EDUCATION for JUDGMENT

 

The Arti stry of Discussion Leadership

 

EDITED BY

 

C. Roland Christensen

David A. Garvin

Ann Sweet

 

Harvard Business School

 

Harvard Business School Press

 

Boston, Massachusetts

 

 

Barriers and Gateways to Learning

DAVID A. GARVIN

 DEBATES ABOUT EDUCATIONAL REFORM tend to be impassioned, in­tense, and remarkably repetitious. For decades, two models of education have coexisted in uneasy peace; when debates have arisen, they have invariably pitted the model in practice against an appealing, but less used, alternative. These models might be called the teacher‑centered and the active learning approaches. The former is the more traditional, with deep roots in our educational system; the latter is the foundation for the essays in this book.

The traditional model is based on the idea of teaching as telling. The primary goal is the transfer of information from an expert (the teacher) to novices (the students), with the expert controlling such critical ele­ments of the process as the syllabus, pace and sequencing, and mode of presentation. In practice, this usually means that the expert lectures and the novices record and absorb. Interchanges between teacher and student are limited to brief question‑and‑answer sessions, and there is little or no interaction among students.

This approach dominates modern education. From kindergarten to graduate school, teacher talk takes up the vast majority of class time. Some studies estimate that as much as 80 percent of class periods are spent in this fashion.' And why not? If the goals are information transfer and the accumulation of knowledge, the process is practical, efficient, and well understood.

Yet, over time, the traditional model has been raked by repeated criticism. The latest wave of reports calling for educational reform, in­cluding A Nation at Risk, Horace's Compromise, Involvement in Learn­ing, and many others, revives a host of earlier complaints. It is old wine in new bottles. In fact, the most eloquent critiques of the teacher-­centered approach date back to such master vintners as John Dewey, Alfred North Whitehead, Jean Piaget, and Carl Rogers. Their concerns are as timely today as they were when they first appeared.

 Objections to the traditional model can be grouped into three broad categories: cognitive, philosophic, and pragmatic. Cognitive concerns arise because of the shakiness of the traditional model's assumption that students can assimilate and retain information independent of its use. A number of studies have found that, when lecturing is the dominant mode of teaching, students forget as much as 50 percent of course content within a few months. Z For real learning to occur‑what Whitehead calls "the mastery of knowledge," or "wisdom"‑students need to be active participants in the learning process, rather than passive recipients of in­formation. 3 Retention, it appears, increases markedly when learning is solidly anchored in the experience and interests of students.

 A second objection to the traditional model is philosophic. Here, the debate is over ends rather than means. The traditional model implies that the primary goal of education is information transfer. Facts, theories, and modes of analysis must be communicated so that each generation can build upon the successes of its predecessors. According to this view, knowledge lies at the core of learning, and that knowledge is best trans­ferred from experts to novices via lectures.

Lectures are an extremely efficient method of transferring information. Even with low retention rates, they are a powerful tool, especially when complex concepts must be conveyed and facts and theories are unequivo­cal. But lectures are of only limited value if the goals of education go beyond information transfer. The development of clinical judgment, the formation of critical skills, the shaping of artistic sensibility‑such achievements are difficult to nurture through lectures. Preparing students to think independently is an enormous challenge. And if the goal of education is to help students grow as individuals and forge their own identities, the teacher‑centered model has even less appeal. Rather than immersing students in learning opportunities, it floods them with facts. All too often, the result is loss of interest and a deadening of curiosity.

Such effects suggest a third objection to the traditional model: many students don't like it. The recent rash of reports on educational reform is in part a response to poor student performance and the associated boredom and apathy. Students today are distressingly disaffected with formal education. For many of them, class time is more of a chore than a delight. For such students, any alternative to the traditional approach is certain to be an improvement.

Not surprisingly, these criticisms have reinforced the appeal of an alternative model of education. It goes by various names, including active learning, self‑directed learning, student‑centered education, humanistic education, and progressive education. But in every case, the central tenet is the same: students must be actively involved in the learning process. The implications of this philosophy are both subtle and profound. At heart, they suggest a radically different notion of how education should proceed.

In the traditional model, the core concept is teaching; here, it is learning. The distinction is more than mere semantics or rhetorical sleight of hand. The teacher‑centered approach puts the instructor front and center; it implies that teaching can be evaluated without any refer­ence to the depth or extent of student learning. Good teaching is thought to flow almost inevitably from the instructor's mastery of content and clarity of presentation. It is a one‑way street, a monologue rather than an interchange.

For years this assumption has ruled education, especially at colleges and universities. Skilled teachers are commonly identified by their ability to deliver pithy summaries or to untangle complex truths. Students are seldom factored into the equation, and for the simplest of reasons: learn­ing is assumed to have little relationship to their contributions or level of involvement.

 Dewey, for one, found this notion absurd:

 Teaching can be compared to selling commodities. No one can sell unless someone buys . . . [yet] there are teachers who think they have done a good day's teaching irrespective of what pupils have learned.'

 Dewey's comment reflects an abiding faith in learning as a shared activ­ity. Only if teachers and students work as partners will the true ends of education‑the ability to use knowledge, to think creatively, and to con­tinue learning on one's own‑be achieved. Such goals are unlikely to be met in a process dominated by teachers, because true education requires students to be personally invested in the learning process. And that will occur, say the critics, only when students have had a hand in shaping the content, direction, and pacing of classes.

This is indeed a radical idea, requiring a wholly new perspective. Interchange and jointness become the watchwords, and instructors no longer exercise total control over class time. Nor do they speak as fre­quently or commandingly. Students take more responsibility for articulat­ing and developing ideas, and discussions and jointly sponsored projects substitute for lectures. In such environments, the teacher's role is to facilitate and guide. For many instructors, this means a sharp change in outlook and an entirely new set of skills. No longer is mastery of content enough to ensure a successful class. Now, attention must be focused equally on classroom climate, group process, and the needs, interests, and backgrounds of students.

The active learning model has long been a fixture in debates over educational reform. Yet surprisingly, the model has been honored more in theory than in practice. Despite the popularity of the underlying concepts‑virtually all recent reports on education have included an anguished plea for more involved students and more active learning­examples of successful application are scarce. The model has gained a considerable following, but there appear to be tremendous barriers im­peding its adoption. If active learning is such a good idea, why is it so seldom seen?

 Points of Resistance

 Powerful forces sustain the traditional teacher‑centered approach to edu­cation. Some are as simple as inertia and an unwillingness to change. Others are rooted in the norms, values, and incentives that govern mod­ern education. And still others reflect assorted myths and misconceptions that bedevil active learning and result in a lack of practical guidelines. For simplicity, these forces can be grouped into three general categories: political and institutional barriers, epistemological barriers, and practical barriers.

Political and institutional barriers reflect the difficulty of introducing change in today's schools, colleges, and universities. One problem is financial, or, more precisely, the perception that large sums of money are at stake. Many administrators see active learning as an expensive proposition; the phrase suggests small, intimate classes and low student-­teacher ratios. Personal coaching is assumed to be the norm, and the implicit model is a seminar or one‑on‑one tutorial. Yet active learning is possible with much larger groups, provided classrooms have been de­signed to support discussion and encourage student‑to‑student inter­change. Amphitheaters with slightly elevated tiers of seats, chairs that swivel, multiple blackboards, and comfortable seating for eighty to a hundred students seem to work best; they allow for direct involvement without the expense of expanded teaching staffs. As a noted teacher has observed: "How do you get active learning with a large group of students? Start by hiring a good architect."

There are, however, other institutional barriers to this approach. Incentives, for example, often point in the wrong direction: they elevate research over teaching, or suggest that little is to be gained by excellence in the classroom. The "publish or perish" mentality has long been identi­fied with a devaluation of teaching and a lack of concern for students. At few colleges or universities does the promotion process reward superior teaching; if teaching is considered at all, the aim is usually to weed out the poorest performers, who lack even the most basic classroom skills. But the problem goes beyond values. Experimentation with unfamiliar teaching methods takes time, and, especially at secondary schools, time and energy are at a premium. Most instructors are already spending long hours, both in and out of the classroom, grading papers, preparing ex­ams, reviewing lesson plans, and meeting with students. They have little time left for wholly new efforts, or for the emotional involvement that is required in active learning. This approach demands a willingness to meet students on their own terms and to get to know them as individuals; both responsibilities exact a heavy emotional toll. Moreover, school sys­tems and state universities are often subject to tight centralized control, with governing boards that dictate content and regulate instructional practices by imposing standardized tests or uniform requirements. In such settings, the traditional teacher‑centered approach is clearly the path of least resistance for many instructors.

Students are often equally uncomfortable with the new approaches. From the students' perspective, active learning is risky: it requires a change in roles and responsibilities, but with an uncertain payoff. Espe­cially where these methods are rarely or partially practiced, students tend to resist their introduction, fearing that they will learn less in their classes. After all, the argument runs, if the teacher speaks less, isn't less informa­tion being conveyed? And won't learning be correspondingly reduced?

Arguments of this sort reflect the epistemological barriers that impede active learning. Such barriers arise because followers of the traditional model and believers in active learning hold fundamentally different as­sumptions about knowledge, the learning process, and the role of educa­tion. Frequently, the result is unconnected debate and poor communica­tion. On the surface, the disagreement appears to be about the day‑to‑day details of classroom management; in reality, it reflects opposing premises and educational philosophies. Thus discussion is confused, the underly­ing issues are obscured, and resistance to the new model persists because it is far easier to change methods than it is to alter fundamental assump­tions and beliefs.

What, then, are the core assumptions of the teacher‑centered and active learning models? The teacher‑centered model sees information transfer as the primary goal of education; active learning focuses on skill development, the integration and use of knowledge, and the cultivation of lifelong learning. The teacher‑centered model assumes that facts and concepts can be learned without experiencing or directly applying them; the active learning model is wary, in Whitehead's words, of "inert ideas . . . that are merely received into the mind without being utilized, or tested, or thrown into fresh combinations."' The teacher‑centered model insists on the primacy of content and subject matter; active learn­ing gives equal weight to process and classroom climate. The teacher-­centered model regards the classroom as the instructor's private preserve; active learning sees teaching as important enough to be subject to the same standards of oversight, assistance, and review as scholarly research. And the teacher‑centered model believes that instructors are the hub around which the classroom revolves, while active learning grants stu­dents far more authority and autonomy.

Some followers of the dominant model reject active learning because they consciously disagree with its basic tenets. In the past, such resistance was undoubtedly a major barrier to change. But today educators are increasingly vocal in their support of a more student‑centered approach, and evidence of its effectiveness is rapidly accumulating. Whether or not there has been a genuine shift in allegiance, the public posture of educa­tors has certainly begun to change.

Yet a less overt and more insidious form of resistance has continued. Some instructors who profess to accept the basic tenets of active learning

are in reality doubters or agnostics. They may experiment with new approaches‑occasionally under duress‑by altering their classroom be­havior and normal teaching styles. Unfortunately, their efforts usually fail because of what Robert Rosenthal, the psychologist, has termed the Pygmalion Effect.' Rosenthal and his colleagues found that, in teaching, what you get from students is what you expect. Instructors who were told that their students were unusually talented produced better results than instructors who were told that their students were average or mediocre, even when there was no real difference in student mix. Apparently, instructors were communicating their prior expectations through inflec­tion, tone, and nonverbal behavior, and students were responding in kind.

Similar results are likely when instructors merely go through the mo­tions of active learning. Students will quickly sense a teacher's lingering doubts: an absence of real interest in their comments, perhaps, or an uneasiness when some point in the lesson plan does not emerge sponta­neously in a discussion. If the instructor lacks faith, students will wonder why they should trust themselves to an unfamiliar and unproven ap­proach. Not surprisingly, such halfhearted experiments seldom succeed.

The same thing may happen when traditional instructors, who do not fully understand active learning, claim that they are already practicing its precepts. In their classrooms, they feel, students are involved and enthusiastic; the teacher is a partner, not a policeman; and the climate is one of trust and openness. Unfortunately, in many cases this is self delusion. To take a simple example, teachers routinely overestimate the proportion of class time they devote to students' comments and underesti­mate the proportion of time taken up by their own lecturing and talk. Similarly, surveys of students often reveal a much less positive assessment of the degree of trust that prevails in a classroom judged "open" by the instructor.

Active learning is further impeded by various practical barriers. One of the most serious involves evaluation. It is exceedingly difficult to measure and document the success of this approach, especially over the short time span that most schools, colleges, and universities use for evaluative purposes. Many of the desired objectives‑creativity, a willingness and ability to continue learning, enthusiasm for education, greater personal initiative and self‑direction‑emerge slowly and tenta­tively over time; they are hard to detect with the usual standardized tests. For this reason, believers in active learning frequently fall back on anecdotal evidence. Occasionally, they simply proceed on faith, marshal­ing broad theories to support their cause. Neither approach is likely to impress the uncommitted or the disbelieving.

Perhaps the most deeply rooted barrier to active learning is a lack of clear precepts for practice. Teaching of this sort is exceedingly hard to do. It requires a shift in the role, preparation, knowledge, and skills of instructors. Yet relatively few reformers have dealt with such operational matters, or have translated their lofty goals into the gritty details of class­room management. For the most part, they have argued educational philosophy (the "why" question), rather than effective implementation (the "what" and "how" questions).

This inattention to practice has led to two problems. First, improve­ment efforts have often foundered on the shoals of imprecise terminol­ogy. Because we lack a vocabulary for talking cogently about the teaching process, advice to practitioners has normally been couched in the most general of terms. Such ambiguous advice is extremely difficult to implement.

A recommendation that instructors "involve students in discus­sions by drawing on their experience" can mean a number of different things, as can the suggestion that teachers try to be "more supportive and less controlling." For similar reasons, we currently lack effective methods for training discussion leaders. Artistry continues to be emphasized, and little attempt has been made to distill common principles or to translate individual expertise into broader, more practical guidance.

The second problem is the persistence of assorted myths and miscon­ceptions about active learning. Most of these notions involve some aspect of classroom process: for example, the view that active learning is identi­cal to the Socratic method, that student‑centered discussions are unstruc­tured bull sessions, that active learning eliminates the instructor's responsibility for mastering content, or that facts cannot be communicated successfully by this approach. None of these claims seems to stand up

under careful examination. But because each is so widely held, and because confusion about this method abounds, it is important to lay out precisely the foundations of the active learning model.

 

Cornerstones and Building Blocks

The successful practice of discussion teaching‑or, for that matter, any other form of education aimed at active learning‑requires three funda­mental shifts. The first is a shift in the balance of power: from an auto­cratic classroom, where the instructor is all‑powerful, to a more demo­cratic environment, where students share in decision making. The second is a shift in the locus of attention: from a concern for the material alone to an equal focus on content, classroom process, and the learning climate. The third is a shift in instructional skills: from declarative expla­nations, rooted in analytical understanding and knowledge of subject matter, to questioning, listening, and responding, which draw equally on interpersonal skills and a sensitivity to group development.

At the core of active learning is a deceptively simple requirement: students must be personally invested in the learning process. They must care‑deeply‑about their own education and the contributions that they themselves can make. But when the instructor calls all the shots, students are unlikely to feel that the class is theirs. Instead, they will see themselves as compelled to study topics that the instructor finds particu­larly interesting or that the state requires. Class time seems to be arbitrarily controlled and unresponsive to their desires. The fact that students tune out in such settings is hardly surprising.

One way of overcoming these problems is to give discussion a more prominent role in the classroom. But for the change to be more than cosmetic, teaching style must also change. The instructor's dominant activity must shift from telling to facilitating learning and encouraging discussion. In practice, this usually means that the instructor speaks less and students speak more. Moreover, the instructor speaks about different things. He or she turns from definitive summaries to questions that open up discussion, from preplanned speeches to transitional and bridging comments that link together students' observations, and from establishing a party line to open‑ended responses that stimulate and provoke thinking. Yet the instructor's responsibility for what happens in the classroom is in no way diminished. Indeed, teachers are now responsible for both process‑the who, how, and when of discussion‑and content. Democ­racy, whether in politics or the classroom, functions poorly without lead­ers, and it is the instructor who must check anarchy and shoddy thinking.

To that end, proper preparation is essential. But preparation now means exploring multiple paths of inquiry, rather than mapping out a single linear flow. A lecturer has total control over the order in which material appears and can present it in the most economical and logical fashion. Discussions, in contrast, are inherently uncertain. Conclusions and points of view are difficult to predict, and surprises are inevitable. Genuine discussions are thus quite different from the Socratic method, in which conclusions are preordained and the instructor's goal is to lead students to a particular answer or through an established line of reason­ing. When students are actively involved in shaping discussions, the instructor's job is infinitely more complex. Uncertainty is high; with it come countless questions that must be weighed before class begins. In what direction is the discussion likely to evolve? How long will a critical piece of analysis take? Are there alternative approaches to the problem, and does each yield the same answer? What topics are likely to be of special interest to students? When the instructor must anticipate the probable flow of discussion and plan for in‑class dynamics, preparation is a far more complex task than it was when content alone was king.

With uncertainty comes risk. Many instructors are uncomfortable with the loss of control implied by active learning, and find the lack of predict­ability unsettling. Students accustomed to lectures often have a similar reaction. But their concerns have different roots. Active learning requires high levels of personal involvement, and such involvement is lacking in most students' educational backgrounds. Many fear that they will fail in the new environment or, worse yet, will expose their true selves. This creates enormous self‑doubt and vulnerability; without a supportive learning climate, cultivated and led by the instructor, resistance is inevi­table.

Any form of active learning thus requires high levels of empathy and trust. Discussion classes provide an obvious example. If students are fearful of being "shot down," by either the instructor or fellow classmates, they will never participate fully or with real engagement. Some will retreat into stylized roles; others will withdraw altogether. For most stu­dents, participation is fraught with emotional risks. A guarded response is a safe response, especially early in the semester. As one business school student observed: "Before we got to know one another informally, people were their classroom comments.