Genuinely an interesting read, Jim! I do wonder, though, how you might reconcile what you say here with the ideas of folks like Paolo Freire, who argues that traditional models of authority oppress students and condition them not to subvert that authority but instead to acquiesce to their own oppression.
I enjoyed this, Jim, and there's a lot for me to chew on. I wonder if the answer to Josh's question might lie in the distinction Freire makes between "structure" and "authority," like we talked about at POD. Freire sees structure (at least some structure, thoughtfully created) as necessary, while for him authority is a separate, and insidious, affect on the part of an instructor.
So I'm trying to hunt down an analogy that i feel like Freire made about throwing a student over the side of a boat to teach them how to swim, but maybe I came up with it trying to paraphrase him in a workshop. In my hunt, I went back to an article--which is, I think, one of the best discussions of structure vs. authority (as opposed to authoritarianism) in Freire 's work. In short, the author suggests Freire 's later work adds nuance to the way he thinks about liberatory education and the role of the teacher (and their authority). (I have a pdf if you want to read but can't access it).
Roberts, Peter. 1996. “Structure, Direction and Rigour in Liberating Education.” Oxford Review of Education 22 (3): 295–316.
Thanks so much to both of you for starting this discussion. This was my exact hope for this Substack--throw out challenging questions and ideas, and stir up conversation. You are making my dreams come true!
Your quick summary of the article, Kevin, might suggest that Freire's ideas evolved in the same way that John Dewey's ideas did. They both came out hot with their theories, watched them get adopted into practice, and realized that that they produced unintended or unwanted effects.
I think the relationship between structure and authority could be the bridge here, as you suggest, Kevin. So let's keep the attendance example going for a minute., but put it directly in the context of Freire's work.
Say I want my students to liberate themselves from unjust or thoughtless authority, so I assign Freire in my course. But because I have been teaching for a long time, I know full well that their understanding of Freire will be richest when they do the reading, come to class, listen to my contextual explanations of Freire, and engage in discussions with their peers. So if I want them TRULY to understand Freire, and learn from him, I need to exercise my teacherly authority. There will be reading quizzes, required attendance in the seminar, and a written assignment at the end. These are structures that I put into the learning experience. And I have to exercise my authority to create those structures and enforce them.
If I believe a deep understanding of Freire will spark the revolution we need in the world, I don't want my students to walk away with a shallow understanding that might do harm than good: i.e., let's revolt for the sake of revolt! I wouldn't want students to Google some provocative statements from Freire and use them to smash everything down without understanding why. I need them to engage fully with Freire, in the text and in common conversation. So I exercise my authority to make sure that happens.
But maybe, at the end of the semester, I could assign an essay in which the students have to make an argument, using the work of Freire, about whether attendance policies or reading quizzes are a good idea. Once they have fully experienced an authority-embracing teaching environment, they should be able to develop their own philosophies in response, which is the ultimate goal.
I like where you are taking this thought experiment, and I look forward to reading the piece that Kevin cites above. In thinking about Pedagogy of the Oppressed, though, I still am pondering whether a student could successfully write the essay you suggest if they had only ever experienced traditional models of authority in the classroom or if, in the end, they would only imagine what they think the answer might be. Isn't it a bit like Plato's allegory of the cave? If you have never seen or been exposed to different sorts of educational models, does your realm of experience shape what you believe is possible?
So I read this post, and hurried right to the comments . . . to make the exact points that Josh and Kevin did. 🤦🏻♀️ Although I don't think any of us would be surprised about this!
The only other thing swirling in my brain is this . . . let's say I DO believe that the world would be a better place if everyone truly understood Freire, so I utilize my authority to force students to engage with him in ways that reflect the conditions I think are necessary for the development of that understanding. And let's assume that some students DO in fact come to a better understanding than they would have if left to their own devices. (Yay! Exercising my authority was good!) But let's also assume that some students are unable to comply with the rules for health or other life reasons, so not only do they NOT achieve that understanding, but they also fail the course. And let's assume that this might have implications both for their material futures (scholarships, more time in college cause the course must be repeated) and their emotional ones (mental health, but also how they view Freire and maybe my entire discipline moving forward). (Oh no! Exercising my authority was bad!)
So for me, it becomes a balancing of unintended consequences. Of deciding which discomfort I can live more comfortably in. The discomfort of knowing some students didn't get as far as they could have in learning some life/world-altering knowledge or the discomfort of knowing that my exercise of authority not only didn't achieve its intended aims for some students but could have added to traumas of being a student and a human in this time in this place.
And in case it matters, I haven't actually decided which I think is worse. 🙃
This another great extension of the question. It seems to me like the exercise of authority can always be benevolent, which it always should be, in the original sense of the word and its Latin origins: wishing (volent) the good (bene) for the other. Even when I had a draconian attendance policy, I obviously made exceptions for a student who was in the hospital, for example! Again, I think if I was transparent about the reasons for the exercise of my authority, and offered alternative pathway to students who were in serious crisis, I think it would avoid the worst harm. But I guess I am comfortable with saying that students need to make the case for taking that alterative pathway when they are in crisis, which requires me to keep reminding them that that pathway exists. But it remains an alternative, not just one of many equal pathways.
I just read this piece, Kevin, and it is fantastic. It makes nice distinctions between a teacher's authority (our expertise, our knowledge of pedagogy, our experience in the classroom that allows us to help students) and authoritarianism (an attempt to control through behaviorism, penalty, overly directive instruction, too much structure, etc.). Very useful framing.
I came to the comments section to note my deep appreciation for this post (a piece about pedagogy that mentions Arendt; be still my heart!), but now I get to do something even better and note my appreciation for the entire discussion in the comments thread. This is the kind of conversation I can't truly engage without losing days to it, but I hope each of you know how much I appreciated reading and thinking about your fair and careful discussions here. I had forgotten my substack @username before I posted here, but I think it summarizes my view on this and most issues of importance in teaching and learning quite well! Glad to have colleagues recognizing the difficulty and doing the hard work so I can enjoy the benefits from the sidelines. :)
I think the big question, like most in the classroom, is *why* we do what we do. It seems that most common answer is something akin to "we've always done it this way." Whether it's our traditional grading approaches, an attachment to a specific course sequence, or the way we think about managing our classrooms, the decisions always need to be grounded more deeply if they are going to be most effective. It's less top-down dictation and more by-your-side guidance.
I've often been drawn to the connections between gardening and education. We ought to approach our use of power in the same way that a gardener prunes or trellises: use our power and authority to promote flourishing, not just to demonstrate that we have it.
Thanks for the thoughtful post. Off now to brush up on Arendt...
Josh, the gardening example here is an interesting one. Some vegetables in a garden will thrive better if they are tied to stakes or cages, as in tomatoes. Let's say a tomato places comes to life and asks me to set it free: "Let me grow as you please, you tyrant!" If I do that, it will flop down and the tomatoes will rot in the dirt. So I keep it tied up, and it flourishes.
But assuming the tomato can understand arguments, I should also explain to it why the tomato has to be tied. I could teach it about evolution, biology, gardening. At the end of all that, if it wants to be released, I might grant its wish, even though I am dooming it. But I wouldn't want it to make that decision until it fully understands why the stake helps it grow--which means it stays tied to the stake while I am educating it!
Agreed! The personhood of our students is important. There’s some fine line between “trellising” them for their own good and letting them choose their own fate.
One way that I want to lean into this more is to encourage my students to make little bets about these things. In essence, trust me enough to give this a shot and I think you’ll find some wisdom in what I say. But if you want to go a different way, that’s your decision. Ultimately, as long as we are agreed on the learning goals, I want to give students as much latitude as possible to explore and learn on their own. There’s a point at which the trellis can be restrictive and harmful too if we are holding to it too closely and not allowing the space for independent growth.
This supports my premise 100%. It has been said that ‘history repeats’ but that is a simplification. This comment illustrates that, while essential knowledge is passed on, the ability to process and act is forgotten. I can’t respond to modernity exactly like my parents generation. I can’t expect my children to respond to their modernity like me.
Arendt rests this argument on some simple premises. The world exists in a state of constant flux. The ideas, skills, and information that helped one generation flourish should not dominate from one era to the next. Ideas and traditions have their moments, but moments are always emerging and then disappearing. Each generation must discover the knowledge and skills that they need for their specific historical context, and those will never match the knowledge and skills wielded by any previous generation. The work of rejecting, revising, or revolutionizing are necessary tasks of each generation of students.
Genuinely an interesting read, Jim! I do wonder, though, how you might reconcile what you say here with the ideas of folks like Paolo Freire, who argues that traditional models of authority oppress students and condition them not to subvert that authority but instead to acquiesce to their own oppression.
I enjoyed this, Jim, and there's a lot for me to chew on. I wonder if the answer to Josh's question might lie in the distinction Freire makes between "structure" and "authority," like we talked about at POD. Freire sees structure (at least some structure, thoughtfully created) as necessary, while for him authority is a separate, and insidious, affect on the part of an instructor.
So I'm trying to hunt down an analogy that i feel like Freire made about throwing a student over the side of a boat to teach them how to swim, but maybe I came up with it trying to paraphrase him in a workshop. In my hunt, I went back to an article--which is, I think, one of the best discussions of structure vs. authority (as opposed to authoritarianism) in Freire 's work. In short, the author suggests Freire 's later work adds nuance to the way he thinks about liberatory education and the role of the teacher (and their authority). (I have a pdf if you want to read but can't access it).
Roberts, Peter. 1996. “Structure, Direction and Rigour in Liberating Education.” Oxford Review of Education 22 (3): 295–316.
Thanks so much to both of you for starting this discussion. This was my exact hope for this Substack--throw out challenging questions and ideas, and stir up conversation. You are making my dreams come true!
Your quick summary of the article, Kevin, might suggest that Freire's ideas evolved in the same way that John Dewey's ideas did. They both came out hot with their theories, watched them get adopted into practice, and realized that that they produced unintended or unwanted effects.
I think the relationship between structure and authority could be the bridge here, as you suggest, Kevin. So let's keep the attendance example going for a minute., but put it directly in the context of Freire's work.
Say I want my students to liberate themselves from unjust or thoughtless authority, so I assign Freire in my course. But because I have been teaching for a long time, I know full well that their understanding of Freire will be richest when they do the reading, come to class, listen to my contextual explanations of Freire, and engage in discussions with their peers. So if I want them TRULY to understand Freire, and learn from him, I need to exercise my teacherly authority. There will be reading quizzes, required attendance in the seminar, and a written assignment at the end. These are structures that I put into the learning experience. And I have to exercise my authority to create those structures and enforce them.
If I believe a deep understanding of Freire will spark the revolution we need in the world, I don't want my students to walk away with a shallow understanding that might do harm than good: i.e., let's revolt for the sake of revolt! I wouldn't want students to Google some provocative statements from Freire and use them to smash everything down without understanding why. I need them to engage fully with Freire, in the text and in common conversation. So I exercise my authority to make sure that happens.
But maybe, at the end of the semester, I could assign an essay in which the students have to make an argument, using the work of Freire, about whether attendance policies or reading quizzes are a good idea. Once they have fully experienced an authority-embracing teaching environment, they should be able to develop their own philosophies in response, which is the ultimate goal.
I like where you are taking this thought experiment, and I look forward to reading the piece that Kevin cites above. In thinking about Pedagogy of the Oppressed, though, I still am pondering whether a student could successfully write the essay you suggest if they had only ever experienced traditional models of authority in the classroom or if, in the end, they would only imagine what they think the answer might be. Isn't it a bit like Plato's allegory of the cave? If you have never seen or been exposed to different sorts of educational models, does your realm of experience shape what you believe is possible?
So I read this post, and hurried right to the comments . . . to make the exact points that Josh and Kevin did. 🤦🏻♀️ Although I don't think any of us would be surprised about this!
The only other thing swirling in my brain is this . . . let's say I DO believe that the world would be a better place if everyone truly understood Freire, so I utilize my authority to force students to engage with him in ways that reflect the conditions I think are necessary for the development of that understanding. And let's assume that some students DO in fact come to a better understanding than they would have if left to their own devices. (Yay! Exercising my authority was good!) But let's also assume that some students are unable to comply with the rules for health or other life reasons, so not only do they NOT achieve that understanding, but they also fail the course. And let's assume that this might have implications both for their material futures (scholarships, more time in college cause the course must be repeated) and their emotional ones (mental health, but also how they view Freire and maybe my entire discipline moving forward). (Oh no! Exercising my authority was bad!)
So for me, it becomes a balancing of unintended consequences. Of deciding which discomfort I can live more comfortably in. The discomfort of knowing some students didn't get as far as they could have in learning some life/world-altering knowledge or the discomfort of knowing that my exercise of authority not only didn't achieve its intended aims for some students but could have added to traumas of being a student and a human in this time in this place.
And in case it matters, I haven't actually decided which I think is worse. 🙃
This another great extension of the question. It seems to me like the exercise of authority can always be benevolent, which it always should be, in the original sense of the word and its Latin origins: wishing (volent) the good (bene) for the other. Even when I had a draconian attendance policy, I obviously made exceptions for a student who was in the hospital, for example! Again, I think if I was transparent about the reasons for the exercise of my authority, and offered alternative pathway to students who were in serious crisis, I think it would avoid the worst harm. But I guess I am comfortable with saying that students need to make the case for taking that alterative pathway when they are in crisis, which requires me to keep reminding them that that pathway exists. But it remains an alternative, not just one of many equal pathways.
I just read this piece, Kevin, and it is fantastic. It makes nice distinctions between a teacher's authority (our expertise, our knowledge of pedagogy, our experience in the classroom that allows us to help students) and authoritarianism (an attempt to control through behaviorism, penalty, overly directive instruction, too much structure, etc.). Very useful framing.
OK now I have to read it!
Yeah, it's one of the very best analyses of Freire I've come across.
I came to the comments section to note my deep appreciation for this post (a piece about pedagogy that mentions Arendt; be still my heart!), but now I get to do something even better and note my appreciation for the entire discussion in the comments thread. This is the kind of conversation I can't truly engage without losing days to it, but I hope each of you know how much I appreciated reading and thinking about your fair and careful discussions here. I had forgotten my substack @username before I posted here, but I think it summarizes my view on this and most issues of importance in teaching and learning quite well! Glad to have colleagues recognizing the difficulty and doing the hard work so I can enjoy the benefits from the sidelines. :)
I'm glad you are here, my fellow philosophy lover!
I think the big question, like most in the classroom, is *why* we do what we do. It seems that most common answer is something akin to "we've always done it this way." Whether it's our traditional grading approaches, an attachment to a specific course sequence, or the way we think about managing our classrooms, the decisions always need to be grounded more deeply if they are going to be most effective. It's less top-down dictation and more by-your-side guidance.
I've often been drawn to the connections between gardening and education. We ought to approach our use of power in the same way that a gardener prunes or trellises: use our power and authority to promote flourishing, not just to demonstrate that we have it.
Thanks for the thoughtful post. Off now to brush up on Arendt...
Josh, the gardening example here is an interesting one. Some vegetables in a garden will thrive better if they are tied to stakes or cages, as in tomatoes. Let's say a tomato places comes to life and asks me to set it free: "Let me grow as you please, you tyrant!" If I do that, it will flop down and the tomatoes will rot in the dirt. So I keep it tied up, and it flourishes.
But assuming the tomato can understand arguments, I should also explain to it why the tomato has to be tied. I could teach it about evolution, biology, gardening. At the end of all that, if it wants to be released, I might grant its wish, even though I am dooming it. But I wouldn't want it to make that decision until it fully understands why the stake helps it grow--which means it stays tied to the stake while I am educating it!
Agreed! The personhood of our students is important. There’s some fine line between “trellising” them for their own good and letting them choose their own fate.
One way that I want to lean into this more is to encourage my students to make little bets about these things. In essence, trust me enough to give this a shot and I think you’ll find some wisdom in what I say. But if you want to go a different way, that’s your decision. Ultimately, as long as we are agreed on the learning goals, I want to give students as much latitude as possible to explore and learn on their own. There’s a point at which the trellis can be restrictive and harmful too if we are holding to it too closely and not allowing the space for independent growth.
I love the conceptual use of the word "trellising" here, Josh. Will have to keep pondering this analogy.
This supports my premise 100%. It has been said that ‘history repeats’ but that is a simplification. This comment illustrates that, while essential knowledge is passed on, the ability to process and act is forgotten. I can’t respond to modernity exactly like my parents generation. I can’t expect my children to respond to their modernity like me.
Article quote to which I refer:
Arendt rests this argument on some simple premises. The world exists in a state of constant flux. The ideas, skills, and information that helped one generation flourish should not dominate from one era to the next. Ideas and traditions have their moments, but moments are always emerging and then disappearing. Each generation must discover the knowledge and skills that they need for their specific historical context, and those will never match the knowledge and skills wielded by any previous generation. The work of rejecting, revising, or revolutionizing are necessary tasks of each generation of students.