So much of our society is based on a carrot/stick motivation, and the most obvious purveyor of this method of motivation is the educational system.
For those not familiar with the metaphor, it is based on plowing. You may have seen the cartoon with the donkey plowing with a stick dangling a carrot on a string out in front of him. That might be one aspect of stick/carrot, but it is not the one I have in mind. The one I have in mind is the reward/punishment aspect. If the mule plows well, he receives a carrot. If he doesn't plow well, he is beaten with a stick.
Our entire grading system is set up this way. Students are offered an A and accolades for performing to teachers' expectations, and receive an F for not meeting those expectations. This in turn translates to positive or negative treatment at home.
Punishment is meted out when students receive an F. That is the stick. Of course, studies in conditioning show that once the negative stimulus stops, eventually the student will return to the state of affairs prior to the punishment.
Rewards are given if students meet or exceed expectations. This is the carrot. Those same studies show that once the rewards stop, often the behavior which merited the reward.
Of course, we also can incorporate the dangled carrot metaphor as well. We tell students that if they make good grades, they can get scholarships, etc. Nice carrot. If they get scholarships and go on to college, they can get a degree and then get a good job. Nicer carrot.
Educators will tell you that in an ideal outcome of those scenarios, eventually students will internalize the motivation through some magical process, and become intrinsically motivated. And this does happen for some students. Often, these students go on to become teachers, and, since it worked for them, they will also apply it and perpetuate the process.
I'm more concerned with those students who do not. Students should not be treated as mules. There are many students who immediately understand that the dangled carrot is not the promise of the carrot. There are students who never internalize the motivation and who stop performing once the stimuli, positive or negative, stops.
There are also students who learn to always expect the stick. Just as students internalize the positive aspect of the reward, there are others who internalize the negative aspect of the stick. They come to believe that they will always, eventually, get the stick. I believe the term for such students is oppositional defiant.
Of course, developmental studies show us that younger children are not complicated enough to think beyond the carrot and the stick. They perceive the entire world based on the effect on themselves. That is a given.
But shouldn't an aspect of education concentrate solely on reaching those students for whom the carrot and the stick don't work?
Students should be encouraged to develop into the people we want them to be. Not mules, whether they are good mules or oppositional defiant mules. That is what our current system does. There has to be a better way.
Thursday, March 29, 2012
Thursday, March 22, 2012
Too Many Revelations...
I e-mailed my master's thesis to my committee last night. The stories were done, in the sense that I was tired of looking at them and could come up with no further corrections. Or maybe it was the fact that each change I was making didn't seem to improve them, or maybe even that each change I made improved them immeasurably but required me to make further changes throughout, so that the sense of it all was lost. Anyway, I was tired of looking at the damned thing.
The stories gave me less difficulty than the critical introduction. I had to display what I had learned in the MSU writing program. This was not made easier by the fact that I had completed my coursework for the degree almost twenty years ago.
Each time I sat down to work on my critical introduction, I had a new revelation about my work. The best thing to do would have been to seamlessly interweave those revelations into the introduction to produce a coherent whole, but apparently that was not to be. My revelations at times conflicted, or at the very least were not complementary.
For example, last night's revelation was that plot is an artificial structure in a story. What is real is character. In order to achieve pure mimesis, a story should not have a plot. This, of course, seems absurd on the face of it. Plot is one of the essential elements to story. That lead me to the further thought that plot is created by the reader, just as meaning is created by the participant in life. So meaning in life is an artificial construct. Of course, the fact that it is artificial does not lesson its importance. We must create our own meaning in life. It is what is to be human.
So a good story for me allows the reader to create meaning, and construct plot and purpose. This would allow a story to better achieve mimesis. And the meaning created may be the same for many people, because we are all shaped by relatively similar influences. But the meaning will vary for some. And a writer's job is to give meaning to those who want it, and put in the possibility of various meanings. In order to achieve this, stories must be left to some extent open ended and full of possibility.
So anyway, I have brilliant leaps of logic like this (often spurred by a paradoxical consideration of Stephen Crane poetry and Douglas Adams tomfoolery). Then I try to explain it, and then tomorrow I could reread that or listen to something else that would set off a new train of thought and I'd be gone on that again.
Thinking is fun. Everyone should do it, but maybe moderation in thought is as important as moderation in everything else.
The stories gave me less difficulty than the critical introduction. I had to display what I had learned in the MSU writing program. This was not made easier by the fact that I had completed my coursework for the degree almost twenty years ago.
Each time I sat down to work on my critical introduction, I had a new revelation about my work. The best thing to do would have been to seamlessly interweave those revelations into the introduction to produce a coherent whole, but apparently that was not to be. My revelations at times conflicted, or at the very least were not complementary.
For example, last night's revelation was that plot is an artificial structure in a story. What is real is character. In order to achieve pure mimesis, a story should not have a plot. This, of course, seems absurd on the face of it. Plot is one of the essential elements to story. That lead me to the further thought that plot is created by the reader, just as meaning is created by the participant in life. So meaning in life is an artificial construct. Of course, the fact that it is artificial does not lesson its importance. We must create our own meaning in life. It is what is to be human.
So a good story for me allows the reader to create meaning, and construct plot and purpose. This would allow a story to better achieve mimesis. And the meaning created may be the same for many people, because we are all shaped by relatively similar influences. But the meaning will vary for some. And a writer's job is to give meaning to those who want it, and put in the possibility of various meanings. In order to achieve this, stories must be left to some extent open ended and full of possibility.
So anyway, I have brilliant leaps of logic like this (often spurred by a paradoxical consideration of Stephen Crane poetry and Douglas Adams tomfoolery). Then I try to explain it, and then tomorrow I could reread that or listen to something else that would set off a new train of thought and I'd be gone on that again.
Thinking is fun. Everyone should do it, but maybe moderation in thought is as important as moderation in everything else.
Friday, March 16, 2012
No War Here on "Wars On ..."
Is it just a media term?
In the 60's, Johnson's administration declared a war on poverty. I don't think we've won that one.
In the 80's, Reagan's administration declared a war on drugs. That one isn't going very well, either.
For the new millenia, Bush declared a war on terrorism. The outcome is kind of hazy there, too.
Since then, in the media, there has been a war on just about everything: The right accuses the left of a war on religion, the left accuses the right of a war on women, there was a documentary about the educational system's war on children (http://www.thewaronkids.com/), there is a war on intellectualism, a war on family values.
I believe in the power of language. All this talk of war makes war an acceptable state of being. I prefer peace. It seems to me the use of the term "A war on ..." makes war seem like a desirable past time, be it against something like drugs or something like religion or women's rights.
This may seem picky. I may be oversensitive to language and the nuances of meaning. I will admit there are certain terms I find unacceptable, and certainly usages of acceptable terms in unacceptable ways that chap my posterior. "War on" has just made its way on to that list.
I think it's in the bombastic nature of our language today. We overuse superlatives. I blame the media, the internet, and the constant stream of information that everyone is exposed to every day. To get our attention, the media has to use more and more words of power, and with the overuse of those words, the power is lost. Pity. So many wonderful words that were once useful in describing singularly power emotions, actions, and concepts now can be borrowed and used for whatever mundane purpose we wish.
Listen, people on the right. There is no war on religion. While many things I have read show that we are becoming a more secular nation, no one has started bombing churches on a regular basis. If there was, church bombings would certainly be less newsworthy.
Listen, people on the left. There is no war on women. There are certain people on the right who have beliefs that differ from yours on how women should deal with the issues of reproduction, but the extremists that resort to armed action are still rare.
So please, no more "Wars On ...." Can we just call them what they are? They are simply issues. Let's say we are addressing those issues, not declaring war on them. Inflammatory language is no way to begin a civilized discussion on the issues on which we disagree.
And please let's not start any more wars. You hear me, Rick Santorum? Address the issue, but don't declare war.
In the 60's, Johnson's administration declared a war on poverty. I don't think we've won that one.
In the 80's, Reagan's administration declared a war on drugs. That one isn't going very well, either.
For the new millenia, Bush declared a war on terrorism. The outcome is kind of hazy there, too.
Since then, in the media, there has been a war on just about everything: The right accuses the left of a war on religion, the left accuses the right of a war on women, there was a documentary about the educational system's war on children (http://www.thewaronkids.com/), there is a war on intellectualism, a war on family values.
I believe in the power of language. All this talk of war makes war an acceptable state of being. I prefer peace. It seems to me the use of the term "A war on ..." makes war seem like a desirable past time, be it against something like drugs or something like religion or women's rights.
This may seem picky. I may be oversensitive to language and the nuances of meaning. I will admit there are certain terms I find unacceptable, and certainly usages of acceptable terms in unacceptable ways that chap my posterior. "War on" has just made its way on to that list.
I think it's in the bombastic nature of our language today. We overuse superlatives. I blame the media, the internet, and the constant stream of information that everyone is exposed to every day. To get our attention, the media has to use more and more words of power, and with the overuse of those words, the power is lost. Pity. So many wonderful words that were once useful in describing singularly power emotions, actions, and concepts now can be borrowed and used for whatever mundane purpose we wish.
Listen, people on the right. There is no war on religion. While many things I have read show that we are becoming a more secular nation, no one has started bombing churches on a regular basis. If there was, church bombings would certainly be less newsworthy.
Listen, people on the left. There is no war on women. There are certain people on the right who have beliefs that differ from yours on how women should deal with the issues of reproduction, but the extremists that resort to armed action are still rare.
So please, no more "Wars On ...." Can we just call them what they are? They are simply issues. Let's say we are addressing those issues, not declaring war on them. Inflammatory language is no way to begin a civilized discussion on the issues on which we disagree.
And please let's not start any more wars. You hear me, Rick Santorum? Address the issue, but don't declare war.
Thursday, March 8, 2012
You Say Tomato, I Say Daffodil
Spring is not really my favorite time of year, but it is a close second. I like the fall. Spring does have, however, much to recommend it. We all come out of winter dazed, hungry for the sight of green, ready to shed coats and start living outdoors again.
As I drive around in spring (and my drives usually include detours and "shortcuts" down little travelled roads) I keep an eye out for those early harbingers of spring, the first sign that we are really leaving winter behind: daffodils.
I'm not talking about those well-tended daffodils that crop up in flower boxes and beds in inhabited houses. I like those daffodils that come up by abandoned houses, or in places where no sign of a house remains except those happy-seeming ghosts of homesteads past.
I have seen foundations easily over a hundred years old surrounded by daffodils. I have seen daffodils in corners of fields, still growing in a straight line that has to represent a flowerbed long since decayed along with the hand that once tended it.
It may seem this essay has taken a turn for the morbid, turned to death and decay, but the history of the daffodil supports a turn like that. Daffodils, known to the ancient Greeks as asphodel, were said to grow on the banks of one of the rivers in Hades, planted by Persephone after she was abducted. They lift the spirits of the dead. Because of this, they were often planted on graves.
And now they mark the graves of old farmhouses, long since gone. They bloom so early in spring that often all about them is still sere and brown, still too new from the harshness of winter to show the signs of stirring growth. But who could look at the happy yellow of the bloom while pondering the disappearance of the past and not feel, if not cheerful, then nostalgic? If those blooms can raise the dead, then they can surely raise the spirits of the living.
We are still here; we are still walking around, and we need those daffodils to pull our flagging spirits out of the doldrums of February, through the storms of March, and push us forward into the full bloom of spring. Daffodils represent the gateway, the way back, the rebirth of the year. William Wordsworth hit the nail on the head when he wrote:
"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
As I drive around in spring (and my drives usually include detours and "shortcuts" down little travelled roads) I keep an eye out for those early harbingers of spring, the first sign that we are really leaving winter behind: daffodils.
I'm not talking about those well-tended daffodils that crop up in flower boxes and beds in inhabited houses. I like those daffodils that come up by abandoned houses, or in places where no sign of a house remains except those happy-seeming ghosts of homesteads past.
I have seen foundations easily over a hundred years old surrounded by daffodils. I have seen daffodils in corners of fields, still growing in a straight line that has to represent a flowerbed long since decayed along with the hand that once tended it.
It may seem this essay has taken a turn for the morbid, turned to death and decay, but the history of the daffodil supports a turn like that. Daffodils, known to the ancient Greeks as asphodel, were said to grow on the banks of one of the rivers in Hades, planted by Persephone after she was abducted. They lift the spirits of the dead. Because of this, they were often planted on graves.
And now they mark the graves of old farmhouses, long since gone. They bloom so early in spring that often all about them is still sere and brown, still too new from the harshness of winter to show the signs of stirring growth. But who could look at the happy yellow of the bloom while pondering the disappearance of the past and not feel, if not cheerful, then nostalgic? If those blooms can raise the dead, then they can surely raise the spirits of the living.
We are still here; we are still walking around, and we need those daffodils to pull our flagging spirits out of the doldrums of February, through the storms of March, and push us forward into the full bloom of spring. Daffodils represent the gateway, the way back, the rebirth of the year. William Wordsworth hit the nail on the head when he wrote:
"For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils."
Thursday, March 1, 2012
This Far From This End, and About the Same From That
I haven't studied much Eastern philosophy, but I'm fascinated by the concept of the Yin Yang. For most, this is merely decoration. You know the symbol. I think at one point I had an ear ring like that. At that time, however, I hadn't thought too deeply about what it meant.
The Yin and the Yang is a representation of a balance, a necessity for both sides to exist for either to exist. I'm not even really sure I completely understand the actual concept, but I have constructed a meaning for it in my own mind from popular representation (possibly comic books) and my own observations.
It does seem to me, however, that there is some truth in that. To apply the concept to more linear Western thought, I may have translated it to some extent to the opposite ends of a spectrum. For every idea, for every belief, for every stance on any social concept, there are extremes. At one end of the scale is the belief, for example, may be a complete pacifist, believing that all life is sacred, and unwilling to kill any living creature. At the other end could possibly be Timothy McVeigh, who believes that killing is essential to make a statement, to alert others to his very existence. This may be a bad example, but just think of any issue and the zealots who inhabit the ends of the spectrum. Maybe McVeigh is a bad example. That may be going to far, into the lunatic fringe.
But I do believe that we need extremists. They are not supposed to be paradigms, or admirable. They are supposed to represent opposite ends. I have the belief that the heart of issue lies somewhere in the middle, the truth, the necessity to maintain the social contracts which allow us live together. How can we know where the middle lies if we don't know where the ends are?
I have come to understand that in any conflict between opposing parties, the closest we can come to knowing the truth about what should be is somewhere between. Allowing either side to dominate to the point of the complete exclusion of the other side throws everything off balance. I know I'm mixing metaphors by referring to a middle, a balance, but I'm okay with that.
Perfection cannot be attained. A perfect capitalist system fails the poor, the less fortunate. A perfect socialist society fails the talented and the strong. If you believe America is a true capitalist society, you don't understand capitalism. And look at China. Since moving to a mixed capitalist/communist economic system, China has placed itself in a position to become the dominant economic world power.
That which satisfies the most people while making no one completely happy is the best system for society, and social well being of its citizens. Our two part system in America has worked, with shifts back and forth, crossing some hazy center line. I don't believe everyone should stand in the middle. I believe we should all hold our pet theories and ideas of what works best, whichever side of the line we choose to stand on. And we are obligated to stand up for our beliefs. But we must recognize that there is no perfection, and our ideas must be balanced with the ideas of others for the greater social good.
Compromise is not a dirty word.
The Yin and the Yang is a representation of a balance, a necessity for both sides to exist for either to exist. I'm not even really sure I completely understand the actual concept, but I have constructed a meaning for it in my own mind from popular representation (possibly comic books) and my own observations.
It does seem to me, however, that there is some truth in that. To apply the concept to more linear Western thought, I may have translated it to some extent to the opposite ends of a spectrum. For every idea, for every belief, for every stance on any social concept, there are extremes. At one end of the scale is the belief, for example, may be a complete pacifist, believing that all life is sacred, and unwilling to kill any living creature. At the other end could possibly be Timothy McVeigh, who believes that killing is essential to make a statement, to alert others to his very existence. This may be a bad example, but just think of any issue and the zealots who inhabit the ends of the spectrum. Maybe McVeigh is a bad example. That may be going to far, into the lunatic fringe.
But I do believe that we need extremists. They are not supposed to be paradigms, or admirable. They are supposed to represent opposite ends. I have the belief that the heart of issue lies somewhere in the middle, the truth, the necessity to maintain the social contracts which allow us live together. How can we know where the middle lies if we don't know where the ends are?
I have come to understand that in any conflict between opposing parties, the closest we can come to knowing the truth about what should be is somewhere between. Allowing either side to dominate to the point of the complete exclusion of the other side throws everything off balance. I know I'm mixing metaphors by referring to a middle, a balance, but I'm okay with that.
Perfection cannot be attained. A perfect capitalist system fails the poor, the less fortunate. A perfect socialist society fails the talented and the strong. If you believe America is a true capitalist society, you don't understand capitalism. And look at China. Since moving to a mixed capitalist/communist economic system, China has placed itself in a position to become the dominant economic world power.
That which satisfies the most people while making no one completely happy is the best system for society, and social well being of its citizens. Our two part system in America has worked, with shifts back and forth, crossing some hazy center line. I don't believe everyone should stand in the middle. I believe we should all hold our pet theories and ideas of what works best, whichever side of the line we choose to stand on. And we are obligated to stand up for our beliefs. But we must recognize that there is no perfection, and our ideas must be balanced with the ideas of others for the greater social good.
Compromise is not a dirty word.
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