The professionalisation of teaching has gone hand in hand, historically, with the promotion of progressive ideas. One of the first campaigners was the American Horace Mann in the nineteenth century, and he succeeded in securing better pay and conditions for teachers, but at the expense of the simplicity of teaching. He introduced pedagogical notions which were beyond the ken of ordinary folk, thus developing a mystical aura around the teaching profession which would justify increased salaries and more job security for public educators, as well as the taxes which would pay for them.
This process went into overdrive in the twentieth century, as the professors of Columbia Teachers College carved out intellectual ground based on the exaltation of pedagogy in ever new and different forms, at the expense of subject knowledge. The politics of teacher professionalisation are thus deeply troubling from their inception. These early professors of education knew that they had to create their own territory, otherwise they would be seen as simply adjuncts to the subject-based university departments already in existence. This they did by inventing all kinds of new and complicated methods of teaching in which they could claim expertise, and derogating the transmission of ‘mere facts’.
In this view, teachers entering the profession are entering a sort of gnostic priesthood, and the sacred mysteries into which they are initiated are all of the mumbo-jumbo that comes under the title of pedagogy. While this intellectual trickery persists, we will not make much progress in placing knowledge at the centre of the curriculum and at the centre of our profession.
As a traditional teacher, I want to reclaim the essential simplicity of education as what G K Chesterton called ‘truth in the state of transmission’. But this does not mean the destruction of teaching as a profession. It means creating a new professional paradigm, which is primarily based around subject rather than pedagogical knowledge. It means teachers who spend as much time as they can developing their knowledge of the subjects they teach, rather than filling spreadsheets with pointless data or writing endless comments in five different colour pens.
It can be rather daunting to start thinking of yourself as a subject expert, rather than a pedagogical expert. But I implore my professional colleagues to see the beauty of this: wouldn’t you rather spend your time learning more and more about really interesting stuff, so that you could explain it better to your pupils? Has the model of pedagogical expertise really brought you, or your pupils, any joy?