exposed to many different ideas in order to become tolerant, and he also makes clear that being able to disagree is of fundamental importance in a complex democracy such as Canada. Nodding to cultural literacy exponent E.D. Hirsch, Osborne defends the need to learn hard facts, because without knowledge, student “will have no basis for questioning anything.”

But Osborne never gets around to the method by which we are to evaluate knowledge or think about the Big Questions. To be fair, it’s not the point of his book to provide policy suggestions, but that hasn’t stopped him from setting the terms of the debate and advocating civic-education. As he says early on, the shrill back and forth between “direct” and “child-centred” instruction is a bit of a red herring because he believes both are needed.

Thinking is a catch-all phrase, which is why it is all the more important to figure out what we mean by it. Osborne defines most of his terms, but not this one. Nor do most educators. Thinking can refer to any number of activities of consciousness – intuition, concentration, logical reasoning, empathy, meditation, prayer, remembering or just being conscious of your own thought. Animals think to a certain extent. Osborne quotes Northrop Frye –

“the difference between a good and a mediocre teacher lies mainly in the emphasis the former puts on the exploratory part of the mind, the aspects of learning that reveal meanings and lead to further understanding.” (Design for Learning 1962)

So what are the exploratory parts of the mind? As we all know, exploring could include any level of thinking from Bloom’s taxonomy from the base level of gathering facts, to evaluating them. Osborne has already noted the need for some knowledge stored in long-term memory in order for exploration to happen. Memorization skills are an ally in this regard, not just for the knowledge, but because memorization is a transferable skill itself. Though I haven’t read Bloom’s tome, the way the highest stages of thought – such as synthesis and evaluation – have been presented to me are anything but clear. At most we have an intuitive understanding what evaluation means, as with”exploring.”

What evaluation means for a philosopher and historian are different, which is why I think Osborne, the history teacher, focuses more on being exposed to different points of view. A good argument in history follows the 6 historical thinking concepts laid out by Peter Seixas, the excellent consultant to many new curriculum writers:  have you determined the historical significance? have you used primary sources? Can you identify continuity and change? can you analyze cause and consequence? can you take a historical perspective? and can you discuss the ethical dimensions of the event?

In philosophy, however, we must add a couple more criteria to a quality evaluation. The biggest one, and the one historians are most afraid of (because of Hegel’s legacy of thinking in circles), is logical consistency. The methods of history and philosophy are different. The events of history do not follow a logical progression, necessarily. But when Peter Seixas brings up “discussing the ethical dimensions” of events, the gates are opened to a new philosophical dimension, one that involves the complex “schemas,” and reasons gained from experience, one’s own freedom of will, and other sources of moral authority.

Generally when we challenge a student’s way of thinking as well as opinions, we are challenging their “schemas” – their structures of meaning gathered over time.

In The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains, the technology writer Nicholas Carr has done an admirable job of gathering the brain science on how reading books develops these “schemas” differently than when we spend time online. Carr shows that long-term memory plays a crucial role in developing meaning, or “schemas” about the world. The exploratory part of the mind is engaged when we are re-evaluating our perceptions, attitudes, and beliefs, all of which are brought forth to consciousness by a good teacher from what students already begin with (the meanings stored in their memories). The human mind is not a computer that just recalls facts from a database, and then decides what to do with them. It takes time to develop attitudes and change perceptions, and these are stored in long-term memory.

So the liberal arts, which deal with Big Questions, are the disciplines which teach how to think about and explore meanings. Where he is most clear about the processes of thinking, Osborne is discussing the need to explore moral issues in school. He quotes the 1988 B.C. Royal Commission on Education:

“Young people at school today are forced to consider many difficult moral issues and their consideration of such issues is made even more problematic by the diversity in social values that marks the society in which they live. They must learn to answer for themselves, for the future generation they represent, an array of ethical questions… in the realms of social relations, science, technology, and medicine. Through education, they begin to learn how individuals can reason clearly about vexing moral issues and choices, and what it means to act in morally responsible ways consistent with such reasons and choices.”

But instead of establishing “schemas” and consistent reasons for moral action,  it turns out that Osborne’s primary method of pursuing the Big Questions is to leave them open to criticism.

Secular humanism “does not regard all values as relative, but does believe that values should be open to scrutiny…it is the only tradition of thought that deliberately and consistently questions its own fundamental beliefs. Nor is it incompatible with religious faith.”

Without a clear method with which to question one’s beliefs and hold them to scrutiny, we are left with the postmodern virtue of skepticism. The greatest public virtue becomes the willingness to suspend all opinions in mid-air, to question everything, and especially to distrust any authority. But if no one’s opinion carries more weight than others, then we must respect all opinions equally. This wasn’t what the great liberal arts scholar Cardinal John Henry Newman had in mind when he said:

“Great minds need elbow room, not indeed in the domain of faith, but of thought. And so indeed do lesser minds and all minds.”

Elbow room, or freedom of thought, has been transformed magically into the sacred multicultural duty of “tolerance.” Tolerance no longer means what it once did – that we should not suppress others’ opinions because we disagree with them.

While tolerance is a necessary component of learning how to think and of being introduced to new ideas, the attitude in practice is much more difficult to achieve. This is because tolerance is not a belief in the equality of all opinions per se, but the belief that individuals should be free to have their own opinions. It’s a fine distinction, but one that is often lost when discussion time rolls around. I’ve witnessed many teachers who claim to be taking advantage of “good discussion,” when really the so-called discussion is an exercise in affirming any and all opinions, except for the ones the teacher finds most disagreeable. These are discussions for the sake of tolerance, but they regularly miss the point of challenging students to think clearly about their opinions and why they disagree with one another. And most of all, it fails to teach students that their opinions must be laid on solid foundations.

If we wish our students to avoid becoming cynics and skeptics, if we wish them to be civically-engaged citizens who have a concern for individual and societal Good, and if we wish to avoid simply telling them what that Good is, then they need a way to think their way to this consistent view of reality. Most of all, students must be exposed to the tools by which they can construct meaning.

We are at the point where both teachers and students cannot distinguish between the methods of science, which do not construct meanings, from the methods of philosophy, which can both bring into question, and construct consistent rational “schemas.” A very good example is the concept of person. Our idea that the fellow next to me is a conscious being with freedom of will has no basis in scientific observation. Freedom is an condition that can only be discussed and discovered by philosophy and that we must defend with reasons.

The British philosopher Roger Scruton writes in An Intelligent Person’s Guide to Philosophy that the main crisis of our age is the denial of human meanings in favour of reductive mechanistic and scientific explanations. Colours are not just the way we perceive wavelengths, they are also beautiful. Our live are composed of memories that are woven together with meanings, not explanations. Sex is not just the attempt to procreate or achieve desires, it is also shrouded in meaning – love is not the exclusive domain of science.  Constant skepticism has eroded meanings, and a wise approach to philosophy today would be a balancing constructive role.  Again, the human mind is not a computer. It needs to make sense of the world, not process information.

If we can defend moral choices with consistent reasoning, then we can define what it means to pursue character as one of the goals of education. Osborne insists that we had lost hold of the idea of character formation in our schools. It is not surprising, given our belief that we can no longer rationally discuss what good character really is. As the philosopher Alasdair MacIntyre showed in his 1981 book After Virtue, we live in a land of emotivism – the belief that actions are determined solely through will, not reason.

But we still want our kids to be “good.” Lytton Strachey, the Canadian essayist who exploded the tradition of Victorian hero worship with his critical character sketches, writes about the reform of Rugby school under Headmaster Arnold. The parent he quoted sounds much like any parent today: “If he’ll only turn out to be a brave, helpful, truthtelling Englishman, and a Christian, that’s all I want.” (Plus the making-lots-of-money bit).

So one of the “Big Questions” Osborne considers to be of fundamental importance for civic education is whether we can ground our actions with consistent reasons in order to call them “good.”

But reasons do not come out of thin air. They are hard won. In order for them to be consistent we need logic. And in order for “values” to be free of relativity we need a common ground where they can be weighed against each other. Reason is this common ground, and reason is inseparable from logic. This is a fundamental aspect taken for granted by Osborne. If he believes schools should study logic, he does not say so explicitly.

When faced with the overwhelming pressure to be politically correct, it is easier to talk about “reason” and “thinking,” without actually defining what you mean. The study of logic has taken quite a beating in the 20th century, being reduced in schools to the more innocuous sounding “critical thinking.” With a smattering of informal fallacies and Venn diagrams, we are taught to respect other’s opinions while becoming judicious rather than gullible consumers. The post-modern disgust with “linear” reasoning associated with “euro-centric imperialism” tries to do away with any claims of superiority, even the superiority of clear opinions supported through the best logic and evidence.  As far as I know, logic is not taught in our schools today, and it’s authority is being replaced by default with the scientific method. And this is eroding our understanding of what it means to be free human beings, and to make ethical choices.

The least we can do in public education is provide the tools of thinking and a way back from the thicket of relativism. I wholeheartedly agree with Osborne that studying the Big Questions is indispensable if we are to produce more than “workers and consumers, fodder for the technological future.” But we need a way to build up consistent “schemas” rather than tear down.

I am not suggesting that we teach philosophy, or assume that the aims of public education are “freedom of thought,” with its incessant questioning of purpose.  Aiming this high might get us as far as our belief in freedom, but not necessarily of thought. I am suggesting that we provide the tools required for “freedom of thought” – the main one being logic – since these exercise the faculties that are distinctly human, and hence liberal.

Public schools can provide the basis by which to pursue life-long learning. More importantly, we should be able to show that a life of character, as Ken Osborne rightly identifies, is the prerequisite for balancing personal freedoms with social responsibility.

Osborne is right. We lack civic debate on the purpose of public education and resort to slogans. Is this because we no longer believe that there is a common ground by which to define character?

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