As a second-year education doctoral student at Teachers College, I took my first philosophy course with Professor David Hansen. This ‘philosophy of education’ course, guided by Prof. Hansen’s inspirational teaching, has transformed me, my thinking with regards to my own education, and my sense of self-trust in my own writing process. Here, I share the very last essay I wrote as part of my own philosophical journey—an essay that I believe provides the foundation for my own philosophy of education to guide me into the new decade. Happy 2020 everyone! Here’s to a year of new insights, new adventures, and new dreams!
One of two sculptures flanking the entrance to Columbia University. When I learn more about them, I will update this caption.
Towards Educated Person as Philosopher:
Education as Inquiry into a Way of Living Wholly in Unity and Harmony
Catherine Y. Cheng Stahl
Teachers College, Columbia University
When I wrote my previous essay[1] on Sor Juana Inéz de la Cruz and W.E.B. Du Bois, I recall reflecting on how being ‘out of place’ is simultaneously tension-laden and full of potential. I argued that these scholars’ liberal education cultivated an environment in which to muse, dream, and dedicate themselves to “a life-work” (Du Bois, 2018, p. 178) of teaching. In particular, as part of my tentative closing comments in response to Du Bois’ writings, I wrote:
Educated black folk are fit to lead this communal striving for they have both the lived experiences of atopos and the awakening that has afforded them the gift of another lens through which to see the world differently.
As I revisit that essay while thinking alongside John Dewey, I am struck by my use of the word ‘educated.’ What had I intended? What was my understanding of “educated black folk” at that point in studies? In a similar way, I had embedded ‘educated’ when discussing Sor Juana:
Similarly, in her own conservative patriarchal society, Sor Juana is also seen as a threat because not only is she a woman, but also is she well-educated from “study[ing] numerous topics at the same time” (p. 23).
Here, I connected being well-educated with Sor Juana’s pursuit of a wide range of subject matter. While I still recognize that there is a connection between education and subject matter, I no longer see such knowledge as a key dimension of an educated individual. How, then, do I envision an educated person now, having learned alongside Plato, Sor Juana, Du Bois, and Dewey across the 15 weeks of this course?
In pondering this question through this essay, I draw heavily upon Dewey’s writings in Democracy and education and put them in conversation with the ideas of others as I work towards my own philosophy of education. I will attempt to paint broad brushstrokes of the picture of an educated person[2] as it is coming into view, acknowledging from the outset that it will be far from complete. Thus, this portrait is perhaps more accurately an impression.
I believe I wrote a record-number of essays this semester, sometimes juggling multiple ones at the same time. As a student, I have had many doubts about my own writing, and there have been times when I felt I could not write anymore. From carefully documenting my writing process, I’ve learned that it takes me about 5-8 days of working/thinking/writing (not necessarily consecutive days) to “complete” an essay. The final 24 hours (and sometimes last 12 hours) are often my most creative and generative. Pictured above is somewhere in the middle of my writing process (day 4? 5?), during which I handwrite (i.e., scribble) many of my ideas, adding layer after layer of thought until the page is too messy to decipher and I must type up my jottings before they lose their meaning for me.
When I first picture an educated person, the following ten thoughts come to mind:
Has aims in life and a sense of direction to strive towards them
Embraces perplexity, complexity, and ambiguity and perseveres through experiences of aporia to achieve insights and growth
Knows how to take things from their surroundings and make them part of their environment in order to support their continued growth and transformation
Engages (their mind and body) in play, thinking, and reflection
Is able to look at people and events in society from an elevated perspective
Has an appetite for learning and commits to learning broadly and deeply to cultivate themselves and improve their society
Makes connections across experiences, draws on prior experiences to inform present actions, and chooses modes of communication based on the target audience
Is wise enough to know that they do not know everything, that one cannot know anything completely, and that everyone and everything have something valuable to contribute
Dares to transgress boundaries setup by others and to disrupt dualities, binaries, antitheses, and other artificial forms of divisions
Is devoted to lifelong learning, often through enduring inquiry
While all these thoughts encircle my mind, the latter two speak to me most at this particular moment. In this essay, I will center my exploration on these two ideas—which merit a fuller, deeper, and more nuanced treatment—while braiding in others. My hope is that through thinking on the page, I will approach a deeper understanding of my own philosophy of education—and through that, compose a rough sketch of an educated person.
I begin by pondering the notion of spilling over boundaries. My experiences through this course have given me pause to reconsider the meanings of and to blur the lines in my own life. These include, but are not limited to, those borders drawn between the soft and hard sciences, the sciences and humanities, and, most recently, the quantitative and qualitative research. Each of the authors faced and transcended boundaries in their own society while embracing a “philosophic disposition” (Dewey, 1922, p. 325) of open-mindedness, sensitivity, and responsibility towards connecting experiences, perspectives, and ideas. In retracing some of their ideas surrounding dualisms, I begin to map out my own thinking about living a life of unity, wholeness, and connectedness. This, to me, is an important aim in pursuing an education.
To start, Plato writes of Socrates, who is simultaneously a teacher and learner. Socrates’ wisdom—though he does not think himself wise—lies in his embodiment of both, embracing that space between both identities. As a teacher-learner, he is passionate about questioning the way things are, interrogating rules, and shifting seemingly fixed categories. Socrates blurs lines in that he “make[s] other people’s things move as well as [his] own” (Plato, 2002, p. 14).
Similarly, Sor Juana comes to mind as someone who devoted herself to a life of dismantling gender norms and making connections across religious and secular works. I think about the “total antipathy [she] felt for marriage” (p. 17) and how she entered convent life for “the freedom of studies” (Cruz, 1997, p. 17) and the pleasure of writing verse. I also think about how broadly she studied, expanding beyond the Holy Scriptures to cover physics, history, civil law, architecture, astrology, and beyond. Having “stud[ied] numerous topics at the same time” (p. 23), she recognized that rather than inhibit one another, each subject “illuminate[s] and open[s] the way to others, by nature of their variations and their hidden links” (p. 23). Further, she recognized the ignorance, contradictions, and injustice of the patriarchal society in which she dwelled and, along with that, her responsibility to advocate for “the education of young girls” (p. 55) and for the social standing of valiant, illustrious, and “learned women” (p. 47). To both such realizations, Dewey (1922) might say that Sor Juana has “discover[ed] their connections and [how] to recombine them” (p. 343). Thus, as someone who is “habitually open to seeing an event…not as an isolated thing but in its connection with the common experience of mankind” (Dewey, 1922, p. 343), Sor Juana exemplifies an educated person.
Just as Sor Juana fought with pen in hand to erase the gender line, Du Bois (2018) committed himself to “a life-work” (p. 178) of speaking to people across the black-white color line, which he declared as “the problem of the Twentieth Century” (p. 3). In The souls of black folk, he speaks masterfully, simultaneously appealing to his readers’ logic with words of reason, their emotions with vivid narratives, and their souls with songs and poetry. Among the many ideas that Du Bois’ writings evoke is the obligation of educated individuals to communicate in an "order and form which will render it…most usable" (Dewey, 1922, p. 6) to the person in front of them. In this way, communication is "like art" (Dewey, 1922, p. 6). It requires that educated individuals get to know those with whom they interact and to create an environment in which to engage them in shared activity to construct common meaning.
Finally, Dewey, too, resists divisions and separations by making no value distinction between the mind and the body, the arts and the sciences, subject matter and method, or adults and children. He instead raises the need to “struggle against this isolation” (Dewey, 1922, p. 249) so that each “reenforce[s] one another in an enriched temper of mind” (p. 248). Furthermore, he presents a positive view of immaturity, affirming that children and youth have “instinctive or native powers” (p. 50) that educated adults should not dismiss as subordinate to their own. From children, adults can learn the plasticity of their nature, their "freshness, openmindedness, and originality" (p. 48), and their "flexible and sensitive ability…to vibrate sympathetically with the attitudes and doings of those about them" (p. 43). In short, Dewey makes us aware that each person, regardless of age, has something of value to teach another. As such, an educated person should seek out ways to break down “barriers to intercourse [that] prevent the experience of one from being enriched and supplemented by that of others who are differently situated” (p. 344).
This is a quiet corner along the margins of Barnard College. I frequently pass by to admire the ivy-covered walls. I find that I get inspiration for my writing (which is intimately linked to my work as a researcher) from walking and from observing life around me.
When I think holistically about the writings of these four philosophy-scholars, the image of journeying fades into view. All four consider themselves living and being in the world—although not without experiencing aporia or atopos—and knowing through participating in their world. In their own way, each declares their “consciousness of ignorance” (p. 189) as motivating their moral “interest in learning from all the contacts of life” (Dewey, 1922, p. 360). Thus, I feel that an education has, at its heart, enduring inquiry. With the thought of inquiry, I am immediately reminded of one of the most memorable lines in Plato’s (2002) Five dialogues: “the lover of inquiry must follow his beloved wherever it may lead him” (p. 18). An education, according to Plato, necessitates a journey—a simultaneously intellectual, affective, and embodied experience of trusting oneself enough to follow one’s “beloved” wholeheartedly. This “wherever” he speaks of is what one “do[es] not know at present” (p. 78) but “shall never fear” (p. 33) and “should always confidently seek out” (p. 78) with faith, willingness, and curiosity. In this way, education is a continuous journey; it is a slow journey; it is an aporetic journey.
However, as both Socrates and Dewey remind us, an education is not something we receive through “an affair of ‘telling’ and being told” (Dewey, 1922, p. 38). This point recalls for me the opening of Meno, in which the young man poses the request “Can you tell me, Socrates, can virtue be taught?” (Plato, 2002, p. 59). Rather than provide a direct reply, Socrates humbly acknowledges his “complete ignorance” (Plato, 2002, p. 60) and invites Meno to join him in inquiring into virtue. What their dialogue teaches us is that, far from something that is handed directly, "education is development" (Dewey, 1922, p. 49). Besides that, it necessitates a “sharing of purposes” (Dewey, 1922, p. 5) among a community of learners.
Thus far, I have come to the understanding that an education is not a thing one receives, but rather a slow journey in and of itself. If so, is ‘educated’ also not what one is? Is educated what a person becomes through an “active and constructive process" (Dewey, 1922, p. 38) of joining thought with action? That is, might becoming educated be "one of continual reorganizing, reconstructing, [and] transforming" (Dewey, 1922, p. 50) of the individual? I trust that is so. The way I see it now, becoming educated is a “fostering, a nurturing, [and] a cultivating process” (Dewey, 1922, p. 10) that is always unfolding and never complete. It is a process of continuously joining increasingly more elements together into a shifting assemblage of many moving, growing, breathing parts—all working synergistically to contribute to a whole. It is through one’s education that one ponders more about the connectivity of oneself to the world and to its various phenomena. With this idea of education, it becomes easier to contextualize Sor Juana’s strong “desiring to know” (p. 27), to understand how “not studying has never been restful” for her (p. 27), and to grasp why she “suffered this labor [of self-education] happily for [her] love of learning” (Cruz, 1997, p. 17).
While each person’s journey will be different—just as the four authors’ journeys were—and although many aspects of an education are uncertain, what unites us is the recognition that a person is always changed through their education. Even if they appear to have circled back to the beginning, they have, in fact, moved or, perhaps more precisely, been guided into a “world of thought” where they can grow “in body and soul” (Du Bois, 2018, p. 175) and work to bring out their “special powers” (Dewey, 1922, p. 248). Although their inquiry may inevitably involve experiences of aporia, it, too, opens up the possibilities for imagination, admiration, and joy.
This photograph was taken by my sister Svea Cheng during a most recent visit over Thanksgiving. Max gave us a tour of the Rockefeller laboratories, and this was one of many breathtaking views of Queensboro Bridge.
On this note of inquiry and its connection to admiration, I cannot help but think back to Sor Juana and the ways she navigated her aporetic conditions into a “workable equilibrium” (Du Bois, 2018, p. 72). Even when she was forbidden to study, she found ways around reading books, turning instead to observation, reflection, and meditation of even the most trivial details. She writes most honestly and perceptibly:
I saw and admired all things; so that even the very persons with whom I spoke, and the things they said, were cause for a thousand meditations…This manner of reflection has always been my habit… And pursuing the manner of my cogitations, I tell you that this process is so continuous in me that I have no need for books. (Cruz, 1997, pp. 41–43)
What Sor Juana appears to articulate here is how the conjoined activities of observing, conversing, and reflection enabled her to experience the “aesthetic quality” (Dewey, 1922, p. 249) of even the simplest interactions in life. These experiences helped facilitate an appreciation—or “a heightened realization of meaning” (Dewey, 1922, p. 249)—of all things in her world. I also believe that through her enduring observation and introspection, she has moved, despite remaining in the same convent. She is changed because the experiences of her education are now a part of her, as experience cannot be taken away. Thus, taken together, becoming educated necessitates inquiring alongside others, whose “various interests may reenforce and play into” (p. 249) our own; inquiring with materials to experience our entanglements with “all the things that God had wrought” (Cruz, 1997, p. 39); and inquiring into oneself through self-reflection to “increase the experienced content of life itself” (Dewey, 1922, p. 243).
While I am generally content with this picture of an educated individual so far, I cannot help but wonder about how play and joy might surface. I am reminded of a line from Dewey’s (1922) chapter on play and work: “When children have a chance at physical activities which bring their natural impulses into play, going to school is a joy” (p. 194). I am both struck by and stuck on the word “play” in this context. It seems to me that play is an extension of inquiry in the direction of joy and imagination. Dewey writes that “play is free, plastic” (p. 203) and that those who play are not merely doing something physical, but “trying to do or effect something” (p. 203) in a purposeful way that is intrinsically satisfying. Hence, play seems essential to “keep alive a creative and constructive attitude” (p. 197), just as reflection supports appreciation and meaning-making. This leads me to contend that play is an intimate part of living life wholly and is, therefore, fundamental to growing as an educated person. Play, in this context, is not confined to children. Play is timeless. Playing is about actively seeking out ways of bringing out one’s “natural impulses” (p. 248), uniting the mind and body for the “unity and integrity of experience” (p. 248), and embracing the “attitude of prizing a thing, finding it worth while” (p. 249). Together, Dewey inspires me to consider whether both the meaning and journey of becoming educated are anchored in how an individual chooses to lead their life.
Fall is my absolute favorite season in the city. Here, I attempted to capture the foliage outside of Columbus Circle.
It is with this notion of different ways of leading one’s life that I move towards my final consideration. With the statement, “philosophy is the theory of education as a deliberately conducted practice” (p. 332), Dewey (1922) concludes his chapter titled Philosophy of education. I found myself fixated on his assertion, returning the idea in my head in a multitude of iterations. I thought back to how Socrates embodied a “fundamental disposition toward the world” (p. 327) of a “love of wisdom” (Dewey, 1922, p. 189) and as a “genuine lover of learning” (Plato, 2002, p. 122). As such, inquiry was a way of life that he shared freely with anyone who wished to join. Socrates’ disposition is thus his philosophy. His embodied philosophy connects to my own understanding of philosophy prior to enrolling in this course. At that time, I regarded philosophy as a ‘love of knowledge’ in the most—dare I say it—superficial or artificial sense of that phrase. It was a phrase I had been taught directly as a child (along with biology as ‘study of life’), and so while that phrase remains engrained in my mind, the idea of philosophy never carried much meaningful for me until now.
As I ponder how one may go from an understanding of ‘love of knowledge’ to “the theory of education,” I will attempt to briefly articulate some of my thinking. I begin with asking myself why the word ‘love’? Love, to me, is something both deep and enduring and different from passion. How, then, does one make this love enduring? From Sor Juana, I have learned the value of freeing one’s mind, following wonder, and understanding oneself. Sor Juana’s writing continues to inspire me to be one with my own “clumsy pen” (p. 3), even when I find myself at times “liv[ing] in many different zones” (Cruz, 1997, p. 143). From Plato and Dewey, I have learned that it is through thoughtful inquiry—or through the constant reflective practice of thinking—that one will continue to love. What about the second part of philosophy: wisdom? What is wisdom? I think about wisdom now as coming from experience and from knowing, in the broadest sense of that word. One knows and learns to know through learning in different environments, often guided by a teacher, by experiences, and through forging connections. Joined together then, ‘philosophy’ is thinking about, wrestling with, and imagining how to know and experience our world more fully, completely, and deeply—a world that includes us. Becoming an educated person, in this light, is thus becoming a philosopher in mind, body, and soul. As a philosopher, an educated person is a thinker, doer, and believer in “gather[ing] together the varied details of the world and of life into a single inclusive whole” to “achiev[e] a wisdom which would influence the conduct of life” (Dewey, 1922, p. 324).
Even as the sun sets earlier on Fall and Winter days, the light through/in/over Central Park is always a delight!
On paper, it seems I have arrived at my image of an educated person. Still, I am mindful that even after engaging in this semester-long inquiry and having taken a deep, thoughtful dive into the many ideas that first came to mind, I do not have a comprehensive or definitive grasp of education. Nevertheless, I know that fundamentally, education is not ready-made, just as the self is not. I also know that an education is in continuous formation, and that the “self is found in that work” (p. 352) of “continual beginning afresh” (Dewey, 1922, p. 360). That is, as I continue to grow, so will my understanding of education expand, stretch, and shift as we inform and transform one another. My own education thus far has afforded me with an elevated vision to see that there is more to uncover, recover, and discover about an education—particularly my own. Thus, in this way, an educated person does not remain “still.” I do not mean lack of stillness in the sense of nervousness, uncertainty, or distraction, but rather in a way that suggests purposeful movement, fluid curiosities, and becoming potential. I argue that when one truly “knows what he is about” (Dewey, 1922 p. 340), one recognizes the “movement of power within” (Du Bois, 2018, p. 177) one’s soul and learns to embody a way of living that “join[s] together [experiences] with admirable unity and harmony” (Cruz, 1997, p. 23). This active knowing, this continuous introspection, and this connected way of living in the world all characterize the slow work of an education. Taken together, then, my inquiry into the meaning of an education seems to lead me back to one of Dewey’s final assertions that “education is such a life” (p. 360). That is to say, education is a way of living in which one continuously strives towards achieving “a better and truer self” (Du Bois, 2018, p. 7). To learn to always be in touch with the world is, for me right now, my own philosophy of education.
Endnotes
[1] “Toward an art of living: Sor Juana and Du Bois on atopos and the transformative potential of a liberal education”
[2] Throughout the essay, I will be using third person pronouns—they, them, theirs—in the singular form when contemplating the picture of an educated person.
References
Cruz, S. J. I. de la. (1997). Poems, protest, and a dream: Selected writings (M. S. Peden, Trans.). New York, NY: Penguin Classics.
Dewey, J. (1922). Democracy and education: An introduction to the philosophy of education. New York: Macmillan.
Du Bois, W. E. B. (2018). The souls of black folk. New York, NY: Penguin Books.
Plato. (2002). Five dialogues (2nd ed.; G. M. A. Grube, Trans.). Indianapolis, IN: Hackett Publishing Company, Inc.