Forests and trees are archetypal symbols in literature and art. Dante’s Divine Comedy opens with the speaker finding himself “lost in a dark wood”, a situation not unlike our own in this era when the aims of education are so confused. In the forest I am imagining, however, it is not a place of confusion and obscurity so much as of diversity and options. As such a guide through the woods would be helpful and there are few as qualified as James Bowen, the British author of the three volume series A History of Western Education. Mr. Bowen, whom I would be honored to meet, is a man who quite literally changed my life as an educator. I happened upon his trilogy some three years ago in the Denver Public Library (yes, a public institution) and quickly found myself enthralled. Here was a comprehensive and highly readable history of education starting from ancient Mesopotamia and concluding in the early 1980s when the series ends. Bowen spent 15 years putting together his masterpiece traveling throughout the old and new worlds to do so. With the exception of Lawrence Cremin’s History of American Education (also three volumes), I can think of no other history of education that is so thorough.
For our purposes here, volume III, The Modern West is most applicable. Starting in the 17th century, the dawn of modern science, Bowen leads us through the Age of Revolutions, the Industrial Revolution, Dewey and the Progressives, the Sputnik hysteria and de-schooling revolts of the ‘60s and ‘70s to finally arrive at the dawn of our own neoliberal era. If one were to imagine the history of pedagogy as a forest in which all the minds behind all the significant developments in education are trees then there could be no better Spirit of Virgil to guide us through them than Bowen. And in considering the ravages of No Child Left Behind, there could be no better grove to start our tour in than the Grove of Natural Education.
The Spirit of Bowen meets us along a narrow, almost invisible track through the underbrush to direct us toward this grove a little ways off. From our vantage we can see some stately treetops rising above many trees of medium height and many more of smaller stature. Wasting no time, our guide leads us to the center of the grove where an immense tropical fig that extends an infinity of branches into the universe above, and sinks uncountable roots into the rich soil below. Here is Rousseau he tells us, his influence spreading visibly and invisibly in all directions, the cradle of his boughs a veritable ecosystem unto itself. Rousseau, he explains, saw education as “a continuous process that begins at birth and follows the natural unfolding of the child’s latent powers….The overwhelming purpose of such education is to produce the new moral person….[T]he chief characteristic of such a reborn purpose is to be absolutely happy (Bowen, p., vol. 3, 188).”
“Happiness as the purpose of education!?” a critic among us asks in astonishment. “Where could anyone come up with such an aim for learning?” Bowen gestures toward a distant hill to the west, beyond the woods. Pointing out a dark mass on its summit, he explains that there grows an oak that is Plato, and next to it another that is Aristotle. “Aware of the sophisticated literature on happiness, Rousseau extended the concept to ‘true happiness’ which is a product of a ‘perfect unity of power and will’ (ibid).”
Next the Spirit of Bowen leads us to a bright meadow in the middle of which is a still, deep pond. At the edge of this pond a great willow leans compassionately over the water repeatedly breaking the stillness of the water with patient, but determined leaves. Our guide informs us that this willow is Pestalozzi whose practical action combined with his great compassion for children, particularly poor children, validated Rousseau’s untried ideas about learner-centered education; a radical development in his day. Notice, he tells us, that this willow has three main boughs, representative of his three main components of education: development of the intellect, morality and the teacher-student relationship. “[T]o realize man’s fullest potential: ‘The faculties of man must be so cultivated that no one shall predominate at the expense of another but each be excited to the true standard of activity; and this standard is the spiritual nature of man.’ The educational problem, with which the bulk of his writing is concerned, is how proper—not just effective—procedures for ensuring the harmonious growth and development of this spiritual nature can be achieved (Bowen, vol. 3, p. 225).”
At this point the Critic again raises a question. “Why are we standing here in a forest talking about ‘happiness’ and ‘spiritual nature’? This is all very interesting, but we have a real battle to fight with No Child Left Behind. We don’t have time for all this philosophizing, we need to stay focused on the practical business of stopping this devastating legislation.” Quietly and with downcast eyes the Spirit of Bowen nods in understanding, but directs us again to the path, resuming on the opposite side of the pond.
