Daniel Quinn on schooling

from Providence: The Story of a Fifty-Year Vision Quest, by Daniel Quinn
pp. 118 - 125

One of the great, persistent myths of education in our culture is that children become reluctant learners as they grow older. In fact, what they become reluctant about is going to school, where they're bullied, regimented, bored silly, and very effectively prevented from learning. The learning curve of small children is simply phenomenal during the first five years of their life. They learn the language of their parents--several languages, if several are spoken. They learn four fifths of the vocabulary they'll use in their everyday activities for the rest of their lives. They easily learn to walk, run, skip, swim, ride a bicycle, draw, print, count, and hundreds of other things they'll do for the rest of their lives (including reading, if parents will give them a little help). But as soon as they enter school, this learning curve begins to level off, and within a few years it's practically flat. And the children are blamed for this. In effect, the educators say, "See? If it weren't for the hard work we do, these kids wouldn't be learning ANYTHING!"

One of the absolute principles of education that every teacher learns is that children learn something very easily when they're ready to learn it, which is to say, when they want to learn it. The classic example is batting averages. Kids who become interested in baseball learn to figure batting averages without the slightest effort--without being "taught" at all. It's as though they take it in through their pores. Children find this operation extremely difficult to learn when it's taught as a subject in class, but if they have a reason to learn it--their own reason--they learn it in no time.

As I say, everyone in education knows this--but they would never dream of allowing children to learn this way as a general rule. That wouldn't do at all, because of course how would you organize such a thing? How can you possibly know when a given child will develop a reason to learn how to read a map? And what would you do when you found out? No, the only way to organize learning is to give children a reason to learn all at the same time. This is called motivating them. You have thirty children in your class and the curriculum says it's time to teach them some map-reading skills, so now you motivate them to learn about maps. You try to manufacture something that approximates the interest kids have when they learn to figure batting averages.

Of course it doesn't work, that goes without saying. No one expects it to work. When kids learn to figure batting averages, they're responding to a motivation that arises within them. This is something they want to do. No matter. Your task is to "motivate," so you "motivate"--the more the better.

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Our entire program is based on this argument: "We know kids learn effortlessly if they have their own reasons for learning, but we can't wait for them to find their own reasons. We have to provide them with reasons that are not their own. This doesn't work and we know it doesn't work, but it's the only practical way to organize our schools."

What? How would I organize the schools? To ask this question presupposes that we must have schools, doesn't it? I prefer to think about problems the way engineers do. If a valve doesn't work, they don't say, "Well, we must have valves, so lets try two valves." If a valve doesn't work, they say, "Well, what would work?" Their rule is, if it doesn't work, don't do it more, do something else.

We know what works for children up to the age where we ship them off to school: Let them be around you, pay attention to them, talk to them, give them access to as much as you can, let them try things, and that's it. They'll take care of the rest. you don't have to strap small children down and teach them to speak, all you have to do is talk to them. You don't have to give them crawling lessons or walking lessons or running lessons. you don't have to spend an hour a day showing them how to bang two pots together; they'll figure that out all by themselves--if you give them access to the pots.

Nothing magical happens at the age of five to render this process obsolete or invalid. you would know this if you observed what happens in cultures that we in our arrogant stupidity call primitive. in primitive cultures, parents simply go on keeping the children around, paying attention to them, talking to them, giving them access to everything, letting them try out things for themselves, and that's it. They don't herd them together for courses in tracking, pottery making, plant cultivating, hunting and so on. That's totally unnecessary. They don't give them history lessons or craft lessons or art lessons or music lessons, but--magically--all the kids grow up knowing their history, knowing their crafts, knowing their arts, knowing their music. Every kid grows up knowing everything--without a single minute spent in anything remotely like a school. No tests, no grades, no report cards. Every kid learns everything there is to learn in that culture because sooner or later every kid feels within himself or herself the need to learn it--just the way some kids in our culture get to the point where they feel the need to learn how to compute batting averages...

Yes, I understand--believe me, I do. What you're saying is exactly what our educators would say: "That system might work in primitive cultures, but it won't work in ours, because we just have too much to learn." This is just ethnocentric balderdash; you might not like to hear this, but any anthropologist will confirm it: What children learn in other cultures isn't less, it's different. And in fact nothing is too much to learn if kids want to learn it. Take the case of teenage computer hackers. These kids, because they want to, manage--unaided!--to achieve a degree of computer sophistication that matches or surpasses that of whole teams of people with advanced degrees and decades of experience. Give kids access and they'll learn. Restrict their access to learning, and they won't--and this is function of our schools, to restrict kids' access to learning, to give them what educators think they should know, when they think they should know it, one drop at a time.

Are you able to remember yourself at age five, seven, nine, ten? Do you recall yearning to be allowed to sit in a classroom for six hours a day? No, neither do I. Do you remember where you wanted to be? Or can you imagine where you might have wanted to be? Well, yes, certainly our-of-doors, not in a school, but...

Here, let me imagine a place for you. it's a sort of circus, a collection of acrobats, jugglers, animal trainers, high-wire artists, clowns, dancers--the whole thing, every kind of performer you'd expect to find in a circus. And this place is parked nearby and it's open round the clock and the idea is anyone can walk in and say to any of these performers, "Hey, I'd like to learn how to do that!" and they say, "Well, of course! That's what we're here for!"

Of course there'd be room here for a lot more. Maybe a small zoo where you could learn to take care of the animals yourself. Maybe somebody would have a pretty good telescope and could show you what's what in the nighttime sky and lend you some books if you're interested. And maybe there'd be a photographer with a bunch of cameras and a darkroom, and somebody with a printing press and a bindery. And while we're at it, why not a weaver and a potter and a sculptor and a painter and a pianist and a violinist, and maybe even someone who knows how to build a piano and how to make a violin? And indeed there would always be building projects under way, so you could learn how to use all the tools and read the blueprints and all that. And someone who was always prepared to take bunch of kids out into the wilderness to learn whatever there is to learn out there. And maybe an archaeologist who could take some kids off to a dig someplace. And you could even have a writer on hand in case someone was crazy enough to want to find out what that's all about. And a roomful of computers, with someone who knew how to use them. And somewhere in there someone who could teach you any math you wanted to learn, and someone else who could teach you any electronics or physics you wanted to learn, and so on. And gee, everybody has books they can lend you. For your young entrepreneurs, you could even have people around you who could help them make and market their products.

Are you getting the idea here? I could go on for hours this way.

Anyway, the rule is, you can come and go as you please, do anything you please, study with anyone you please for as long as you please. How does this sound as someplace you might rather have been than in a classroom? ...

Exactly, exactly. It's be a never-ending feast of learning, and if you wanted to keep kids out, you'd have to put up a razor-wire fence....

Oh, well, of course educators would hate it. Educators would be superfluous in such a setup" functionless. They'd say, "Sure everyone's having a wonderful time, but how do you know they're getting a rounded education?" My answer to that is, "Rounded according to whom?" and "Rounded as of when?" Who says education has to end at eighteen? Or at age twenty-two? If there were a place like that in my neighborhood, I'd be ensconced there right now, teaching writing, teaching editing, teaching publishing, teaching word processing, teaching everything I have to teach--and learning, getting that "rounded education" I certainly didn't get in sixteen years of schooling....

No, don't call this a school. Didn't you hear what I just said? it isn't a school, it's a city. It's a place where people who are willing to let their children have access to them. People who are willing to let the children of the community hang around, willing to pay attention to them, willing to talk to them, willing to show them how things work, willing to show them how to do things, willing to let them try out things for themselves. Nothing difficult, nothing very demanding, just the ordinary things people did on this planet for the first three million years of human life.

People in this city wouldn't get as much "done" as people in New York City, wouldn't have as sharp a competitive edge, but they'd have a hell of a lot more fun and they'd find out what it's like to live as human beings instead of workers--and they wouldn't pay a nickel in school taxes. It would be costly in terms of time, of course, but how many hours does the average worker spend right now paying for a system that doesn't work?

Revoeluations galore!

I just read this in Daniel Quinn's Beyond Civilization:

Because revolution in our culture has always represented an attack on hierarchy, it has always meant upheaval--literally a heaving up from below. But upheaval has no role to play in moving beyond civilzation. If the plane is in trouble, you don't shoot the pilot, you grab a parachute and jump. To overthrow the hierarchy is pointless; we just want to leave it behind.
As everyone knows (especially revolutionaries), hierarchy maintains formidable defenses against attack from the lower orders. It has none, however, against abandonment. This is in part because it can imagine revolution, but it can't imagine abandonment. But even if it could imagine abandonment, it couldn't defend against it, because abandonment isn't an attack, it's just a discontinuance of support. (p 95)

This only makes perfect sense to me. I used to think alot about the pilgrims, and how they set sail to find a place to start their life on their terms. I've had that on my mind a lot lately, too, and have been wondering if that's even possible today. Is there anywhere to go? (Of course, there are places. There are plenty cultures that aren't like our civilization, and it's somewhat imaginable that one could join something pre-existing; it's probably not necessary to start something NEW. But is there such a thing in a setting where one would want it? Is there some other culture to join into that's in as beautiful a place as, for example, Seattle?)

But that passage resonated in me, deeper than these recent thoughts, and it was a few minutes before I realized I'd read the best-ever description of Why I Don't Vote. I even knew that was why I don't, but I had previously been so unable to find the words, that I didn't immediately recognize them when they were presented to me. I don't support the current order of things, and not voting, to me, is as vital and significant a thing as being a conscientious objector during wartime.

My MySpace status: "Court Anonymous thinks that working for the man is part of the problem, and therefore could never be part of the solution." I've been doing things, and thinking things, and feeling things since I typed that, but haven't updated my status. Whenever I think to, I realize whatever else I might say is not as true as that statement.

Another insight I've had while reading this book today is on the subject of hierarchy. Leading up to that passage, Quinn talks a lot about how our civilization couldn't exist without a hierarchy. The ideas that sprouted from there also resonated in me. I got irritated several weeks ago, when I felt like people around me weren't the radical revolutionaries I perceived them to be when we would hang out together. It has a lot to do with the fact that I want everybody to be the revolutionaries, and I don't want to do more than anybody else--not because I'm lazy, but because I want people to live it as much (or more) as I try aspire to. I don't believe in competition. I don't want anybody to be on top. The only person I compete with is myself (I hold the Thom Yorke quote, "Nobility is not being better than your fellow man; true nobility is being better than your former self," close to my heart).
My business ethic, as I have and am sure will continue to repeat many times, is: I want to be the best. And I want you to be the best. If I am better than you at something, I want to help you learn how to improve. If you are better than me at something, I would like to learn, with help from you, how to improve. Your success and mine are not mutually exclusive.
So to me, a hierarchy does not belong in my world-view. I do not belong in a leadership role (which will bring me to my next point in a bit), because a leadership role does not belong in my idea of life. But I do have an interest in people following the ideas that lead me into and through life.

So yeah, my next point was one of management. I've had many managers/supervisors/bosses over the years. I was discussing one of them recently (I won't say with whom, as this person still works for said boss; we'll call her Jill, and the boss Jane). Jill was criticizing Jane telling me about how evil Jane is. In a business that was previously not about numbers (but rather about a love for the products we provided, and for our customers' appreciation for the products), Jane is ALL about the numbers. The business as a whole, as far as I can tell, is becoming very micromanaged, and Jane is micromanaging.
But the thing is, in her position, I would do (or hope to do) the same thing. I HAVE done that.
Katie asked me once why I refuse to accept another management position (after all, can't good come out of it? Didn't she and I meet when I was her manager?). My explanation is this: I want to do my job as best I can. As a manager, my boss would expect me to motivate (and hire motivated) employees to drive sales. I would be expected to make an effort to increase profits, and increase them again next year. But I have no natural motivation to do this myself. In my mind, profit is profit, and growth is unnecessary, and beating out the competition is pointless.
If, at my current job, I provide books to people, and I can maintain room and board, and my boss is able to maintain room and board, and her bosses are able to maintain room and board, and all the way to the top, everyone maintains room and board, then our business is a success. Period. Because it's my job to sell books, and that's something I beleive in.
It's not my boss's job to sell books. It's my boss's job to motivate me to turn a greater profit than ever before... which is NOT something I believe in. I believe in my job; I do not believe in my boss's job. That's simple.
But there is an allure to my boss's job: more money. A chance to change things. But this is where my personal failure comes in: if I take the job of a manager, then I want to do the best job I can. And if I'm going to motivate my employees to turn a greater profit than ever before, then I am going to micromanage the hell out of the place. I disagree with Jill; I don't think that Jane is evil, because I would do her job just like she does, and I do not think that I am evil. (Jill's other complaints, that she is passive agressive, and forces subordinates to confront eachother so she doesn't have to do it personally would, sadly, apply to me as well.)
But stepping back from that microcosm, it really cames down to the hierarchy. I refuse to rise higher in the workplace, because I do not believe in having a hierarchy in the workplace at all.

The argument that comes to mind, for me, is "if you don't want a hierarchy in the workplace, Court, then how do you expect your workplace to become/remain successful?" That brings to mind this other passage from Beyond Civilization:

No special control is needed to make people into pyramid builders--if they see themselves as having no choice but to build pyramids. They'll build whatever they're told to build, whether it's pyramids, parking garages, or computer programs.
Karl Marx recognized, that workers without a choice are workers in chains. But his idea of breaking chains was for us to depose the pharoas and then build the pyramids for ourselves, as if building pyramids is something we just can't stop doing, we love it so much. (p 52)

But I would also recommend, to whomever might ask that question, reading this book. For all his talk about revolution and abandoning the current paradigm, every point in this book is actually a support for the argument that there is a better way to live--and he describes that way.

Almost there...

There are two reasons why I named this blog Almost There. One of these reasons I'll go into at a time when I'm feeling particularly homesick; the other reason is connected to this postcard from Post Secret:



Something's happening in this world. I think it's been building for a while, and I think it's going to happen soon. Michael and I discussed this last summer--the way I see the world, and the way he sees the world, it is not unique. This much is evidenced by the fact that we see our thoughts and feelings echoed in books and songs and film--even some created before we were born.
I'm now interested in Eckhart Tolle, who I admit I dismissed immediately once I heard he was Oprah's New Big Thing (the last NBT I heard of from Oprah was Dr Phil). The new issue of Shambhala Sun has an article on him, which says, '[he] sees his books as catalysts contributing to the arising of a new, less egoic consiousness and "a more enlightened humanity."'

That's what we saw, discussing the matter last July. We're not starting any revolutions, here; we're contributing to the one that already exists. In his autibiography, Providence, Daniel Quinn explains that in the seventies, he was aware that his generation's "revolution" would fail. But he also realized it wouldn't die--the embers would burn beneath, and the next generation would pick it up. That's why he wrote Ishmael (and his other books). Today I bought his book Beyond Civilization, (non-fiction; it's found under 'Social Sciences' at Barnes & Noble). About it (and within it), he says,

Over and over again, literally thousands of times, people have said to me or written to me, "I understand what you're saying--you've changed the way I see the world and our place in it--but what are we supposed to DO about it?
I might have said, "Isn't it obvious?" But obviously it isn't obvious--or anything remotely like obvious.
In this book I hope to make it obvious.

...
I have had some really amazing fortune. Somewhere in my life, I developed the tendency to draw lines between events, to notice connections. So I felt it was really significant that I've met some amazing people--but even more amazing to see how they fit together. I've got friends who are interested in communal living, and I've got friends with land they're interested in providing for a commune. I know some wicked clever scientific minds. What is always surprising to me, though, is that I also keep meeting people who know--just know--they are going to change the world. Honestly, I cannot count on one hand the number of people that have confided this "secret" to me in the past year. The way I see it, there's an army of prophets-to-be developing. It's an exciting thing to witness.

I feel drawn forward, and I've felt the current growing stronger over the past, lord, twelve years. And in the past year I've felt it increase exponentially. I made up my mind, back in 2001, to do what I'm doing with my life. But I was too afraid; I had the belief, but not the faith, that it wouldn't kill me to separate myself from the world I knew but didn't understand. I finally took that leap of faith, and went from crawling forward to being hurled at breakneck speeds. That's one thing I don't think people catch, sometimes--I'm not in this for the fun or for the adventure. I'm doing what feels to me like the "right thing to do." I'm following a sign like Socrates's, and I'm motivated to do so by curiosity: "For some reason, I feel like I should do this... I wonder what will happen if I do..."
What I mean to say is, I took a leap of faith, to have conviction in what I believe. And since I did, even my lowest moments have felt better than my highest points spent not chasing this dream. I've faced the hardest and most painful things I ever have, just in the past few months, but I've found myself handing them much more capably than I handled lesser woes in my past. I feel like a better, stronger person than ever before, and know I'll only improbe in these respects as I continue to follow this path.

I feel like we're standing on the edge of something big. Take a leap of faith with me.