The inaugural issue of the Journal of Character Education invited some of North America’s best-known character educators to speculate on the optimal direction for character education in the 21st century. To the extent that the direction schools take should devolve from what they hope to achieve, the invitation asked these educators to reflect on the purpose of character education. Their inaugural contributions showed little consensus. Based on the lack of this consensus and an informal survey of school administrators, a new look at purpose is encouraged, and a new question to discern purpose is proposed.
When the Founding Fathers were setting goals for the new United States of America, silversmith patriot Paul Revere was filling, with his precious metal, gaps left where compatriots’ teeth had been extracted. By his day, dentistry had evolved from the point where the local barber or blacksmith’s primary goal had been the mere cessation of a client’s pain. It was an evolution in favor of greater cosmetics.
The dental profession’s purpose has of course continued to evolve. Few citizens of Revere’s nation would, today, select a dentist who saw the primary purpose of his or her craft as stopping pain, or even as filling a gap with something slightly cosmetic and partly functional. Orthodontics, fluoride, and teeth whitening suggest that alleviating pain and basic repairs have pushed the profession even further, toward rendering teeth more functional and beautiful than the original equipment.
Goals and purposes do change, over time and under circumstances. And purpose influences practice. Ask the dentist, or the manuscript restorer, or even the chief of police.
It is striking how few educators in general —not just character educators—are ready to articulate the purpose of their profession without first taking time to reflect. Try a sampling of five educator colleagues. The silence seems more for concocting than for remembering, and what educators offer, after hesitation, is far from a monolithic professional sense of purpose. The Center for Spiritual and Ethical Education recently asked a hundred private independent school administrators from across the United States to answer, in one sentence, the question “In your opinion, what is the purpose of education?” The replies varied so widely—life-long learning, developing one’s very best self, passion for learning, independent thinking and decision making, preparation for college and the job market, informed citizenship, impacting the world in a positive way, and so forth—that if they constitute a bell curve at all it is a curve so platykurtic that it more resembles a distant range of low mountains than a bell. Would public school administrators in K–12 schools draw a hump of greater consensus?
The variety in answers just described might appear to be the case for the field of character education also, based on a reading of the Journal of Character Education’s (JCE) inaugural issue and the statements of national organizations. The glimpses into purpose—sometimes for education in general, sometimes more specifically for the character part of education— are less than congruent. The JCE contributors are unanimous in the nation’s need for serious, intentional initiatives—for character education, or moral development (Power, 2014, p. 31) or school climate reform (Cohen, 2014, p. 45), or socioemotional and character development initiatives (Elias, 2014, p. 38)—but what character education is to accomplish is less than clear. Does it matter? It probably does, for at least two reasons, both of which influence implementation and effectiveness.
Marketing Character Education
The first reason concerns marketing. Convincing a school principal or superintendent at the local level, or legislatures or state departments of education on a much larger scale, is an issue of persuasion. If 10 character educators have six answers to the question “why should we do this,” should one be surprised when buyers are slow to respond? Let us look at a variety of aims, stated or suggested.
Halting the Decline of Society
In the views of Murray and Lickona in the inaugural issue, character education is needed in large part because it is a unique line of defense—what Lickona calls “our best hope” (2014, p. 29)—to stanch the loss of personal morality and civility recent decades have increasingly seen. Murray claims that “a significant and growing number of Americans are losing the virtues required to be functioning members of a free society” (2014, p. 6) and notes that those in the best position to remedy the situation, “the people who run the country ... have become so isolated that they are often oblivious to the nature of the problems that exist” (p. 6). Lickona (2014) cites extensive research that corroborates Murray’s views, with a special focus on the decline of commitment to marriage and family life and on an increase in sexual activity outside marriage; he comments that “our country’s social and moral problems have been many years in the making and will not easily be reversed” (p. 29). Murray calls for a civic Great Awakening (pp. 9–10), Lickona for a number of measures that “will help young people lead productive, ethical, fulfilling lives” (p. 29).
The Academic Bottom Line
Character education proponents frequently note that well-implemented character education programs foster stronger academics, basing their arguments on research by Benninga, Berkowitz, Kuehn, and Smith (2003), Berkowitz and Bier (2005), and others. Though few character educators would present academic success as the opening gambit for their arguments to integrate character programs into schools, decreased funding for education in general has resulted in the volume being dialed up for the academics/character connection. By way of example, a Character Counts e-mail advertisement (April 19, 2014) featured the headline—the largest print in the ad—“Improve school climate and see student achievement soar.” Similarly, the tagline that heads the home page at casel.org brings the viewer’s attention first to “Success in school,” and then to “Skills for life” (May 10, 2014). Davidson’s work at the Institute for Excellence and Ethics on the academics/character overlap is especially sensitive to education’s financial difficulties. His contribution to the recent issue of JCE (2014) highlights not just the connection between character and academics, but the need for the connection: “There is not time or money for character education unless it’s connected to the bottom line, but the connections are there; we must make the most of them” (p. 82). This is not to suggest that academics is the prime “character” concern of Davidson, Character Counts, or CASEL, but the marketing language we use is what the potential consumer hears. It is what guides his or her interpretation of both the reason and the goal of interventions.
Responsible Citizenship in a Democracy
Cohen (2014) takes a more philosophical approach, falling back on the aims and aspirations of “our ‘Founding Fathers’” (p. 43). He reports his view of “the purpose of K–12 education [and presumably character education] to promote skills, knowledge, and dispositions that provide the foundation for our being able to love, to work, and to participate in a democracy” (p. 43). Participation in democratic processes and responsible citizenship are frequently linked to character education’s goals, as can be seen, for example, in the mission of the Center for Character and Citizenship at the University of Missouri-St. Louis, “to foster the development of character, democratic citizenship and civil society” (www.characterandcitizenship.org). Elias, similarly, refers to “the goal of preparing students for their roles as effective citizens of their schools, families, workplaces, and civic contexts” (2014, p. 40). If it is not in the foreground for other articles in this issue, it is often suggested in passing (e.g., Lickona, p. 24; Murray, p. 1).
Though the authors of JCE’s inaugural issue, and others mentioned here, vary considerably in their descriptions of goals or purpose, responsible democratic citizenship is one of the most frequently cited. Power (2014) straddles both the “democracy camp” and another in his remarks. Preferring the term moral development to character education “because [the latter] includes nonmoral, achievement related virtues” (p. 31), and thus rejecting the academic connection, he speaks to “nurturing individual moral development within just communities characterized by shared norms of social responsibility and democratic participation” (p. 33). Power nevertheless adds a focus that suggests a more individual child-centeredness, saying “all children deserve a character education that appeals to their dignity and offers them a sense of purpose and responsibility” (p. 36) within the context of “educating for democracy” (p. 34).
Bohlin (2014) straddles similar camps, with her aim at civic responsibility and a focus on the individual development of each student. She writes of a “schooling of desire ... that inspires [students] to want to choose well among competing goods, an education that inspires them to use their freedom responsibly” (p. 83). Character education concerns both helping young people develop a strong moral compass and nurturing their “well-being and thriving” (p. 54). Bohlin’s bottom line— the words with which her argument closes—is an education that aims at a combination of “personal flourishing and civil society” (p. 59).
The contributors to the inaugural issue of JCE had been asked to “think and speculate on the optimal direction for character education in the 21st century” (J. Benninga, personal communication, March 18, 2014), an invitation which opened the door for a new look at purpose, in a world with a new set of circumstances. Their views were not synoptic, though it is fair to assume that they are of common accord with goals like arresting the decline of certain social trends, improving academics, personal flourishing, or even preparation for college. And all would seem to agree—as would most of the leading character educators in the Western World including those whose national origins would not allow them to realize the “American Dream”— with the wish for “K–12 schooling to be places and processes where our children learn to become responsible citizens” (Cohen, 2014, citing Rose & Gallup, 2000). But other than Cohen, none of the contributors focusing on citizenship offered a rationale for why, among other possible goals, citizenship should take precedence. Is such a purpose perhaps an unexamined assumption, a remnant from times past? The assumption may even be erroneous, depending on who is asked—perhaps even depending on how the question is asked. Ultimately, who gets to decide? Do the voices of 18th century males, of character educators or Gallup pollsters, carry more weight than those of others, like parents, for example?
Cohen (2014) bolsters his support for an “American public education [that] would enable citizens to partake in and further our democracy” with the claim that “the vast majority of parents and educators want K–12 schooling to be places and processes where our children learn to be responsible citizens” (p. 43, citing Rose & Gallup, 2000). The “vast majority” of parents that Cohen refers to (there is no indication that Rose and Gallup’s sampling included educators) did indeed tell survey administrators they thought responsible citizenship was important. But they assented to this importance only in the context of a closed set of late 18th century choices. The interviewers had presented parent respondents with a list of “seven reasons why the early leaders of the United States created publicly funded schools. This poll sought to determine whether the public believes the purposes are still seen as important” (Rose & Gallup, 2000). The fact that “To prepare people to become responsible citizens” was rated highest of the seven historical reasons indicates that respondents, in general, thought it was important, and that it was of greater importance than the other six, but not necessarily that it was the most important reason, at the dawn of the 21st century, for the existence of schools. “Responsible citizenship” had a mean importance of 9 (on a scale of 1 to 10) in the survey. The response “To help people become economically sufficient” came in a near second, with a mean score of 8.6.
These scores do not contradict Cohen’s statement regarding parents wanting their children to develop responsible citizenship, but the way Rose and Gallup phrased the question may have distorted what parents want education most to focus on, and their report of survey results may have confused some readers. Case in point: in another question, the same parent respondents, in the same survey, were asked “Which is more important for the schools—to prepare students for college or work, or to prepare students for effective citizenship?” With this prompt, the “vast majority” of public school parents diminished to a minority of 33%favoring citizenship, while nearly twice that number (61%) chose “preparation for college or work” as more important (Rose & Gallup, 2000). Even here, it might be observed, respondents were presented with a forced choice between two items. It may be that, like Revere’s dental work, the democratic civic skills and attitudes of such importance to the Founding Fathers—though as goals they are fine, and important, and arouse little dissent—rest on an unsubstantiated assumption that they are of greater importance than other interests generated by the ensuing centuries. If parents at the dawn of the 21st century have a voice in deciding education’s purpose, their views may deviate from those of a number of character educators, or Gallup pollsters.
New Question for a New Century
The second reason why it matters that character educators have clarity on goals, besides marketing, is the issue of backwards design (Wiggins & McTighe, 2005). If educators are unclear about what the purpose of their profession is—or even if they feel clear, but they are not in agreement—ultimately, where are they headed, and what are their chances of getting there? A consensus view of the ultimate goal seems not just beneficial, but necessary.
That being said, the writer of these words has become convinced that the wording of “What is the purpose of education?”—and perhaps even the subquestion regarding the purpose of character education—needs to be left behind, precisely because of its lack of utility. It just is not helpful in identifying a commonly desired set of goals. As we have seen, the purpose question leads to a bumpy pattern of responses rather than a bell curve of consensus.
As a way around the purpose question, two “second questions,” also looking for one-sentence responses, were added to the administrator survey mentioned earlier. Half of the respondents received the question “If your school is successful, what do you hope a typical talented graduate will be like 20 years after graduation?” The pattern of answers as a whole was not more consistent than those to the question about the purpose of education. A little over a third (37%) of respondents offered answers containing a moral virtue (compassionate, ethical, friendly, etc.), 13% percent addressed citizenship, 10% addressed career performance or success, and so forth, in diminishing numbers.
The other half of these administrators were presented with a question that differed from the first half’s by only one word, as like was replaced by doing: “If your school is successful, what do you hope a typical talented graduate will be doing 20 years after graduation?” Thus, instead of a description, respondents were cued to think in terms of action. To this question, fewer than 1 respondent in 10 used the language of citizenship or democracy, and an even smaller number (of these largely “college preparatory” administrators) mentioned educational achievements or work.
What these “doing” answers did focus on was quality of life for those around the graduates.Sixty-nine percent of the answers went beyond a simple focus on living in community, focusing rather on their hope that graduates would be making the lives of others better. They used phrases like “making a positive impact on the world,” “doing lifelong service in his/her community,” “makes their planet a more peaceful, charitable environment.” Not included in this 69% tally were responses like “contributes to society” and “giving back to the community,” because “contribution,” in contrast to improvement, could be interpreted as doing no more than one’s fair share, or replacing what one has taken. “Serving others” was counted in the tally, however, because service implies supererogatory action, a free choice to do more than one’s share in regard to others. In this conception, over two thirds of respondents wanted their graduates to be stepping above and beyond the “citizenship” of the Forefathers—doing more than just their duty—into a more proactive, positive realm.
This “doing” question generated a large number of responses in a second category, also. Forty-two percent of the respondents focused on the language of finding one’s deepest or most meaningful self and “living into it”: they focused on thriving, on following passions, on discerning purpose and working to fulfill it, or a life of personal fulfillment. Responses suggesting only engaging in productive activities or work, or having success in life (in contrast to living a fulfilling life)— where productivity or success could be interpreted in a purely materialistic sense—were not counted among the 42% of thriving responses. These thriving respondents described graduates as “pursuing passions and dreams,” finding not just work, but “meaningful work,” “flourishing personally,” and doing “work they love.”
A total of 81% of respondents answered the “doing” question with one or the other of these two response categories, and over a third (38%) of these responded with both the improving society response and the flourishing response. Such responses, for example, said things like “Pursuing her passions and dreams and helping contribute to the creation of a more equitable world—bending the arch of history toward justice,” or “I hope our students are involved in a field which taps their passions and that are having [sic] a positive impact on the world around them.”
This sample of educational administrators was neither large (of the hundred plus asked, only 59 replies were received) nor representative of the general population (they all represented private schools), but it has been repeated with five other groups of educators (over 500 respondents in total) since the administrator sampling. In all cases, the greatest percentage of answers, and the second greatest, have remained the same: improving the well-being of others, and tapping individual meaning, purpose, or passions. Answers to “What is the purpose of education” have led to a mishmash of replies, but the pattern of responses when asked to envision the best possible future for their students resulted in much more consensus. The latter pattern even suggests that Benninga’s (personal communication, March 18, 2013) invitation to look for the “optimal direction for character education in the 21st century” might deserve further investigation. Is the optimal direction of character education not, after all, what we hope students will be doing in 20 years?
One factor has been left out of the equation. What about the end user, the student? Both students and their teachers play roles of paramount importance if character education is to meet whatever goals are set—the latter, if initiatives are to be implemented, and the former if the initiatives are to “take.” It might even be said that unless buy-in (marketing) is successful with both these groups, such that it leads to good implementation, character education’s success is doomed.
Bohlin (2014) opened her contribution with a scene from the BBC film An Education, specifically with the words of student Jenny Mellor: “It’s not enough to educate us anymore, Mrs. Walters. You’ve got to tell us why you’re doing it” (p. 53). The context of Jenny’s remarks suggests she needed more than just an explanation, though; she needed personal meaning in her education, she needed to know “the point of it all” (p. 53, Bohlin’s italics). When Lickona (2014) laments statistics that 54% of young adults today “would be happier if they could buy more things,” that 69% have “either no knowledge of or no interest in politics or public affairs,” and that “most interviewees” were characterized by “nearly total submersion of self into [social media] networks” (p. 25), the indication is that young people want not just the point, but they want the point for them—what’s in it for me? The minority of young people who do care about public affairs and whose happiness does not depend on consumerism probably are not those who most need character education’s benefits. If these benefits are to be “bought” by the more self-centered, the more pleasure-focused young people who need the benefits most, then character education’s marketers might pay heed. What’s in it for the kids? It’s not a question the Founding Fathers would have asked, but times have changed. The Rose and Gallup survey question might thus be conceived as follows:
Which of the following purposes of education has the best chance of being accepted by those students who need it most:
(a) an education to halt the decline in your society?
(b) an education to help your academic achievement soar?
(c) an education to help you become a responsible citizen of democratic society?
(d) an education to help you discover the kind of passion, meaning and purpose to help you thrive?
It’s complicated, but Paul Revere’s silver teeth are gone. The response to Benninga’s invitation probably lies in a consensus view from students, parents, educators, and the experts. But without a head, heart, and hand consensus regarding the goal—a common view of purpose, a desire to work toward that specific purpose, and the appropriate interventions to reach the goals set by that purpose, the road may continue to be bumpy.
