Discuss the readings from Harris and Slouka. You can question their claims, highlight differences, add to their discussion of education, or agree with them and expand up

Many years ago, my fi ancée attempted to lend me a bit of respectability by introducing me to my would-be mother-in-law as a future Ph.D. in literature. From Columbia, I added, polishing the apple of my prospects. She wasn’t buying it. “A doctor of philosophy,” she said. “What’re you going to do, open a philosophy store?”

A spear is a spear—it doesn’t have to be original. Unable to come up with a quick re- sponse and unwilling to petition for a change of venue, I ducked into low-grade irony. More like a stand, I said. I was thinking of stocking Kafka quotes for the holidays, lines from Yeats for a buck-fi fty.

And that was that. I married the girl anyway. It’s only now, recalling our exchange, that I can appreciate the signifi cance—the poetry, really— of our little pas de deux. What we unconsciously acted out, in compressed, almost haiku-like form (A philosophy store?/I will have a stand/sell pieces of Auden at two bits a beat), was the essential drama of American education today.

It’s a play I’ve been following for some time now. It’s about the increasing dominance— scratch that, the unqualifi ed triumph—of a cer- tain way of seeing, of reckoning value. It’s about the victory of whatever can be quantifi ed over everything that can’t. It’s about the quiet retool- ing of American education into an adjunct of business, an instrument of production.

The play’s almost over. I don’t think it’s a comedy.

DEHUMANIZED When math and science rule the school

By Mark Slouka

state of the union

Then there’s amortization, the deadliest of all;

amortization of the heart and soul.

—Vladimir Mayakovsky

Despite the determinisms of the day, despite the code-breakers, the wetware specialists, the patient unwinders of the barbed wire of our be- ing, this I feel is true: That we are more nurture than nature; that what we are taught, generally speaking, is what we become; that torturers are made slowly, not minted in the womb. As are those who resist them. I believe that what rules us is less the material world of goods and services than the immaterial one of whims, assumptions, delusions, and lies; that only by studying this world can we hope to shape how it shapes us; that only by attempting to understand what used to be called, in a less embarrassed age, “the hu- man condition” can we hope to make our condi- tion more human, not less.

All of which puts me, and those in the hu- manities generally, at something of a disadvan- tage these days. In a visible world, the invisible does not compute; in a corporate culture, hyp- notized by quarterly results and profi t margins, the gradual sifting of political sentiment is of no value; in a horizontal world of “information” readily convertible to product, the verticality of

32 HARPER’S MAGAZINE / SEPTEMBER 2009

Mark Slouka is a contributing editor of Harper’s Magazine. His novel The Visible World is available in paperback from Houghton-Miffl in.

E S S A Y

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wisdom has no place. Show me the spreadsheet on skepticism.

You have to admire the skill with which we’ve been outmaneuvered; there’s something almost chess-like in the way the other side has narrowed the fi eld, neutralized lines of attack, co-opted the terms of battle. It’s all about them now; every move we make plays into their hands, confi rms their values. Like the narrator in May- akovsky’s “Conversation with a Tax Collector About Poetry,” we’re being forced to account for ourselves in the other’s idiom, to argue for “the place of the poet/in the workers’ ranks.” It’s not working.

What is taught, at any given time, in any culture, is an expression of what that culture considers important. That much seems undebat- able. How “the culture” decides, precisely, on what matters, how openly the debate unfolds— who frames the terms, declares a winner, and signs the check—well, that’s a different matter. Real debate can be short- circuited by orthodoxy, and whether that orthodoxy is en- forced through the barrel of a gun or backed by the power of unexamined assumption, the effect is the same.

In our time, orthodoxy is economic. Popular culture fe- tishizes it, our entertainments salaam to it (how many mil- lions for sinking that putt, ac- cepting that trade?), our artists are ranked by and revered for it. There is no institution wholly apart. Everything sub- mits; everything must, sooner or later, pay fealty to the mar- ket; thus cost-benefi t analyses on raising children, on cancer medications, on clean water, on the survival of species, including—in the last, last analysis—our own. If human- ity has suffered under a more impoverishing delusion, I’m not aware of it.

That education policy re- fl ects the zeitgeist shouldn’t surprise us; capitalism has a wonderful knack for margin- alizing (or co-opting) systems of value that might pose an alternative to its own. Still, capitalism’s success in this case is particu- larly elegant: by bringing education to heel, by forcing it to meet its criteria for “success,” the market is well on the way to controlling a major- ity share of the one business that might offer a

competing product, that might question its as- sumptions. It’s a neat trick. The problem, of course, is that by its success we are made vulner- able. By downsizing what is most dangerous (and most essential) about our education, namely the deep civic function of the arts and the humani- ties, we’re well on the way to producing a nation of employees, not citizens. Thus is the world made safe for commerce, but not safe.

We’re pounding swords into cogs. They work in Pyongyang too.

capital investment

This is exactly what life is about. You get a paycheck every two weeks. We’re preparing children for life.

—District of Columbia Schools Chancellor Michelle Rhee

The questions are straightforward enough: What do we teach, and why? One might assume

that in an aspiring democracy like ours the an- swers would be equally straightforward: We teach whatever contributes to the development of au- tonomous human beings; we teach, that is, in order to expand the census of knowledgeable, reasoning, independent-minded individuals both

ESSAY 33 An untitled collage by Balint Zsako. Courtesy the artist and Katharine Mulherin Contemporary Art Projects, Toronto

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34 HARPER’S MAGAZINE / SEPTEMBER 2009

suffi ciently familiar with the world outside them- selves to lend their judgments compassion and breadth (and thereby contribute to the political life of the nation), and suffi ciently skilled to fi nd productive employment. In that order. Our pri- mary function, in other words, is to teach peo- ple, not tasks; to participate in the complex and infi nitely worthwhile labor of forming citizens, men and women capable of furthering what’s

best about us and forestalling what’s worst. It is only secondarily—one might say incidentally— about producing workers.

I’m joking, of course. Education in America today is almost exclusively about the GDP. It’s about investing in our human capital, and please note what’s modifying what. It’s about ensuring that the United States does not fall from its priv- ileged perch in the global economy. And what of our political perch, you ask, whether legitimate or no? Thank you for your question. Management has decided that the new business plan has no room for frivolity. Those who can justify their presence in accordance with its terms may remain;

the rest will be downsized or discontinued. Alter- natively, since studies have suggested that human- izing the workspace may increase effi ciency, a few may be kept on, the curricular equivalent of potted plants.

If facetiousness is an expression of frustration, it does not necessarily follow that the picture it paints is false. The force of the new dispensation is stunning. Its language is the language of

banking—literal, technocratic, wincingly bourgeois; its effects are visible, quite liter- ally, everywhere you look.

Start with the newspaper of record. In an article by New York Times editorialist Brent Staples, we learn that the American education system is failing “to produce the fl uent writers required by the new econo- my.” No doubt it is, but the sin of omission here is both telling and representative. Might there be another reason for seeking to develop fl uent writers? Could clear writ- ing have some relation to clear thinking and thereby have, perhaps, some political effi cacy? If so, neither Staples nor his read- ers, writing in to the Times, think to men- tion it. Writing is “a critical strategy that we can offer students to prepare them to succeed in the workplace.” Writing skills are vital because they promote “clear, con- cise communications, which all business people want to read.” “The return on a modest investment in writing is manifold,” because “it strengthens competitiveness, increases effi ciency and empowers employ- ees.” And so on, without exception. The chairman of the country’s largest associa- tion of college writing professors agrees. The real problem, he explains, is the SAT writing exam, which “hardly resembles the kinds of writing people encounter in busi- ness or academic settings.” An accountant, he argues, needs to write “about content related to the company and the work in which she’s steeped.” It’s unlikely that she’ll “need to drop everything and give the boss 25 minutes on the Peloponnesian War or

her most meaningful quotation.” What’s depressing here is that this is pre-

cisely the argument heard at parent-teacher meetings across the land. When is the boss ever going to ask my Johnny about the Pelopon- nesian War? As if Johnny had agreed to have no existence outside his cubicle of choice. As if he wasn’t going to inherit the holy right of gun ownership and the power of the vote.

At times, the failure of decent, intelligent, reliably humane voices like Staples’s to see the political forest for the economic trees is breath- taking. In a generally well-intentioned editorial, Staples’s colleague at the Times, Nicholas Kristof,

An untitled collage by Balint Zsako. Courtesy the artist and Katharine Mulherin Contemporary Art Projects, Toronto

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ESSAY 35

argues that we can’t “address poverty or grow the economy” unless we do something about the failure of our schools. So far, so good, though one might quibble that addressing poverty and grow- ing the economy are not the same thing.

But never mind, because the real signifi cance of the failure of our schools is soon made manifest. “Where will the workers come from,” Kristof wor- ries, “unless students reliably learn science and math?” If our students “only did as well as those in several Asian countries in math and science, our economy would grow 20 percent faster.” The prob- lem, though, is that although our school system was once the envy of all (a “fi rst-rate education,” we understand by this point, is one that grows the economy), now only our white suburban schools are “comparable to those in Singapore, which may have the best education system in the world.”

Ah, Singapore. You’ll hear a good deal about Singapore if you listen to the chorus of concern over American education. If only we could be more like Singapore. If only our education sys- tem could be as effi cient as Singapore’s. You say that Singapore might not be the best model to aspire to, that in certain respects it more closely resembles Winston Smith’s world than Thomas Jefferson’s? What does that have to do with education?

And the beat goes on. Still another Times edi- torialist, Thomas Friedman, begins a column on the desperate state of American education by quoting Bill Gates. Gates, Friedman informs us, gave a “remarkable speech” in which he declared that “American high schools are obsolete.” This is bad, Friedman says. Bill Gates is telling us that our high schools, “even when they are working ex- actly as designed—cannot teach our kids what they need to know today.”

What do our kids need to know today? As far as Friedman is concerned, whatever will get them hired by Bill Gates. “Let me translate Mr. Gates’s words,” he writes. What Mr. Gates is saying is: “If we don’t fi x American education, I will not be able to hire your kids.” Really worried now, Friedman goes to talk to Lawrence Summers, who explains that “for the fi rst time in our history,” we’re facing “competition from low-wage, high-human-capital communities, embedded within India, China and Asia.” The race is on. In order to thrive, Summers says, we will “have to make sure that many more Americans can get as far ahead as their potential will take them,” and quickly, because India and China are coming up on the inside. It’s “not just about current capabilities,” Friedman concludes, by this point quoting the authors of The Only Sustainable Edge, “it’s about the relative pace and trajectories of capability-building.”

Sustainable edges. Returns on capital invest- ment. Trajectories of capability-building. What’s interesting here is that everyone speaks the same

language, everyone agrees on the meaning of the terms. There’s a certain country-club quality to it. We’re all members. We understand one an- other. We understand that the capabilities we should be developing are the capabilities that will “get us ahead.” We understand that Bill Gates is a logical person to talk to about education be- cause billionaire capitalists generally know some- thing about running a successful business, and American education is a business whose products (like General Motors’, say), are substandard, while Singapore’s are kicking ass. We understand that getting ahead of low-wage, high-human-capital communities will allow us “to thrive.”

Unlike most country clubs, alas, this one is anything but exclu- sive; getting far enough beyond its gates to ask whether that last verb might have another mean- ing can be diffi cult. Success means suc- cess. To thrive means to thrive. The defi nitions of “investment,” “ac- countability,” “value,” “utility” are fixed and immutable; they are what they are. Once you’ve got that down, everything is easy: According to David Brooks (bringing up the back of my Times parade), all we need to do is make a modest in- vestment in “delayed gratifi cation skills.” Young people who can delay gratifi cation can “master the sort of self-control that leads to success”; they “can sit through sometimes boring classes” and “perform rote tasks.” As a result, they tend to “get higher SAT scores,” gain acceptance to better colleges, and have, “on aver- age, better adult outcomes.”1

A little of this can go a long way, and there’s a lot of it to be had. When it comes to education in America, with very few exceptions, this is the conversation and these are its terms. From the local PTA meeting to the latest Presi- dential Commission on Education, the only sub- ject under discussion, the only real criterion for investment—in short, the alpha and omega of educational policy—is jobs. Is it any wonder, then, that our educational priorities should be determined by business leaders, or that the rela- tionship between industry and education should 1 There’s something almost sublime about this level of foolishness. By giving his argument a measured, mathe- matical air (the students only achieve better adult out- comes “on average”), Brooks hopes that we will overlook both the fact that his constant (success) is a variable and that his terms are way unequal, as the kids might say. One is reminded of the scene in the movie Proof in which the mathematician played by Anthony Hopkins, sliding into madness, begins a proof with “Let X equal the cold.” Let higher SAT scores equal better adult outcomes.

WHAT DO OUR KIDS NEED TO

KNOW TODAY? AS FAR AS SOME ARE

CONCERNED, WHATEVER WILL GET

THEM HIRED BY BILL GATES

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36 HARPER’S MAGAZINE / SEPTEMBER 2009

increasingly resemble the relationship between a company and its suppliers, or that the “suppliers” across the land, in order to make payroll, should seek to please management in any way possible, to demonstrate the viability of their product?

Consider the ritual of addressing our periodic “crises in education.” Typically, the call to arms comes from the business community. We’re losing our competitive edge, sounds the cry. Singapore is pulling ahead. The president swings into action. He orders up a blue-chip commission of high-rank- ing business executives (the 2006 Commission on the Future of Higher Education, led by business executive Charles Miller, for example) to study the problem and come up with “real world” solutions.

Thus empowered, the commission crunches the numbers, notes the depths to which we’ve sunk, and emerges into the light to underscore the need for more accountability. To whom? Well, to busi-

ness, naturally. To whom else would you account? And that’s it, more or less. Cue the curtain. The commission’s presi- dent answers all rea- sonable questions. Eventually, everyone

goes home and gets with the program. It can be touching to watch supporters of the

arts contorting themselves to fi t. In a brochure produced by The Education Commission of the States, titled “The Arts, Education and the Cre- ative Economy,” we learn that supporting the arts in our schools is a good idea because “state and local leaders are realizing that the arts and cul- ture are vital to economic development.” In fact, everyone is realizing it. Several states “have de- veloped initiatives that address the connections between economic growth and the arts and culture.” The New England states have formed “the Creative Economy Council . . . a partnership among business, government and cultural leaders.” It seems that “a new economy has emerged . . . driven by ideas, information technology and globalization” (by this point, the role of painting, say, is getting a bit murky), and that “for companies and organizations to remain competitive and cut- ting edge, they must attract and retain individuals who can think creatively.”

You can almost see the air creeping back into the balloon: We can do this! We can make the case to management! We can explain, as Mike Huckabee does, that trimming back funding for the arts would be shortsighted because “experts and futurists warn that the future economy will be driven by the ‘creative class.’” We can cite “numerous studies” affi rming that “a student schooled in music improves his or her SAT and ACT scores in math,” and that “creative stu-

dents are better problem solvers . . . a trait the business world begs for in its workforce.” They’ll see we have some value after all. They’ll let us stay.

To show that they, too, get it, that like Cool Hand Luke they’ve “got their mind right,” our colleges and universities smile and sway with the rest. In “A Statement by Public Higher Educa- tion Leaders Convened by Carnegie Corpora- tion of New York”—to pick just one grain from a sandbox of evidence—we learn that our institu- tions of higher learning are valuable because they can “help revitalize our nation’s economy and educate and train the next generations of Americans to meet the challenges of global competition.” Both the tune and the lyrics should be familiar by now. “The present eco- nomic crisis requires an investment in human capital.” And where better to invest than in our colleges and universities, whose innovative re- searchers “invented the technologies that have fueled economic progress and enhanced Ameri- ca’s economic competitiveness.” The statement’s undersigned, representing colleges and universi- ties from California to New Hampshire, con- clude with a declaration of faith: “Leaders of the country’s public higher education sector are committed to create a long-term plan to serve the nation by enhancing public universities’ critical role in creating jobs, increasing graduates, enhancing the quality and skills of the workforce, and as- sisting in national technology and energy initia- tives through research.”

Think of my italics above as a hand going up in the back of the audience. Could there exist, buried under our assumptions, another system of value? Could our colleges and universities have another, truly “critical role,” which they ignore at our peril? A role that might “serve the nation” as well?

the case for the humanities

Only the educated are free. —Epictetus

Rain does not follow the plow. Political freedom, whatever the market evangelists may tell us, is not an automatic by-product of a growing economy; democratic institutions do not spring up, like fl owers at the feet of the magi, in the tire tracks of commerce. They just don’t. They’re a different species. They require a different kind of tending.

The case for the humanities is not hard to make, though it can be diffi cult—to such an ex- tent have we been marginalized, so long have we acceded to that marginalization—not to sound either defensive or naive. The humanities, done

POLITICAL FREEDOM, WHATEVER

THE MARKET EVANGELISTS MAY

TELL US, IS NOT AN AUTOMATIC BY-

PRODUCT OF A GROWING ECONOMY

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right, are the crucible within which our evolving notions of what it means to be fully human are put to the test; they teach us, incrementally, endlessly, not what to do but how to be. Their method is confrontational, their domain unlimited, their “product” not truth but the reasoned search for truth, their “success” something very much like Frost’s momentary stay against confusion.

They are thus, inescapably, political. Why? Because they complicate our vision, pull our most cherished notions out by the roots, fl ay our pi- eties. Because they grow uncertainty. Because they expand the reach of our understanding (and therefore our compassion), even as they force us to draw and redraw the borders of tolerance. Because out of all this work of self-building might emerge an individual capable of hu- mility in the face of complexity; an individual formed through question- ing and therefore unlikely to cede that right; an individual resistant to coercion, to manipulation and dema- goguery in all their forms. The hu- manities, in short, are a superb deliv- ery mechanism for what we might call democratic values. There is no better that I am aware of.

This, I would submit, is value— and cheap at the price. This is utility of a higher order. Considering where the rising arcs of our ignorance and our deference lead, what could repre- sent a better investment? Given our fondness for slogans, our childlike susceptibility to bullying and rant, our impatience with both evidence and ambiguity, what could earn us, over time, a better rate of return?

L ike a single species taking over an ecosystem, like an elephant on a see-saw, the problem today is disequilibri- um. Why is every Crisis in American Educa- tion cast as an economic threat and never a civic one? In part, because we don’t have the language for it. Our focus is on the usual eco- nomic indicators. There are no corresponding “civic indicators,” no generally agreed-upon warning signs of political vulnerability, even though the inability of more than two thirds of our college graduates to read a text and draw rational inferences could be seen as the political equivalent of runaway inflation or soaring unemployment.

If we lack the language, and therefore the awareness, to right the imbalance between the vocational and the civic, if education in America—despite the heroic efforts of individual

teachers—is no longer in the business of produc- ing the kinds of citizens necessary to the survival of a democratic society, it’s in large part because the time-honored civic function of our educa- tional system has been ground up by the ideo- logical mills of both the right and the left into a radioactive paste called values education and de- clared off-limits. Consider the irony. Worried about indoctrination, we’ve short-circuited argu- ment. Fearful of propaganda, we’ve taken away the only tools that could detect and counter it. “Val- ues” are now the province of the home. And the church. How convenient for the man.

How does one “do” the humanities value-free? How does one teach history, say, without grap- pling with what that long parade of genius and folly suggests to us? How does one teach literature other than as an invitation, a challenge, a gaunt- let—a force fully capable of altering not only what we believe but how we see? The answer is, of course, that one doesn’t. One teaches some tooth- less, formalized version of these things, careful not to upset anyone, despite the fact that upset- ting people is arguably the very purpose of the arts and perhaps of the humanities in general.

Even a dessicated, values-free version of the humanities has the potential to be dangerous, though, because it is impossible to say where the individual mind might wander off to while read- ing, what unsettling associations might suggest

ESSAY 37Daedala II, by Simon Casson. Courtesy simoncasson.co.uk and Frost & Reed, London

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38 HARPER’S MAGAZINE / SEPTEMBER 2009

themselves, what unscripted, unapproved ques- tions might fl oat to the surface. It’s been said before: in the margins of the page, over the course of time, for the simple reason that we shape every book we read and are slightly shaped by it in turn, we become who we are. Which is to say individuals just distinct enough from one another in our orientation toward “the truth” or “the good” to be diffi cult to control.

This “deep” civic function of the humanities, not easily reducible to the politics of left or right but politically combustible nonetheless, is some- thing understood very well by totalitarian societ- ies, which tend to keep close tabs on them, and to circumscribe them in direct proportion to how stringently the population is controlled. This should neither surprise nor comfort us. Why would a repressive regime support a force superbly de- signed to resist it? Rein in the humanities effec- tively enough—whether through active repression, fi scal starvation, or linguistic marginalization— and you create a space, an opportunity. Dogma adores a vacuum.

mathandscience

Nobody was ever sent to prison for espousing the wrong value for the Hubble constant.

—Dennis Overbye

Nothing speaks more clearly to the relent- lessly vocational bent in American education than its long-running affair with math and sci- ence. I say “affair” because I am kind; in truth, the relationship is obsessive, exclusionary, alto- gether unhealthy. Whatever the question, math and science (so often are they spoken of in the same breath, they’ve begun to feel singular) are, or is, the answer. They make sense; they com- pute. They’re everything we want: a solid re- turn on capital investment, a proven route to “success.” Everything else can go fi sh.

Do we detect a note of bitterness, a hint of jealousy? No doubt. There’s something indecent about the way math and science gobble up market share. Not content with being heavily subsidized by both government and private industry and with serving as a revenue-generating gold mine for higher education (which pockets the profi ts from any patents and passes on research expenses to students through tuition increases—effectively a kind of hidden “science tax”), math and science are now well on the way to becoming the default choice for anyone having trouble deciding where to park his (or the taxpayers’) money, anyone try- ing to burnish his no-nons

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