Abstract

At my university we never stop reforming the curriculum, and we’re now discussing the plurality of ways in which our students fulfill our requirement of a full year of “freshman humanities.” Some of us feel that we now provide too many ways: neither students nor faculty members can make a good defense of a requirement—in itself an expression of power, if you will—that leads to scant sharing of readings or subject matters for the students, and to no goals or methods clearly shared by increasingly diverse faculty members. As we attack and defend this kind of flabby pluralism, we naturally find ourselves discussing other kinds of pluralism, and we begin to discover the true depth of a topic that may at first seem “merely practical.” There may be some nouns that can be joined to the phrase “in the classroom” without taking on a total theory of education: Shakespeare in the classroom; Romanticism in the classroom; perhaps even irony in the classroom. But when we try to discuss “pluralism in the classroom,” we throw into the discussion every belief we may have about what education should be and how it should be conducted. To ask whether or in what sense we should be pluralists in the classroom is obviously to ask, in the most fundamental way possible, “What should a teacher teach? What should we hope that every student would learn, regardless of our commitment to this or that doctrine of the moment?”Most teachers, even in a time like ours when professed relativists pluralists abound, answer that question, at least implicitly, like this: One should try very hard to teach the truth—not a “dogma,” of course, perhaps not even a set of propositions, but at least some single right away of doing things. Indeed in some moods any honest teacher might confess to feeling lucky if students learn even one truth or one mode of working. “They’ll meet plenty of plurality just in the nature of their lives.” “They’ll meet plenty of other teachers, most of them with absolutely mistaken views, and my chief task is to set them straight so that when they encounter nonsense they’ll know how to deal with it.” Still, when you press people who talk that way they of course claim that they teach no dogmas, only an appropriately open-minded way of dealing with error in the world. They may even call themselves pluralists or relativists. But it takes no great analytical skill to detect the monisms behind their claims. When pushed, they believe that they hold=--or might someday find—some one way of working, some supremely powerful “killer mode” that can dispose of all other modes with decisive proofs. They work finally in one way only, pursuing, finally, one kind of truth. Wayne C. Booth is George M. Pullman Distinguished Service Professor of English and of Ideas and Methods at the university of Chicago. His previous works on pluralism include Critical Understanding: The Powers and Limits of Pluralism and “Pluralism and Its Rivals” in Now Don’t Try to Reason with Me . He is now completing a book on ethical criticism