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David: Cassie and Neal, eight-year-old twins, were driving home
with mom from the homeschool camp-out weekend. (Actually, mom was driving the
van.) They were both tired out, and perhaps overly quiet and thoughtful, if
there ever could be said to be such a thing.
"Mom," said Cassie, in what
appeared to be an outgrowth of a longer, silent thought process, "Kyle is
really a whiz at math, and he has never done any workbook pages."
"Are you unhappy with your
workbook?" asked Mom, ever-ready to consider changing their homeschooling
routine.
"Oh, no, it's not that," replied
Cassie, "I was just thinking it's amazing how quickly he can multiply and
divide all those numbers in his head."
"Yeah," said Neal, piping up
from the transformer he was transforming with, "and Suzie, why, she could talk
with horses and they really listened and she could tell us what they said
back!"
"Oh," said Mom, having no idea
where this banter was going.
"Wasn't Mikey great on his
violin in the talent show?" exclaimed Cassie, now getting more excited about
the course the conversation was taking.
"Well, you could be good, too,
if you practiced more," replied Mom, unable to resist the opportunity to get a
little dig in.
"Oh, yes," said Cassie, not
recognizing that this could be seen as acquiescing to more nagging on Mom's
part later, "but Mikey, he's only six, and he's already much better than me. I
mean I'm sure I could get better, but I'll never be as good as Mikey."
"Well, you are such a good artist,"
said Mom, worried, mistakenly, that the kids were comparing themselves with
other children, and might lose some self-esteem in the process.
"She is!" exclaimed Neal
proudly, as if Mom had been referring to him, "And I can climb trees and run
and swim faster than anybody, and I don't even have to practice!"
"He sure can," said Cassie,
taking equal pride in her brother's accomplishments. "No one can ever catch
him."
She thumbed through her
well-read copy of Harry Potter and the
Order of the Phoenix, looking for a spell she hoped to try out on her
calico cat Cleo when she got home.
"Mom," she said in a very
serious voice, glancing up from the page with the spell on it, "why are some
people just good at some things, and not so good at others, even when they try
really hard?"
Well, you know," Mom began
slowly, trying not to say anything that would not be considered politically incorrect,
even though the kids could have cared less, and they just wanted a reasonable
answer. "For some people, certain things just sort of come, well, ...naturally."
"Oh, I get it," replied Cassie,
quite satisfied with Mom's answer, and returning to Harry.
They pulled up to their house.
Mom put the van in the garage. And without unpacking, Cassie and Neal went
upstairs, brushed their teeth (truth be told, not very well), and got into bed.
Cassie clutched Buddy her faded yellow teddy bear who had only one eye, the
book by the side of the pillow with a place mark on the page where the spell
was to be found.
"I love you, Mom," said Cassie,
putting her arms around her mother's neck when the latter came in to tuck her
in.
"I love you, too, sweetie,"
replied Mom, giving Cassie a kiss, and still reflecting back on the
conversation from the ride home, and still wondering whether she'd said the
right thing.
After Mom switched the light
off, Cleo entered the bedroom with tail held high, looked around, leapt up on
Cassie's bed, lay down, arched her entire body like an archer's bow, claws
extended, and dreamed.
Most homeschoolers I know are partial
to Howard Gardner's "theory of multiple intelligences." It is, after all, a
celebration of the commonsensical. Don't get my wrong: I think it is wonderful
that someone even remotely connected with the arcane world of what passes for
education these days recognizes something that is self-evident to any thinking,
observant human being. That there are individuals with special gifts or simply
partialities toward nature, mathematics, the world of the spirit, the
intellect, music, the physical, or compassion is something that might be easily
recognized by any eight-year-old who hasn't had to undergo the "dreary shower"
directed toward demonstrating otherwise. Wide-eyed and idealistic future
schoolteachers, not yet beaten down or cynical, enjoy writing papers about the
obvious – there are so many examples from which to choose! – and,
often not having had much in the way of opportunity to engage their multiple
intelligences themselves when growing up, relish the idea of being able to do
so with their future charges. Boy, are they in for some rude surprises.
When you read him, Professor Gardner
comes across as a nice enough guy (we've never actually met). His theory (all
right, I think it is actually a bit of a stretch to call it a theory, but it
brings him a steady paycheck), grew out of his experience as a nerdy sort who
did well on IQ-type tests. He then went on to Harvard where the general
assumption among the developmental psychologists with whom he studied was that
people with fully developed cognitive capacities would think like scientists (or
at least like Harvard professors). Gardner bought it, except that music and the
arts were important parts of his young life, and he saw no reason not to deem
the capacities of those in the arts "as fully cognitive – no less
cognitive than the skills of mathematicians and scientists." He writes (in Intelligence Reframed: Multiple
Intelligences for the 21st Century), "The standard definition of
intelligence narrowly constricts our view by treating a certain form of
scholastic performance as if it encompassed the range of human capacities and
by engendering disdain for those who happen not to score well on a particular
psychometric instrument." He now accounts for eight-and-a-half intelligences –
linguistic, logical-mathematical, spatial, bodily-kinesthetic, musical,
interpersonal, intrapersonal, naturalist, and about the half – spiritual
– he is hedging his bets. He has no trouble with the idea that there may
be more.
All's well and good, except it
should be emphasized that Gardner's construct reflects a rhetorical strategy
rather than a theoretical one. Much of the impact of his work comes from the
labeling as "intelligences" capacities often considered outside the scope of
intelligence. He ponders what might have happened had he called his first work
"Seven Human Gifts" or "The Seven Faculties of the Human Mind", and he notes,
"I have no objection if one speaks about eight or nine talents or abilities,
but I do object when an analyst calls some abilities (like language)
intelligences, and others (like music) as "mere" talents. All should be
called intelligences or talents; an unwarranted hierarchy among the capacities
must be avoided."
Thus rhetorically armed, Gardner
girds his loins and takes up his sword to do battle with the windmills of the
testocrats and the guardians of public education. Who can complain? What does
he teach his graduate students and the schoolteachers at his workshops? Namely
that the key educational imperative of multiple intelligences is "individually
configured education" (Thunderous applause!). Progressive-minded homeschoolers
can stand up and cheer; school board members should make sure they have their
nitro in their pockets to use at the first sign of a heart attack. He praises
children's museums because "children can proceed at their own pace and direct
their energies wherever they like. There is no need to focus on language or
logic and there is no explicit teacher or curriculum." He favorably quotes the
founder of San Francisco's Exploratorium, "Nobody flunks museums," and notes
that the downside is that the lack of freedom, flexibility, and fun experienced
by children the rest of year means other institutions "cannot exploit the
cognitive sparks set off by the museum experience."
The main intent behind Gardner's
work is to democratize human proclivities. Like Don Quixote, there is something
both profoundly noble and disturbingly naïve and even sad in the attempt.
Having defined intelligence as "a biopsychological potential to process
information that can be activated in a cultural setting to solve problems, or
create products that are of value in a culture" (what a mouthful!), he
certainly can't be unaware that the culture has in fact "voted" as to which
products it prefers, which intelligences upon which it purports to place
emphasis, which values it attempts to enforce or reproduce in educational
settings. (Sometimes I am almost glad. A recent proposal to include an "arts"
section to the Washington Assessment of Student Learning, to be required for
high school graduation, makes me cringe!) Perhaps he believes in his
progressive ideals of school reform based on multiple intelligences, or maybe
he doesn't really but can't say so publicly without losing his platform, but he
surely can't miss the way the wind is blowing.
What is surprising, or at least
disappointing, is that for all his good intentions, Professor Gardner can't
seem to get his head around the possibility of questioning the institution of
school, especially of the compulsory variety, itself. But let's be clear: he's
on the side of the angels, and one often has to make compromises to further
one's agenda. And to be fair, we all have to pick our spots.
My wife is fond of quoting the
late great chicken maven Frank Perdue. "Parts is parts," he used to say, and
having presided at the execution of tens of millions of domestic poultry, he
ought to know. His frame, of course, was the realization of profit, and
cutting chickens up into parts (and charging a premium for them) was just a means
to the end.
Professor Gardner has asserted
that he can cut up the "biopsychosocial potential" of our kids into a larger
number of parts and, by doing so, society as a whole will realize more human
‘profit' by adding value to the gizzards and giblets. It's a valuable exercise,
but at the end of it there is still no one who mistakes the revalued offal for
the breasts and thighs. It's useful as far as it goes (though Cassie and her
brother Neal did about as well), but ultimately it doesn't go very far.
The main reason it doesn't go
very far is that, for all his high-sounding words, Gardner, in paying homage to
the obvious, doesn't really question the concept of intelligence he inherited
from his childhood. His vision is quite limited and narrow – one could
almost take his eight intelligences and replace them with eight periods in a
school day (with the bodily-kinesthetic being PE, and there being nine periods
if one goes to a religious school), and one wouldn't be far off. But to be
sure, there are other possibilities.
"The test of intelligence," wrote John Holt in How Children Learn, is not how much we
know how to do, but how we behave when we don't know what to do." And as I have
watched my kids learn and grow, and exercise their various biopsychosocial
potentials. I've come to the realization that there are entirely different
behavioral phenomena that characterize their intelligence.
In contrast to Gardner's eight-and-a-half intelligences, might
I in their place offer nine "elements of intelligence", nine behaviors and
qualities that impact one's ability to flourish in the face of the unknown? I
think that if you were to observe how people generally considered to be
intelligent behave, you would instantly recognize these characteristics to a
less or greater extent:
- Focus and centering – The capacity to
clearly understand and conceptualize what is known and what it is unknown,
and to pare the latter down to its essentials is a mark of intelligence,
as is the ability to center on the problem on hand rather than spinning our
wheels.
- Drive and perseverance – Whether we are
attempting to learn a new violin sonata, master a difficult gymnastics
move, or solve a mathematical conundrum, success is unlikely without inner
drive and a willingness to stick to it until the goal is attained, knowing
that once that waystation is reached, there will be further mountains to
climb.
- Organization – Confronting the unknown requires the
ability to organize intellectual, material, and human resources in a
concerted, articulated way. Some of those resources will come from past
personal experience, others from our analytical and creative abilities (as
below), still others by drawing upon the expertise and abilities of
others.
- Analytical ability –
When we don't know what to do, we often engage in a rollicking game of
trial and error. In doing so we have to evaluate the results of our
experience, narrowing the behavioral options from which we then can
choose, and making decisions as to whether more information is necessary
before an intelligent choice can be made.
- Intuition – In life, as in science (and contrary to what
they taught us about the so-called ‘scientific method' in junior high
school), exploration doesn't start with either observation or hypothesis.
There are endless universes of objects and phenomena to be observed, and scores
of potential hypothesis for any situation, and the choice of which to
explore, or which direction to proceed when faced with the unknown, is
more often than not an act of intuition, built up as a result of increased
experience.
- Creativity – Creativity is, in essence, the capacity to
organize that which is already known or experienced in application to new
challenges. Critical is the ability to learn by analogy, to make
connections among disparate phenomena that might not seem inherently
obvious, in confronting what is yet to be unearthed, discovered,
understood, or created.
- Capacity to learn from others –
Sometimes when we don't know what to do, the best way forward is to draw
on the resources of others, not just their experience, but in joint
application to the problem at hand. Teamwork, leadership skill, the ability
to listen well, the initiative to seek out mentors and learn from them, and
the capacity to evaluate and make use of the best attributes of those
around us enables us to solve problems with a far higher level of
creativity that we might otherwise, in a synergistic pooling of
intelligence.
- Flexibility, humor, and a sense of proportion – While we confront dangers in an uncertain
world, the reality is that, in exercising our intelligence, we are rarely
faced with life and death decisions. There are few lions in the forests,
waiting to pounce as a result of a single misstep. The latitude for error
– for learning – is
usually quite wide. Intelligence requires that we pick up ourselves up
with a smile when we've gotten off track, ready and willing to seriously
yet playfully exercise our capabilities in facing the next set of trials
we find along the way.
- Courage – Of
all the components of intelligence - the ability to face-off and tame the
unknown - courage is likely the single most essential, and perhaps the
least appreciated. Without courage and a willingness to undertake risk, we
draw back from new challenges, or we fall back into ruts, using the other
elements of our intelligence in the same old ways. We become competent,
perhaps, but dull. Without courage, we are less likely to trust our
intuition, less likely to analogize creativity from past experience, and less
likely to persevere.
There may be further elements of intelligence, but unlike
Professor Gardner's description of disparate fields upon which intelligence may
operate, intelligence is integrative, a set or behaviors and inner resources
and processes that can be brought to bear as we learn what to do in face of the
unknown.
Old-school thinking about
intelligence, in which I include Gardner's work, however noble his intentions,
focuses unhealthily on ‘potential' and ‘product'. This is not at all surprising,
as it betrays its origins in late 19th /early 20th Century education
as a tool for industrial business interests. It also leads to strained and
circular reasoning regarding "underachievement" - whereby a child is said to
produce products of lesser value than of which she is ‘capable', despite having
never produced products of superior value in the past - or (one of my
favorites) "overachievement", whereby a child produces products of greater
value than she is capable of (say what?).
The other pole underlying modern
elaborations of antiquated thinking about intelligence is its reliance upon
19th century Social Darwinism in which nature is destiny. More contemporary
approaches look at nature and nurture as fluid and inseparable, co-creating
each other. This is subject for another essay, Joyce, and I will restrain
myself! Intelligence is not a potential, but a process of navigating into new
waters, and becoming more adept at steering the boat. As we successfully bring
the elements of intelligence to bear upon our experience, intelligence builds
upon itself. Rather than a passive set of genetic possibilities, intelligence
is the evolving result of our meaningful and transformative engagement with the
world.
Last summer, I was driving in
the car with my older daughter Aliyah, the budding musicologist. We were
listening to some Baroque music on the radio, and she commented on several
unusual key changes (naming the keys in the process).
"Aliyah," I asked, "How did you
do that?" knowing that, unlike her younger sister, she grew up without any
evidence of having "perfect pitch" (the ability to identify by name musical
pitches as they are being played, also known ‘absolute pitch'.) "You don't have
perfect pitch."
"Do now," she replied
laconically
"But how did you do that?" I
asked further, interrupting her rapt attention to the music.
"Taught myself," she said,
"though not entirely consciously, at least at the beginning. It took me four or
five months. But I knew I was going to need it."
"But," I stammered, "Every book
I've ever read says you're either born with it or you are not."
"Wrong, aren't they," she
replied, and went back to listening.
Except now I know that there are
major theorists who suggest another possibility. There is now a school of thought
among developmental psychologists that argues that everyone is born with perfect pitch, but a shift in cognitive processing
that occurs as a child develops and a lack of reinforcement (as it is a product
not particular valued by anyone except musicians, and even among young
musicians, it is relative, not
absolute, pitch that is reinforced) causes it to be unlearned. I suspect that eventually we will find that to be true
with virtually every other kind of intelligence catalogued by Professor Gardner
as well.
And perhaps, deep in our hearts,
we already know this. We knew it, deeply we knew it and understood it, the very
first time we looked into our children's eyes. Perhaps we would educate our
children more intelligently if we were to act upon that which we saw.
Probably, we'd homeschool ‘em!
Joyce: Dear David . . . definitely, we'd homeschool them . . . and
they, us!
This is a very important essay,
David, and I thank you for formulating and illustrating the key elements of
intelligence so clearly. Intelligence is an integrative process, not merely a
potential, and as such it can and does build upon itself as it is used,
experienced, and honed. Surely, ‘in the real world', we all know this, and
observe it daily! How is it we allow ourselves to be ‘talked/written' into
beliefs that verily contradict what we know from experience?
I love your nine elements of
intelligence, and I really don't see why they cannot be considered intrinsic to
the very concept of intelligence. Because what is intelligence in a vacuum,
unexplored, unapplied? Intelligence exists in individuals only in relation to
problems/issues and resolutions. Intelligence is a responsive capacity. Can
one really separate intelligence and behavior? As your Cassie and Neal are well
aware, that seems like such nonsense!
When my copy of Life Learning arrives in my mailbox,
what do I read first? Well, first I look at the pictures of all the beautiful
children, and the faces of the dear, courageous parents. Love them! Then I
read the articles by parents first, honoring their anxieties (Nathanael
Schildbach), and their glorious successes (Ann Leadbetter's wonderful article: ‘Kate and Molly Go to
College'). And I treasure the frank and forthright interviews, and Peter
Kowalke's reports on homeschooled adults. In every Life Learning issue, we see the examples of your nine elements
– Aliyah's focus and drive in learning to develop perfect pitch;
Nathanael's flexibility, humor, and courage as he accepts his son's fascination
with sports; Gea D'Marea Bassett's insistence that (as A.S. Neill had said in Summerhill long ago) a child's happiness
is to be valued over someone else's estimation of the child's success.
Homeschooling is so honest. It has to be. I am still
discomfited at times by how well my kids know me. There is absolutely no
fooling your kids about what you think or value. After all, they have laid
there in your arms, or inside you, listening to every slight shift in heartbeat
or tone of voice, every little tightening and relaxation, and they know just
what it means, probably better than you do. Anyone who has spent nine months
gazing up your nose and watching the muscles around your mouth with the
intensity of a baby knows you. They
know you are just a teeny bit anxious because they haven't been one bit
interested in reading - anything! - for the past month or two, but are spending
all their time doodling around with wires and electrodes and things out in the
garage. Without a word from you, they know you'd like them to write the thank-you
note to their grandmother, even though they've been busy all day, all week,
building that amazing tree house out behind the chicken coop.
Even though we personally
totally believe in the principles and the outcomes of child-directed learning,
David, we know that society, in general, does not, and we cannot help be a
little anxious as our children grow up from the 3-10 year olds we are happy to
trust, and can truly try to guard from unwonted expectations, those of others,
and our own. But come those teen years, and the snake in the garden raises his
head. What is she going to be when she grows up?' ‘How is he going to sustain
a family, or even a self, in today's world? Where and how does some kind of
preparation for work, including dreaming up what one wants to do, begin?'
And that's where your nine elements
of intelligence come in. Homeschooled kids have them in spades. They know how
to self-organize and trust their analytical abilities because they never ‘failed'
when they made mistakes - they just learned to self-correct and move on,
fearlessly. They trust their intuition because they trust themselves, because
their environment/home has trusted their choices. Above all, they are relaxed
and delightfully creative in their endeavors, again because they have not been
judged/evaluated and graded by someone who probably couldn't have accomplished
what they did in any case.
David, you included in your
elements the capacity to learn from others, and I personally think this is
absolutely key to intelligence and to homeschooling. There comes a time when
every child wants to understand something and will turn to someone else, peer
or often adult (if trustworthy), and ask for more - more information, guidance
- just more. Intuitively we know that the pool of knowledge on which we draw is
larger than our puddle, and we get thirsty. Many (though certainly not all)
homeschooled kids tend to read voraciously. Sometimes they make friends with
magnificent minds that way. Other times, they do so by seeking out mentors in
their community. In contrast, schooled kids rarely, if ever, really know their
teachers' minds.
Ultimately, it comes down to
this, I think. Are we willing to let our kids have the time and opportunity to
discover themselves and to build their capacity to explore and impact their
world (thereby building their intelligence), from home to globe? From body to
spirit?
What a magnificent opportunity
it is to homeschool, for parents and for children! I think it almost always
involves a choice that many in our culture would see as an economic sacrifice.
Personally, I felt richer than a queen, and constantly reminded my kids that
they had privileges that only royalty (and probably not even they!) could
possibly afford, with regards to the opportunity to make choices and decisions
about themselves, their time and space. But there are consequences for every
choice and, yes, some choices mean shopping at thrift stores, or traveling for
months. What a choice/chance!
As a life-long educator as well
as a homeschool/nonschool mom of many years, I choose to help kids open doors
and peek behind facades wherever they are, wherever they can go. I am
particularly pleased with the homeschooled young people's sense of
responsibility for the planet as well as for their own lives, and pleased with the
courage so many of them have to step forward and make a difference in their
communities, because they see something that needs to be done, not because they
would get ‘credit' for required ‘community service' work!
So, courage, homeschooling
families! My five kids testify their homeschooling experience still totally
impacts their lives, their children, their spouses, their friendships, their
work in very positive ways. David's elements of intelligence are simple,
practical, and applicable, and you hold the keys to enhancing them and giving
them room to express themselves. I guarantee that your kids don't need to spend
more that 8-10 hours a week, for a few years, to cover and understand the entire
general curriculum of 12 years of school, and more! leaving them (and you!)
plenty of time to consider and participate in the more important things in life,
and build a strong base of experiences and capacity, and expand the range of intelligence.
And that's what really matters.
David H. Albert, author of And the Skylark Sings with Me, holds degrees from Williams College, Oxford University, and the Committee on Social Thought, University of Chicago, but says, "the best education I ever received I get from my kids." He lives in Olympia, WA.
