Required Reading: Evolution, Creationism, and the Battle to Control America’s Classrooms

For those who care about creationism, evolution, and America’s schools, stop reading this shine-ola and go get your hands on a copy of Michael Berkman’s and Eric Plutzer’s Evolution, Creationism, and the Battle to Control America’s Classrooms (New York: Cambridge Univ Press, 2010).  Not only is this the best “street-level” analysis about the way real teachers teach evolution and creationism, but the authors’ approach sheds light on schooling and culture far beyond the bounds of biology instruction.

Image source: Cambridge University Press

The same authors released some of their survey data in an article in Science in January 2011.  That National Science Foundation-funded survey of 926 high-school biology teachers from across the United States offered dramatic results.  A full 13% of respondents taught creationism or intelligent design in their public-school biology classrooms.  Twenty-eight percent taught recognizably evolutionary biology.  The rest, roughly 60%, muddled through in the middle, teaching neither or both evolution and creationism.  This book is built around the same survey responses, but it contains much more.

The authors argue compellingly that the evolution/creation deadlock involves three moving parts.  Berkman and Plutzer label these the procedural issues, the substantive issues, and the issues concerning the autonomy of teachers.  In other words, the tangle of evolution includes issues of who decides what gets taught, the science and religion involved, and the final decisions of teachers themselves.

Not surprisingly, these political scientists conclude that the real question here is political.  More than simply science, more than just religion, the contest is at heart “a political struggle over who decides, a question central to democratic politics” (31).

Perhaps the most attention-grabbing part of the authors’ Science article in January 2011 was the sheer volume of anti-evolution education that went on in American public-school biology classes.  As they argue in the pages of the book, their 13% number as a mark for the number of teachers who actively teach creationism or intelligent design is actually a lowball.  The real number may surge more toward 21% (138).

For those like me who want more evolution taught in America’s schools, Berkman and Plutzer’s findings may be profoundly disheartening.  For instance, in addition to the very high numbers of teachers who omit evolution, teach both ideas, or teach explicit creationism, the authors conclude that teachers don’t care too much about changing state standards in science (160).  Thus, while evolution promoters may work hard to improve those standards, the authors here suggest that actual classroom practice will likely not be much affected.

The most important factor in teachers’ choices about evolution education, Berkman and Plutzer conclude, remains teachers’ personal opinions.   Although some factors, such as a full-semester college course devoted to evolutionary biology, may tend to improve the quality and amount of evolution education offered by teachers, such changes pale in significance compared to teachers’ beliefs.  Dwarfing every other factor, if teachers don’t believe evolution, they don’t teach it (186).

Another powerful contribution of the book is the authors’ application of the notion that teachers function as what political scientists call “street-level bureaucrats” (149).  Like other such functionaries, teachers often teach what their communities want them to teach.  In the United States, despite the chagrin this causes among evolutionary scientists, large majorities want their public schools to teach both evolution and creationism, or even creationism alone (49).  This is true even among those American adults who agree that mainstream scientists have agreed on the veracity of evolution.  Berkman and Plutzer analyze a fistful of polls and surveys to conclude that, even among the 52% of adults who agree that mainstream science has embraced evolution, only 20% want only evolution taught in their local public schools.  You read that right.  Even when Americans acknowledge the scientific consensus in favor of evolution, they still favor teaching both evolution and creationism, or even creationism alone.

As “street-level bureaucrats,” teachers tend to fit in with their local communities.  Among the 926 teachers who responded to Berkman and Plutzer’s survey, most agree with the attitudes in their area.  For instance, among the 136 “most cosmopolitan” school districts, only 4% of teachers taught young-earth creationism.  On the flip side, among the 139 “most traditional” school districts, a whopping 37% of teachers taught young-earth creationism (198).

The book contains chapter after chapter of survey analyses like these.  If you’re like me, you’ll want to buy a copy to keep on your desk as a reference for all the different surveys and multivariate regression charts the authors include.  But the survey and polling data are not the only strength of the book.  Also extremely helpful is the authors’ sketch of the structure of the durable evolution/creation controversy.  As they point out, we will never make heads or tails of it if we understand it as mainly a scientific or religious dispute.  Those “substantive” issues are very important, but they are not the whole problem.  This is why, for instance, many mainstream scientists will insist that there is no controversy over the teaching of evolution.  They mean, of course, that the scientific community does not dispute whether or not evolution should be taught.  If we end there, however, we will remain hopelessly flummoxed over the nature of the continuing controversy.  Because, of course, there is a controversy.

The authors suggest two other important dimensions.  First, we need to get our heads around the “procedural” elements at play.  Where do decisions about teaching get made?  By courts, to protect minorities?  By legislatures, to represent majorities?  By professional bodies such as the American Academy for the Advancement of Science, to ensure superior expertise?  If we ignore these crucial questions we’ll never understand the nature of the impasse.

Also, Berkman and Plutzer inject a new element into these discussions.  Unlike the generations of historians, scientists, theologians, and political scientists that have preceded them, the authors emphasize the critical importance of the “autonomy of teachers” (29).  Teachers can and do consistently make daily decisions about the kind of instruction that goes on in America’s public schools.  Without looking at the impact of those decisions, we will never be able to wrap our heads around the true contours of this culture-war debate.

The authors conclude that these questions remain, at root, a fundamental “political struggle over who decides” (31).  This insight alone makes a significant contribution to stale discussions over the nature of evolution/creation.  Some of our brightest minds have foundered over this simple truth.  In a recent book, for instance, philosopher Philip Kitcher implies that the conflict has lasted so long primarily because the two sides have not adequately understood one another.  In Living with Darwin (2007), Kitcher writes, “detailed replies” to creationist challenges have calmed the controversy temporarily (3).  Yet, due to lack of understanding by creationists, Kitcher suggests “we shall not escape the cycle of controversy until it is completely clear what lies at the bottom of it all” (xi).  Clearly, Kitcher knows the science involved.  He knows the theology involved.  But his implication that a clear enough explanation will somehow clear the air ignores Berkman and Plutzer’s convincing point: this is not about understanding, this is about power.

No matter how brilliant and erudite Kitcher’s explanations of evolution, no matter how clear and cogent his arguments, Kitcher and his ilk will ultimately have little effect on the course of the creation/evolution debates.  Of the teachers who teach creationism in Berkman and Plutzer’s survey, 32% had completed a college-level semester-long course devoted entirely to evolutionary science, 55% held a bachelor’s degree in science, 13% held a graduate degree in science, and 49% had earned 40 or more college credits in biology courses.  It is not that teachers of creationism don’t know the evidence for evolution.  They simply reject it (186).  After all, how clear and convincing would an argument based on the Old and New Testament have to be to convince Kitcher of the truths of creationism?

For all its explanatory power, Evolution, Creationism, and the Battle to Control America’s Classrooms includes a few minor hiccups.  First of all, the authors insightfully note that the essence of the evolution/creation struggle has been a struggle for control of educational decisions.  But among the groups involved–“Federal judges, scientists, education policy makers, and teachers” (13)—the authors curiously omit parents as direct curricular decision-makers.  Since at least the 1920s, activists have insisted on the rights of parents to control the curriculum for their own children.  Recently, in places such as New Hampshire and Missouri, as I’ve argued in these pages and in the Washington Post’s Answer Sheet, state laws have changed the playing field.  These new laws have finally introduced what Berkman and Plutzer might call direct curricular democracy.  Not only can judges, scientists, policy makers, and teachers take part in this durable battle, but parents can and have successfully exerted their significant political influence.  The authors’ failure to include parents as interested and influential parties is a puzzling omission.

In addition, as political scientists, the authors overlook some simple historical errors.  They date the end of the American Civil War, for instance, to 1869 (66).  In a similar slip, they refer to the leading creationist Seventh-day Adventist Church as the Seventh Adventist Church (91).

But such minor quibbles do not detract from the overall argument.

The authors will likely continue to attract the most attention for their original survey data of biology teachers.  And those data are indeed compelling.  But far more important to understanding the nature of the creation/evolution debates are the authors’ arguments about the inherently political and deeply local nature of those debates.  They are not decided in state houses, but in school houses.  They are not decided in courtrooms, but in classrooms.

 

Romney Shirts and a Public School

You may have heard about this one by now: A teenager in the Port Richmond neighborhood of Philadelphia has complained that her teacher ridiculed her Romney t-shirt.  But have you heard that an up-and-coming politician plans to respond by bombarding the school with the Pledge of Allegiance?  There may not be a clear logical connection, but the emotional connection is clear.

The teenager, Samantha Pawlucy, complains that her teacher, Lynette Gaymon, made fun of her campaign t-shirt.  According to Pawlucy, Gaymon pointed and laughed at the shirt.  Gaymon allegedly told Pawlucy that such a shirt was just as ridiculous in their neighborhood as if Gaymon, an African American woman, wore a t-shirt in support of the Ku Klux Klan.  According to relatives, Gaymon was simply making a joke about the heavily Democratic voting patterns of Philadelphia.  Gaymon has apologized to the Pawlucy family.  Philadelphia Mayor Michael Nutter has met with both parties in the controversy, and, predictably, both Pawlucy and Gaymon have reported threats and harassment.

There is not much doubt in this case that Gaymon was out of line.  If she really ridiculed Pawlucy for wearing a Romney t-shirt, her actions were not only unconstitutional, but simply irresponsible teaching.  If, as her relatives assert, she was only making a joke about the slim chances Romney had for gaining votes in Philly, then she is at least guilty of making a joke in bad taste, to a student who didn’t find it funny.

But Gaymon has apologized for all that.

There is no question that a student in a public school is entitled to wear a political t-shirt.  There is no question in this case that teachers at public schools ought not make fun of students’ political beliefs.  Yet politicians and activists have been able to use this case to make strong public arguments about the proper nature of public education.

Dave Kralle, for instance, a candidate for the Pennsylvania State Legislature, has called for a rally this morning at Pawlucy’s high school.  Kralle wants Gaymon fired.  His call for a rally laments the fact that “We have been told there isn’t a single American flag at the school and the Pledge is NEVER recited.  This gives you an indication of how far our public education system has fallen.”

For Kralle and his supporters, the notion that a public school might not prominently display the flag or have students recite the Pledge of Allegiance is a clear sign of educational malfeasance.  Such an environment, Kralle implies, contributes to partisan jokes like the ones made by Gaymon.

We hope that this controversy dies down quickly.  But Kralle’s accusations that Pawlucy’s public school is un-American demonstrate some of the emotional wrappings of patriotism in public schooling.  Kralle’s seeming non sequitur might not make much sense, Constitutionally.  There’s no reason why a school that does not display the flag or recite the Pledge would have anything to do with a comment about a Romney t-shirt.  But Kralle’s rally makes a lot of sense emotionally.  For many Americans, public schools must embody the tradition of patriotism; public schools must exist to train young people in patriotic symbolism.  As Kralle complains, any school with no flags and no Pledge has “fallen.”

***UPDATE, TUESDAY EVENING, OCTOBER 9, 2012***

Deneen on Bloom, Conservatism, and Multiculturalism

What does it mean for schools to embrace “multiculturalism?”

One of the sternest and most popular condemnations of the implications of multicultural ideology was Allan Bloom’s The Closing of the American Mind (1987).

Political philosopher Patrick Deneen recently evaluated the book and its legacy.  Deneen concludes that the book could have done much more to condemn the pernicious influence of “multiculturalism.”

As Deneen notes, Bloom explicitly refused the label “conservative.”  Nevertheless, his book became a favorite of those culture-war activists who battled over the cultural content of higher education.  Should colleges teach Plato, Locke, and Shakespeare?  Or should they instead teach Fanon, Derrida, and Gloria Anzaldua?

Bloom plaintively argued that American higher education had abandoned its central mission.   In order for young people to doubt, Bloom argued, they must have some ground from which to question.  They must understand themselves as inheritors of a cultural tradition.  Higher education, Bloom argued, had willfully denied its central role as caretakers of students’ souls.  Instead of teaching young people to explore and question Truth, higher education shamefully evaded its responsibility and taught students instead that Truth was an illusion.

It is easy to see how this argument endeared Bloom to many conservative activists.  Yet Bloom himself did not argue for any specific tradition.  He was not a religious man himself, nor did his book insist that any religion embodied the truth.  Rather, he argued that students must be recognized as yearning souls, rather than transformed into indifferent spiritual husks.

Deneen’s critique raises many intriguing points and is worth reading in its entirety.  Deneen wishes Bloom might have pursued the analysis of multiculturalism to its logical conclusion.  As Deneen writes,

The stronger case would have been to expose the claims of multiculturalism as cynical expressions from members of groups that did not, in fact, share a culture, while showing that such self-righteous claims, more often than not, were merely a thin veneer masking a lust for status, wealth and power. If the past quarter century has revealed anything, it has consistently shown that those who initially participated in calls for multiculturalism have turned out to be among the voices most hostile to actual cultures, particularly ones seeking to maintain coherent religious and moral traditions.

If Bloom could have seen the current state of American higher education, Deneen argues, Bloom would have seen that his 1987 book underestimated the scope of the problem.  In the late 1980s, Deneen believes, advocates of multiculturalism shared Bloom’s sense of the importance of curriculum.  These days, even that awkward defense of multiculturalism has been eclipsed by what Deneen calls “an age of indifference.”  The cultural left no longer insists on a left-leaning set of counter-readings.  Instead, Deneen points out,

not only is academia indifferent to whether our students become virtuous human beings (to use a word seldom to be found on today’s campuses), but it holds itself to be unconnected to their vices—thus there remains no self-examination over higher education’s role in producing the kinds of graduates who helped turn Wall Street into a high-stakes casino and our nation’s budget into a giant credit card. Today, in the name of choice, non-judgmentalism, and toleration, institutions prefer to offer the greatest possible expanse of options, in the implicit belief that every 18- to 22-year-old can responsibly fashion his or her own character unaided.

Whatever Bloom’s personal views, the notion that schools at every level must teach a set of core values has been and remains central to conservative thinking about schooling and education.  The central issue remains the question of the function of schooling.  Conservatives embraced Bloom the skeptic because he made a powerful argument in favor of school as a transmitter of cultural values.  “Multiculturalism,” in contrast, became a label for a very different vision.  For multiculturalists, the purpose of school was to help students overcome their inherited cultural values, clearing the way for a logical, tolerant, reasonable set of beliefs.

The Child in Fundamentalist America

A question for the parents and teachers out there: What are your kids like?  I don’t mean, do they like soccer, or are they picky eaters.  I mean: How are your kids not adults?  Besides simple lack of experience and physical maturity, how are they different from adults?

This question is at the root of many disputes over what schools should be doing with kids.  Many of us believe–often without even examining the assumption–that a child is mainly a sponge.  He or she will learn from his environment.  If he is surrounded by anger, violence, and hatred, those notions will fester inside him.  But if he is surrounded by love, happiness, and acceptance, he will develop a healthy strong personality.  In most cases, if protected from negative influences, children will develop healthy morals and values.

But this implicit understanding of the nature and needs of children stands in stark contrast to the vision of many cultural conservatives.  If we want to understand conservative educational activism, we have to dig into the implicit understanding of many conservatives about the nature of childhood.

Let’s look at some examples.  Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Mel and Norma Gabler exercised outsized influence on American education.  The Gablers lived and worked in Longview, Texas, and they made it their mission to clean up Texas’ textbooks.  For decades, the Gablers presented detailed complaints about the progressive bias in publishers’ textbooks.  They critiqued sex ed, anti-religious content, anti-patriotic content, and a host of other perceived problems.  Because Texas adopted textbooks for the whole state, and because the state represented such an enormous market, the Gablers’ influence in Texas meant they had influence nationwide.

Fueling the Gablers’ textbook activism was their vision of the nature of childhood.  Children, as the Gablers explained to the Texas Textbook Selection Committee in 1970, are not simply small adults.  They must not be allowed to make their own decisions about complicated moral questions.  Rather, left on their own, children will revert to the worst kinds of immorality: violent domination of the strong over the weak, unrestrained sexual license, and other throwbacks to pre-civilized humanity.

“It must be remembered,” the Gablers told the committee, “that qualities such as morality must be taught.  They do not come naturally.  Education without morality will result in a depraved society.”  By the mid-1980s, the Gablers warned that children must not be allowed to drift in a choppy and dangerous sea of contrasting moralities.  Instead, young children must be taught directly that some things are right and some are wrong.  “The school’s duty,” they insisted, “is to transmit the moral values held by the majority of Americans.”

Let’s pick apart these ideas about what makes children different from adults.  If children lack the ability to distinguish between right and wrong, then allowing them to develop their own moral beliefs becomes a cruel and dangerous strategy.  If children on their own will tend toward immorality, then proper moral ideas must be imposed on them by adults.

This vision of the nature of childhood stands at the core of much traditionalist educational philosophy.  If children will not develop healthy moral codes on their own, what must schools look like?  For one thing, each classroom should have a strong, authoritarian teacher.  And that teacher must impose a series of correct moral values on students.

With this understanding of the nature of childhood, it makes sense to impose tight restraints on children’s ability to make decisions on their own.  It makes sense to dictate a list of right and wrong ideas to children, and require children to memorize such lists.  With this understanding of the nature of childhood, it is not only uncomfortable but downright dangerous and irresponsible to encourage children to experiment with a variety of ideas.

So what are your children like?  Do they need to be taught directly that some things are right and others are wrong?  Or do they need to be allowed to experiment with a variety of ideas?

Further reading: James C. Hefley, Textbooks on Trial (Wheaton, IL: Victor Books, 1976); Mel and Norma Gabler with James C. Hefley, What Are They Teaching Our Children? (Wheaton, IL: Victor Books, 1986).