Understanding the School Curriculum

Theory, politics and principles

Alex Moore

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2014
• ISBN:
  9781136223389
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Education General

At a time of rapid social change and numerous policy initiatives, there is a need to question the nature and function of school curricula and the purposes of formal public education. Comparing curriculum developments around the globe, Understanding the School Curriculum draws on a range of educational, philosophical and sociological theories to examine the question 'What is a curriculum for?' In considering different answers to this fundamental question, it explores a range of topical issues and debates, including:

• tensions and dynamics within curriculum policy

• The implications of uncertainty and rapid social change for curriculum development

• the positive and negative influence of free market ideologies on public education

• the impact of globalization and digital technologies

• arguments for and against common core curricula and state control

It examines the possibility of a school curriculum that is not shaped and monitored by dominant interests but that has as its founding principles the promotion of responsibility, responsiveness, a love of learning, and a sense of wonder and respect for the natural and social world.

Understanding the School Curriculum is for all students following undergraduate and Masters courses in curriculum, public policy and education-related subjects. It is also for all training and practising teachers who wish to combine a deeper understanding of major curriculum issues with a critical understanding of the ways in which ideologies impact on formal state education, and to consider ways of producing school curricula that are appropriate to the times we live in.

Chapter 1

Introduction

‘A curriculum for the future’

We look back because, in part, learning is about taking on the heritage of our culture and learning about what has made us who we are. We look forward because we know the world is going to be different than it was and we accept the challenge of making the best judgments we can about what that world will look like.

(The International Middle Years Curriculum: Making Meaning, Connecting Learning, Developing Minds 2013: 3)

The future cannot be known, but we must debate its possible shapes.

(Coffield and Williamson 2011: 17)

Cha(lle)nging times

The question ‘What’s it for?’ or ‘Why are we doing this?’ is frequently asked by school students of their teachers (and indeed by teachers themselves, though perhaps less vocally); less so, one suspects, by politicians and policymakers, for whom the answers may seem self-evident. There is always, of course, a rationale to be found – either explicitly or implicitly – for both education in general and for the school curriculum in particular: in, for example, the countless pages of Education Acts, White Papers, and National Curriculum Guidelines. However, the curriculum itself, in England as in many countries (though particularly, perhaps, in England), has arguably changed very little over the last 100 years or so, either in terms of its officially stated purposes or in basic curriculum content and design, despite considerable changes in the wider socioeconomic and physical worlds.¹

In his book The Curriculum of the Future, published in 1998, Michael Young argues, as others have done, that whatever reasons for ‘doing this’ or ‘doing that’ may have applied in the past, the times in which we are now living and into which we are now moving render many of those reasons defunct or at best tenuous, and that a radical reappraisal of what we are doing in formal mass education – of what we are asking young people to do – is itself in need of radical reappraisal. Identifying a number of changed contexts in which public education is designed and practised, Young placed particular emphasis on global (or rather ‘western’) economic changes; on the similarities and differences between (and the implications of) education-for-work and education-for-its-own-sake in a much changed global workplace; and on what we understand by, and what we value in knowledge: that is, what ‘counts’ as knowledge. As Young put it:

[I]f new concepts of work and production are emerging, albeit under specific conditions, and they do represent possibilities for the future…then such seemingly commonplace and uncontentious notions as qualification, skill and knowledge, and the traditional division between academic and vocational learning, can never be the same again.

(emphasis added, Young 1998: 3)

Young’s particular interest in the so-called ‘academic–vocational divide’ in formal education (particularly in relation to post-compulsory education) and in the need for education to prepare learners not just for the ‘specific conditions’ of the present but for a future which is in part planned and in part unpredictable, led him to an endorsement of lifelong learning in the ‘learning society’ entailing a new relationship between ‘school and non-school learning’, and in the continuing promotion of ‘situated learning’: that is to say, a principle that formal learning cannot and should not be (though very often is) ‘abstracted from the contexts in which it takes place so that it can be a topic for specialized psychological study’ (ibid.: 2).

In exploring the curriculum implications of such a perspective, Young took as a starting point, as others have done (see, e.g., Giroux 1992: 241; Ross 2000: 11), another principle: that the curriculum we construct today should not just concern itself with the perceived needs of today or even the imagined individual and collective economic needs of the future, but should also be constructed around a vision or ‘concept’ of the kind of future society we might wish our education systems to help bring about: ‘The curriculum debate thus becomes a debate about the different views of the kind of society we want to see in the next century and how they are embedded in different curriculum concepts.’ (ibid.: 6)

Young’s concern with the future, and with revising and constructing present curricula with the future (or perhaps ‘a future’) much more clearly in mind, suggests the need critically to revisit both curriculum theory and curriculum practice in relation to radically altered circumstances in the wider socio-economic world as well as to ongoing changes in the way we understand ourselves as social, cultural, ethical beings in a world (I would argue) whose future is increasingly uncertain and difficult to predict.

I have dwelt on Young’s book partly because the themes I have highlighted are also central to Understanding the School Curriculum, partly by way of introducing some important differences between the two books: books which, I hope, readers will find complementary rather than oppositional. To begin with the similarities, many of the key underlying issues, questions and arguments raised by Young are also present in Understanding the School Curriculum, albeit with a somewhat different inflexion. In addition to those aspects already referred to (situating the curriculum debate within considerations of wider economic changes; recognising the importance of [re]producing ‘learning societies’, of valuing and promoting ‘situated learning’, of exploring, understanding and developing new relationships between ‘school and non-school learning’, of curricula both reflecting and resisting the educational changes prompted by those wider socio-economic changes), other common strands across the two books include: recognising, exposing and debating the general ‘arbitrariness’ of formal curricula (that is, their grounding in selections which self-present as ‘natural’, ‘obvious’, and ‘essential’ rather than as choices which may reflect and promote certain interests – inevitably at the expense of others); the consequent need to return to fundamental curriculum principles (as opposed to tinkering around the edges of what we already have and do) and of exploring new ‘forms of knowledge’ and new relationships within and between such forms (a concern which is part of a wider common theme, of emphasising the importance of context in making sense of, critiquing and developing curricula); and underpinning all of this, a concern to speak up for and develop curricula that are both forward-looking (that is, concerned with shaping some imagined future society – or perhaps future world) and simultaneously questioning of existing curricula that remain, despite much rhetoric to the contrary, locked into a time and a mood when education was principally aimed at a small élite.

Some of the differences between Understanding the School Curriculum and The Curriculum of the Future are what we might call superficial: differences, for example, in the selection and use of references (partly a matter of personal preference). Others are more substantive, concerning, largely, matters of emphasis. Young’s book, for instance, is more concerned with developments in post-compulsory education (more his field than mine) and on the boundaries and relationships between subjects and subject disciplines in those educational phases (for example, Young’s book goes into far more detail than I have done in relation to moving forward an existing academic–vocational debate). Understanding the School Curriculum, by contrast, focuses exclusively on the compulsory phases of education (though without too much difficulty, most of the debates can very easily be transferred to the discussion of issues in the post-compulsory phase), and puts the emphasis not so much on issues of knowledge itself and what ‘counts’ as knowledge (a key debate in Young’s book) as on:

1 the way in which ubiquitous neo-liberal discourses of self, alongside just-about-compatible conservative discourses of tradition, have dominated – and continue to dominate – curriculum development and design in England, the USA and some Western European countries in particular;

2 the ways in which some countries are beginning to question such discourses and their operationalisation in national school curricula; and

3 the implications for curriculum design and development in England and elsewhere once that revised stance is adopted and carried through into state-supported education systems.

What kind of future? And Who Decides?

Alasdair Ross (2000: 11) has wisely and helpfully observed, reminding us perhaps that school curricula should begin with principles, aims and rationales, rather than appending them at some later date:

Once a policymaker grasps that the act of defining the curriculum is a conscious selection of which culture shall be transmitted to the next generation, then it becomes possible to reverse the process: to decide what form of culture (or society) will be desirable in the future, and to ensure that it is this which is included in the curriculum.

‘The policymaker’ can come in one of many guises (and is almost certainly part of a policy ‘team’ of some sort), and can be the bearer of any number of ideologies, theories and biases. Ross’ point, however, remains an important one. Let us imagine for a moment that policymakers decide that they – whether reflecting their own views or seeking to synthesise and work on those of others – would like education principally to help bring about a future in which everyone in the nation (or perhaps in the world) might be equally capable of living a fulfilling life in which poverty is nationally and globally eliminated; in which everyone is entitled to the same quality and availability of medical care; in which racism, sexism, sectarianism and homophobia are eliminated; in which everyone is valued equally, regardless of their specific skills and interests and the work they do (and this is reflected in the distribution of income); and in which the world generally is a safer place ecologically and politically. What kind of curriculum would be required to bring about such an undertaking? What attitudes might it seek to foster? What knowledge and skills might it need to prioritise? And to what extent could it realistically hope to bring about the achievement of all of these aims through education alone? (Clearly, at the very least, other policies – perhaps some new or revised laws – would be required to, for example, redistribute wealth or reduce carbon emissions, and the education policy espousing this particular future might need to be embedded in a much bigger politics of radical socialism.)

Then let us imagine a group of policymakers who take a different view: who might agree, for various reasons, with some of these other priorities, but who, either because they have a preferred alternative vision or because they feel the first set of alternatives is unattainable, would like to help bring about a future characterised by other priorities, such as free competition, an unfettered national and global marketplace, and the continuation of hierarchies of job status and income within some version of an ‘organic society’ (more on which later). What kind of curriculum might they need to establish? And how easy or difficult might this be in relation to that bigger politics outside public education?

In a sense, curriculum always has, and always has had, some kind of a future orientation, underpinned by some kind of vision (however flimsily articulated) of that future. As Clarke points out, public policy in whatever field has ‘imaginary dimensions’ in which it ‘envisages certain models of society and seeks to bring into being particular types of individuals ideally suited to populating this imagined world’ (Clarke 2012: 3) – an envisaging which typically, Clarke suggests, homes in on ‘values’ and on ‘the identification of a population that lacks [those values]’ (my emphasis). In reflecting specifically on curriculum reform in the context of the ‘globalisation’ of education policy, Rizvi and Lingard echo Clarke, in their talk of how such reform ‘has been linked to the reconstitution of education as a central arm of national economic policy, as well as being central to the imagined community the nation wishes to construct through schooling’ (Rizvi and Lingard 2010: 96, emphasis added).

Apart from decisions about what aspects of any ‘imagined’ or ‘envisaged’ future politicians and policymakers might seek to prioritise or lend differential weight to (for instance, the perceived needs of a current and future national economy, or the development of ‘social cohesion’), there is always another immediate decision to be made, as Clarke (ibid.) argues, in relation to values: that is to say, do we design a curriculum that validates, promotes and protects certain ‘current values’ into the future (which, in addition and in any event, may not be everyone’s values but those of a small élite), by ‘passing them on’ to new generations (characteristic of what I shall call, after Bourdieu, the reproductive curriculum)? Or do we seek to encourage in, or draw out of our young people some previously less validated values – or perhaps apply different emphases to existing values – with the intention of bringing about a significantly different (e.g. more socially just) society (what I shall call the [r]evolutionary curriculum)? To what extent do we (for example) follow the lead of the Finnish national ‘Basic’ curriculum in seeking to balance reproduction and innovation, to respect the past and to prepare for the future – to ape a curriculum ‘mission’ advising us that:

In order to ensure social continuity and build the future, Basic education assumes the tasks of transferring cultural tradition from one generation to the next, augmenting knowledge and skills, and increasing awareness of the values and ways of acting that form the foundation of society. It is also the mission of Basic education to create new culture, revitalize ways of thinking and acting, and develop the pupil’s ability to evaluate critically.

(Finland: National Core Curriculum for Basic Education 2004: 12)

Either way, a matter of great importance is: Who decides what kind of society ‘we’ want – and in whose interests, and with what mandate? In the broadest sense, should this be a matter for the State to determine (by which, effectively, is meant whatever political party and attendant ideology are in the ascendancy at any given time – or even, as in England currently, a single Minister of State capable of shaping a national curriculum as a one-person enterprise)? Or should it be more a matter for local or ‘de-centralised’ decision-making of some sort? The former option certainly makes it much easier to control the curriculum and to ensure, if ‘we’ so desire, a high degree of equity and uniformity in its distribution across society; however, if it is overly explicit it can also lead to the deprofessionalisation of teachers (by, for example, reducing opportunities for school-based curriculum development), to stagnation, ‘sameness’ and dullness (through a lack of local diversity and a curtailment of curriculum ‘conversations’), and to the kind of policy overload that in recent years in England and some other countries has driven so many teachers to the brink of exhaustion and despair. The latter option (the decentralisation of curriculum design) might enable a school’s curriculum to rise above political ideologies, to promote the development of curricula that are more reflective of the interests and needs of local communities, and that perhaps are more inclined to incorporate educational research and theory into their considerations. However, it might equally put learners at the mercy of ill-prepared teachers and ill-informed school principals (particularly, perhaps, in the case of less stringently regulated ‘free schools’) and, if it does succeed, does so patchily, inconsistently and unfairly.

It is precisely this aspect of the ‘Who Decides’ question that makes me somewhat nervous when it comes to suggesting a ‘curriculum for the future’, and, I hope, explains a certain tentativeness in the suggestions put forward in the final chapter of Understanding the School Curriculum. I certainly am not nominating myself to take on this monumental task, nor to offer specific recommendations as to who else might do so, beyond endorsing a broad view that the more that relevant ‘stakeholders’ can be involved in such decisions the better.

Whose future is it that the curriculum is seeking to prepare young learners for, in any event? Can our desire as educationalists of whatever kind become so overly concerned with ‘the future’ as to turn it into an obsession that loses sight of the past or – more importantly, perhaps – of the present, including young learners’ experience of the curriculum in the present they inhabit? What do we make of Keck’s observations (below) about contemporary schooling more broadly, on the way in which policy’s determination to bring about a particular future can impact negatively, conservatively and in a constraining manner on both students’ and teachers’ curriculum experience, compelling present activity to be aligned always to the achievement of that imagined future?

Whether schooling looks backwards, forwards, or both, it is…rarely occupying the present richly, deeply. Generally speaking the problem of tense is managed through the domination of the present as the emergent is forced into alignment with the past-future continuum. …To be effective within the past-future continuum of schooling the teacher must be able to harness the present, and this generally involves minimizing and/or aligning all the interactions of the classroom. …The classroom is to be on-task, whether this be listening to the teacher (traditional) or doing group work (progressive). In short, teachers are responsible for exercising control, either through the orchestration of the ‘voices’ of the classroom toward a goal, or through authoritarian approaches, or both. This question of temporality is a fundamental problem for all teachers. To which temporality do they owe allegiance? In which tense is education to be conducted? Which time is education responsible for sustaining?

(Keck 2012: 150; see, too, Dewey’s assertion, 2009: 36, that education ‘is a process of living and not a preparation for future living’)

Regardless of whether it is ‘the State’ that is charged with designing the curriculum, or groups working independently of central control, or a mixture of both, one thing that is clear is that it is invariably – some might argue inevitably – adults (very often, relatively ‘old’ adults) who are making the decisions for and on behalf of young learners who must, whether they want to or not, agree to them. All well and good, we might say,...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Table of Contents
• Acknowledgements
• 1 Introduction: ‘a curriculum for the future’
• 2 ‘Curriculum dynamikos’
• 3 What is it? What’s it for?
• 4 ‘Knowledge’
• 5 Learning in and out of the classroom: the impact (or otherwise) of digital technologies
• 6 Internationalising the curriculum
• 7 Curriculum decision-making
• 8 Hidden, absent, lost: from misrepresentation to myth-recognition
• 9 Alternatives in practice
• References
• Index