Learning Chinese Style (中国式的学习风格)

English article

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Learning Chinese Style

 

For a month in the spring of 1987, my wife Ellen and I lived in the bustling eastern Chinese city of Nanjing with our 18-month-old son Benjamin while studying arts education in Chinese kindergartens and elementary schools. But one of the most telling lessons Ellen and I got in the difference between Chinese and American ideas of education came not in the classroom but in the lobby of the Jinling Hotel where we stayed in Nanjing.

  The key to our room was attached to a large plastic block with the room number on it. When leaving the hotel, a guest was encouraged to turn in the key, either by handing it to an attendant or by dropping it through a slot into a box. Because the key slot was narrow, the key had to be positioned carefully to fit into it.

  Benjamin loved to carry the key around, shaking it vigorously. He also liked to try to place it into the slot. Because of his tender age and incomplete understanding of the need to position the key just so, he would usually fail. Benjamin was not bothered in the least. He probably got as much pleasure out of the sounds the key made as he did those few times when the key actually found its way into the slot.

  Now both Ellen and I were perfectly happy to allow Benjamin to bang the key near the key slot. His exploratory behavior seemed harmless enough. But I soon observed an interesting phenomenon. Any Chinese staff member nearby would come over to watch Benjamin and, noting his lack of initial success, attempt to assist. He or she would hold onto Benjamin’s hand and, gently but firmly, guide it directly toward the slot, reposition it as necessary, and help him to insert it. The “teacher” would then smile somewhat expectantly at Ellen or me, as if awaiting a thank you -- and on occasion would frown slightly, as if considering us to be neglecting our parental duties.

  I soon realized that this incident was directly relevant to our assigned tasks in China: to investigate the ways of early childhood education (especially in the arts), and to throw light on Chinese attitudes toward creativity. And so before long I began to introduce the key-slot anecdote into my discussions with Chinese educators.

 

Two different ways to learn

  With a few exceptions my Chinese colleagues displayed the same attitude as the staff at the Jinling Hotel. Since adults know how to place the key in the key slot, which is the ultimate purpose of approaching the slot, and since the child is neither old enough nor clever enough to realize the desired action on his own, what possible gain is achieved by having him struggle? He may well get frustrated and angry -- certainly not a desirable outcome. Why not show him what to do? He will be happy, he will learn how to accomplish the task sooner, and then he can proceed to more complex activities, like opening the door or asking for the key -- both of which accomplishments can (and should) in due course be modeled for him as well.

  We listened to such explanations sympathetically and explained that, first of all, we did not much care whether Benjamin succeeded in inserting the key into the slot. He was having a good time and was exploring, two activities that did matter to us. But the critical point was that, in the process, we were trying to teach Benjamin that one can solve a problem effectively by oneself. Such self-reliance is a principal value of child rearing in middle-class America. So long as the child is shown exactly how to do something -- whether it be placing a key in a key slot, drawing a hen or making up for a misdeed -- he is less likely to figure out himself how to accomplish such a task. And, more generally, he is less likely to view life---as Americans do---as a series of situations in which one has to learn to think for oneself, to solve problems on one’s own and even to discover new problems for which creative solutions are wanted.

 

Teaching by holding his hand

  In retrospect, it became clear to me that this incident was indeed key -- and key in more than one sense. It pointed to important differences in the educational and artistic practices in our two countries.

  When our well-intentioned Chinese observers came to Benjamin’s rescue, they did not simply push his hand down clumsily or uncertainly, as I might have done. Instead, they guided him with extreme facility and gentleness in precisely the desired direction. I came to realize that these Chinese were not just molding and shaping Benjamin’s performance in any old manner: In the best Chinese tradition, they were ba zhe shou jiao – “teaching by holding his hand” -- so much so that he would happily come back for more.

  The idea that learning should take place by continual careful shaping and molding applies equally to the arts. Watching children at work in a classroom setting, we were astonished by their facility. Children as young as 5 or 6 were painting flowers, fish and animals with the skill and confidence of an adult; calligraphers 9 and 10 years old were producing works that could have been displayed in a museum. In a visit to the homes of two of the young artists, we learned from their parents that they worked on perfecting their craft for several hours a day.

 

Creativity first

In terms of attitudes to creativity there seems to be a reversal of priorities: young Westerners making their boldest departures first and then gradually mastering the tradition; and young Chinese being almost inseparable from the tradition, but, over time, possibly evolving to a point equally original.

  One way of summarizing the American position is to state that we value originality and independence more than the Chinese do. The contrast between our two cultures can also be seen in terms of the fears we both harbor. Chinese teachers are fearful that if skills are not acquired early, they may never be acquired; there is, on the other hand, no comparable hurry to promote creativity. American educators fear that unless creativity has been acquired early, it may never emerge; on the other hand, skills can be picked up later.

  However, I do not want to overstate my case. There is enormous creativity to be found in Chinese scientific, technological and artistic innovations past and present. And there is a danger of exaggerating creative breakthroughs in the West. When any innovation is examined closely, its reliance on previous achievements is all too apparent  (the “Standing on the shoulders of giants” phenomenon).

  But assuming that the contrast I have developed is valid, and that the fostering of skills and creativity are both worthwhile goals, the important question becomes this: Can we gather, from the Chinese and American extremes, a superior way to approach education, perhaps striking a better balance between the poles of creativity and basic skills?

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中国式的学习风格——霍华德·加德纳

         1987年春，我和妻子埃伦带着我们18个月的儿子本杰明在繁忙的中国东部城市南京住了一个月，同时考察中国幼儿园和小学的艺术教育情况。然而，我和埃伦获得的有关中美教育观念差异的最难忘的体验并非来自课堂，而是来自我们在南京期间寓居的金陵饭店的大堂。
        我们的房门钥匙系在一块标有房间号的大塑料板上。酒店鼓励客人外出时留下钥匙，可以交给服务员，也可以从一个槽口塞入钥匙箱。由于口子狭小，你得留神将钥匙放准位置才塞得进去。
       本杰明爱拿着钥匙走来走去，边走边用力摇晃着。他还喜欢试着把钥匙往槽口里塞。由于他还年幼，不太明白得把钥匙放准位置才成，因此总塞不进去。本杰明一点也不在意。他从钥匙声响中得到的乐趣大概跟他偶尔把钥匙成功地塞进槽口而获得的乐趣一样多。
我和埃伦都满不在乎，任由本杰明拿着钥匙在钥匙的槽口鼓捣。他的探索行为似乎并无任何害处。但我很快就观察到一个有趣的现象。饭店里任何一个中国工作人员若在近旁，都会走过来看着本杰明，见他初试失败，便都会试图帮忙。他们会轻轻握紧本杰明的手，直接将它引向钥匙的槽口，进行必要的重新定位，并帮他把钥匙插入槽口。然后那位“老师”会有所期待地对着我和埃伦微笑，似乎等着我们说声谢谢——偶尔他会微微皱眉，似乎觉得我俩没有尽到当父母的责任。
我很快意识到，这件小事与我们在中国要做的工作直接相关 ：考察儿童早期教育（尤其是艺术教育）的方式，揭示中国人对创造性活动的态度。因此，不久我就在与中国教育工作者讨论时谈起了钥匙槽口一事。
两种不同的学习方式
我的中国同行，除了少数几个人外，对此事的态度与金陵饭店工作人员一样。既然大人知道怎么把钥匙塞进槽口——这是处理槽口一事的最终目的，既然孩子还很年幼，还没有灵巧到可以独自完成要做的动作，让他自己瞎折腾会有什么好处呢？他很有可能会灰心丧气发脾气——这当然不是所希望的结果。为什么不教他怎么做呢？他会高兴，他还能早些学会做这件事，进而去学做更复杂的事，如开门，或索要钥匙——这两件事到时候同样可以 （也应该）示范给他看。
我俩颇为同情地听着这一番道理，解释道，首先，我们并不在意本杰明能不能把钥匙塞进钥匙的槽口。他玩得开心，而且在探索，这两点才是我们真正看重的。但关键在于，在这个过程中，我们试图让本杰明懂得，一个人是能够很好地自行解决问题的。这种自力更生的精神是美国中产阶级最重要的一条育儿观。如果我们向孩子演示该如何做某件事——把钥匙塞进钥匙的槽口也好，画只鸡或是弥补某种错误行为也好——那他就不太可能自行想方设法去完成这件事。从更广泛的意义上说，他就不太可能——如美国人那样——将人生视为一系列的情境，在这些情境中，一个人必须学会独立思考，学会独立解决问题，进而学会发现需要创造性地加以解决的新问题。
把着手教
回想起来，当时我就清楚地意识到，这件事正是体现了问题的关键之所在——而且不仅仅是一种意义上的关键之所在。这件事表明了我们两国在教育和艺术实践上的重要差异。
那些善意的中国旁观者前来帮助本杰明时，他们不是简单地像我可能会做的那样笨拙地或是犹犹豫豫地把他的手往下推。相反，他们极其熟练地、温和地把他引向所要到达的确切方向。我逐渐认识到，这些中国人不是简单地以一种陈旧的方式塑造、引导本杰明的行为：他们是在恪守中国传统，把着手教，教得本杰明自己会愉快地要求再来一次。
学习应通过不间断的精心塑造与引导而得以实现，这一观念同样适用于艺术。我们观看了孩子们在教室里学习艺术的情景，他们的娴熟技艺令我们惊讶。年仅5、6岁的孩子就带着成人的那种技巧与自信在画花、画鱼和动物；9岁、10岁的小书法家写出的作品满可以在博物馆展示。有一次去两位小艺术家的家里参观，我们从孩子的父母处得知，他们每天练习数小时以完善他们的技艺。
创造力第一？
从对创造力的态度来说，优先次序似乎是颠倒了：西方的年轻人先是大胆创新，然后逐渐深谙传统；而中国的年轻人则几乎离不开传统，但是，随着时间的推移，他们同样可能发展到具有创新的境界。
        美国人的立场可以概括起来这么说，我们比中国人更重视创新和自立。我们两种文化的差异也可以从我们各自所怀的忧虑中显示出来。中国老师担心，如果年轻人不及早掌握技艺，就有可能一辈子掌握不了；另一方面，他们并不同样地急于促进创造力的发展。美国教育工作者则担心，除非从一开始就发展创造力，不然创造力就有可能永不再现；而另一方面，技艺可于日后获得。
但我并不想夸大其辞。无论在过去还是在当今，中国在科学、技术和艺术革新方面都展示了巨大的创造力。而西方的创新突破则有被夸大的危险。如果仔细审视任何一项创新，其对以往成就的依赖则都显而易见（“站在巨人肩膀之上”的现象）。
然而，假定我这里所说的反差是成立的，而培养技艺与创造力两者都是值得追求的目标，那么重要的问题就在于：我们能否从中美两个极端中寻求一种更好的教育方式，它或许能在创造力与基本技能这两极之间获得某种较好的平衡？