Monthly Archives: November 2007

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Kindle Doesn’t Light My Fire

If you haven’t heard, Kindle is Amazon.com’s new digital device that allows you to read books on the go. The device features a glare-free screen based on electronic paper technology. According to Amazon, the screen can be read even in bright sunlight and is as easy on the eyes as reading text on paper. In addition, Kindle can download books by connecting to Sprint’s high-speed wireless network, but it doesn’t require a monthly service plan because the data download fees are built in to the price of each book. Amazon also claims users can read thousands of pages before needing to recharge the device, and that the battery will last for about two days with its wireless network access left on.

Although Kindle offers some innovative features, I wouldn’t call it revolutionary. Sony has been attempting to bring ebooks into the mainstream for years with devices like the Reader and the Connect ebook delivery service. Smaller companies like HanLin have also tried to make a name for themselves in this market, but for the most part, their sales have been limited to early adopters in tech-hungry Asian markets. Of course, being the first isn’t nearly as important as being the best, as any iPod/iTunes fan will tell you. Although I think Amazon is on the right track, I don’t think Kindle is going to revolutionize how we read or how digital educational content is delivered—at least not right now. Here are a just a few reasons why it’s not making my Christmas list this year and why I don’t believe Kindle will be a hit with students and teachers, either:

Kindle costs $499. That’s comparable to the cost of an iPhone, a bargain-priced laptop, a long weekend in Vegas, or 4,000 packages of Ramen noodles.

Book downloads are around $9.99 a piece. Sure, a new hardcover is a lot more than 10 bucks, but a library card is free. Furthermore, on the rare occasion that I buy a pricey book, I expect it to be more than a stimulating read. I expect it to add a touch of class to my living room. (I find people don’t laugh as much at my Kelly Clarkson album collection when it’s sandwiched between Tolstoy and Nietzsche.)

Kindle is a one-trick pony. Say what you will about “convergent” devices being hard to use. I’ll compromise on usability if it helps me avoid uncomfortable backpack bloating. At the very least, I expected that Kindle would be able to store and display personal documents from programs like Microsoft Word. However, to do this, the Kindle promo video claims you must email files to your Kindle device (I’m still not sure how that works) and pay Amazon to convert them to a Kindle-compatible format.

Why Come to Class?

During a recent consulting session with an instructor about her upcoming blended-delivery course, our discussion turned toward which learning activities would best serve students when delivered online vs. those that would best serve students when delivered in the classroom.

It’s an interesting question: What unique learning attributes are contained in a room that—for a period of time—contains one instructor and a group of students?

When I ask faculty what they do in the classroom, the answer I most often receive first is that they “lecture” or “talk about the content” or “present information.” When pressed further faculty refer to other activities. “I watch students to see if they are paying attention,” or “I ask questions to see if they understand the material.” And then I begin to hear yet another group of activities that includes the following:

  • “We discuss the material.”
  • “Students meet in their project groups and I spend time with each group.”
  • “We do practice problems on the board.”
  • “We review the homework assignment.”

So, here are three things that happen in a face-to-face classroom: delivery of content, assessment of student engagement with the material, and guidance of student learning and performance.

Interestingly, when I ask faculty what they like most about teaching, rarely have I ever heard lecturing top the list. In fact, I’ve never heard that answer. What I usually hear are answers related to that last task. “I enjoy guiding students through the work of learning,” or “watching students get it,” or “seeing the ‘ah-ha’ moments.” I would guess that if we asked students what they enjoy most about learning, these moments would be high on their lists as well.

What if one could actually structure a course to include more of these teaching moments—these moments of guiding student learning?

Barbara Walvoord reported on this type of course in 2003. “I wanted to use my time not to deliver information, but to engage in discussion with students and respond to their writing, encouraging their development of sophisticated analytical skills and creativity.”

To accomplish this, she basically re-created her Shakespeare class as a hybrid course. Information and ideas were delivered via readings and by videos already owned by the library. The rather large course was broken up into several groups of approximately 18 students. Each group met with the instructor once a week for an hour of discussion. Students were held accountable for their weekly short assignments, notes on readings and the video presentations, and on their participation in discussion.

Every student spoke in class every week, wrote every week, and received personalized feedback from the instructor on drafts of essays. The drop rate for this section of the class was the same as that for other sections. All measures indicated a successful and rigorous learning experience for the students.

Walvoord’s framework may have been “faculty productivity”—a term that sets an educator’s teeth on edge, much like nails across a chalkboard. Yet, her process does result in that central joy of instruction. So, what is it that the instructor can uniquely bring to the classroom? Herself? Her feedback? Her ability to guide discussion?

Well, that is actually a large part of what happens when a course is re-designed for hybrid/blended delivery. Faculty time is focused on providing immediate feedback on performance and practice, engaging students in discussions around concepts and ideas, asking guiding questions about group or individual projects, and listening and responding to student presentations.

For more information, see the following resources:

Walvoord, B. (2003). New Modes of Productivity for Student Learning. New Directions for Higher Education, No. 121. 35-49.

Soft (Arts) vs. Hard (Sciences/Technology) Education: Imagination vs. Reason

Both the low marketability of arts degrees and the low salaries of arts educators in our society, when compared to the marketability of degrees and salaries of educators in science or technology topics, reflect an attitude towards the arts that sees them as accessories to our lives, good mainly for entertainment, pleasure, or escape. This attitude frequently undermines arts education funding and is, for some, due to the admitted difficulty non-artists and artists alike face when trying to assess success in arts education and production with measures that make sense to and can be appreciated by “non believers.”

Assessing arts education outcomes (Hanna, 2007)

To this end, Dr. Wendell Hanna (San Francisco State University) recently published a well-written and organized article on the applicability of the new Bloom’s taxonomy to arts education assessment [Hanna, W. (2007). “The New Bloom’s Taxonomy: Implications for Music Education.” Arts Education Policy Review, 108(4): 7-16.]. The first section of the article offers an insightful and concise outline of the significance of assessing music education outcomes and of the history and current state of Bloom’s taxonomy as an education-accomplishment assessment tool. It is followed by a meticulous and convincing (even if a little tedious at times) set of arguments for the way music education activities and national standards fit within the new Bloom’s taxonomy.

Hanna (2007) effectively accomplishes her principle goal, to show that:

Music education functions within and contributes to the same types of knowledge acquisition and cognitive processes, and its outcomes can be assessed using conceptually the same standards and tools as other educational areas that deal with topics traditionally more “respected,” “objective,” and widely accepted as beneficial to individual and social behavior and success.

Does “high assessment” translate to “high value?”

Whether the above conclusion can support claims for the need to keep music education in schools is not as clear to me as it seems to be to the author. Based on her concluding sections, Hanna seems more interested in promoting the usefulness of a new, uniform, and standardized assessment tool than she is in arguing for the general value of musical accomplishments. The goal of this assessment tool is to make communication of musical accomplishments among “music lovers” and between music lovers and non-music administrators easy, efficient, and consistent with concepts non-experts are familiar with. However, defending the value of music education in promoting the individual and social development of students is, in my opinion, a most pressing issue, as the way it is resolved will determine whether or not accomplishing the goal set in Hanna’s paper is of any consequence.

For example, even the process of systematically learning how to knit can be made to fit, to some degree or another, the knowledge acquisition and cognitive processes outlined by Bloom’s taxonomy. This offers us useful ways to assess what processes have been used and to what end and degree of success. Such an exercise, however, will not answer the question of whether the specific “end” in question is “valuable,” “respectable,” and useful to the individual and the society beyond the limited bounds of the activity itself. Algebra, biology, geometry, and all the other “respectable” educational subjects are not respectable simply because students end up learning how to solve equations or properly identify a frog’s internal organs. Rather, they are valued because of what one can contribute to society thanks to her advanced mathematical and scientific skills.

Precisely what these contributions may be is not made explicitly clear, but their value is implicitly accepted as being significant within our culture. On the other hand, what a student can contribute thanks to how well educated she is in music is even less clear and, largely, not accepted as valuable. It seems to me that, before one can appreciate how good a student has become in music and how consistently we can assess her accomplishments based on a standard tool, we must address the question, “Why should anyone become good in music?” The typical response: “for no good reason beyond entertainment and escape,” reveals an attitude that threatens to make efforts like Hanna’s ultimately inconsequential.

The cognitive significance of art & imagination vs. reason

In my opinion, the way to go is to systematically and convincingly argue for the cognitive significance of art in general and music in particular—a non-trivial task that is beyond the scope of the present post. To get things going, however, I would like to briefly assess the longstanding, conventional opposition between imagination and reason, which, I believe, is behind our difficulty to appreciate art’s cognitive significance.

Bear with me for one more paragraph, as I will be tracing an arguably problematic rational consequence of such opposition.

Common sense understands imagination as a mental activity that deals with things that are not really there. It is opposed to reason, which is consequently supposed to be dealing with things that are really there. At the same time, the observation that not all future events can be predicted based solely on past and present observations indicates that future things must include things that do not already belong to the past or present. If the future includes things that are not present (i.e. are not really there) or past (i.e. have never really been there) then reason, by definition, cannot address it. Such a limitation severely undermines the importance of reason to our lives, by stripping from it the power to, in any radical way, influence our outlook. The only way reason can address future things is by making believe that such things—things that are not really there—are present, so that it can subject them to determinate and reflective judgment. In other words, in order for future to be reasoned with it first has to be imagined. The conventional opposition between imagination and reason and the accompanying assumption of reason’s superiority leads, therefore, to a curious and paradoxical “reason” that is superior to imagination, but impotent without it.

Until convinced otherwise, I, for one, will keep imagining.

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What if Confucius Were to Teach Online?

A couple of weeks ago, I attended the Computers and Advanced Technology in Education conference in Beijing, a city where I went to college 20 years ago. To me, it felt a bit strange to hear the familiar subjects—new instructional tools and pedagogical methods—being discussed in an ancient city of China, which has become so modernized that I could barely recognize it. At the conference, the clear divide between the technical and pedagogical tracks reminded me of the disparity between modern technology and the historical cultural roots of China. Almost all of the presentations delivered by Chinese scholars focused on technology, and most of the technologically focused papers seemed to shy away from any deep analysis of the pedagogical impact of these technologies. This made me wonder, ‘Where were those insightful learning theories developed in China thousands years ahead of the west? Where was Confucius and his philosophy of teaching and learning?’

An interesting thought came to my mind as I was wandering through those technology demonstrations: what if Confucius were given the opportunity to teach online? Would he be as resistant to technology as many of our conservative faculty are? Or would he be willing to use the Internet to serve his mission of perfecting human beings through education?

As someone who taught through dialogue and observation, Confucius would very likely to be skeptical about teaching online. Yet, if he were to take advantage of online technology (as many faculty are doing now), I would speculate that his way of teaching would be dramatically different from most online instructors. Since I cannot easily anticipate what Confucius would do, I would just venture to list a few things that I believe would not happen if Confucius were to teach online:

  1. There would be no learning objectives.
  2. There would be no learning modules.
  3. There would be no “instructors” in the class, but “coaches” and “mentors”.
  4. There would be no tests and exams.
  5. There wouldn’t be any “course” or “courses.”
  6. There wouldn’t be a green light allowing every student to study online.

Now, here are my rationales for the would-not-happens.

1. No Learning Objectives
Confucius believed that through “studying,” one proceeded to reach the stage of human excellence. In this regard, the goal of education was to cultivate and facilitate self-improvement. Such improvement, in his opinion, was personal and could only happen through individual engagement in learning. Since humans differ in nature, Confucius suggested that instructions ought to be tailored for each individual student. The Analects of Confucius recorded that once a question was asked about whether the student should immediately put into practice something he was taught. To one student who Confucius thought was particularly zealous, he recommended that the student first consult his father and older brothers. To the other student who Confucius thought lacked enthusiasm, he said yes, put it into practice right away (The Analects of Confucius).

This story makes Confucius the earliest practitioner of constructivism. One could easily infer from his thoughts and practices that he viewed the paths to achieve the ultimate learning goals as being different from one student to another. In this sense, he would oppose putting any milestones on the journey of learning because people were traveling at different routes and even their own routes might change during the process. In developing online learning, we label those milestones as “learning objectives,” which were set by the instructors and given to students as common targets that move them along “a well-trod and clearly marked road.” The main challenge of learning, in this perspective, is to keep students moving down the road on schedule. (Ron Weigel, 2005).

These milestones or learning objectives would certainly be removed by Confucius.

2. No Learning Modules
Break the content into bite-sized chunks to make it easy for students to digest! Carefully label each chunk with instructions and dates for it to be consumed! Place them in a good sequence so that they are completed by the students in the right order!

None of these design tips would have found their place if Confucius were to teach online.
Confucius, even in his own time, never used structured class to teach. Because of this, one can hardly imagine him using modules to break knowledge into discrete pieces.

Confucius saw learning as a process of observation, followed by reflection, and internalization or implementation. His thought infers a clear distinction between information acquisition and the formation of knowledge and wisdom. He would leave it to the students to observe and to acquire information without interfering and would never limit what students could “observe” by storing things in a fixed module.

3. No Instructors but “Coaches” and “Mentors”
Confucius’ methods of teaching were striking. He didn’t discourse at length (no lectures either!). Instead he posed questions, cited passages from classic texts, used apt analogies, or simply just listened and waited for the students to arrive at the right answer. He would not be there to tell students when to finish what assignment or what’s right and what’s wrong. Instead, he was to coach and mentor them on an individual basis.

4. No Tests and Exams
Confucius never use structured exams to assess the progress of student learning. Instead, he seemed to care more about how students reflected upon what they had “observed” and transformed these observations into knowledge and wisdom.

Confucius once asked a student, “Do you think that my way of acquiring knowledge is simply to study many things and remember them?” The student said, “Yes, isn’t that the case?” Confucius replied, “No, I have one principle which I use like a thread, upon which to string them all.”

His answer demonstrated his awareness of his own thinking process, which we now define as “metacognition.” Metacognitive capabilities can never to be mined through pure retrieval of information, nor would they be assessed by tests and exams.

5. No More “Courses”
Although Confucius did have a curriculum for subjects like music, speech, poetry, literature, and history, none of these was offered in isolation. Instead, he took a holistic approach by cross-referencing all subjects.

Without the boundary of walls, online learning has the great potential to enable multidisciplinary curricula, which I believe Confucius would like to use. In this regard, the concept of “a course” or “courses” would disappear.

6. Survival of the Eager and Willing
How many online instructors are struggling with keeping students on task? How many are frustrated by the fact that no matter how hard they try, there are always some that just won’t learn? Well, Confucius would not let himself be bothered by this problem because he would not teach “dullards,” and would “only teach those who were bursting with eagerness for enlightenment” (The Analects of Confucius). He would certainly apply this principle to online learning, which requires more enthusiasm and self-motivation to complete.

In reviewing Confucius theories, I see some limitations in his thinking (such as the unchallengeable acceptance of traditions). However, there are many of his ideas and practices that may still provoke useful thinking about what we do today. I think reviewing his way of teaching would at least make us aware of the overuse of the behaviorist approach in online teaching, which has a tendency to downgrade learning to one or a collection of short-term trainings.