When I was a school teacher a pair of evangelical Christians gave an assembly the to pupils in which they stated that the sun came out of the earth. I raised my concerns at the weekly staff meeting, suggesting that the school ought not let people ‘teach’ its students who have such a flimsy grasp of basic science. The headteacher seemed perplexed that me, a mere physical education teacher, had complained whilst members of the science department voiced no objection. Other teachers took issue with me for trying to ‘impose’ my views. After all, it’s just a matter of opinion.
It is not just a matter of opinion. The guitar-wielding Christians were mistaken, plain and simple. It seemed to me that their religious persuasion was irrelevant. Truth is truth, whether one wears a cross and has a bad haircut or not.
___________
Things become a bit more complicated when art enters the conversation. In his 1959 Reith Lecture C.P. Snow famously distinguished between ‘the two cultures’ of the sciences and the humanities. I’ve never understood the vitriolic reaction to his thesis that there was a breakdown of communication between the two camps. This seems almost self-evidently true, even today. But perhaps that is because I work in Universities, where there is not just a chasm between the arts and sciences, but between different arts and different sciences, and between academics within what might superficially appear to be the same discipline (a sociologist friend once sneeringly dismissed the work of another as “just figurational sociology”. I didn’t let on that I had no idea what he was talking about, nor did I ask what flavour of sociologist he would be).
Critics might object that there are many examples of artists and scientists working together. As I write this, London’s Science Museum is hosting a major art exhibition, and similar events take place around the world. You can barely turn on BBC2 without seeing a programme in which dancers try to represent the movement of electrons around the nucleus, or a painter recreates the structure of the brain with cardboard and pig sperm.
Presumably, a primary motivation for the BBC is its desire to offer at least a few programmes about science without actually talking about science:
“Next, as part of our funding commitment, we have a programme in which the Milton Keynes Light Opera performs a new show ‘Lives of a Plant. But, before you all turn over to ‘Strictly Come Dancing’, we’d like to assure you that there won’t be any facts or other boring stuff.”
I’m not persuaded: why would people need to go to such lengths to bring art and science together if they were already united? Just as it is a good policy to doubt the veracity of someone who describes themselves as ‘a real laugh’, it seems sensible to question an organisation that, over and over and over again, tries to persuade us that the arts and sciences really are best friends.
Maybe this is not a problem. After all, artists and scientists usually work on fundamentally different questions. And even when people talk about ‘artistic truth’ (or more commonly and incomprehensibly ‘truths’), we secretly know that they don’t really mean truth in the sense usually understood. They are not claiming that their creation offers some sort of objective representation of reality. Rather, they mean that it seems true for them, which of course means not true at all.
Every now and then, though, an artist has the temerity to engage more fully with science in their creative work. Sometimes this works; more often it doesn’t.
Whatever other pleasures might be gained from watching Rachel Welch running away from Dinosaurs in a fur bikini “One Million Years BC”, the plot is somewhat undermined by the fact that anatomically modern humans would not appear on the earth for another nine hundred and fifty thousand years, by which time most dinosaurs would have been extinct for more than sixty million years.
Creative folk might respond, as Ray Harryhausen did, that he did not make the film for "professors" who in his opinion "probably don't go to the cinema anyway." But this is an empirically inaccurate statement: I know of at least three of my colleagues who have seen a film; and one Professor of Physics who is an avid fan of the works of Miss Pamela Anderson.
Art is never an excuse for sloppiness.
Sometimes artists get things pretty much spot on. I’m sure physicists and astronomers can list hundreds of factual errors in the popular America sitcom ‘The Big Bang Theory’, but overall the writers of the show have managed to avoid the lure of ‘artistic license’, aka, error. Even better is the show’s theme tune by the Canadian band ‘Barenaked Ladies’.
How is this for a palatable introduction to the cosmos?
Our whole universe was in a hot dense state,
Then nearly fourteen billion years ago expansion started. Wait...
The Earth began to cool,
The autotrophs began to drool,
Neanderthals developed tools,
We built a wall (we built the pyramids),
Math, science, history, unravelling the mysteries,
That all started with the big bang!
"Since the dawn of man" is really not that long,
As every galaxy was formed in less time than it takes to sing this song.
A fraction of a second and the elements were made.
The bipeds stood up straight,
The dinosaurs all met their fate,
They tried to leap but they were late
And they all died (they froze their asses off)
The oceans and pangea
See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya
Set in motion by the same big bang!
It all started with the big BANG!
It's expanding ever outward but one day
It will cause the stars to go the other way,
Collapsing ever inward, we won't be here, it wont be hurt
Our best and brightest figure that it'll make an even bigger bang!
Australopithecus would really have been sick of us
Debating out while here they're catching deer (we're catching viruses)
Religion or astronomy, Encarta, Deuteronomy
It all started with the big bang!
Music and mythology, Einstein and astrology
It all started with the big bang!
It all started with the big BANG!
Aside from one minor spelling error (it is ‘maths’, not ‘math’), this seems to achieve two admirable goals: it is both good poetry (i.e., it rhymes) and good science.
___________
So perhaps the arts and sciences can live harmoniously together. Artists can be creative; and scientists can tell them when they make mistakes.
There was a wonderful example of such synergy in action a few years ago. The fragrant pop star Katie Melua had a hit with a song entitled ‘Nine Million Bicycles’. To a pleasant back beat, Ms Melua sang:
“There are nine million bicycles
in Beijing,
That's a fact,
It's a thing we can't deny,
Like the fact that I will love you
till I die.
We are 12 billion light-years from
the edge,
That's a guess,
No one can ever say it's true,
But I know that I will always be
with you.”
What is wrong with these lyrics? Sino-cycle experts might spot that the song radically under-estimates the number of bikes in Beijing. But it gets worse: we are not ‘12 billion light-years from the edge’ of the Universe. Admittedly, Ms Melua’s estimate is much better than those numerous folk (mainly Americans) who think we are six thousand light years away. But relatively not-wrong is still wrong.
The science writer Simon Singh spotted the mistake and helpfully pointed it out in the Guardian newspaper: “there are thousands of astronomers working day and (of course) night to measure the age of the universe, and the latest observations imply a universe that is almost 14 billion years old, not 12 billion”. Worse, for Singh, was the unforgiveable use of the word “guess”: “to say that the age of the universe is ‘a guess’ is an insult to a century of astronomical progress. The age of the universe is not just ‘a guess’, but rather it is a carefully measured number that is now known to a high degree of accuracy”.
Mr Singh did not stop there. He graciously offered to re-write the erroneous lyrics, informed by modern science. Ms Melua took the criticism in the spirit in which it was intended, although she felt that “"it was quite hard to get all the syllables in”.
Nevertheless, science is science, and she agreed to sing her song with the revised verse:
“We are 13.7 billion light-years from
the edge of the observable universe,
That's a good estimate with
well-defined error bars,
Scientists say it's true, but
acknowledge that it may be refined,
And with the available information, I predict that I will always be
with you.”
Proof, if any was needed, that art and science can live in perfect harmony.
(You can hear the ‘correct’ lyrics, sung by Katie Melua, at http://tinyurl.com/pns3tk)
Friday, 8 May 2009
Friday, 3 April 2009
The Rise and Rise of Educational Bullshit
The great philosopher Lisa Simpson once said: “After all, education is the pursuit of truth”. To which her school Principal Seymour Skinner immediately responded “No it isn't. Don't listen to her. She's out of her mind”.
I have always assumed that Lisa was right. Of course, I don’t think that all educational practices are aimed at the pursuit of truth. But I have always felt that they ought to be somehow connected, in some away or another, with truth. Or in equipping students with the skills necessary to find truth-like things out for themselves. More than that, I have always taken it for granted that one of the most valuable lessons teachers can pass on to their students is the ability to be better able to spot lies, deception and nonsense when they confront them.
Heaven knows, they will be confronted with enough of such things. I don’t think it is especially controversial to claim that we are bombarded with bullshit, and that the intensity and frequency of the assault are increasing.
A few years ago Harry Frankfurt (an actual philosopher, this time) achieved the remarkable feat of producing an academic Christmas bestseller. ‘On Bullshit’ clearly appealed to those wishing to make a pointed statement to their more opinionated loved ones. (And while on the subject, can I ask my family to stop sending me copies? After the first thirty copies, the joke wore a bit thin.)
‘On Bullshit’ is a serious and scholarly attempt to understand a contemporary phenomenon (it first appeared as an article in an academic journal, before its broader appeal was spotted). It begins like this:
“One of the most salient features of our culture is that there is so much bullshit. Everyone knows this. Each of us contributes his share. But we tend to take the situation for granted. ... In consequence, we have no clear understanding of what bullshit is, why there is so much of it, or what functions it serves. And we lack a conscientiously developed appreciation of what it means to us. In other words, we have no theory."
Frankfurt's argument is that bullshit is characterised by speech the truth of which the speaker considers unimportant. In other words, bullshit is not lying, because lying only makes sense with reference to the truth – the liar deliberately and consciously says things that he or she knows are not true.
The bullshitter does not care if he or she is lying or telling the truth; only whether the statement advances a particular objective. The bullshitter makes claims to persuade, or sell, or convince. Whether they are true or not is irrelevant.
Frankfurt thinks that bullshitting is worse than lying because liars consider the truth to be important precisely because they have to avoid it.
Geoffrey Wheatcroft’s enlightening and terrifying account of the most gifted bullshitter of recent history is helpful because it makes the art more real for us:
“Blair isn’t a liar, not in the sense that most of us are. That is, most of us have on occasion told untruths, usually to get out of trouble of some kind or another .. but we crucially knew what we were doing ..
By contrast, Blair is something different, and far more dangerous: he s not a liar but a man with no grasp at all of the distinction between objective truth and falsehood.”
We take it for granted that politicians will peddle nonsense. Advertisers and newspapers, too. We are now witnessing bullshit pushed on school children. And it is happening with increasing frequency. Sciency sounding brain training. Miracle dietary supplements that can - somehow - boost intelligence, or attention, or motivation, or grades. Commercial reading and writing programmes that must be effective because they are so bloody boring.
It is almost impossible to go into a school these days without finding some sort of spurious nonsense presented as state-of-the-art educational science.
Wouldn’t it be nice if there was no such thing as a slow or stupid child or adult? How lovely would life be is we weren’t better or worse than others at certain key skills like reading, writing, adding up or running around, but were all just different?
Well, it turns out that if you failed at school you probably had a learning style that was different to your teachers’. Or perhaps your intelligences were simply different from those valuable by schools. It’s comforting to think this, I suppose. You can’t read or play sport, and can’t get a decent job. But at least you can take solace in knowing that it is not your fault. It is the system, which wilfully refuses to take on board the latest scientific discoveries. Many of these discoveries are so radical that even scientists don’t accept them.
A group of primary school children are seated on the floor. They are copying their teacher as she massages her collar one with one hand while holding the navel with the other hand. “This helps the brain send messages from its left side to the right side”, she tells them.
It does nothing of the sort, of course. There is no evidence that these actions have the effects claimed. The exercise is part of the ‘Brain Gym’ programme that has been adopted, at considerable cost, by thousands of schools in the UK (and many more in the USA). Despite the fact that it does not relate at all to the current understanding of neuroscience and there have been no scientific studies supporting its claims, Brain Gym is promoted by teacher trainers and local authorities as a miracle cure for countless learning problems and personal maladies.
Brain Gym is only one example of an increasingly common phenomenon that is effecting schools – the adoption of questionable practices, frequently couched in the language of science but not its methods.
Do you want to know how to improve your students’ creativity? Simple: teach them to use the right sides of their brain. Ignore for a moment that they already use the right sides of the brains all of the time, and that if they did not, they’d effectively be brain damaged. Just focus on the warm and lovely feeling that results from learning that genius will soon be in their grasp. Just attend a costly course, buy some pretty assessment charts, and take the children away from old-fashioned things like books and stuff.
If this sounds too much like hard work, forget right-brain exercises. Just take some fish oil tablets, and voila, academic success. So thought a local authority in the north of England, when they gave snake oil, I mean fish oil, to 3,000 pupils taking their GCSE examinations at 16 years old.
This is music to my ears. I’ve always thought that studying was a needlessly time-consuming and tiring way of learning. Putting the almost total lack of evidence to one side for a moment, how great would it be if we could rub or eat ourselves smart? Bring on sleep learning. Bring on subliminal learning. That way, children won’t even need to come to school.
We can put fish oil into their turkey twizzlers; hide brain gym exercises into the other forms of body rubbing with which I believe young people sometimes occupy themselves; and imbed esteem-building messages into their wikkid beats.
All we need to do is to open our minds. And just pray that our brains don’t drop out onto the floor.
Ernest Hemingway, when asked if there were one quality needed, above all others, to be a good writer, replied, "Yes, a built-in, shock-proof, crap detector."
At a time when children are being bombarded with more bullshit than is healthy for them to endure, surely a basic function of schools is to help them learn how to distinguish bullshit from honest, good old-fashioned truth.
Instead many schools are becoming complicit in the bullshit business. They are pushing crazy ideas, when they should be helping children expose them. And in doing so are taking time away from more established, effective practices. And, let’s not forget, they are also taking money. Every time a teacher attends a neuro-pscyho-omega-behavioural training programme, money that would otherwise be spent on books, and pencils and proper professional development is handed over to the peddlers of bullshit and quackery.
How can we expect children to understand science and reason when pseudoscience is part of the curriculum? When their teachers are unable to apply even the most basic principles of the scientific method in their professional practice?
Bizarrely, some of my colleagues working in Universities, intoxicated with the pure-cut bullshit of postmodernism, think that condemning such nonsense is somehow bad form. Why can’t we all get along? Well, we can’t because money, time and resources are limited. And, dare I say it, truth matters. We have a moral obligation to aspire to truthfulness, and to teach our children to value the truth, and to detect its impostors.
Peddlers of bullshit ought not be rewarded: they should be exposed, condemned and driven out of business. No shit.
Thursday, 19 March 2009
WHY DOES TRUTH MATTER? SURVIVING VERIPHOBIA
WHY DOES TRUTH MATTER? SURVIVING VERIPHOBIA
These quotations provide examples of a growing condition affecting educational and sports research: a general aversion to talking about truth and its associates, such as fact, knowledge and evidence. This aversion is so widespread in some settings that it is taken for granted. I’ve learned from first hand experience that questioning the assumption that truth is a big con leads to looks of disorientated alarm.
In one of those rare articles that people actually talk about occasionally I called this position ‘veriphobia’, or fear of truth. I’ve since learned from colleagues better educated than me that I’ve managed to compound Greek and Latin words, which apparently is a linguistic crime. But I still think it is a neat word!
In my earlier paper, I defined Veriphobia as ‘a denial of the merit, or even the possibility, of truth’. It expresses itself in numerous ways, such as the rejection of traditional research concepts and values, and excessive use of plurals, speech marks, parentheses and word-processing effects – realities, “truth”, (re)search, facts.
Veriphobic thinkers come from across the academy, but predominate among the social sciences. They go by many names, such as postmodernists, social constructivists, pragmatists and eco-afro-feminists, but they are characterised by a shared denial of the traditional goals of research and enquiry, including the pursuit of truth, objectivity and the growth of knowledge. In the words of one group of concerned on-lookers, ‘a fluid scepticism now covers the intellectual landscape, encroaching upon one body of thought after another. We are told by Guba and Lincoln that ‘there is no universal truth’, by Scott and Usher that ‘instead of only one truth, there are many’, and by St Pierre that, if it makes any sense at all to talk of truth, we ought to recognise that it is ‘multiple, historical, contextual, contingent, political and bound up in power relations’. We are also warned of the dangers of tolerating those who resist the lure of veriphobia, although the severity with which they should be judged is a matter for debate. So, some writers like Richard Rorty feel pity for these poor souls, describing them affectionately as ‘prigs’, or dismissed as living under an ‘illusion’ of an objective reality. Others are more harsh: the ‘anarchist philosopher’ Paul Feyerabend denounced truth-seekers as ‘conceited, ignorant, superficial, incomplete and dishonest’.
In case the reader assumes that these are merely embittered rejections of the mainstream from those at its edges, it ought to be noted that each of the cited authors are well-established figures within the academic world. Veriphobia is no longer an alternative to the mainstream; in many different parts of the academy, including the social sciences of sport and education, it is the mainstream.
Consider an example from the philosopher of education, Wilfred Carr. Following an extended critique of the ‘Enlightenment’ distinction between the ‘knowing subject’ and the ‘objective world’, he goes on to suggest that, ‘the subject’s knowledge of the world is always preinterpreted: it is always situated in a conceptual scheme … knowledge is never “disinterested” or “objective”’. But surely there is some difficulty with this line of argument. On the one hand, Carr is making a claim about how things really are, and on the other hand, he is explicitly denying that it is ever possible to make such claims.
Thomas Nagel refers to this situation as the ‘impossibility of thinking from the outside’. Sociological insights into the practice of research serve a valuable role in raising our awareness of the context of our work, and may even lead us to change our practice. But such insights lose their force if stretched too far. It is useful to be reminded that our education, our background and our cultural origins all influence the way we approach the world, but it is nonsense to assume that just because our knowledge of the world is situated in a conceptual scheme that these things do not exist. The difficulty that veriphobes face time and again is that truth is difficulty to banish from our discussions of the world, as it is presupposed in such discussions, even of to the claim that there is no truth.
So, when writers such as Michel Foucault assert that claims of truth merely represent regimes of power and domination, they are making, whether they like it or not, make claims of truth. In the same way, Rorty’s reduction of truth to agreement does not only derive from his upbringing or position, but from his belief that he is stating something that he believes to be the case, that is, true. And, this problem is not solved when they claim that they are not offering us a ‘theory’, but only an ‘interpretation’ of event. Why should we listen to them and their claims of inequality and unfairness, at all, unless they are supposed to represent the way things really are?
There is nothing new in this response to veriphobia. Indeed, its origins can be traced back to Plato, who was the first to show the difficulty of throwing truth out with the sociological bathwater. Truth keeps coming back.
In practice, both consensus and domination veriphobia leads to a bind. The medicine, science and technology that each of us takes for granted as we make our ways around the world are premised on a conception of truth that it is not merely a matter of time, place or personality, but that is objective and universal. Richard Dawkins captured the flavour of this difficulty for the veriphobes when he wrote: ‘Show me a cultural relativist at 30,000 feet and I will show you a hypocrite!’
It is a peculiar irony of the current popularity of veriphobia among educational and sport researchers that the condition is so harmful for research. Research is inherently related to truth, and a denial of that connection leads to the sorts of contradictions that litter the work of veriphobes.
The consequences of veriphobia for researchers can be profound. Truth offers a sense of direction and purpose to enquiry, and without these, research becomes a decorative activity, filling the time of academics, but making no contribution to society or its understand of the world. In the words of great American philosopher, C.S. Pierce, ‘man loses his conception of truth and reason … (and comes) to look about reasoning as mainly decorative. The result … is, of course, a rapid deterioration of intellectual vigour.’ Although he was writing before the emergence of contemporary styles of veriphobia (and apparently before the invention of women), Pierce has spotted a pattern in much such writing. Indeed, one of the founding fathers and heroes of postmodernism, Jean-François Lyotard held his hands up and admitted: ‘I made up stories, I referred to a quantity of books I’d never read, apparently it impressed people, it’s a bit of a parody’.
So, veriphobia too easily descends into trivia. But, there can also be sinister consequences of the abandonment of the pursuit of truth. Veriphobic theorists present their ideas as radical or progressive, but their denial of truth leads them to consequences that are fundamentally reactionary. The casual manner in which some writers denounce traditional forms of enquiry, like science, as inescapably sexist, racist and classist (such as Sandra Harding), if accepted, immediately creates a barrier for the participation among marginalised groups, warning them that they are destined to fail. Aside from the dishonesty of this approach, it is also deeply offensive to those groups. By denying the vital distinction between truth and falsity, fact and fiction, veriphobia disempowers the very people it claims to represent.
Truth is the only salvation for the minority view. Without it as a clear and unapologetic goal of enquiry, the lies and deception of the tyrants, the liars and sometimes the majority will remain forever unexposed. Researchers can and should be should troublemakers in the realm of ideas, and their most potent weapon in this context is the ability to stand up with authority, and say: ‘That is not true!’
‘There are no universal truth to which our construction is a more or less good approximation’. (Egon Guba and Yvonne Lincoln, 1989)
‘What counts for truth in physical education? Whose truth is it anyway? and Why do they hold it as true?’ (Doune Macdonald and Richard Tinning, 2003)
'Leisure spaces (heterotopias) for women provide spaces for rewriting the script of what it is to be a woman, beyond definitions provided by powerful males and the discourses propagated as truth in contemporary societies'. (Betsy Wearing)
These quotations provide examples of a growing condition affecting educational and sports research: a general aversion to talking about truth and its associates, such as fact, knowledge and evidence. This aversion is so widespread in some settings that it is taken for granted. I’ve learned from first hand experience that questioning the assumption that truth is a big con leads to looks of disorientated alarm.
In one of those rare articles that people actually talk about occasionally I called this position ‘veriphobia’, or fear of truth. I’ve since learned from colleagues better educated than me that I’ve managed to compound Greek and Latin words, which apparently is a linguistic crime. But I still think it is a neat word!
In my earlier paper, I defined Veriphobia as ‘a denial of the merit, or even the possibility, of truth’. It expresses itself in numerous ways, such as the rejection of traditional research concepts and values, and excessive use of plurals, speech marks, parentheses and word-processing effects – realities, “truth”, (re)search, facts.
Veriphobic thinkers come from across the academy, but predominate among the social sciences. They go by many names, such as postmodernists, social constructivists, pragmatists and eco-afro-feminists, but they are characterised by a shared denial of the traditional goals of research and enquiry, including the pursuit of truth, objectivity and the growth of knowledge. In the words of one group of concerned on-lookers, ‘a fluid scepticism now covers the intellectual landscape, encroaching upon one body of thought after another. We are told by Guba and Lincoln that ‘there is no universal truth’, by Scott and Usher that ‘instead of only one truth, there are many’, and by St Pierre that, if it makes any sense at all to talk of truth, we ought to recognise that it is ‘multiple, historical, contextual, contingent, political and bound up in power relations’. We are also warned of the dangers of tolerating those who resist the lure of veriphobia, although the severity with which they should be judged is a matter for debate. So, some writers like Richard Rorty feel pity for these poor souls, describing them affectionately as ‘prigs’, or dismissed as living under an ‘illusion’ of an objective reality. Others are more harsh: the ‘anarchist philosopher’ Paul Feyerabend denounced truth-seekers as ‘conceited, ignorant, superficial, incomplete and dishonest’.
In case the reader assumes that these are merely embittered rejections of the mainstream from those at its edges, it ought to be noted that each of the cited authors are well-established figures within the academic world. Veriphobia is no longer an alternative to the mainstream; in many different parts of the academy, including the social sciences of sport and education, it is the mainstream.
VERIPHOBIA ONLY AFFECTS OTHER PEOPLE
An interesting feature of veriphobic writing is a failure to recognise that the logic (for want of a better word) of its critique undermines its own position. That is to say, if veriphobia’s claims were accepted, they would also have to be rejected.Consider an example from the philosopher of education, Wilfred Carr. Following an extended critique of the ‘Enlightenment’ distinction between the ‘knowing subject’ and the ‘objective world’, he goes on to suggest that, ‘the subject’s knowledge of the world is always preinterpreted: it is always situated in a conceptual scheme … knowledge is never “disinterested” or “objective”’. But surely there is some difficulty with this line of argument. On the one hand, Carr is making a claim about how things really are, and on the other hand, he is explicitly denying that it is ever possible to make such claims.
Thomas Nagel refers to this situation as the ‘impossibility of thinking from the outside’. Sociological insights into the practice of research serve a valuable role in raising our awareness of the context of our work, and may even lead us to change our practice. But such insights lose their force if stretched too far. It is useful to be reminded that our education, our background and our cultural origins all influence the way we approach the world, but it is nonsense to assume that just because our knowledge of the world is situated in a conceptual scheme that these things do not exist. The difficulty that veriphobes face time and again is that truth is difficulty to banish from our discussions of the world, as it is presupposed in such discussions, even of to the claim that there is no truth.
So, when writers such as Michel Foucault assert that claims of truth merely represent regimes of power and domination, they are making, whether they like it or not, make claims of truth. In the same way, Rorty’s reduction of truth to agreement does not only derive from his upbringing or position, but from his belief that he is stating something that he believes to be the case, that is, true. And, this problem is not solved when they claim that they are not offering us a ‘theory’, but only an ‘interpretation’ of event. Why should we listen to them and their claims of inequality and unfairness, at all, unless they are supposed to represent the way things really are?
There is nothing new in this response to veriphobia. Indeed, its origins can be traced back to Plato, who was the first to show the difficulty of throwing truth out with the sociological bathwater. Truth keeps coming back.
In practice, both consensus and domination veriphobia leads to a bind. The medicine, science and technology that each of us takes for granted as we make our ways around the world are premised on a conception of truth that it is not merely a matter of time, place or personality, but that is objective and universal. Richard Dawkins captured the flavour of this difficulty for the veriphobes when he wrote: ‘Show me a cultural relativist at 30,000 feet and I will show you a hypocrite!’
VERIPHOBIA IS FATAL
If You Open Your Mind Too Much Your Brain Will Fall Out (poet Tim Minchin)
It is a peculiar irony of the current popularity of veriphobia among educational and sport researchers that the condition is so harmful for research. Research is inherently related to truth, and a denial of that connection leads to the sorts of contradictions that litter the work of veriphobes.
The consequences of veriphobia for researchers can be profound. Truth offers a sense of direction and purpose to enquiry, and without these, research becomes a decorative activity, filling the time of academics, but making no contribution to society or its understand of the world. In the words of great American philosopher, C.S. Pierce, ‘man loses his conception of truth and reason … (and comes) to look about reasoning as mainly decorative. The result … is, of course, a rapid deterioration of intellectual vigour.’ Although he was writing before the emergence of contemporary styles of veriphobia (and apparently before the invention of women), Pierce has spotted a pattern in much such writing. Indeed, one of the founding fathers and heroes of postmodernism, Jean-François Lyotard held his hands up and admitted: ‘I made up stories, I referred to a quantity of books I’d never read, apparently it impressed people, it’s a bit of a parody’.
So, veriphobia too easily descends into trivia. But, there can also be sinister consequences of the abandonment of the pursuit of truth. Veriphobic theorists present their ideas as radical or progressive, but their denial of truth leads them to consequences that are fundamentally reactionary. The casual manner in which some writers denounce traditional forms of enquiry, like science, as inescapably sexist, racist and classist (such as Sandra Harding), if accepted, immediately creates a barrier for the participation among marginalised groups, warning them that they are destined to fail. Aside from the dishonesty of this approach, it is also deeply offensive to those groups. By denying the vital distinction between truth and falsity, fact and fiction, veriphobia disempowers the very people it claims to represent.
Truth is the only salvation for the minority view. Without it as a clear and unapologetic goal of enquiry, the lies and deception of the tyrants, the liars and sometimes the majority will remain forever unexposed. Researchers can and should be should troublemakers in the realm of ideas, and their most potent weapon in this context is the ability to stand up with authority, and say: ‘That is not true!’
Tuesday, 10 March 2009
WHY SHOULD THE TEACHER / COACH BOTHER WITH PHILOSOPHY?
One of the more common observations that academics make when they learn that I am professionally interested in sport and philosophy goes something like this: “Oh, that is an unusual combination”. I used to leap immediately to the defensive, starting listing the numerous fascinating philosophical issues that can be stimulated by sport: questions of ethics (Is doping fair? What’s wrong with cheating?), of politics (Should the taxpayer fund elite sport? Is talent development socially just?), and of knowledge (What type of knowing does a player have?). Nowadays, I simply feign surprise, and ask ‘What do you mean?’ This is a much more effective strategy as my questioner invariably starts stuttering and then changes the subject. Why? Because behind this initial statement is a very common prejudice, which it would be too rude to say out-loud: philosophy is for very clever people; sport isn’t.
I’ve reached that stage in my life where I no longer feel the urge to punch such inquisitors in the face. But it does seem to me a shame that such people are denying themselves a group of genuinely interesting and challenging philosophical problems, because of their apparent inability to abandon a lazy stereotype.
Therapy session over. The rest of this entry is adapted from my introduction to a new book on the Philosophy of Education. It’s aim is to present, in short form, a case for the relevance of philosophy for teachers. Personally, I think the argument works equally for a much larger group: human beings.
_________________________________
Here is a very old story:
A famous philosopher had to move house from one part of the city to another. His wife, knowing that her husband was extremely absent-minded, decided to train the philosopher in preparation for the move. So for weeks in advance, she reminded him that they would shortly be moving house, and that he would need to take a different bus home from the University, and get off at a different stop. She even wrote down the new address on a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. On the day of the move the philosopher forgot his training, and took his usual bus home. The house was empty, of course, as his family had moved. Then he remembered the piece of paper and found his new address. After a very indirect series of bus journeys, the philosopher finally found himself on his correct bus, and he got off at the right stop. Then he realised that he had absolutely no idea where his street was, or even what his new house looked like. He wandered around for an hour, until he saw a little girl playing in the street. “Excuse me, young lady, would you happen to know where this house is?” he asked, showing her the piece of paper. The child took his hand, and said, “Don’t worry Daddy, I’ll take you home.”
This story represents the stereotypical image of philosophers. Some people, especially in my experience those with a background in the sciences, criticise philosophy for being a never-ending series of discussions and arguments. They are, as Bertrand Russell put it, “inclined to doubt whether philosophy is anything better than innocent but useless trifling, hair-splitting distinctions, and controversies on matters concerning which knowledge is impossible”.
The real world for many readers of this blog is likely to be the world of the classroom or the gym, and it is reasonable to ask ‘what can philosophy offer here?’
Philosophy (from the Greek for the love of knowledge or wisdom) requires thinkers to think for themselves. This is why the great philosopher Kant asserted that it is not possible to learn philosophy; it is only possible to learn how to philosophise. This does not mean that the philosopher ought to live a life of solitary contemplation (although some have done just that), but it does mean that the philosopher is compelled to think for him or herself. This is perhaps why philosophical conversations often seem characterised by ambiguity and perplexity. Important questions are rarely resolved with simple answers unless, of course, we choose to borrow uncritically the dogmas and doctrines of others. For Russell, the person who does decide to live so uncritically “goes through life imprisoned in the prejudices derived from common sense, from the habitual beliefs of his age or his nation, and from convictions which have grown up in his mind without the co-operation or consent of his deliberate reason".
We might pause for a moment to consider Russell’s use of masculine pronouns as generic terms referring to all humans. This was common usage when he wrote, but has increasingly become replaced by gender-neutral language (his/her, abandoning pronouns, pluralising, etc.) following claims that gendered language is misleading, inappropriate or simply sexist. Is this a reasonable evolution of language use or ‘political correctness run mad’? As soon as we start to reflect on these questions we are engaging in philosophy.
It is possible to think and act without philosophising. It is certainly possible to teach without giving a moment’s thought to philosophy. But it is not possible to think for ourselves, especially to think about matters of value, without philosophising in some way. Education is a subject rich in philosophical issues:
• What should we teach?
• What experiences are most valuable / relevant / necessary for students?
• Who should pay for schooling?
• Are some ways of organising or presenting the curriculum inappropriate?
• Should schooling be compulsory?
• Should all students be taught together, or grouped according to their ability?
• Should schools prepare their students for the world of work?
• Is the ideal outcome of schooling a happy / rational / spiritual / good person?
• What type of person should teachers aim to develop?
• What should the values and ethos of the school be?
We might turn to sociology or psychology to help us gather evidence for our enquiries. For example, psychology might help us understand how children’s minds develop. But psychology can never tell the psychologist which forms of development are worth supporting. Questions of value are questions of philosophy.
There is a lot to learn from reading the works of the great thinkers. But it would be a mistake, however, to presume that memorising their words amounts to philosophising. Kant warned us that these philosophers “should not be a model of judgement, but simply an opportunity to make a judgement of them, even against them”.
If you read these works of philosophy – or even listen in to a conversation on a philosophical theme - you will note substantial disagreements. This is the life-blood of philosophy. By choosing to engage with these discussions, you are choosing to philosophise.
More articles and blog entries are available from: www. richardbailey.net.
I’ve reached that stage in my life where I no longer feel the urge to punch such inquisitors in the face. But it does seem to me a shame that such people are denying themselves a group of genuinely interesting and challenging philosophical problems, because of their apparent inability to abandon a lazy stereotype.
Therapy session over. The rest of this entry is adapted from my introduction to a new book on the Philosophy of Education. It’s aim is to present, in short form, a case for the relevance of philosophy for teachers. Personally, I think the argument works equally for a much larger group: human beings.
_________________________________
Here is a very old story:
A famous philosopher had to move house from one part of the city to another. His wife, knowing that her husband was extremely absent-minded, decided to train the philosopher in preparation for the move. So for weeks in advance, she reminded him that they would shortly be moving house, and that he would need to take a different bus home from the University, and get off at a different stop. She even wrote down the new address on a piece of paper and put it in his pocket. On the day of the move the philosopher forgot his training, and took his usual bus home. The house was empty, of course, as his family had moved. Then he remembered the piece of paper and found his new address. After a very indirect series of bus journeys, the philosopher finally found himself on his correct bus, and he got off at the right stop. Then he realised that he had absolutely no idea where his street was, or even what his new house looked like. He wandered around for an hour, until he saw a little girl playing in the street. “Excuse me, young lady, would you happen to know where this house is?” he asked, showing her the piece of paper. The child took his hand, and said, “Don’t worry Daddy, I’ll take you home.”
This story represents the stereotypical image of philosophers. Some people, especially in my experience those with a background in the sciences, criticise philosophy for being a never-ending series of discussions and arguments. They are, as Bertrand Russell put it, “inclined to doubt whether philosophy is anything better than innocent but useless trifling, hair-splitting distinctions, and controversies on matters concerning which knowledge is impossible”.
The real world for many readers of this blog is likely to be the world of the classroom or the gym, and it is reasonable to ask ‘what can philosophy offer here?’
Philosophy (from the Greek for the love of knowledge or wisdom) requires thinkers to think for themselves. This is why the great philosopher Kant asserted that it is not possible to learn philosophy; it is only possible to learn how to philosophise. This does not mean that the philosopher ought to live a life of solitary contemplation (although some have done just that), but it does mean that the philosopher is compelled to think for him or herself. This is perhaps why philosophical conversations often seem characterised by ambiguity and perplexity. Important questions are rarely resolved with simple answers unless, of course, we choose to borrow uncritically the dogmas and doctrines of others. For Russell, the person who does decide to live so uncritically “goes through life imprisoned in the prejudices derived from common sense, from the habitual beliefs of his age or his nation, and from convictions which have grown up in his mind without the co-operation or consent of his deliberate reason".
We might pause for a moment to consider Russell’s use of masculine pronouns as generic terms referring to all humans. This was common usage when he wrote, but has increasingly become replaced by gender-neutral language (his/her, abandoning pronouns, pluralising, etc.) following claims that gendered language is misleading, inappropriate or simply sexist. Is this a reasonable evolution of language use or ‘political correctness run mad’? As soon as we start to reflect on these questions we are engaging in philosophy.
It is possible to think and act without philosophising. It is certainly possible to teach without giving a moment’s thought to philosophy. But it is not possible to think for ourselves, especially to think about matters of value, without philosophising in some way. Education is a subject rich in philosophical issues:
• What should we teach?
• What experiences are most valuable / relevant / necessary for students?
• Who should pay for schooling?
• Are some ways of organising or presenting the curriculum inappropriate?
• Should schooling be compulsory?
• Should all students be taught together, or grouped according to their ability?
• Should schools prepare their students for the world of work?
• Is the ideal outcome of schooling a happy / rational / spiritual / good person?
• What type of person should teachers aim to develop?
• What should the values and ethos of the school be?
We might turn to sociology or psychology to help us gather evidence for our enquiries. For example, psychology might help us understand how children’s minds develop. But psychology can never tell the psychologist which forms of development are worth supporting. Questions of value are questions of philosophy.
There is a lot to learn from reading the works of the great thinkers. But it would be a mistake, however, to presume that memorising their words amounts to philosophising. Kant warned us that these philosophers “should not be a model of judgement, but simply an opportunity to make a judgement of them, even against them”.
If you read these works of philosophy – or even listen in to a conversation on a philosophical theme - you will note substantial disagreements. This is the life-blood of philosophy. By choosing to engage with these discussions, you are choosing to philosophise.
More articles and blog entries are available from: www. richardbailey.net.
Thursday, 5 March 2009
Lessons of the Great Outdoors
We live in a world in which more and more things are viewed as risky: food, drink, trains, aeroplanes, roads, sex, other people. And nowhere is this culture of fear more evident than in schools.
As a frequent visitor to schools, I am routinely confronted with security cameras, swipe cards and intercoms before even entering the building. Once inside, I find that many trainee and newly qualified teachers are so overcome with anxiety at potential risks that they adapt their lessons or even seek to avoid whole areas of the curriculum; gymnastics, design/technology, science, outdoor activities, all cause apoplexy. Many, given the choice, would steer clear of all of these activities. The children might not learn very much, and they might be bored to tears, but at least they would be safe.
Of course, schools are bound by law to be concerned with children’s safety. The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s motto, ‘That which does not kill me makes me strong’, is catchy, but it makes poor childcare advice. But the culture of fear has rarely resulted in reasonable policies and accurate information. In fact, reactions are likely to prove more harmful to children’s development and education than the risk from which they are being protected.
For example, in the early 1980s the TV programme That’s Life ran a series of stories on the risks of school playground surfaces causing head injuries, showing films of china plates smashing on the floor. But children’s heads have little in common with china plates, and serious head injuries from falls do not appear at all in the statistics on playground injuries.
When a 15-year-old boy tragically drowned in a pond in 2000, a national newspaper launched a campaign, backed by politicians and other public figures, urging parents to fill in their garden ponds. It is indeed true, as TV presenter Esther Rantzen solemnly put it, that ‘toddlers can die in the shallowest of water’. But should one accident lead us to abolish water from children’s experiences?
Meanwhile, UK's ex-chief inspector of schools David Bell caused fury when he claimed that children are missing out on potentially life-changing activities because of schools’ concerns that they will end up in court if things go wrong. Outdoor and adventurous activities, part of the physical education curriculum, are disappearing from schools across the country.
Some schools point to disasters like that which occurred at Stainforth Beck in Yorkshire a few years ago, when two young people died. Teaching unions claimed that the public outcry following the incident was another case of ‘blame culture’ gone mad, and one union has advised its members not to participate in future outdoor trips. But what is overlooked is that, in this specific case, the expedition leaders made fundamental mistakes. Schoolchildren should not have been led into a fast-running stream. Outdoor activities were not responsible for the turn of events - error of judgement was.
Writing shortly after the incident, London Times journalist Libby Purves suggested that events at Stainforth Beck might actually strengthen the case for quality outdoor and adventurous activities:
‘Enough came out of the inquest to make onlookers feel angry at the sheer geographical illiteracy displayed by the party leaders. If future action makes it clear, publicly, that this is an aberration from what is normal and expected of schools and teachers, then there is a better chance that parents in the future will allow their children on outdoor adventures…. If there is blame it must be placed on the right shoulders, if only to underline the value and dignity of the many, many teachers and instructors who do know what they are doing.’
Researchers and policymakers are only just beginning to recognise the damaging consequences of the culture of fear on the quality of children’s lives. For fear of possible dangers from an unpredictable and hostile world, parents restrict their children’s freedom to be outdoors, to play without adult supervision, and to do the sorts of things that many of us took for granted as we were growing up. A report published by the Children’s Play Council claimed that children had become virtual prisoners in their own homes.
There is mounting evidence that increasing numbers of children are being denied the freedom to move around their local environment. For example, 30 years ago, almost all schoolchildren were free to walk to school unaccompanied; now, most are not. There has also been a reduction in the proportion of children of all ages allowed by their parents to cross roads, cycle, go out after dark, and access leisure facilities by themselves. Even in the years between 1990 and 1998, there has been a significant reduction in 10- and 11-year olds who walk to school, and an increase in those who are driven (despite the fact that these are primary school pupils who usually live close to their school).
Evidence suggests that a major contributory factor is parental fears. And these fears transfer to their children, who come to view the outside world, and especially other people, as menacing and best avoided. ‘I feel safe when I’m sitting in my house at night by the fire with my family’, said one 10-year-old girl from Scotland. Another 13-year-old boy said: ‘The further away you are, like, there’s a lot more things that could happen to you, like, on the way…. But if you’re local, just around the estate and you get hurt you can just go along to your home.’
There is a danger that adult preoccupation with risk can remove experiences that are important in children’s social and psychological development. Research carried out in Scotland showed that children’s playtime has been reduced by an hour each day. It is during play that children learn to test their limits, make decisions, play different roles and imagine different possibilities. Children are much more creative when adults are not interfering or monitoring their behaviour. One study found that adult participation reduced children’s experimentation and willingness to make mistakes.
An overcautious approach makes for dull environments. Such environments present too little challenge for children, and some children respond by looking for other opportunities for adventure, sometimes with much greater risk of personal injury.
No environment will ever be completely safe and risk-free, and even well-supervised children manage to hurt themselves. But by speculating on what can possibly go wrong rather than on what children might learn from experiences, we are in danger of creating anxiety in some children and recklessness in others. Children who are fearful will not be able to learn, and those who are overconfident will be unable to make sensible judgements about risk, because their learning environment has become sanitised and over-managed.
This is why the threat to outdoor and adventure activities is so disturbing. Aside from the obvious benefits of taking children into the countryside - the greater awareness of the natural world and our place within it - outdoor and adventurous activities are ideal vehicles for many of the types of challenges and learning opportunities that are necessary for their development. These activities are physically active, and depend upon shared understanding, cooperation and trust. They also force children to draw upon their inner resources to address real problems, presenting children with challenges and perceived risks, and providing a framework for coming to terms with them.
Anxieties over children’s safety and wellbeing are understandable, and it is only right that parents and teachers are mindful of potential dangers. But children need to be able to take acceptable risks in an environment that allows them to extend their abilities and confidence. If children are deprived of these experiences they will not learn to handle the risks that they are certain to meet as they make their way through life.
The Harrogate coroner presiding over the Stainforth Beck case spoke of the ‘exhilarating experiences’ of outdoor adventure, and of the need for all children, especially those from cities, to encounter and learn from the outdoors. Much the same could be said for risk experiences in general.
As a frequent visitor to schools, I am routinely confronted with security cameras, swipe cards and intercoms before even entering the building. Once inside, I find that many trainee and newly qualified teachers are so overcome with anxiety at potential risks that they adapt their lessons or even seek to avoid whole areas of the curriculum; gymnastics, design/technology, science, outdoor activities, all cause apoplexy. Many, given the choice, would steer clear of all of these activities. The children might not learn very much, and they might be bored to tears, but at least they would be safe.
Of course, schools are bound by law to be concerned with children’s safety. The philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche’s motto, ‘That which does not kill me makes me strong’, is catchy, but it makes poor childcare advice. But the culture of fear has rarely resulted in reasonable policies and accurate information. In fact, reactions are likely to prove more harmful to children’s development and education than the risk from which they are being protected.
For example, in the early 1980s the TV programme That’s Life ran a series of stories on the risks of school playground surfaces causing head injuries, showing films of china plates smashing on the floor. But children’s heads have little in common with china plates, and serious head injuries from falls do not appear at all in the statistics on playground injuries.
When a 15-year-old boy tragically drowned in a pond in 2000, a national newspaper launched a campaign, backed by politicians and other public figures, urging parents to fill in their garden ponds. It is indeed true, as TV presenter Esther Rantzen solemnly put it, that ‘toddlers can die in the shallowest of water’. But should one accident lead us to abolish water from children’s experiences?
Meanwhile, UK's ex-chief inspector of schools David Bell caused fury when he claimed that children are missing out on potentially life-changing activities because of schools’ concerns that they will end up in court if things go wrong. Outdoor and adventurous activities, part of the physical education curriculum, are disappearing from schools across the country.
Some schools point to disasters like that which occurred at Stainforth Beck in Yorkshire a few years ago, when two young people died. Teaching unions claimed that the public outcry following the incident was another case of ‘blame culture’ gone mad, and one union has advised its members not to participate in future outdoor trips. But what is overlooked is that, in this specific case, the expedition leaders made fundamental mistakes. Schoolchildren should not have been led into a fast-running stream. Outdoor activities were not responsible for the turn of events - error of judgement was.
Writing shortly after the incident, London Times journalist Libby Purves suggested that events at Stainforth Beck might actually strengthen the case for quality outdoor and adventurous activities:
‘Enough came out of the inquest to make onlookers feel angry at the sheer geographical illiteracy displayed by the party leaders. If future action makes it clear, publicly, that this is an aberration from what is normal and expected of schools and teachers, then there is a better chance that parents in the future will allow their children on outdoor adventures…. If there is blame it must be placed on the right shoulders, if only to underline the value and dignity of the many, many teachers and instructors who do know what they are doing.’
Researchers and policymakers are only just beginning to recognise the damaging consequences of the culture of fear on the quality of children’s lives. For fear of possible dangers from an unpredictable and hostile world, parents restrict their children’s freedom to be outdoors, to play without adult supervision, and to do the sorts of things that many of us took for granted as we were growing up. A report published by the Children’s Play Council claimed that children had become virtual prisoners in their own homes.
There is mounting evidence that increasing numbers of children are being denied the freedom to move around their local environment. For example, 30 years ago, almost all schoolchildren were free to walk to school unaccompanied; now, most are not. There has also been a reduction in the proportion of children of all ages allowed by their parents to cross roads, cycle, go out after dark, and access leisure facilities by themselves. Even in the years between 1990 and 1998, there has been a significant reduction in 10- and 11-year olds who walk to school, and an increase in those who are driven (despite the fact that these are primary school pupils who usually live close to their school).
Evidence suggests that a major contributory factor is parental fears. And these fears transfer to their children, who come to view the outside world, and especially other people, as menacing and best avoided. ‘I feel safe when I’m sitting in my house at night by the fire with my family’, said one 10-year-old girl from Scotland. Another 13-year-old boy said: ‘The further away you are, like, there’s a lot more things that could happen to you, like, on the way…. But if you’re local, just around the estate and you get hurt you can just go along to your home.’
There is a danger that adult preoccupation with risk can remove experiences that are important in children’s social and psychological development. Research carried out in Scotland showed that children’s playtime has been reduced by an hour each day. It is during play that children learn to test their limits, make decisions, play different roles and imagine different possibilities. Children are much more creative when adults are not interfering or monitoring their behaviour. One study found that adult participation reduced children’s experimentation and willingness to make mistakes.
An overcautious approach makes for dull environments. Such environments present too little challenge for children, and some children respond by looking for other opportunities for adventure, sometimes with much greater risk of personal injury.
No environment will ever be completely safe and risk-free, and even well-supervised children manage to hurt themselves. But by speculating on what can possibly go wrong rather than on what children might learn from experiences, we are in danger of creating anxiety in some children and recklessness in others. Children who are fearful will not be able to learn, and those who are overconfident will be unable to make sensible judgements about risk, because their learning environment has become sanitised and over-managed.
This is why the threat to outdoor and adventure activities is so disturbing. Aside from the obvious benefits of taking children into the countryside - the greater awareness of the natural world and our place within it - outdoor and adventurous activities are ideal vehicles for many of the types of challenges and learning opportunities that are necessary for their development. These activities are physically active, and depend upon shared understanding, cooperation and trust. They also force children to draw upon their inner resources to address real problems, presenting children with challenges and perceived risks, and providing a framework for coming to terms with them.
Anxieties over children’s safety and wellbeing are understandable, and it is only right that parents and teachers are mindful of potential dangers. But children need to be able to take acceptable risks in an environment that allows them to extend their abilities and confidence. If children are deprived of these experiences they will not learn to handle the risks that they are certain to meet as they make their way through life.
The Harrogate coroner presiding over the Stainforth Beck case spoke of the ‘exhilarating experiences’ of outdoor adventure, and of the need for all children, especially those from cities, to encounter and learn from the outdoors. Much the same could be said for risk experiences in general.
Saturday, 28 February 2009
DARWIN’S DELICIOUS IDEA
If the voice of the people is indeed the world of God, then Winston Churchill is the Greatest Briton. Brunel comes in at Number 2 and Princess Diana is third. My choice was Charles Darwin, who was ranked fourth, so it shows how much I know.
This was the result of a BBC poll a few years ago. Across the country parents and teachers rung their hands in anguish for the appalling job they’ve made of children’s education. Churchill is, perhaps, a reasonable choice. The engineer Brunel, although a surprise, at least DID SOMETHING in his life. But not many of us living in the twilight zone of reason would have guessed that Diana was a more significant person than Shakespeare, Newton and Faraday. In my book, she’d come some way behind Lily Allen, Timmy Mallett and that woman from the Shake-&-Vac adverts.
But I digress.
I wanted to take the luxury of this blog to reiterate the case for Charles Darwin, who 200th Anniversary is being celebrated this month.
___________
An apocryphal story tells of a prominent English Victorian lady, the wife of a bishop, who exclaimed to her husband, after hearing of Darwin’s theory of natural selection:
What Mr Darwin said is true, at least in general terms. Zoological, archaeological, molecular chemical and anthropological evidence all support his central claims. And this is despite 150 years of the most heated challenges levelled at any scientific theory. But even more remarkable is that the extraordinary advances in biology since Darwin’s insights all seem to corroborate and compliment the central tenets of his theory of evolution by natural selection, including the other major component of modern biological thought, genetics.
I agree with the American philosopher, Daniel Dennett, when he said:
However, despite its near universal acceptance among the scientific community, Darwin’s dangerous idea continues to cause controversy. Copernicus and Galileo may have moved us from the centre of the universe to a small and peripheral body, circling a remote star. But Darwin has moved us from the centre of God’s creation to a tiny twig on an enormous tree of life, with all of the twigs connected by descent, and the entire tree growing by a natural and undirected process. Moreover, the tiny twig that is the human lineage has been around for only the briefest fraction of the time that life has been on earth.
Those of us who accept Darwin’s dangerous idea can find themselves in danger, too. Evolutionary theory is attacked by religious fundamentalists, because it undermines their cherished creation myths. And it is attacked by people concerned that, by embracing this scientific truth, we run the risk of losing long-held comforts: that humans are special, and uniquely so, and that there is some greater meaning in life than simply the here and now.
And also it has been attacked, it ought to be acknowledged, because the concept of evolution has been used and abused by the fascists and the eugenicists, who saw in it a scientific justification of their plans to ‘improve’ the human race, and to rank people within an ‘evolutionary league table’, with (rather like our contemporary league tables) with white, middle-classed Anglo-Saxons at the pinnacle. But ‘Social Darwinism’, as it used to be called, has simply appropriated a scientific name to bolster unscientific nonsense.
___________
Difficulty with accepting Darwinian evolution cannot be attributed to its complexity. Indeed, it must surely rate as the simplest of the great ideas in science. In fact, it can be whittled down to three key facts, followed by a logical inference:
So, perhaps, we can understand Thomas Huxley’s alarm when reading Darwin’s Origin of Species for the first time. He is reported to have said: “How extremely stupid not to have thought of that myself”.
___________
We are, whether we like it or not, primates. Genetically, anatomically and historically, we are very close relatives of the great apes. We share something of the order of 99% of the active genetic material of chimpanzees and bonobos (my favourite animal, aka the pygmy chimp), which a closer degree of relatedness than tigers to lions, or horses to zebras. Most of us, when we watch wildlife programmes or visit Howlett’s Zoo are happy to admit that we are like apes. We seldom realise that we are apes. Zoologically, there is no natural category that includes chimpanzees, gorillas and orang utans, but excludes humans.
In truth, not only are we apes, but we are African apes. If you do not exclude humans, this forms a natural category. So, perhaps the most accurate label for humans is ‘The Third Chimpanzee’.
We are also, in very many ways, very unlike apes, having created unprecedented knowledge, technology and forms of social organisation. We, alone, have created socialism and liberalism; art and literature; space shuttles and digital watches. Even so-called traditional hunter-gatherer societies are characterised by degrees of social and technological complexity that are entirely absent in the rest of the animal kingdom. These are novel features, and they set human life history on a unique path.
This path is as explicable as any other: all species are unique. The Homo sapiens species is a cultural animal. It may well be the cultural animal. But culture is a result of evolution just as much as eyes and ears. It is unique, unprecedented and unpredictable. But it is not magical.
___________
I was first introduced to Darwin’s delightful idea thanks to Richard Dawkins’ book, The Selfish Gene. It is, perhaps, noteworthy, that I was not introduced to it through school (and English children today are still deprived of an appropriate presentation in the National Curriculum).
Aside from Dawkins’ wonderfully clear explanations of the blind and purposeless processes of adaptation and selection, I was most struck by a passing comment in the introduction:
I suspect that this is still broadly the case. Although there has been a revolution in our understanding and acceptance of Darwinian theory in recent years, there continues to be large-scale resistance to evolutionary explanations of matters that are close to home for us humans. Many social scientists continue to believe that biological explanations are simply incapable of helping us to understand the richness and diversity of human existence. And, moreover, that they are just not very nice.
Perhaps there is a concern stated by Jerome Bruner: ‘Culture imposes revolutionary discontinuity between man and the rest of the animal kingdom. And it is this discontinuity that creates the difficulty in extrapolating directly from evolutionary biology to the human condition’.
But, without an evolutionary foundation, explanations of human development will inevitably be incomplete. This is because human science and its subject matter are Homo sapiens. The nature of this species ought to be of enormous relevance, indeed urgency, to those of us working in the human sciences.
Other posts, resources and information is available from: www.richardbailey.net
If the voice of the people is indeed the world of God, then Winston Churchill is the Greatest Briton. Brunel comes in at Number 2 and Princess Diana is third. My choice was Charles Darwin, who was ranked fourth, so it shows how much I know.
This was the result of a BBC poll a few years ago. Across the country parents and teachers rung their hands in anguish for the appalling job they’ve made of children’s education. Churchill is, perhaps, a reasonable choice. The engineer Brunel, although a surprise, at least DID SOMETHING in his life. But not many of us living in the twilight zone of reason would have guessed that Diana was a more significant person than Shakespeare, Newton and Faraday. In my book, she’d come some way behind Lily Allen, Timmy Mallett and that woman from the Shake-&-Vac adverts.
But I digress.
I wanted to take the luxury of this blog to reiterate the case for Charles Darwin, who 200th Anniversary is being celebrated this month.
___________
An apocryphal story tells of a prominent English Victorian lady, the wife of a bishop, who exclaimed to her husband, after hearing of Darwin’s theory of natural selection:
“Oh my dear, let us hope that what Mr Darwin says is not true. But if it is true, let us hope that it will not become generally known!”
What Mr Darwin said is true, at least in general terms. Zoological, archaeological, molecular chemical and anthropological evidence all support his central claims. And this is despite 150 years of the most heated challenges levelled at any scientific theory. But even more remarkable is that the extraordinary advances in biology since Darwin’s insights all seem to corroborate and compliment the central tenets of his theory of evolution by natural selection, including the other major component of modern biological thought, genetics.
I agree with the American philosopher, Daniel Dennett, when he said:
“If I were to give an award for the single best idea anyone has ever had, I’d give it to Darwin, ahead of Newton and Einstein and everyone else. In a single stroke, the idea of evolution by natural selection unifies the realm of life, meaning, and purpose with the realm of space and time, cause and effect, mechanism and physical law. But it is not just a wonderful idea. It is a dangerous idea.”
However, despite its near universal acceptance among the scientific community, Darwin’s dangerous idea continues to cause controversy. Copernicus and Galileo may have moved us from the centre of the universe to a small and peripheral body, circling a remote star. But Darwin has moved us from the centre of God’s creation to a tiny twig on an enormous tree of life, with all of the twigs connected by descent, and the entire tree growing by a natural and undirected process. Moreover, the tiny twig that is the human lineage has been around for only the briefest fraction of the time that life has been on earth.
Those of us who accept Darwin’s dangerous idea can find themselves in danger, too. Evolutionary theory is attacked by religious fundamentalists, because it undermines their cherished creation myths. And it is attacked by people concerned that, by embracing this scientific truth, we run the risk of losing long-held comforts: that humans are special, and uniquely so, and that there is some greater meaning in life than simply the here and now.
And also it has been attacked, it ought to be acknowledged, because the concept of evolution has been used and abused by the fascists and the eugenicists, who saw in it a scientific justification of their plans to ‘improve’ the human race, and to rank people within an ‘evolutionary league table’, with (rather like our contemporary league tables) with white, middle-classed Anglo-Saxons at the pinnacle. But ‘Social Darwinism’, as it used to be called, has simply appropriated a scientific name to bolster unscientific nonsense.
___________
Difficulty with accepting Darwinian evolution cannot be attributed to its complexity. Indeed, it must surely rate as the simplest of the great ideas in science. In fact, it can be whittled down to three key facts, followed by a logical inference:
FACTS
I. All organisms produce more offspring than can possibly survive;
II. All organisms within a species vary from one another;
III. At least some of this variation is inherited by offspring
INFERENCE
Since only some offspring can survive, on average the survivors will be those variants that are better adapted to the local environment. And, since offspring will inherit the favourable variations of their parents, organisms of the next generation will, on average, become better adapted to local conditions.
So, perhaps, we can understand Thomas Huxley’s alarm when reading Darwin’s Origin of Species for the first time. He is reported to have said: “How extremely stupid not to have thought of that myself”.
___________
We are, whether we like it or not, primates. Genetically, anatomically and historically, we are very close relatives of the great apes. We share something of the order of 99% of the active genetic material of chimpanzees and bonobos (my favourite animal, aka the pygmy chimp), which a closer degree of relatedness than tigers to lions, or horses to zebras. Most of us, when we watch wildlife programmes or visit Howlett’s Zoo are happy to admit that we are like apes. We seldom realise that we are apes. Zoologically, there is no natural category that includes chimpanzees, gorillas and orang utans, but excludes humans.
In truth, not only are we apes, but we are African apes. If you do not exclude humans, this forms a natural category. So, perhaps the most accurate label for humans is ‘The Third Chimpanzee’.
We are also, in very many ways, very unlike apes, having created unprecedented knowledge, technology and forms of social organisation. We, alone, have created socialism and liberalism; art and literature; space shuttles and digital watches. Even so-called traditional hunter-gatherer societies are characterised by degrees of social and technological complexity that are entirely absent in the rest of the animal kingdom. These are novel features, and they set human life history on a unique path.
This path is as explicable as any other: all species are unique. The Homo sapiens species is a cultural animal. It may well be the cultural animal. But culture is a result of evolution just as much as eyes and ears. It is unique, unprecedented and unpredictable. But it is not magical.
___________
I was first introduced to Darwin’s delightful idea thanks to Richard Dawkins’ book, The Selfish Gene. It is, perhaps, noteworthy, that I was not introduced to it through school (and English children today are still deprived of an appropriate presentation in the National Curriculum).
Aside from Dawkins’ wonderfully clear explanations of the blind and purposeless processes of adaptation and selection, I was most struck by a passing comment in the introduction:
“The full implications of Darwin’s revolution have yet to be widely realised .. even those who choose to study it often make their decision without appreciating its profound philosophical significance. Philosophy and the subjects known as ‘humanities’ are still almost as if Darwin had never lived”. (1976, p. ix)
I suspect that this is still broadly the case. Although there has been a revolution in our understanding and acceptance of Darwinian theory in recent years, there continues to be large-scale resistance to evolutionary explanations of matters that are close to home for us humans. Many social scientists continue to believe that biological explanations are simply incapable of helping us to understand the richness and diversity of human existence. And, moreover, that they are just not very nice.
Perhaps there is a concern stated by Jerome Bruner: ‘Culture imposes revolutionary discontinuity between man and the rest of the animal kingdom. And it is this discontinuity that creates the difficulty in extrapolating directly from evolutionary biology to the human condition’.
But, without an evolutionary foundation, explanations of human development will inevitably be incomplete. This is because human science and its subject matter are Homo sapiens. The nature of this species ought to be of enormous relevance, indeed urgency, to those of us working in the human sciences.
Other posts, resources and information is available from: www.richardbailey.net
Friday, 27 February 2009
DARWIN’S DELICIOUS IDEA
If the voice of the people is indeed the world of God, then Winston Churchill is the Greatest Briton. Brunel comes in at Number 2 and Princess Diana is third. My choice was Charles Darwin, who was ranked fourth, so it shows how much I know.
This was the result of a BBC poll a few years ago. Across the country parents and teachers rung their hands in anguish for the appalling job they’ve made of children’s education. Churchill is, perhaps, a reasonable choice. The engineer Brunel, although a surprise, at least DID SOMETHING in his life. But not many of us living in the twilight zone of reason would have guessed that Diana was a more significant person than Shakespeare, Newton and Faraday. In my book, she’d come some way behind Lily Allen, Timmy Mallett and that woman from the Shake-&-Vac adverts.
But I digress.
I wanted to take the luxury of this blog to reiterate the case for Charles Darwin, who 200th Anniversary is being celebrated this month.
___________
An apocryphal story tells of a prominent English Victorian lady, the wife of a bishop, who exclaimed to her husband, after hearing of Darwin’s theory of natural selection:
What Mr Darwin said is true, at least in general terms. Zoological, archaeological, molecular chemical and anthropological evidence all support his central claims. And this is despite 150 years of the most heated challenges levelled at any scientific theory. But even more remarkable is that the extraordinary advances in biology since Darwin’s insights all seem to corroborate and compliment the central tenets of his theory of evolution by natural selection, including the other major component of modern biological thought, genetics.
I agree with the American philosopher, Daniel Dennett, when he said:
However, despite its near universal acceptance among the scientific community, Darwin’s dangerous idea continues to cause controversy. Copernicus and Galileo may have moved us from the centre of the universe to a small and peripheral body, circling a remote star. But Darwin has moved us from the centre of God’s creation to a tiny twig on an enormous tree of life, with all of the twigs connected by descent, and the entire tree growing by a natural and undirected process. Moreover, the tiny twig that is the human lineage has been around for only the briefest fraction of the time that life has been on earth.
Those of us who accept Darwin’s dangerous idea can find themselves in danger, too. Evolutionary theory is attacked by religious fundamentalists, because it undermines their cherished creation myths. And it is attacked by people concerned that, by embracing this scientific truth, we run the risk of losing long-held comforts: that humans are special, and uniquely so, and that there is some greater meaning in life than simply the here and now.
And also it has been attacked, it ought to be acknowledged, because the concept of evolution has been used and abused by the fascists and the eugenicists, who saw in it a scientific justification of their plans to ‘improve’ the human race, and to rank people within an ‘evolutionary league table’, with (rather like our contemporary league tables) with white, middle-classed Anglo-Saxons at the pinnacle. But ‘Social Darwinism’, as it used to be called, has simply appropriated a scientific name to bolster unscientific nonsense.
___________
Difficulty with accepting Darwinian evolution cannot be attributed to its complexity. Indeed, it must surely rate as the simplest of the great ideas in science. In fact, it can be whittled down to three key facts, followed by a logical inference:
So, perhaps, we can understand Thomas Huxley’s alarm when reading Darwin’s Origin of Species for the first time. He is reported to have said: “How extremely stupid not to have thought of that myself”.
___________
We are, whether we like it or not, primates. Genetically, anatomically and historically, we are very close relatives of the great apes. We share something of the order of 99% of the active genetic material of chimpanzees and bonobos (my favourite animal, aka the pygmy chimp), which a closer degree of relatedness than tigers to lions, or horses to zebras. Most of us, when we watch wildlife programmes or visit Howlett’s Zoo are happy to admit that we are like apes. We seldom realise that we are apes. Zoologically, there is no natural category that includes chimpanzees, gorillas and orang utans, but excludes humans.
In truth, not only are we apes, but we are African apes. If you do not exclude humans, this forms a natural category. So, perhaps the most accurate label for humans is ‘The Third Chimpanzee’.
We are also, in very many ways, very unlike apes, having created unprecedented knowledge, technology and forms of social organisation. We, alone, have created socialism and liberalism; art and literature; space shuttles and digital watches. Even so-called traditional hunter-gatherer societies are characterised by degrees of social and technological complexity that are entirely absent in the rest of the animal kingdom. These are novel features, and they set human life history on a unique path.
This path is as explicable as any other: all species are unique. The Homo sapiens species is a cultural animal. It may well be the cultural animal. But culture is a result of evolution just as much as eyes and ears. It is unique, unprecedented and unpredictable. But it is not magical.
___________
I was first introduced to Darwin’s delightful idea thanks to Richard Dawkins’ book, The Selfish Gene. It is, perhaps, noteworthy, that I was not introduced to it through school (and English children today are still deprived of an appropriate presentation in the National Curriculum).
Aside from Dawkins’ wonderfully clear explanations of the blind and purposeless processes of adaptation and selection, I was most struck by a passing comment in the introduction:
I suspect that this is still broadly the case. Although there has been a revolution in our understanding and acceptance of Darwinian theory in recent years, there continues to be large-scale resistance to evolutionary explanations of matters that are close to home for us humans. Many social scientists continue to believe that biological explanations are simply incapable of helping us to understand the richness and diversity of human existence. And, moreover, that they are just not very nice.
Perhaps there is a concern stated by Jerome Bruner: ‘Culture imposes revolutionary discontinuity between man and the rest of the animal kingdom. And it is this discontinuity that creates the difficulty in extrapolating directly from evolutionary biology to the human condition’.
But, without an evolutionary foundation, explanations of human development will inevitably be incomplete. This is because human science and its subject matter are Homo sapiens. The nature of this species ought to be of enormous relevance, indeed urgency, to those of us working in the human sciences.
More on this subject:
Bailey, R.P. (2003) ‘Learning to Be Human: teaching, learning and human cognitive evolution’. London Review of Education, 1(4), pp. 177-190.
Other posts, resources and information is available from: www.richardbailey.net
If the voice of the people is indeed the world of God, then Winston Churchill is the Greatest Briton. Brunel comes in at Number 2 and Princess Diana is third. My choice was Charles Darwin, who was ranked fourth, so it shows how much I know.
This was the result of a BBC poll a few years ago. Across the country parents and teachers rung their hands in anguish for the appalling job they’ve made of children’s education. Churchill is, perhaps, a reasonable choice. The engineer Brunel, although a surprise, at least DID SOMETHING in his life. But not many of us living in the twilight zone of reason would have guessed that Diana was a more significant person than Shakespeare, Newton and Faraday. In my book, she’d come some way behind Lily Allen, Timmy Mallett and that woman from the Shake-&-Vac adverts.
But I digress.
I wanted to take the luxury of this blog to reiterate the case for Charles Darwin, who 200th Anniversary is being celebrated this month.
___________
An apocryphal story tells of a prominent English Victorian lady, the wife of a bishop, who exclaimed to her husband, after hearing of Darwin’s theory of natural selection:
“Oh my dear, let us hope that what Mr Darwin says is not true. But if it is true, let us hope that it will not become generally known!”
What Mr Darwin said is true, at least in general terms. Zoological, archaeological, molecular chemical and anthropological evidence all support his central claims. And this is despite 150 years of the most heated challenges levelled at any scientific theory. But even more remarkable is that the extraordinary advances in biology since Darwin’s insights all seem to corroborate and compliment the central tenets of his theory of evolution by natural selection, including the other major component of modern biological thought, genetics.
I agree with the American philosopher, Daniel Dennett, when he said:
“If I were to give an award for the single best idea anyone has ever had, I’d give it to Darwin, ahead of Newton and Einstein and everyone else. In a single stroke, the idea of evolution by natural selection unifies the realm of life, meaning, and purpose with the realm of space and time, cause and effect, mechanism and physical law. But it is not just a wonderful idea. It is a dangerous idea.”
However, despite its near universal acceptance among the scientific community, Darwin’s dangerous idea continues to cause controversy. Copernicus and Galileo may have moved us from the centre of the universe to a small and peripheral body, circling a remote star. But Darwin has moved us from the centre of God’s creation to a tiny twig on an enormous tree of life, with all of the twigs connected by descent, and the entire tree growing by a natural and undirected process. Moreover, the tiny twig that is the human lineage has been around for only the briefest fraction of the time that life has been on earth.
Those of us who accept Darwin’s dangerous idea can find themselves in danger, too. Evolutionary theory is attacked by religious fundamentalists, because it undermines their cherished creation myths. And it is attacked by people concerned that, by embracing this scientific truth, we run the risk of losing long-held comforts: that humans are special, and uniquely so, and that there is some greater meaning in life than simply the here and now.
And also it has been attacked, it ought to be acknowledged, because the concept of evolution has been used and abused by the fascists and the eugenicists, who saw in it a scientific justification of their plans to ‘improve’ the human race, and to rank people within an ‘evolutionary league table’, with (rather like our contemporary league tables) with white, middle-classed Anglo-Saxons at the pinnacle. But ‘Social Darwinism’, as it used to be called, has simply appropriated a scientific name to bolster unscientific nonsense.
___________
Difficulty with accepting Darwinian evolution cannot be attributed to its complexity. Indeed, it must surely rate as the simplest of the great ideas in science. In fact, it can be whittled down to three key facts, followed by a logical inference:
FACTS
I. All organisms produce more offspring than can possibly survive;
II. All organisms within a species vary from one another;
III. At least some of this variation is inherited by offspring
INFERENCE
Since only some offspring can survive, on average the survivors will be those variants that are better adapted to the local environment. And, since offspring will inherit the favourable variations of their parents, organisms of the next generation will, on average, become better adapted to local conditions.
So, perhaps, we can understand Thomas Huxley’s alarm when reading Darwin’s Origin of Species for the first time. He is reported to have said: “How extremely stupid not to have thought of that myself”.
___________
We are, whether we like it or not, primates. Genetically, anatomically and historically, we are very close relatives of the great apes. We share something of the order of 99% of the active genetic material of chimpanzees and bonobos (my favourite animal, aka the pygmy chimp), which a closer degree of relatedness than tigers to lions, or horses to zebras. Most of us, when we watch wildlife programmes or visit Howlett’s Zoo are happy to admit that we are like apes. We seldom realise that we are apes. Zoologically, there is no natural category that includes chimpanzees, gorillas and orang utans, but excludes humans.
In truth, not only are we apes, but we are African apes. If you do not exclude humans, this forms a natural category. So, perhaps the most accurate label for humans is ‘The Third Chimpanzee’.
We are also, in very many ways, very unlike apes, having created unprecedented knowledge, technology and forms of social organisation. We, alone, have created socialism and liberalism; art and literature; space shuttles and digital watches. Even so-called traditional hunter-gatherer societies are characterised by degrees of social and technological complexity that are entirely absent in the rest of the animal kingdom. These are novel features, and they set human life history on a unique path.
This path is as explicable as any other: all species are unique. The Homo sapiens species is a cultural animal. It may well be the cultural animal. But culture is a result of evolution just as much as eyes and ears. It is unique, unprecedented and unpredictable. But it is not magical.
___________
I was first introduced to Darwin’s delightful idea thanks to Richard Dawkins’ book, The Selfish Gene. It is, perhaps, noteworthy, that I was not introduced to it through school (and English children today are still deprived of an appropriate presentation in the National Curriculum).
Aside from Dawkins’ wonderfully clear explanations of the blind and purposeless processes of adaptation and selection, I was most struck by a passing comment in the introduction:
“The full implications of Darwin’s revolution have yet to be widely realised .. even those who choose to study it often make their decision without appreciating its profound philosophical significance. Philosophy and the subjects known as ‘humanities’ are still almost as if Darwin had never lived”. (1976, p. ix)
I suspect that this is still broadly the case. Although there has been a revolution in our understanding and acceptance of Darwinian theory in recent years, there continues to be large-scale resistance to evolutionary explanations of matters that are close to home for us humans. Many social scientists continue to believe that biological explanations are simply incapable of helping us to understand the richness and diversity of human existence. And, moreover, that they are just not very nice.
Perhaps there is a concern stated by Jerome Bruner: ‘Culture imposes revolutionary discontinuity between man and the rest of the animal kingdom. And it is this discontinuity that creates the difficulty in extrapolating directly from evolutionary biology to the human condition’.
But, without an evolutionary foundation, explanations of human development will inevitably be incomplete. This is because human science and its subject matter are Homo sapiens. The nature of this species ought to be of enormous relevance, indeed urgency, to those of us working in the human sciences.
More on this subject:
Bailey, R.P. (2003) ‘Learning to Be Human: teaching, learning and human cognitive evolution’. London Review of Education, 1(4), pp. 177-190.
Other posts, resources and information is available from: www.richardbailey.net
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