What’s the difference between humans and animals?

In the field of cognition, the march towards continuity between human and animal has been inexorable — one misconduct case won’t make a difference. True, humanity never runs out of claims of what sets it apart, but it is a rare uniqueness claim that holds up for over a decade. This is why we don’t hear anymore that only humans make tools, imitate, think ahead, have culture, are self-aware, or adopt another’s point of view. – Frans De Waal (2010).

My students studied the question, what is life, last cycle, and through their readings and Socratic dialogue I’ve been trying to approach the question of what is sentience and what distinguishes humanity from other organisms (or robots for that matter).

We’ve found that the lines between us and them are very hard to draw.

Pushing the discussion into questions of morality, primatologist Frans De Waal has a wonderful post on where it comes from, and if there is any clear distinction between humans and other animals. He argues that morality is innate, a product of evolution, and there aren’t clear distinctions.

The full article is a worthy read, with good writing and well constructed arguments. It’s a bit too long for a Socratic Dialogue but might be of interest to the more advanced student, particularly those going through religious, coming-of-age, rites of passage, like preparations for confirmations and Bar Mitzvahs. While De Waal’s evolutionary reasoning has been used to argue against religion, he takes a much more subtle approach:

Our societies are steeped in it: everything we have accomplished over the centuries, even science, developed either hand in hand with or in opposition to religion, but never separately. It is impossible to know what morality would look like without religion. It would require a visit to a human culture that is not now and never was religious. That such cultures do not exist should give us pause. – Frans De Waal (2010).

Memories in the fire

1

I decided that we would read our memoirs, the ones my students had been working on for the last five weeks, on our immersion trip down to Mississippi. The idea of sitting around the fire, sharing memories was just too enticing to pass up.

I was a little surprised that no one objected, or even hesitated, when I made the suggestion the week before. We’d just come in from soccer and I was trying to figure out how we’d fit the projects, the tests and the presentations into the time we had left. There was a precedent. They’d read their first stories, the ones from the orientation cycle, on our first immersion and that had worked out well because it had given us an entire afternoon to have a great discussion. They seem actually to look forward to, what’s come to be called, “Teatime with Doctor.”

“What if,” I asked, a little quietly to one of the 8th graders, who’d been on the challenge course immersion the year before and happened to be walking by, “you read your memoirs around the campfire on immersion?”

“Yes.” Declarative and succinct. I raised an eyebrow, but he just continued on his way. I was a little surprised he did not have more to say. I’m always surprised when my students don’t have more to say. My students can be quite loquacious given any opportunity, and this one in particular tended to have strong opinions that he was usually more that willing to share.

The discussion with the rest of the class took barely longer. The larger the group, the more likely you are to have people who need to think out loud, but there were unanimous thumbs up in less than two minutes.

I think that there’s some primal need that gets stirred up by even the thought of sitting around a fire and sharing stories. Of course this plan of action also fulfilled that other fundamental need of the adolescent, the need to procrastinate.

II

We get to Camp H., have lunch, and an afternoon of community building games. Lamplighter’s been working with the camp leader here for years and Ms. A’s impressed by how well this group works together. No surreptitious sabotage, no subtle denigration, no stubborn unwillingness to participate.

We talk about the group, she and I, as we walk back to the cabin, red gravel crunching under our feet, oak leaves turning color overhead, and myself getting slightly out of breath on the last climb. I’m perhaps a little more impressed than she is because I can see the conflict in those by now familiar faces; glimpses of of baser instincts being overruled by the prefrontal cortex. It is a sight that is ambrosia to the middle school teacher.

I get back to our cabin and I find V., one of the two students I’d promised they could get the campfire going.

“Are you guys getting the fire started?” I ask.

“We’re just going to play football for a little while, then start on the fire,” he replies. V’s been our main supervisor for Student Run Business this cycle and it shows. He’s been breaking out his calm, clear, confident, supervisor voice on the challenges all afternoon.

“We have half an hour until dinner and it will probably be dark afterward,” I say.

He just nods, seething competence.

It’s 5:45 and they’re still playing football. I look at my watch more and more frequently. I’m not going to remind them of what they have to do. We’re Montessori after all.

Two of the girls start working on the fire pit. Aha, I think to myself, this is going to get interesting. I saunter outside and my path nonchalantly takes me down to the fire pit. I suggest more kindling, they never get enough kindling. The boys realize other people are working on “their” fire.

Dissension in the ranks. Conflict. I tell them they should work together. Harsh words are spoken. A covenant broken. The poignant cry of impassioned idealism, “injustice”. Things fall apart; the center does not hold; Bethlehem is apparently somewhere on the other side of the playing field.

Ten minutes later it’s time to go to dinner, but first it’s time to rebuild, time to remind them of the covenant they came up with that very afternoon, time to have a short, quiet talk about the use of language.

Over dinner the laughter starts up again. I’m at the other table with Ms. A and her family, all of whom work at the camp in some degree or the other. After the last fifteen minutes I’m extra impressed by the calmness of her teenagers.

When we get back to the fire pit the laughter is perhaps a bit too loud, but the group seems back together again. The fire is started without recrimination (eventually because they did not have enough kindling).

We sit around the fire, reading stories, finding issues, being helpful writing partners, and learning how important it is to be critical, brutal even, to our own work. There are some really good writers in the group, and there’s nothing better than learning from your peers.

“Can we put our memoirs in the fire when we’re done?”

“Sure,” I say. Sharing our writing is supposed to be a celebration. Something strikes me as just about right about liberating these memories in flame, letting them take on a new, ethereal life. Burning pages in dancing flame, marking the putting away of cherished, childhood things; an adolescent rite of passage.

As the last few stragglers work on putting out the fire I sit there, on a cool fall night, thinking about cycles and the seasons. I wish I was on the beach, watching the tide come in, small waves advancing and retreating, bigger waves pushing them farther from time to time, every time a little closer to where they need to be.

Gardening versus frozen food? A little controvercy

Adam Ozimek stirred some controversy last month when he suggested that, whatever the educational merits, if the objective is to get inner-city kids to eat better, then we should be teaching them how to cook delicious meals using, cheaper and almost as nutritious, frozen vegetables, and not get into the slow-food, organic, locavore ethic of the Berkley School Lunch Initiative

Ozimek may have a point from a very strict utilitarian position, but he misses the big picture so badly that even if his fundamental argument was not wrong, which I think it probably is, it would be moot anyway.

First off, leaving aside the other educational merits of the program seems to miss the point. Humans, adolescents, education, these are all complex systems that interact in surprising ways. Students’ motivation to cook something they grew, for themselves, in the garden, is orders of magnitude different from the interest in cooking something out of the freezer section. And they miss everything they learn from gardening itself.

Using organic gardening methods and purchasing food, to the best of their ability, from local sources brings everyone’s attention to important environmental issues that situates students in the global ecosystem, which is something I know I spend a lot of time trying to accomplish. We’re not trying to make students aware of environmental issues because of some insidious “progressive” political agenda. The issues are there irregardless of the differing political approaches to dealing with them.

I also have a problem with the argument that frozen vegetables are the best way to deal with nutritional issues. From an immediate perspective Ozimek is probably right, and I’d support making sure frozen veges are an important part of the program. But the slightly bigger, slightly longer term, picture is that the program successfully increases awareness of healthy nutritional options. As long as student are also aware that frozen vegetables can also be a healthy substitute then students will use what’s within their means.

As an aside, although gardens are difficult or sometimes impossible in urban environments, their benefits are numerous, and there are wonderful innovations, like Global Buckets that reduce their intractability. A couple of Montessori kids designed Global Buckets as a means of impoverished communities to get fresh vegetables. Now that the a new set of kids are inspired by gardens in the school and this healthier food program, what will they come up with?

Science of Cooking at the Exploratorium.

The San Francisco Exploratorium has a wonderful website on the science of cooking.

They have a very nice bread science page that explains what happens with the yeast and gluten as you mix, kneed and bake bread. There is a set of recipes, including sourdough and Ethiopian Injera, that my students might want to try. They even have a great links page to pretty much everything you might want to know about the science of bread and how to manipulate it.

pointing2_sml — Checking eggs for cracks. (© The Exploratorium, www.exploratorium.edu)

I was also very interested in their pages on eggs, with the virtual tour of an organic egg farm, science of cooking, beating and mixing eggs, and a wonderful set of activities including removing the eggshell while keeping the membrane intact and demonstrating osmosis through the egg membrane.

And I haven’t even gotten into the pickles, meat and seasoning sections yet.

Salt on vegetables= Osmosis

salted-squash — Water droplets extracted from slices of squash by a sprinkling of salt.

This year we have a lot of food in the curriculum. My objective is to make sure everything is edible and add as much more as I can.

Sprinkling salt on slices of squash creates the concentration gradient necessary for osmosis to suck the liquid out of the squash cells, creating little water droplets.

Now we batter them and fry them up to make tempura.

Egeria_densa-saltwater — The effects of placing freshwater plant cells (Egeria densa) in salt water solution.

For comparison, the image adjacent shows what happens to the cells of a plant when the water leaves (osmosis under the microscope).