The year was 1905. A frustrated academician worked tirelessly in the Berne, Switzerland patent office. Though obviously gifted, he was never an easy child. At age sixteen he was denied entrance into the Swiss Federal Polytechnic, having failed to meet minimum general requirements. He was referred to Argovian School, where he completed his secondary studies with good, but not stellar, overall grades. He did distinguish himself in favorite subjects. He was ultimately admitted to Zurich Polytechnic for undergraduate studies. There he often skipped lectures, especially in mathematics, in favor of physics. One of his professors described him a "lazy dog". He was opposed to authoritarian and hierarchical attitudes, which left him at odds with the faculty. Ultimately, his professors' confidential evaluations cost him an assistantship.
In 1905, this largely anonymous clerk published five papers: his dissertation, on the Photoelectric Effect, on Special Relativity, on Brownian Motion, on Mass-Energy Equivalence. His paper on the Photoelectric Effect proved foundational for the development of Quantum Mechanics, and likewise the modern age. It earned him the Nobel Prize. His paper on Special Relativity similarly transformed physics, reconciling Newtonian mechanics and Maxwell's equations, specifically those for magnetism and electricity, and especially as they relate to speeds close to that of light. His paper on Brownian Motion is a marvel of mind. His paper on Mass-Energy equivalence, well, you know as E = mc2. 1905 witnessed the birth of modern physics and the modern age thanks to this clerk, none other than Albert Einstein. For science, 1905 is known as "The Miracle Year".
I was recently asked what keeps me up at night. What keeps me up at night is the thought that there might be an Albert Einstein in my care, dutifully plodding away at his studies, not having his needs met. What really keeps me rolling is the thought that a student with his potential might be languishing in our program, underserved, uninspired. Worse still is the thought that such an extraordinary mind might arrive at our school with their creativity and genius intact. That through the accumulative and debilitative nature of slights, inattentions, well-intended yet poorly executed learning engagements, and content drudgery, they leave us something less. We dare not spend our precious hours filling buckets rather than lighting fires. The world can ill-afford wasted talent: political, economic, scientific, cultural, artistic, technological, humanitarian. We can't risk our Einsteins, Gandhis, Mandelas, Curies, Roosevelts, Elions, Minskis, or Menchús.
Our efforts to change the conversation, to turn from our preoccupations with rote knowledge towards something more substantive, to resist intellectual curation in favor of inspired ideation, to acknowledge orthodoxy but embrace originality, are exhaustive. It's all we talk about; all we meet about. It is the subject of our individual and group conversations, of our professional development. It's the first thing we consider when hiring new teachers. We have yet to hit on all cylinders. We're still working things out. We have plenty of room for growth. This I openly acknowledge. We have also changed in profound ways, as detailed by our students. Our course-heading has shifted 180 degrees, and that takes some getting used to for everybody. We are becoming.
Today I sat with ninth graders who report that where once they were asked to sit, listen, and memorize, they are now asked to analyze big ideas, profound ideas, and to arrive at their own conclusions. They described a math activity where instead of being handed a laundry list of mathematical properties they were likely to soon forget (their words), they were asked to derive mathematical properties from forms, to intuit the nature of mathematics themselves. They explained a current project that has them considering the ramifications of uncontrolled governmental actions around the world, linking literature to current events. They used powerful words to describe their learning: think, evaluate, apply. They commented that their learning is deeper, more consequential, more connected, lasting. They also shared what they think we should work on: consistency in program delivery and a more evenly distributed work load. I appreciate their feedback.
Our pedagogy is coming alive at Baldwin. I am proud of how far we've come, excited for our future.
See you around campus.
In 1905, this largely anonymous clerk published five papers: his dissertation, on the Photoelectric Effect, on Special Relativity, on Brownian Motion, on Mass-Energy Equivalence. His paper on the Photoelectric Effect proved foundational for the development of Quantum Mechanics, and likewise the modern age. It earned him the Nobel Prize. His paper on Special Relativity similarly transformed physics, reconciling Newtonian mechanics and Maxwell's equations, specifically those for magnetism and electricity, and especially as they relate to speeds close to that of light. His paper on Brownian Motion is a marvel of mind. His paper on Mass-Energy equivalence, well, you know as E = mc2. 1905 witnessed the birth of modern physics and the modern age thanks to this clerk, none other than Albert Einstein. For science, 1905 is known as "The Miracle Year".
I was recently asked what keeps me up at night. What keeps me up at night is the thought that there might be an Albert Einstein in my care, dutifully plodding away at his studies, not having his needs met. What really keeps me rolling is the thought that a student with his potential might be languishing in our program, underserved, uninspired. Worse still is the thought that such an extraordinary mind might arrive at our school with their creativity and genius intact. That through the accumulative and debilitative nature of slights, inattentions, well-intended yet poorly executed learning engagements, and content drudgery, they leave us something less. We dare not spend our precious hours filling buckets rather than lighting fires. The world can ill-afford wasted talent: political, economic, scientific, cultural, artistic, technological, humanitarian. We can't risk our Einsteins, Gandhis, Mandelas, Curies, Roosevelts, Elions, Minskis, or Menchús.
Our efforts to change the conversation, to turn from our preoccupations with rote knowledge towards something more substantive, to resist intellectual curation in favor of inspired ideation, to acknowledge orthodoxy but embrace originality, are exhaustive. It's all we talk about; all we meet about. It is the subject of our individual and group conversations, of our professional development. It's the first thing we consider when hiring new teachers. We have yet to hit on all cylinders. We're still working things out. We have plenty of room for growth. This I openly acknowledge. We have also changed in profound ways, as detailed by our students. Our course-heading has shifted 180 degrees, and that takes some getting used to for everybody. We are becoming.
Today I sat with ninth graders who report that where once they were asked to sit, listen, and memorize, they are now asked to analyze big ideas, profound ideas, and to arrive at their own conclusions. They described a math activity where instead of being handed a laundry list of mathematical properties they were likely to soon forget (their words), they were asked to derive mathematical properties from forms, to intuit the nature of mathematics themselves. They explained a current project that has them considering the ramifications of uncontrolled governmental actions around the world, linking literature to current events. They used powerful words to describe their learning: think, evaluate, apply. They commented that their learning is deeper, more consequential, more connected, lasting. They also shared what they think we should work on: consistency in program delivery and a more evenly distributed work load. I appreciate their feedback.
Our pedagogy is coming alive at Baldwin. I am proud of how far we've come, excited for our future.
See you around campus.