Creative destruction

What is the tipping point that determines when one thing (a wall or a tree, for example) should be destroyed to make room for another, presumably better, thing?  How do we know?  How do we decide?  And who gets to make the decisions?

Today, I can see--and hear--the removal of the top layer of a brick wall, brick by brick. The construction fences, scaffolding, and machinery disrupt the flow of traffic, both vehicular and pedestrian, as the noise disrupts the flow of thought.  Large swaths of trees, pavement, and buildings are disappearing to make way for something else.

Yes, there is the need for change and progress.  I teach these topics, so I know these things.  I know that backing up is sometimes necessary to go forward, that disruptive technology can also destroy, and that loss accompanies all growth.  But there is a part of me that mourns the loss of a majestic tree and questions the removal (at some unknown cost for man and machine) of a perfectly good wall.

The changes I initiate (and support) should make sense to me.  And the others?  The ones I don't initiate?  They should make sense to someone...

The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself.  Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.  -- George Bernard Shaw

The magic of technology

Technology has magical properties. It exists without benefit of human effort, performs without human oversight, does not take up physical space...and it's free!  Wow!  

Last semester, when asked what might have prevented or minimized the industrial tragedy at Bhopal, one of my students wrote:

One other large mistake...was the fact that they depended on manual operations.  It is much more likely for a human to make mistakes than a machine.  All they had to do was spend a little extra money on quality technology that will make sure things are done correctly.

Just this past week, I asked a group of students why unlimited data plans had been scrutinized so carefully by service providers and why, with few exceptions, the prices for these plans have risen steeply.  The immediate and emphatic answer:  "Because they just want to make more money.  It doesn't cost them anything." 

Survey any group--whether high school students, college students, or working professionals--to define 'the cloud' and few will be able to explain the linkage of physical entities (servers, cables, routers, databases, etc.) responsible for the magic we see on our screens of choice.  And if we can't understand the physical entities required to provide the magic we call technology, we will be oblivious to the environmental impact (yes, there is one) of the very real data centers required for the existence of the invisible cloud.  

Technology cannot exist or function without human creation, human intervention, and human maintenance.  The tragedy-behind-the-tragedy at Bhopal is that there were technology safeguards in place to prevent and/or minimize the potential negative impact to people--but the human intervention required for maintenance and monitoring did not allow the technology to function as it was designed.  

Bandwidth (another magical concept) is a physical entity with a dollar cost; so, too, the 'server farms' required to deliver the computing speed to which we seem to feel entitled. I'm not bemoaning the proliferation of technology (at least not in this post) but the proliferation of illusion:

The greatest enemy of knowledge is not ignorance, it is the illusion of knowledge. -- Stephen Hawking

News that isn't

Yikes.  I know it's not a particularly professional response to what I'm reading this morning, but it's honest.  I guess I could go with 'wow' or 'how frustratingly short-sighted,' but I think I'll stick with the mono-syllabic expression of shock and alarm that preserves the element of humor.  A bit of humor and a strong dose of get-a-grip seems helpful when reading that tools can do some things better than people (gasp!) and how that's all well and good right up until the trite we-can't-let-machines-replace-us fear is invoked.  

It may be the slightest bit hypocritical and/or short-sighted to be thankful for a hammer (which works far better than the heel of my shoe...) or a screwdriver (try using fingernails...it's not pretty) and bemoan tools that specifically--and selectively--affect my own profession.  What has me a bit ruffled this morning is the NPR article which opens with this paragraph:

Computers have been grading multiple-choice test in schools for years.  To the relief of English teachers everywhere, essays have been tougher to gauge.  But look out, teachers:  A new study finds that software designed to automatically read and grade essays can do as good a job as humans--maybe even better.

It doesn't get a lot better from there, as the NPR article continues to sound the alarm about the tool, how students might game the tool, and the danger(s) of using the tool to replace both good teaching and good teachers.  Credibility is lent to the NPR article through judicious quotes from (with requisite links to) a New York Times article about a study conducted at the University of Akron.

The scary part is this:  The NPR story was largely based on an interview with the author of the New York Times article.  But only the reader (not the listener..) who takes the time to read the NPR article, follow the links to the New York Times article, and then follow those links to the original source will find this:

Shermis, the lead author of the Akron study, says thrift-minded administrators and politician should not take his results as ammunition in a crusade to replace composition instructors with...robots.  Ideally, educators at all levels would use the software 'as a supplement for overworked [instructors of] entry-level writing courses, where students are really learning fundamental writing skills and can use all the feedback they can get.' "

At this point, I have so many browser windows open (love this tool!) that I'm having a bit of trouble keeping them in the order that makes sense to me.  But by now I also have access (because of this amazing tool...) to the original study conducted at the University of Akron.

I can read the study for myself and draw my own conclusions, conclusions which are likely to be far more similar to those of the lead author than those of the NPR writer who does not quote or reference the original work--at all.  Yikes.

Fluffy reads

I'm trying to keep an open mind about virtual books and to listen respectfully to those with whom I disagree.  All too willing to accept that my preference for books (the ones with actual paper in them) may be rooted in emotion or history, I've been pretty quiet about those preferences.  Until now.

While reading levels of American high school students continue to fall, it's time to ask when we accepted the fallacy that reading is supposed to be easy and fun.  Light reading for pleasure while on holiday, sure.  But all reading?  I don't think so.

The best writing (of the caliber of Shakespeare, Plato, Dante, Socrates, or Homer) is intended to challenge the reader, to make the reader think, to force the reader to The Oxford English Dictionary or another study aid, or to require the reader to tackle a paragraph s-l-o-w-l-y one or more times before the dense text becomes clear.  Great writing takes work, both for the author and for the reader.  And it's not the kind of work that lends itself to handy electronic devices far better suited for popular contemporary fiction.

Most American high school and college students write poorly, largely because they read poorly.  And the need for curriculum to develop 'critical thinking' would be diminished, if not eliminated, by requiring students to read prose and poetry above their grade level, grapple with the complexity of what they are reading, and explain the meaning--in writing. That's critical thinking.  The critical thinking employers want.  And learning to read Dante well helps with reading--and writing--case law, historical documents, philosophy, learning objectives, short stories, instructional manuals, position papers, and annual reports.

Consider, for example, Bram Stoker's Dracula, which can be read here courtesy of Project Gutenberg.  Written in 1897, Dracula could be considered 'light' reading of that era.  The writing style, the historical references, and the cultural differences illustrated by the narrative are what make Dracula harder to read in 2012 than it was in 1897.  And those are exactly the reasons for students to read Dracula rather than--or, at a minimum, in addition to--one of the plethora of current teen best sellers.  If students aren't able to grapple with adventure writing from 1897, what are their chances of understanding philosophy from 400 B.C. or poetry from the 16th century?

What we seem to want is the reading and learning equivalent of cotton candy.  

Meet Seth

You and I may be the last two people who don't know Seth Godin.  But we've just changed that, haven't we?

I found Godin's self-described education manifesto last week while I was researching education and technology. Provocatively titled "Stop Stealing Dreams (what is school for?)"-- a choice which provides the first clue about Godin's marketing talent--the document is over 150 pages and worth reading...in its entirety.

In case I haven't convinced you, perhaps Godin will:

Large-scale education was not developed to motivate kids or to create scholars. It was invented to churn out adults who worked well within the system. Scale was more important than quality, just as it was for most industrialists.

The question I’d ask every administrator and school board is, “Does the curriculum you teach now make our society stronger?”

Transparency in the traditional school might destroy it. If we told the truth about the irrelevance of various courses, about the relative quality of some teachers, about the power of choice and free speech—could the school as we know it survive? 

This manifesto...well, I wish I had taken the time to write it.  But the more important contribution, perhaps, is reading it...and sharing it...and acting on it.

Dancing geek

The pedagogy of teaching fascinates me, despite the hubris implied by use of the word 'pedagogy' in public.  Taking pride (of the appropriate kind) reflected in preparation and professionalism in ones craft as an educator requires an awareness that teaching is both art and science, in somewhat equal measure.

Benjamin Bloom's Taxonomy of Educational Objectives is part of the rich science of teaching; understanding how to use the taxonomy is part of the art.  Long a fan of the elegant simplicity of a hierarchy of thinking skills, I have used Bloom's Taxonomy in course design, test design, and content delivery.

In the midst of teaching, explaining to students how learning happens seems prudent; students are, after all, my partners in the process and it helps if we're doing the same dance steps.  The step-wise progression from lower order thinking skills to higher order thinking skills is beautifully choreographed in the latest revision to Bloom's--we now have digital verbs.  For example, from the Update to Bloom's Revised Taxonomy:

• Remembering - bookmarking, searching, googling, social bookmarking
• Understanding - advanced/ boolean searches, blog journaling, annotating, subscribing, tweeting
• Applying - executing, playing, uploading, editing
• Analyzing - mashing, tagging, linking
• Evaluating - commenting, posting, moderating, collaborating, reviewing
• Creating - programming, blogging, podcasting, publishing, wiki-ing

For those of us who are pedagogists as well as closet geeks, this is really good news.  It means I can use technology as more than a tool to enable learning objectives related to other content.  The effective and well-planned use of technology is its own pedagogy, music to the ears of a geek who dances.


Related Ramblings:
Learning Through Teaching: Pandemic consumption
Learning Through Teaching:  My cup runneth over
Learning Through Teaching: The "no textbook" decision

A work in progress

I don't even know where to begin to describe what's happening in our classroom this semester as we address online education as an innovation. From the scholarly articles and supporting texts come descriptions of what I'm observing:

"Above all, innovation is work rather than genius. It requires knowledge. It often requires ingenuity. And it requires focus." (1)

"(W)hen all is said and done, what innovation requires is hard, focused, purposeful work. If diligence, persistence, and commitment are lacking, talent, ingenuity, and knowledge are of no avail." (1)

"Innovators constantly ask questions that challenge common wisdom...they like to ask 'If we did this, what would happen?'" (2)

"(I)nnovative entrepreneurs actively try out new ideas by creating prototypes and launching pilots. Unlike observers...experimenters construct interactive experiences and try to provoke unorthodox responses to see what insights emerge." (2)

"It's no longer sufficient to create a product, a service, an experience, or a lifestyle that's merely functional. Today's it's economically crucial and personally rewarding to create something that is also beautiful, whimsical, or emotionally engaging." (3)

  

We have created a lab focused on asking questions, researching answers, and creating prototypes that embody the experience students (and standards organizations) expect from online education.  It's truly a beautiful process to watch.

(1) The Discipline of Innovation by Peter F. Drucker (HBR Case)
(2) The Innovator's DNA by Jeffrey H. Dyer, Hal. B. Gregersen, and Clayton M. Christensen (HBR Case)
(3) A Whole New Mind by Daniel H. Pink