IAN MORTIMER

History in Education

A couple of years ago, the Royal Historical Society joined in the debate about whether history should be a compulsory subject for school children (to age sixteen) in the UK. With that, it became incumbent upon all historians to consider the real benefits of historical education. Of course, we are all familiar with the uses of history - to understand national identity, and to develop a series of common cultural reference points (Alfred and the cakes, Harold's arrow in the eye, Nelson's last words, etc). For those who study history at 'A' level and beyond there is also the discipline of assimilating evidence, extracting the relevant data and developing a balanced, coherent argument - all useful skills to any employer. But these are not the only skills of use to employers. And those able to master them probably choose to study history to age sixteen anyway. The compulsory approach to history is thus a risky thing; many pupils will be disheartened simply by the realisation that they have no choice in the matter. Therefore, if historians are going to take this risk of forcing everyone to study history, they have to be very sure as to whether the benefits will outweigh the disadvanatges.

To my mind, the benefits of a historical education are to introduce the young to the hugely meaningful realisation that Mankind has existed in many cultures and many different circumstances - from extreme adversity to pampered luxury - for many thousands of years. It is to demonstrate how we as a race have struggled with hardship, famine, war, disease, and overcome disasters, and have at the same time developed culturally. All the dramatic adventure stories, all the romances, are part of history too - all the savage killings and all the patiently-borne illnesses. Quiet, cold nights in winter; dancing at a wedding in summer. The thrill of a sexual union. The delight of seeing a grandson's smile. In short, it is that extra dimension which allows us to see human life over time, and not just in the two-dimensional mirror of the present moment.

With that in mind, a compulsory history education is (in the language of 1066 and All That) 'a Good Thing'. However, in this form of a wide, multi-dimensional vision of humanity over time, history cannot be taught. It is too vast, too rich, too disparate. One can learn from it, and over the course of several decades one might acquire great wisdom from it: a real understanding of humanity. But one cannot teach it any more than one can teach the glories of the rainbow. It is something which one has to learn for oneself.

Herein lies the difficulty. How can one possible compel people to learn something for themselves? Only by making the opportunity to learn a universal one, open to all. If the real benefits of history cannot be taught, one must rather facilitate the learning process by encouraging an interest in the past. And that means allowing people to enjoy history. That puts a lot of emphasis on the syllabus, or the nature of what one teaches.

The reason why I am not in favour of a compulsory historical education to age sixteen lies in this tension between the need to create a desire to learn and the tendency to see education as a syllabus-dependent subject, governed by universally applied standards. The two do not go hand-in-hand; in fact, there is a deep conflict between the two. One can create a syllabus which is appealing to some but not all. One could, in theory, create an environment in which history is depicted as 'universally' desirable and enjoyable. But I cannot see how it is possible to create a syllabus which is universally stimulating, universally enjoyable, and relevant to young people's own lives.

I think this is probably a common standpoint, although not expressed in exactly this way before. The reason for expressing it differently is to illustrate that we have two options not one. Until now we have always assumed that the only way of reconciling this conflict is for history not to be a compulsory subject. We have never explored the alternative: abandoning the use of a syllabus altogether.

There are many different communities across the UK, ranging from inner-city areas with dozens of ethnic and socio-economic groups to regional and rural schools in which all the pupils are from one ethnic group, and occasionally from a relatively homogenous socio-economic band. Can one event - say, the Battle of Hastings - be made meaningful in a universal sense? On the face of it, the answer is no. What does a first or second generation Indian or Chinese person have to learn from the Norman Conquest? But looking at that question more deeply, one may remark that the Norman Conquest was an influx of a minority. The social repercussions of that influx were nevertheless hugely significant, in terms of language, culture and national identity. These themes relating to social development are similar to those which concern us today, and which particularly concern those who wish to see the influx of minorities as hiving enriching and rewarding consequences for British society. The same event, described in two different ways, has different meanings and implications for different constituencies. One could say the same for the Second World War: some could learn from the military angle, some from the employment and enhanced position of women, some from the social consequences (e.g. the moral repercussions of a society at war). One could say the same for the Black Death: a universal experience on one level, but a catalyst for socio-economic change on another. In theory, any event or series of events could be taught in a way which has meaning which is inspiring and relevant to young people in modern society.

Evidently the key lies in the way the subject is taught, and a sensitivity to the interests and receptiveness of the audience. One cannot teach the history of the Norman Consequence in one set way throughout the country and expect it to be equally meaningful to everyone. Some will want to study the military history, some the position of women and children in an invaded society, or social organisations, or the slaves of Anglo-Saxon England; some the assimilation of an alien minority, some the implications of the act of conquest itself. And others will be keen to understand what it says about Englishness. Practically the only feature in common to all these points of learning is that 'it happened'.

If that is the case with just one historical event, it is much more the case with wider and more recent cultural phenomena. For instance, the Scientific Revolution: should one teach it from a top-down, scientist-orientated position? Or from a bottom-up one, from the point of view of the man or woman in the street? Or should one centralise scientific knowledge itself - what we now think is correct, and how the revolution led to our modern knowledge? Another example is the Battle of Trafalgar. Many people calling for history to be a compulsory subject in schools will consider such events as key elements in the syllabus. But is Trafalgar one man's battle? Or a story of naval genius, or innovation? Is it the sailors' history of survival and courage? Or are they merely bit-part players, instruments of destruction with little free will? Is it the story of naval ships? Politics? War? Obviously it is all these things - but one cannot combine them all without alienating large sectors of the intended audience. Rather, the marriage of information and excitement - the will to learn - must be facilitated by a teacher, and a teacher who allows his or her students to discover what interests and enthralls them.

The above illustrates a balance in education which every teacher is aware of. It is a balance of the teacher's input and the that of those who write the syllabus. If one removes the syllabus, all the emphasis and responsibility for the student's learning process shifts on to the teacher. The negative of this is that the teacher might not want to bear such heavy responsibilities. The advantage is that the learning experience - including the history themes taught - can be geared to the interests and long-term benefit of the students.

The opposite of the no-syllabus side of this balance is the no-teacher side. Some teachers already feel this is the case: so much does the syllabus dominate the teaching process that the teacher hardly need be present - except to to mark scripts. A recent interview on Radio Four with Bernice McCabe, co-director of the Prince's Teaching Institute, identified elements of a resentment of syllabus-dominance in education today. So much emphasis is given to teaching the syllabus that we are 'risking the cultural impoverishment of a generation.' Students learn how to pass an exam, they do not learn about life in the past, or the meaning of past struggles against adversities. While it is universally recognised that the most important asset in the teaching process is 'the teacher's own specialised and expert knowledge of their subject,' this is often not allowed to flourish due to the constraints of the syllabus.

The general argument above - that in order to enhance the teaching of history one should reduce or abolish the syllabus - forces us to ask the following question. Will not the result be a form of history which is not cohesive and fails to act as a binding force in our society? In other words, will it not fail to do many of the things which people hope will be achieved by compulsory history education? The answer is that of course it will result in many different, disparate histories. But that is inevitable. The idea that one can have one syllabus and that everyone ought to study it in the same way is a form of cultural control - not an intellectual activity or pursuit but a socio-political gambit intended to support the views of those who set the syllabus. This has nothing to do with education. It is not an intellectual position, even. Postmodernism taught us that history is a variety of standpoints and inferences of meanings, and historical explanations can be doubted by members of the public as well as professionals. Almost everything is open to dispute. Thus we already have a whole series of historical realities. Allowing students to learn in this way will simply drop the pretence that there is any one 'correct' history of Britain, or any unquestionable history of anything else.

This brings us to the crux of the matter. One can try to impose a single syllabus on all young people and promote its virtues in the name of Britishness, or Englishness, but the more students are forced into this form of historical education the more they will reject it, and if it is made compulsory they will rebel, thus making its compulsory status counter-productive. So the way to make compulsory history education a positive move is to abandon any notion that a historical education is necessarily linked to ideas of Britishness or any syllabus, or even any essential body of knowledge. In short, if you want historical education to be both universal and meaningful, you have no option but to abandon the syllabus.

There is an obvious objection to this suggestion of a teacher-led learning process without a syllabus: how one should set about examining it? To this I would like to suggest a radical solution; abandon the idea of an exam script. The question: 'is war ever justifiable?' can be answered with reference to Celtic-Roman Britain, Saxon-Viking England, Saxon-Norman England, the Armada, and the Second World and many other times and periods individually or collectively. Likewise the question 'Is Britain's island character an advantage or a disadvantage?' The benefits of these questions are that students can put forward arguments which are relevant and thus meaningful to them personally. They do not need a syllabus.

From this it is just a short step to see that some questions will favour certain approaches to the past more than others. 'Has there ever been a benign dictator?' is a question which is difficult to answer without a political slant. So why not do away with the pre-set question altogether? Let the student set his or hew own questions. For some it will be a traditional narrative, a question of explanation, such as 'was Pitt the Pilot who weathered the storm?' Others will demonstrate a greater ambition, setting themselves more meaningful questions. Some will be truly ambitious, no doubt. Whether answered in a three-hour exam or in a 10,000-word assessed essay, ambition as well as learning and argument can be assessed.

This is my view on the compulsory historical education debate. A syllabus-led system does not reveal the aspects of the past which have the most meaning to the majority of students, and making a history syllabus compulsory will equate to an attempt at cultural control and a widespread rejection of the discipline. It will alienate and frustrate young people - and that should not be the purpose of education any more than cultural control. A syllabus-free form of learning, however, would empower teachers, encourage students to find meaning in the human past, and allow them the chance to move towards that free discussion of the historical meaning of Mankind's experience, which is the true benefit of our better understanding of our relationship with the past. If we could foster that in our schools, I would be in favour.

Ian Mortimer
10 July 2008