who speak against it, that they stand in awe of it, and that, in the born-again mode, they will alter their lifestyles, their schedules, their habits, and their relationships to accommodate it. If this be not a form of religious belief, what is?
In all strands of American cultural life, one can find so many examples of technological adoration that it is possible to write a book about it. And I would if it had not already been done so well. But nowhere do you find more enthusiasm for the god of Technology than among educators. In fact, there are those, like Lewis Perelman, who argue (for example, in his book
School’s Out
) that modern information technologies have rendered schools entirely irrelevant, since there is now much more information available outside the classroom than inside. This is by no means considered an outlandish idea. Dr. Diane Ravitch, former Assistant U.S. Secretary of Education, envisions, with considerable relish, the challenge that technology presents to the tradition that “children (and adults) should be educated in a specific place, for a certain number of hours, and a certain number of days during the week and year.” In other words, that children should be educated in school. Imagining the possibilities of an information superhighway offering perhaps a thousand channels, Dr. Ravitch assures us that:
In this new world of pedagogical plenty, children and adults will be able to dial up a program on their home television to learn whatever they want to know, at their own convenience. If Little Eva cannot sleep, she can learn algebra instead. At her home-learning station, she will tune in to a series of interesting problems that are presented in an interactive medium, much like video games.… Young John may decide that he wants to learn the history of modern Japan, which he can do by dialing up the greatest authorities and teachers on the subject, who will not only use dazzling graphs and illustrations, but will narrate a historical video that excites his curiosity and imagination. 2
In this vision, there is, it seems to me, a confident and typical sense of unreality. Little Eva can’t sleep, so she decides to learn a little algebra? Where did Little Eva come from, Mars? If not, it is more likely she will tune into a good movie. Young John decides that he wants to learn the history of modern Japan? How did young John come to this point? How is it that he never visited a library up to now? Or is it that he, too, couldn’t sleep and decided a little modern Japanese history was just what he needed?
What Ravitch is talking about here is not a new technology but a new species of child, one that, in any case, hasn’t been seen very much up to now. Of course, new technologies do make new kinds of people, which leads to a second objection to Ravitch’s conception of the future. There is a kind of forthright determinism about the imagined world described in it. The technology is here or will be; we must use it because it is there; we will become the kind of people the technology requires us to be; and, whether we like it or not, we will remake our institutions to accommodate the technology. All of thismust happen because it is good for us, but in any case, we have no choice.
This point of view is present in very nearly every statement about the future relation of learning to technology. And, as in Ravitch’s scenario, there is always a cheery, gee-whiz tone to the prophecies. Here is one produced by the National Academy of Sciences, written by Hugh McIntosh.
School for children of the Information Age will be vastly different than it was for Mom and Dad.
Interested in biology? Design your own life forms with computer simulation.
Having trouble with a science project? Teleconference about it with a research scientist.
Bored with the real world? Go into a virtual physics lab and rewrite the laws of gravity.
These are the kinds of hands-on learning experiences schools could be providing right now.