Archive for the ‘Writing’ Category

News — Spring 2015

Sunday, May 17th, 2015

National French Teachers Examination

Congratulations to Mrs. Mary Catherine Lavissière’s students Katie Cruse, Alana Ross, Micah Wittenberg, and Moriah Wittenberg! These four Scholars Online students placed with honors in the National French Test Le Grand Concours 2015. The test is offered annually by the American Association of Teachers of French to identify and recognize students achieving high proficiency in the French language.

Madame Lavissière offers courses in both French and Spanish through Scholars Online. See our Modern Languages course descriptions for more information.
Update on Summer Session Courses for 2015

We’ve added several new courses for the summer session, which runs from June 8-August 21, 2015 (individual courses may span different periods within the session, so check your course description for exact start dates). Most summer classes are chances for students to build new skills in fun but still useful ways. Click on the course name to see descriptions of class schedules and costs, and on syllabus links to see detailed course content and assignments. Enrollment must be completed by May 31 to ensure placement in the course, and payment in full is due before students can attend chat sessions. Enrollments received after May 31 may not be processed in time for students to attend the first sessions of their course.

  • Explore the many facets of J.R.R. Tolkien’s creation in Looking at Middle-earth. Discussions will focus on Tolkien’s world-building, use of language, his theology of “subcreation”, and his work as a philologist. Students are expected to have read The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings.
  • Sample Shakespeare’s comedy, tragedy, and history plays, including Twelfth Night, As You Like ItThe Taming of the Shrew,The Merchant of VeniceA Midsummer Night’s DreamKing LearJulius CaesarRomeo and Juliet, and Richard II in Summer Shakespeare I. Students taking Scholars Online’s literature series, supplemented with Summer Shakespeare II and III, have the opportunity to study and discuss all of Shakespeare’s plays. [See the Full Syllabus for details.]
  • Gain practical writing skills with Molding Your Prose (based on an idea suggested to Dr. Bruce McMenomy by Mary McDermott Shideler). Learn to organize your ideas and improve your dialectic skills in Molding your Argument. Both of these popular courses requires short weekly writing exercises, with students analyzing each others’ work to learn to identify and improve their own writing.
  • Jump start your academic year Physics course with an overview of key theories and concepts in Introduction to Physics, a survey of the fundamental concepts of classical mechanics and modern physics, and gain essential analysis and problem-solving skills. Students planning to take the combined AP Physics 1 and 2 course will be able to count lab work from this course toward their AP lab requirements. [Full syllabus]
  • NEW COURSE! In The Age of Reagan, discover how the events and decisions of the Reagan administration have shaped current political, religious, economic, and environmental policies. Students opting for the media studies component of this course will also examine how movies, TV, and ads portray cultural messages (parental guide available in the full syllabus).

Autonomy of Means revisited: the Internet

Saturday, February 19th, 2011

Last May I wrote a piece for this blog entitled “Autonomy of Means and Education”. The choice of phrasing was drawn from Charles WIlliams, “Bors to Elayne, on the King’s Coins”. I’ve recently had reason to revisit the question again, from a different direction.

I’ve just finished reading Nicholas Carr’s The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to our Brains. Some may consider it ironic that I discovered this book at the recommendation of some friends via Facebook: it is an extended (and not particularly optimistic) meditation on how the Internet is “rewiring” our minds — making quantifiable and physically measurable changes in our brains — by the kinds of information it delivers, and the way it delivers it.

Carr’s main point is fairly straightforward, and very hard to refute from common experience: he contends that the rapid-fire interruption-machine that the Internet offers us tends to fragment our attention, perpetually redirect us to the superficial, and prevent us from achieving any of the continuous long-term concentration from which emerge real ideas, serious discourse, and, in the long view, civilization itself. Not only is it not conducive to such thinking in and of itself — it actually suppresses our capacity for such thinking even when we’re away from our computers. Carr doesn’t point fingers or lay particularly onerous burdens of blame at anyone’s door, though one is moved to wonder cui bono? — to whom is all this a benefit, and where is the money coming from? There is a curious unquestioned positivist philosophy driving companies like Google that is not consistent with at least how I see myself in relation to my God, and the other people in his world.

Carr supports his case with a dazzling array of synthetic arguments ranging from the philosophical to the neuropsychological. He makes a very convincing case for the plasticity of the human brain, even into adulthood — and for the notion that those capacities that get exercise tend to be enhanced through measurable growth and synaptic enhancement of specific areas of the brain. All this can happen in remarkably short time (mere days or even hours). My own field is rather far removed from psychology, but what he says rings true with me — my ability do do almost any kind of mental activity really does improve with practice. Unused abilities, by the same token, can atrophy. That this happens is probably not very surprising to any of us; what is surprising is its extent and the objectivity with which it can be measured. I was intrigued to learn, for example, that one can identify particular developments characteristic of the brains of taxi-drivers, and that discernible physical differences distinguish the brains of readers of Italian, for example, from readers of English. We tend to think of language as largely convertible from one to another; it’s not necessarily so. Whether this has some other implications about why one ought to learn Latin or Greek is intriguing to me, but not something I’m going to chase down here.

Carr’s thesis, if it’s true, has serious consequences for us at Scholars Online. It has implications about who we are and how we do what we are doing. As a teacher who has found his calling trying to teach people to read carefully and thoughtfully, analytically and critically, with concentration and focus — via the Internet — I naturally feel torn. I like to believe that the format in which I’m pursuing that work is not itself militating against its success. It is at the very least a strong warning that we should examine how we work and why we do what we do the way we do it.

I do feel somewhat vindicated in the fact that we have never chosen to pursue each and every new technological gewgaw that came down the pike. Our own concern has always been for cautiously adopting appropriate technology. I still tend not to direct students to heavily linked hypertext documents (which, as Carr argues, provide vastly less benefit than they promise, with substantially lower retention than simple linear documents in prose); almost anything that requires the division or fragmentation of attention is an impediment to real learning. As I have said elsewhere in my discussions of the literature program, my main effort there has always been to teach students to read carefully and thoroughly — not just the mechanics of decoding text, but the skills of interpreting and understanding its meaning.

The book is not without a few technical flaws. Carr has either misread or misinterpreted some of the points in Paul Saenger’s Space Between Words: The Origins of Silent Reading. Many of his claims about Latin and the development of the manuscript are too facile, and some are simply incorrect. Saenger points out that in Classical Latin, word order makes relatively little syntactic difference. He’s using that distinction precisely. Carr apparently takes this to mean that, as a function of the way manuscripts were written and produced in late Antiquity and the early Middle Ages, there was less concern for discrete idenitification of word boundaries (likely to be true), and less concern for word order in a given text (completely preposterous). Yes, it’s true that Latin syntax does not rely as heavily as English does on word order; it’s not true that word order is without significance semantically. The fact that many of our survivals from ancient sources are poetic would clearly argue against this: if you rearrange the words in a line of Vergil, you will destroy the meter, if nothing else. Word order in poetry is essential for meter (something we can verify objectively); it’s also powerful poetically. Words echo each other only if they stand in a certain arrangment; this one will be left enjambed at the beginning of a new line with potent poetical effect.

Of Horace, Friedrich Nietzsche said:

Bis heute habe ich an keinem Dichter dasselbe artistische Entzücken gehabt, das mir von Anfang an eine Horazische Ode gab. In gewissen Sprachen ist Das, was hier erreicht ist, nicht einmal zu wollen. Dies Mosaik von Worten, wo jedes Wort als Klang, als Ort, als Begriff, nach rechts und links und über das Ganze hin seine Kraft ausströmt, dies minimum in Umfang und Zahl der Zeichen, dies damit erzielte maximum in der Energie der Zeichen – das Alles ist römisch und, wenn man mir glauben will, vornehm par excellence.
(Götzen-Dämmerung, “Was ich den Alten verdanke”, 1)

To this day, I have had from no other poet the same artistic pleasure that one of Horace’s Odes gave me from the beginning. In some languages, what Horace accomplished here could not even be hoped for. This mosaic of words, where each word — [understood] as sound, as place, and as idea — exerts its influence to the right and left and over the whole, this economy in the extent and number of the signs, through which those signs receive their greatest power — that is all Roman and, to my way of thinking, supremely noble.
(Twilight of the Gods, “What I owe to the Ancients”, 1. Tr. my own.)

Nietzsche was a very strange philosopher (if that’s even the right term to describe him); I don’t hold with many of his ideas. But he was actually a pretty astute reader of Horace.

Cicero’s orations — not poetry — were similarly characterized by prose rhythms and semantic subtleties that could not possibly have been preserved were the scribes or copyists indifferent to word order. Whether we’re dealing with poetry or prose, word order is ultimately no less important in Latin than in English. It just has a different importance. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

Carr also routinely refers to Socrates as an orator, which is certainly not how Socrates viewed himself. He correctly notes that Socrates eschewed writing, partly because (as is discussed in the Phaedrus, one of the weirder Platonic dialogues), the old Egyptian priest claimed that it tended to weaken the memory. This is true, but it’s only one of Socrates’ reasons. He also disdained writing and oratory both because they were one-way forms of communication. What he valued (as can be found elsewhere throughout his work) is the give-and-take of two-way conversation: in the Greek, διαλέγεσθαι (dialegesthai) — the root of our own “dialogue” and “dialectic”. He believed that the exchange was uniquely capable of allowing people to dig out the truth.

In the Apology (which I’m now reading with some terrific students in Greek III), Socrates specifically and fairly extensively begs to be excused from having to talk like an orator. This is how the dialogue begins:

How you, men of Athens, have been affected by my accusers, I do not know; but I, for my part, almost forgot my own identity, so persuasively did they talk; and yet there is hardly a word of truth in what they have said. But I was most amazed by one of the many lies that they told—when they said that you must be on your guard not to be deceived by me, because I was a clever speaker. For I thought it the most shameless part of their conduct that they are not ashamed because they will immediately be convicted by me of falsehood by the evidence of fact, when I show myself to be not in the least a clever speaker, unless indeed they call him a clever speaker who speaks the truth; for if this is what they mean, I would agree that I am an orator—not after their fashion. Now they, as I say, have said little or nothing true; but you shall hear from me nothing but the truth. Not, however, men of Athens, speeches finely tricked out with words and phrases, as theirs are, nor carefully arranged, but you will hear things said at random with the words that happen to occur to me. For I trust that what I say is just; and let none of you expect anything else. For surely it would not be fitting for one of my age to come before you like a youngster making up speeches. And, men of Athens, I urgently beg and beseech you if you hear me making my defence with the same words with which I have been accustomed to speak both in the market place at the bankers tables, where many of you have heard me, and elsewhere, not to be surprised or to make a disturbance on this account. For the fact is that this is the first time I have come before the court, although I am seventy years old; I am therefore an utter foreigner to the manner of speech here. Hence, just as you would, of course, if I were really a foreigner, pardon me if I spoke in that dialect and that manner in which I had been brought up, so now I make this request of you, a fair one, as it seems to me, that you disregard the manner of my speech—for perhaps it might be worse and perhaps better—and observe and pay attention merely to this, whether what I say is just or not; for that is the virtue of a judge, and an orator’s virtue is to speak the truth.
(Plat. Apol., 17a-18a, tr. Harold North Fowler).

One of the things that struck me while I was reading the latter stretches of this book was the subject I raised last May: when a tool — any tool — becomes autonomous, we’re heading for trouble with it. We pour much of who and what we are into our tools, and the making of tools is apparently very much a part of our nature as human beings. We are homo faber — man the maker — as much as we are homo sapiens. That is, as I take it, a good thing. With our tools we have been able to do many things that are worth doing, and that could not have been done otherwise. But we must always hold our tools accountable to our higher purposes. The mere fact that one can do something with a given tool does not mean that it’s a good thing. They say the man with a hammer sees every problem as a nail. That adage still holds good. We can be empowered by our tools, but every one comes at a cost — a cost to us in terms of who we are and how we work, and what ends our work ultimately serves. There is some power in choosing not to use certain tools on certain occasions.

Not the Blog Entry I Had Planned

Friday, December 17th, 2010

The phrase “Continuing in the Word” has taken on a new aspect in the last two weeks.

As many of you already know, our writing instructor, Jill Byington, lost her battle with breast cancer on December 8, 2010.  Her students and their parents had a chance to work with Jill and understand what her loss means to Scholars Online, but it seems fitting to share something of Jill with the wider SO community.

I met Jill in the mid 1990s, when we were both working for Boeing. I had to get some documentation in order for the project I was coding on, and her job as a technical writer was to reformat it for presentation on this new-fangled computer-based system called the Boeing Internal Web.  She occasionally offered suggestions to correct grammar and improve the clarity as well.  As people do, we focused first on our assigned tasks, but then during coffee breaks and lunch, branched out into other discussions, sharing our passions for teaching, writing well, and trying to be good mothers.

We finished our project and Jill went on to other assignments inside and outside Boeing, and I didn’t hear from her for several years until an email arrived at my non-Boeing address.  She remembered that I was homeschooling our kids, and wanted to talk about homeschooling for her own son.  We exchanged emails at irregular intervals, and then we got the one announcing that she had been diagnosed with breast cancer.  I told her that I had decided to walk in the Komen Breast Cancer 3Day in 2005 (now Komen for the Cure) and wrote her name on my shirt, along with other breast cancer victims that were relatives and friends or friends of friends.

The timing of that email was profound:  Scholars Online Academy of ISLAS was in the process of becoming Scholars Online, a separate institution.  We wanted to offer a full high school curriculum and had found several teachers who committed to teach Latin, Greek, literature, mathematics, history, and science for us, but we desperately needed a writing program.

In her interview of April 30, 2009 with “Be the Star You Are”, Jill said that she found out some friends of hers were starting an online school and she asked if she could teach for them.  I remember it somewhat differently.  I was training for the 3Day, and Jill agreed to meet me at Jamba Juice in Factoria to cheer me on my way home.  I was anxious for the meeting because Bruce and I had talked long about what we wanted in a writing program and even more about what we wanted in our writing program instructor.  We needed somebody who was an excellent writer (Jill was), someone who had taught writing already (Jill had, in several contexts and for different age levels), who was willing to take on new technology (which Jill obviously delighted in doing), and who saw her calling to teach as part of her Christian ministry (which was central to Jill’s whole approach to teaching).  In short, we wanted Jill, and I spent five miles working out a fine speech to convince her to join us.   I recall that it involved begging, if necessary.

Once we ordered our drinks and sat down to wait for them, I rushed into my speech.  I said that we were starting an online school and that we needed a writing program and that was as far as I got.  Jill launched into possibilities: she could start with a summer course as a try-out, and a one year-long course while she figured out the possibilities of the medium.  She was undaunted by the fact that we couldn’t promise much by way of pay — it was the possibility of teaching and students that excited her.

Bruce and I set up an account and a dummy Moodle course for her to develop her course materials, pointed her at the documentation we had available on the Moodle, and went back to trying to learn it ourselves.  At one point Jill ran into a problem and asked for help. I had no idea what she was talking about. It was then we realized Jill’s propensity for playing with a new technology and making it work for her.  She had discovered aspects of the Moodle delivery system I didn’t even realize existed, and formatted her courses to make the best use of its asynchronous and cooperative learning features.

By the time Scholars Online opened its virtual doors, Jill had her offerings ready. Her courses were organized, well thought out, and demanded the best of her students.  Parents loved working with her because she took their concerns seriously and answered them thoughtfully.  Students loved working with her because she could “chide with charity”: she had that remarkable gift of being able to correct and encourage in the same sentence.  We loved having her teach for us because we could see real improvement in the compositions her students submitted to our courses, which made our jobs immeasurably easier.  At the end of that first year she was bubbling with enthusiasm and plans for a three-year core program on writing for college-bound students, a basic summer refresher in practical grammar, a short course on advertising, and others on playwriting, poetry, creative short stories, even rhetoric and style.

For Scholars Online’s first three years, Jill taught classes and I carried her name on my shirt, right next to my mom’s, in each fall’s 3Day event . Then in April 2009 came the disturbing report that her cancer might have returned.  At first our emails were hopeful exchanges of contingency plans, but by mid-July it was clear that prognosis was not good, the cancer had spread, and the aggressive treatment proposed meant Jill would be too exhausted to teach any courses for the 2009-2010 academic year.   We told her we’d deal with the schedule changes and we did, canceling some classes and asking other teachers to take over “for the year”, still hoping that Jill would respond to treatment this round as she had four years earlier, and be back to teach for us this year.

So began a new phase of our relationship.  In a group mailing in July 2009, Jill wrote “I haven’t arrived at the Oasis of the Heroic Cancer Patient yet, and quite possibly never will.  The truth is that I either walk through this or I die, and my current plan is to complain loudly with each step.  I met a couple of Heroic Cancer Patients when I was in treatment last time.  Annoying creatures.  Completely slappable.”  She started a blog for her friends, and the list grew to over 7000 readers who followed her battles.  She wrote about them with wicked humor that kept us laughing and demonstrated  that, despite her protests, she did indeed exhibit the more admirable aspects of heroism.  For a while it looked as though she were gaining on the cancer, and we made plans for her to teach at least one class in  2010/2011.  But in August 2010 she wrote a long, grim personal email to us, concluding “I can’t make any promises for the future at all.  I wish I could.  I share a lot on my blog, but I hesitate to share too much because of former students and so forth.  I don’t know if this kind of reality comes through there, but I thought you needed to know.  I have been honored to teach through Scholars Online.”

It is we who were honored, and we who were blessed by her witness of faith and her example of courage and grace under fire.  And though I will miss her terribly, I rejoice in the thought that this teacher who loved words so much is now healed and at peace with the Teacher who is the Word.