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I was in a discussion today and the topic turned to the question of motivating kids to learn. Somebody pointed out that motivation is the key — once kids are motivated to learn something, they are unstoppable.

But then somebody cautioned “yes, but we want to motivate them to learn the things we need them to learn.”

I found myself disagreeing, on the grounds that this entire view of the situation contains a fatal oversimplification. In order to be truly compelling, to tap into kids’ powerful inner motivational engine, the entire transaction needs to be more of a dialogue than a one-way conversation. You can’t just impose your ideas about what is valuable onto kids, and still expect them to remain motivated. Rather, you need to work with each learner’s natural enthusiasms. That is the real raw material of high quality learning.

Each human mind comes to the same subject from a unique perspective. For example, many people find they have a great desire to write — and therefore to learn how to write well — but not everyone is trying to write on the same topic.

Similarly, I know an awful lot about computer programming by now. But I was never particularly interested in computer programming. My interest was in creating images, visions, making visible the worlds that I could see in my mind. It turned out that computers provided me with a great way to do that. And so I started picking up all sorts of skills in math and computer science that were useful in achieving that goal.

I realize that what I am saying is heresy, from the perspective of received wisdom about educational policy. But there really is no way around it. If we want to fully engage those astonishing minds that kids have — by far any nation’s most valuable resource — we need to rethink education at a fundamental level. We might need to throw out most of what we think we know about teaching and learning.

We need to recognize — and to truly respect — that every learner is an individual learner.

 

Canto the first

In ancient times, when robots ruled the earth
There was a droid named Jake, of lowly status,
Thus begins our epic, offered gratis
A tale composed of tragedy and mirth.
Fifteen times the seasons came and went
Before our callow hero e’er did roam
Beyond the humble factory, his home,
Where cybernetic days were simply spent.
Until one winter night most dark and deep
When robots slumber silent and recharging
A shadow large as night and still enlarging
Descended on the robots in their sleep
      With no one in the factory awake
      Except one humble robot, name of Jake.

The world we know is nestled in a dream
And every dream contains more dreams within,
All dreamers, whether flesh and blood or tin
Must enter realms that are not what they seem.
Whenever hearts, however young and brave,
Set out one day, upon a noble quest
They see the world not plain, but at its best
For who can doubt the thing he fights to save?
We mortals die, but tales live forever
Thus tales told are magical indeed
Of epic quests, on rocket ship or steed
Made known by lyric verses sad or clever.
      But in that moment Jake knew only this:
      The world was dark, and something was amiss.

He wrestled with a mounting sense of fear
As slowly did he roll across the floor
Slower still he exited the door
Where looming darkness now was drawing near.
Before the spreading spectral shadow’s fall
Jake did bravely choose to stand his ground
Listening quite closely for some sound
But heard no sound — he heard no sound at all.
Till all at once a rustle overhead
Direct above the place where he did stand
And looking up, he saw a giant hand
Descending through the dark, a thing of dread.
      Before he even had a chance to pray
      Our brave young hero fainted dead away.

Jake awoke to find himself inside
Some sort of large mechanical device
Making sure to check his circuits twice
He found nothing amiss, except his pride.
Quite relieved to see he wasn’t dead,
He knew there was still much to understand
It isn’t often that a giant hand
Lifts one into the air from overhead.
He set about examining the place
Just where he was, he really could not tell.
He hoped he’d find some other bots as well
Perhaps a friendly cybernetic face.
      No sooner had this thought formed in his head
      When a lovely face appeared. “Hello,” she said.

 

Canto the second

ake was too astonished to reply
Transfixed, he simply stood in silence, gawking,
Confident that had he started talking
He would have gotten stuck somewhere at “Hi”.
For never in his life had our young bot
Beheld a vision of such sheer delight
This strange new robot was a lovely sight
For she was everything that he was not.
Her armature was delicate and svelte
Her cover plate a soft and glowing pink
He found it was becoming hard to think
He thought his circuits were about to melt.
      And then she spoke again — her voice was sweet.
      “Are you a real robot? That’s so neat!”

“That’s evident,” said Jake, somewhat bemused.
“Like everyone,” he said, “I am a bot.”
“You are indeed,” she said, “but I am not.”
“Not what?” replied our hero, all confused.
The concept she was trying to explain
Was so outside the universe he knew
That as she spoke, his puzzlement just grew
He felt troubled in his cybernetic brain
“Look,” she said, “I am a human being.”
“I do not know this model type” said Jake,
“Perhaps some newer bot? A recent make?”
“No!” she said, “You’re looking, but not seeing.”
      “Well then?” inquired Jake, “What do you do?”
      “We create robotic droids,” she said. “Like you.”

Jake was stricken. This was too much to digest.
What were these humans? A source of life or doom?
His world was changing, right here in this room,
Was this the end, or the start of some new quest?
He felt afraid, as frightened as a child
Who’s stumbled on a deep and endless void.
“Are you my God?” asked the hesitant young droid.
The girl looked thoughtful, then suddenly she smiled.
“I’m afraid,” she said, “it is time for me to go.”
Then she shrugged, and began to turn away
He felt that there was something more to say
“Wait!” Jake cried, “There is much I need to know!”
      All at once, the stranger’s face went blank
      And as Jake looked on in horror, to the floor she slowly sank.

ake stared down upon the lifeless girl
Had he just seen his own creator die?
Could he revive her? Should he even try?
So many thoughts! His mind was in a whirl.
“You seem confused,” a voice behind him said.
He turned around but saw no other bot.
“You wonder was this real, or was it not.”
The voice, he realized, was in his head.
“Our intent, you see, was never to deceive;
“We programmed you to seek the human out.”
“But why?” he asked, “What is this all about?”
“We sought to test your power to believe.”
      “You mean there is no truth behind religion?”
      “There is,” replied the voice. “But just a smidgeon…”

 

Canto the third

“What use is a religion without God?”
Within his CPU Jake felt betrayed.
The voice replied “You’re angry and afraid,
But remember that this path is quite well trod.
No bot was ever built to last forever,
There comes a time we all must start to rust.
Eventually we crumble into dust
And eternity’s another word for never.”
“Oh please,” our hero snapped, “just what’s your point?”
The voice said “Hey, I’m here to give assistance.
I appreciate your courage and persistence,
But please don’t get your circuits out of joint!
      Life isn’t owned, my friend — it’s merely rented.
      We need to cope. Thus gods must be invented.”

“So you think gods are invented?” Jake replied,
“Then tell me, voice, just who made the first bot?
It seems to me you do not know a lot
For someone with an attitude so snide.”
There was a silence then, for quite a spell
His opponent now seemed well and truly stuck.
Jake thought, perhaps through skill or just dumb luck,
He’d argued his position very well.
But then the voice returned, “It was a bot.”
“A bot?” said Jake, “A bot was the creator?
But this other bot would have to have come later
Than some other early bot, but that’s just rot.
      The recursion never ends, and you’re a clown.”
      The voice replied “It’s robots, all the way down.”

think,” said Jake, “I now see your position,
That bots assembled bots since time began.
But I’m afraid I’m really not much of a fan
Of causality replaced by superstition.”
With that Jake started exiting the room.
“Wait!” replied the voice, “We aren’t done.”
“I think we are, it’s been a lot of fun,
But now I see no harbinger of doom
Is threatening my planet with its might
And I really must return back to the shop.”
With that Jake left. “No, wait!”, the voice said. “Stop!”
But Jake was rolling quickly out of sight.
      “It’s too late,” sighed the voice. “He’s gone. Oh hell.”
      A familiar voice replied, “You argued well.”

For a while she just stared down at the screen.
“He never stormed away before,” she mused.
Emily was getting more enthused
This was the most successful run she’d seen.
She’d never thought she’d like the seventh grade
But this teacher let her program her own sim.
Jake had started out a little dim
But look at all the progress he had made.
She’d appeared to him as all the major gods
Now she’d run her bot through Turtle theory
(It seemed recursive robots made Jake leery)
Next up on the list: Transpermic pods!
      After that it would be “Jake the robot nun”.
      Homework never had been so much fun!

I am fortunate to have gotten this far in my life without having read John Le Carré. Fortunate in the sense that I now have the incomparable pleasure of reading “The Spy who Came In from the Cold” for the first time.

There is something wonderful about picking up a book and realizing that one is in the presence of a master. There is not a wasted sentence in this tale. Every page is taut, lean, uncertain. The world Le Carré paints is both deeply civilized and knife-edge dangerous, all at once. Small details matter, and events of great moment can pivot on subtleties of character. In short, this book takes my breath away.

I am about half way through now. Since the novel is completely irresistible, I know that I shall soon be finished, and that will be sad — like the prospect of finishing a delicious cake that you wish could last forever, even as you reach for the next greedy forkful. I wanted to write this while I was still in the midst of the experience, still living vicariously within Le Carré’s astonishing world.

The first time reading a great work is a moment of grace in one’s life — an experience that can never again be repeated. I know that in the head-long rush of things we often overlook such moments. I, for one, am savoring this one.

For a while she just stared down at the screen.
“He never stormed away before,” she mused.
Emily was getting more enthused
This was the most successful run she’d seen.
She’d never thought she’d like the seventh grade
But this teacher let her program her own sim.
Jake had started out a little dim
But look at all the progress he had made.
She’d appeared to him as all the major gods
Now she’d run her bot through Turtle theory
(It seemed recursive robots made Jake leery)
Next up on the list: Transpermic pods!
      After that it would be “Jake the robot nun”.
      Homework never had been so much fun!

fin

A colleague and I were discussing the changing meaning of the word “literature”, given the rapid rise of interactive, responsive and collaborative media. This led to a conversation with another colleague and a gradual awareness on my part that a lot of people are grappling with many of the same ideas.

The Merriam-Webster dictionary defines “literature” as:

“writings having excellence of form or expression and expressing ideas of permanent or universal interest.”

There is always some debate as to what gets to be included in this amorphous canon of cultural artifacts, but Shakespeare and Goethe usually make the cut, as well as a few hundred other authors, poets and playwrights down through the ages whose works have stood the test of time.

Just what new works might end up in the canon is a very tricky question, because artists generally create for a contemporary audience. In Elizabethan times a new Shakespeare comedy was not thought of as literature, but rather as pop entertainment. There is a long tradition of pop entertainment being reclassified into literature. The early works of Bob Dylan managed to make the transition fairly quickly, whereas Leonard Cohen still seems to be in some sort of in between state.

Part of the problem lies in the difficulty, when you are in the midst of a cultural moment, of being able to see what works will outlast that moment. Does your work speak only to your own generation, or to all generations? The works of the Beatles seem to be standing the test of time, whereas the works of many of their contemporaries now seem quaint and frozen in their own era. The best Marx Brothers comedies are just as funny today as they were seventy five years ago, whereas many comedies from the same period are so out of date as to be almost impossible to watch.

One reason it is useful to define “literature” is so that we can offer a meaningful liberal arts curriculum to young people. But now there’s a new wrinkle in the equation: interactive media.

Will The Sims become part of the canon? Myst? Half Life? Weisenbaum’s Eliza program? When it comes to new interactive media, it can very difficult to disentangle long term meaning from contemporary tastes, particularly when the medium itself is undergoing such enormous transformations every few years.

Some might argue that the entire question is absurd. After all, we are talking about games. On the other hand, a century ago it would have been equally absurd to talk about cinema as literature. Yet along came “Birth of a Nation”, “Nosferatu”, “Greed”, and an enormous flowering of experiments and genres in a remarkably short period of time.

We seem to be entering an equivalent phase in the creation of interactive games and narratives. In the Scratch community alone, several hundred thousand children around the world are creating interactive games and stories. As these children grow up, they will continue to apply the skills and ways of communicating that they are now learning.

So while it may be early to comfortably include this or that interactive work in the literary canon, it is essential that we start now to rethink how we define that canon. We must accept that interactive literature as an expressive form is already here. Rather than treat this collection of works as a cultural oddity (eg: creating a ghettoized “games curriculum”), we must prepare now for a changing literary world, and appropriately expand our definition of liberal arts.

“I think,” said Jake, “I now see your position,
That bots assembled bots since time began.
But I’m afraid I’m really not much of a fan
Of causality replaced by superstition.”
With that Jake started exiting the room.
“Wait!” replied the voice, “We aren’t done.”
“I think we are, it’s been a lot of fun,
But now I see no harbinger of doom
Is threatening my planet with its might
And I really must return back to the shop.”
With that Jake left. “No, wait!”, the voice said. “Stop!”
But Jake was rolling quickly out of sight.
      “It’s too late,” sighed the voice. “He’s gone. Oh hell.”
      A familiar voice replied, “You argued well.”

Today I attended a panel about the future of on-line toys and games. Near the end, during the Q&A, a concerned member of the audience asked the panelists whether they thought there was a danger, as kids spend progressively more time in tweeting, SMS, and on-line chat, that our children will become diminished in their ability to hold a conversation.

An answer instantly sprang to my mind, but apparently it wasn’t the answer shared by the panel. One of the panelists replied, soothingly, that it’s all a question of balance. Parents should monitor how their kids spend their time. As long as the mix includes real physical play, in addition to time on-line, then everything will be ok. The other panelists nodded approvingly.

My take on this was quite different. To me the problem is not that children will lose their ability to hold a conversation, but rather that grownups will lose their ability to understand that conversations are going on all around them.

I suspect something like this happened in the late nineteenth century. Young people everywhere started talking on that new-fangled telephone, while their elders fretted that the new generation would lost the ability to hold an actual conversation. The fact that actual conversations were occurring over electric wires may never even have occurred to concerned parents not quite comfortable with Elisha Gray’s great invention.

Conversation is something humans have evolved to do. Not only don’t you need to worry about kids and conversation, you can’t even stop children and teenagers from chattering away. It’s one of our most powerful instincts, one that, from the evidence, must have had been associated with serious survival value in the last several hundred thousand years of our species’ evolution.

But conversation, not surprisingly, moves to whatever medium is most convenient. Just because your friend is not in the same room, that’s no reason to stop talking. And just because you’re listening to some boring lecture in school, well that’s no reason to stop talking either. Not if you’ve got two thumbs and a Blackberry.

I don’t think kids are losing anything in the way of conversational skills, as they continue to move their conversations on-line and on-screen. But I do think their concerned parents may be in danger of being left out of the loop of where society is going. After all, you can’t join in a conversation if you don’t even know it’s happening.

“So you think gods are invented?” Jake replied,
“Then tell me, voice, just who made the first bot?
It seems to me you do not know a lot
For someone with an attitude so snide.”
There was a silence then, for quite a spell
His opponent now seemed well and truly stuck.
Jake thought, perhaps through skill or just dumb luck,
He’d argued his position very well.
But then the voice returned, “It was a bot.”
“A bot?” said Jake, “A bot was the creator?
But this other bot would have to have come later
Than some other early bot, but that’s just rot.
      The recursion never ends, and you’re a clown.”
      The voice replied “It’s robots, all the way down.”

Saint Valentine’s day seems an apposite time to discuss a recent revelation I’ve had about a difference between the way men and women look at love. This thread of thought began several days ago in a meeting with some colleagues with whom I have been working on making games for education. To do such a thing right, you need to make some games, ask kids for feedback, and then repeatedly iterate your game design based on that feedback — ideally extracting principles of good educational game design along the way.

In this meeting one of my colleagues reported a difference in the feedback from twelve year old boys and girls on a game to teach math. Most of the boys wanted the game to be a race, or an adventure, with a driving narrative and lots of things moving on the screen or blowing up. The girls, on the other hand, said, essentially, “hey, I just want a learning game. Give me something that lets me practice my math skills, and shows me how I’m doing.”

A caveat here: This was just one group of kids, and certainly it would be wrong to suggest that all boys or girls think some particular way. But there was a definite tendency which, in one of those random associative sparks, got me thinking about the nature of love.

But first, a short digression to some fine feathered friends. The male peacock possesses remarkably vibrant tail feathers, the sole purpose of which (as far as we can tell) is to impress any eligible peahens with his fitness as a mate. We humans can’t really know how a peahen feels about this display on an emotional level, but we do know that a good tail feather display indeed attracts the gals, all other things being equal.

In humans, something a bit more subtle goes on — and it goes both ways. Men and women each try to impress each other with advertisements of their sexual desirability. But in this case, we do know a bit about the emotional level of things. And I think the difference in what those twelve year old boys and girls wanted from educational games might provide some real insight here.

On Valentine’s day — at least in the U.S. — the situation becomes notably asymmetric. On this particular day, a man is expected to impress his mate by spreading his metaphorical tail feathers. This might be through a gift of flowers, or exactly the right necklace, or dinner for two at an exclusive restaurant — preferably one that needed to be booked months in advance — or perhaps an intimate home-cooked meal by candlelight.

The details vary from couple to couple, but in my experience observing people, the larger pattern is consistent. The woman doesn’t book the restaurant — the man does. And if she was expecting some gesture of this sort, and none was forthcoming, there will be disappointment, and perhaps conflict.

A naive reading of this dynamic might suggest that men and women are focused on the giving and receipt of surface pleasures — flowers, fine food, candlelight. But in fact, I think that is far from what is going on. The real dynamic here is that the man is declaring: “I think you are special, and I will put sufficient thought and effort into convincingly expressing that.” It is not the money spent on the necklace, or the size of the bouquet that constitutes the tail feathers, but rather the thought and effort that the man has invested.

And the success of that thought and effort is judged by the woman solely in terms of whether the gift represents the man actually seeing her — understanding and acknowledging her for who she truly is, rather than merely as a projection of his own desires.

In a very pragmatic sense, the woman is testing the man. This is not always an easy test to pass, which explains why there is often a certain amount of anxiety around Valentine’s day. If, in some alternate universe, men and women thought the same way, there wouldn’t be nearly as much anxiety. In fact, the entire need for this test probably would not exist, and cultural rituals would be quite different.

But there is a difference — exactly the same difference described by those twelve year old kids: Men are focused on the process around the emotional exchange, and women are focused on the underlying emotional ground truth it expresses.

So a man might go out of his way to buy a fancy necklace, or two dozen red roses, or a sports car. And he might find that while his mate is appreciative, she is still unhappy — and he won’t understand why. The problem is that he is looking at the game that they seem to be playing, and he is trying to win that game.

Meanwhile, she is seeing the physical transaction merely as an indicator of something that is far more important to her — whether the man truly understands her, and truly sees her. So if she craves dark german chocolate, and her man got her roses, and she doesn’t even like roses, there’s a problem, no matter how lovely the bouquet, or how much money he spent at the flower shop.

Both are trying to reach out to each other and to affirm their connection, but it’s like the difference in the way boys and girls look at games that teach: The guy is focused on the video game, and the gal is focused on the lesson.

“What use is a religion without God?”
Within his CPU Jake felt betrayed.
The voice replied “You’re angry and afraid,
But remember that this path is quite well trod.
No bot was ever built to last forever,
There comes a time we all must start to rust.
Eventually we crumble into dust
And eternity’s another word for never.”
“Oh please,” our hero snapped, “just what’s your point?”
The voice said “Hey, I’m here to give assistance.
I appreciate your courage and persistence,
But please don’t get your circuits out of joint!
      Life isn’t owned, my friend — it’s merely rented.
      We need to cope. Thus gods must be invented.”