2020-21 Perspectives

Perspectives 2020-2021

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WHILE THE TRADITIONAL IMAGE OF HARKNESS TEACHING MAY INVOKE AN OVAL TABLE AND A DOZEN CHAIRS, WE FIND THAT IT EQUALLY DWELLS ON A DRAWING BENCH, BEHIND AN EASEL, AND AT THE DESIGN SCREEN IN A COMPUTER LAB.” – BRIAN DANIELL

MATTHEW R. CAMPBELL

THE ROBERT S. AND CHRISTINA SEIX DOW DISTINGUISHED TEACHING CHAIR IN HARKNESS LEARNING

The innovative theatre educator, actor, and director Viola Spolin, widely known for her anthology of effective practices for the classroom, aimed to have all her students grounded the present. I often start out classes with an exercise of hers to engage the students in listening, discussion, and collaboration. One listening activity, known as “sending hearing out,” asks participants to sit still, close their eyes, and let the sounds of the immediate environment be heard. As the students grow accustomed to what they are hearing, they are tasked to increase their range of hearing another ten or so feet, and then another, and then another. This building of concentric rings of hearing quickly turns into active listening as the students try to identify more and more of what they hear. When we resume at the Harkness table, the students are abuzz with what they heard, what they

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Sending hearing oUT

thought they heard, and when their hearing switched into active listening as we advanced through each expanding ring.

Effective listening is at the core of Harkness learning, and Lawrentians are challenged daily to listen deeply. They give themselves permission to be silent, to listen to their inner voice, to better listen to others’ voices, and to let their own voices be heard. As I stepped into the role of Harkness Chair this year, I challenged myself to send my own hearing out with an ear toward the different shapes that Harkness takes. At Lawrenceville, Harkness learning happens in many circles on campus, and the fruits of dialogical learning is heard in team sports, service learning, travel and outdoor programs, the arts, and in student-driven initiatives as much as it is in our classrooms around Harkness tables. The shapes that Harkness learning takes on in the extensions beyond the academic work in the classroom are just as deeply rooted. As our School Mission states, “Through House and Harkness, Lawrenceville challenges a diverse community of promising young people to lead lives of learning, integrity, and high purpose.” Certainly the practice of Harkness is fully integrated across all areas of student engagement.

This year’s edition of Perspectives offers an important look into the many areas where Harkness teaching and learning thrives, both inside and outside of the classroom. Lives of learning, integrity, and high purpose are shaped in the places students engage, and particularly where Harkness learning is experienced. My colleagues share their thoughts, part pedagogical and part anecdotal, on what shapes Harkness takes in their work, and we listen in to what Harkness means to Lawrentians, both current and alumnae. It is the listening that grounds us in the present.

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disruptive inquiry

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Disruptive inquiry is a learning theory that focuses on students’ innovation in the classroom (Ellerton).

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ENITHIE HUNTER ENGLISH TEACHER

Harkness pedagogy provides a framework in which disruptive practices in an English class encourages students to question each other, to question the text and what it represents, and to question why it’s relevant to themselves and others.

In many ways, I’ve been using versions of Harkness my entire career. As a new teacher, I sensed that there was something

inherently wrong with the industrial model of schooling (Markham) whereby students are subjected to classroom rules designed to enforce compliance and adherence to a list of standards rather than peer-driven and crowd-sourced collaboration. I decided from day one that I wanted my classroom to be a place where students became more skillful at creating knowledge rather than absorbing it without the opportunity to engage in exploration and discourse. As such, my classroom was often referred to as “the loud one.” Students chattered in pairs and small groups; they lead discussions, participated in poetry recitations and writing competitions; and their work adorned the walls both inside and outside of our classroom. While I was responsible for preparing students to take a battery of state

mandated tests both mid-year and at the end of the term, I did not teach-to-the-test. Rather, I adopted a disruptive approach to facilitating the learning process.

I had never heard of Edward Harkness but I’d happened upon some writings by Deborah Meier (1955), Ana Maria Villegas (2002), and Zaretta Hammond (1999).

Their work introduced radical ideas, suggesting that students can and should be inventors of their own theories, critics of others’ ideas, analyzers of evidence, and makers of their own personal marks on the world. So each year, my 125 students (roughly 25 each class) and I moved our desks into semi-circles and engaged in conversations about works by authors of which they’d never heard: Edward P. Jones, Toni Morrison, Isabelle Allende, Amy Tan, Laura Esquivel, Khaled Hosseini, Haruki Murakami,

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each other’s learning.

Fast forward some seventeen years, and I find myself in the company of a diverse group of energetic, enthusiastic, and enterprising Lawrentians whose collective cultures spans the globe.

Upon arrival, I learned that that loud and disruptive thing I’d been doing all those years before had a name: Harkness.

In a Harkness learning environment at its finest, there is no absolute power and no absolute truth. There is, however, meticulous preparation, careful listening, and informed sharing.

Thanks to the unique experiences afforded our seniors and the Harkness model of teaching and learning that permeates every aspect of community life at Lawrenceville, I can select texts that reflect one of the main tenets underlying my theoretical and pedagogical approach to

developing curriculum. I choose texts that expose students to various ways to thinking, living, and being – with the goal of demonstrating that as a people we are more alike than different or what Chimamanda Adiche calls disrupting single stories.

In her 2009 TED Talk, Adiche discusses an observation that I share time and again throughout the school year: It’s not that single stories aren’t true; it’s that they’re incomplete. And, incomplete stories lead to stereotypes, assumptions, and blind spots.

I teach a fifth form elective course titled Literature, Trauma and Resistance. During a recent student-led Harkness discussion, the leader provided the class with an activator lesson designed to create some contextual knowledge needed for a discussion of Part II of There, There, a finalist for the 2019 Pulitzer Prize in Literature,

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in a harkeness learning environment at its finest, there is no absolute power and no absolute truth.”

Alice Walker, Christopher Paul Curtis, Edwidge Danticat, Ernest J. Gaines, and Sandra Cisneros to name a few. These authors and the topics that they wrote about were a challenge for my students.

In addition, for most of them, I was their first (and would likely be their only) teacher of color before graduating from high school.

So I felt a particular obligation to not only prepare them for standardized tests but for life beyond the confines of a school in a town amongst people who, for the most part, resembled and lived like them. I created a safe space in which they could ask questions, hash out misunderstandings, and share insights. It took a lot of hard work to facilitate their learning, to fill some of their and my own gaps, but I’d like to think that the discussions we had are with them today and that they are all the better for having been a part of

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students realize that they don’t have all the answers, and neither do I, because our learning resides in the nuance.”

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written by Tommy Orange, a contemporary Native American author. After reading an article excerpt and viewing a short film about Blood Quantum Theory, a portion of the conversation that followed went something like this:

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STUDENT 1: “Wait … I mean no disrespect.

I believe what we’re reading about Native Americans and what we’ve discussed about how their experiences somewhat

parallel those of African and Asian Americans. What I’m grappling with is this: Why are these voices not better represented in elementary and middle school English classes? Why did we have to wait until high school to read about these underrepresented groups? And, why isn’t the history we’re learning aligned with the context provided for the novels that we read in this

class? This may be why racist ideologies prevail … If I come to high school believing in the Thanksgiving myth with no knowledge of the extent to which Native Americans’ experienced genocide... If I come to high school believing that American Slavery was a ‘necessary’ evil... If I have no idea that Asian Americans were herded like cattle out to internment camps located in the middle of desolate, isolated deserts...How am I expected to engage in thoughtful, intelligent discourse about the American experience? It’s asking a lot of us … to shift our thinking over the course of ten weeks when we’ve had all our lives to learn and process all of this.

STUDENT 2: Well, I will say that it’s easier for me to do this kind of thinking

in a place like Lawrenceville... surrounded by people like you and all my friends who come from places all over the world. I feel safe here, but I’m not so sure that I would feel the same if I had to have these conversations with classmates back home. What happens to students who don’t have Harkness…students who live in homogenous communities… students who have little to no access to diversity?”

STUDENT LEADER: “Those are valid questions and concerns, and I think our discussion of Part II might enable us to synthesize some of your questions. We’ll keep note of them for now and circle back to them at the end of class.”

And, we did.

And, we did.

learning processes” through culturally responsive practices (Hammond 17-18).

Zaretta Hammond’s Culturally Responsive Teaching and the Brain posits four practice areas necessary to enact a culturally responsive school community (18-20): Awareness, Learning Partnerships, Information Processing, and Community Building.

Each area is dependent upon the other, and they all take time to develop – for teachers and for students. Harkness allows us to enact our conscientious duties in loco parentis, moving students safely in and safely out of sometimes difficult but always intellectually stimulating learning environments.

References Adiche, C. (2009, July). The dangers of a single story [Video file].

Retrieved from https://www.ted.com/talks/chimamanda_adichie_ the_danger_of_a_single_story/up-next?language=en Ellerton, P. (2016, June). The educational community of inquiry as disruptive pedagogy [Pdf file]. Retrieved from http://www.naaciphilo.org/wp-content/uploads/2016/03/Ellerton.pdf Hammond, Z. (2015). Culturally responsive teaching & the brain: Promoting authentic engagement and rigor among culturally linguistically diverse students. California: Corwin.

Ladson-Billings, G. (1998). Just what is critical race theory and what’s it doing in a nice field like education? Qualitative Studies in Education, 11(1), 7-24.

Markham, Ph.D. T. (2012). Project based learning design and coaching guide: Expert tools for innovation and inquiry for k-12 educators. Heart IQ Press, California.

Villegas, A. M., Lucas, T. (2002). Educating culturally responsive teachers: A coherent approach. New York: State University of New York Series.

Washington, S. (2018, May). The Lawrenceville School. Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion Task Force. Lawrenceville, New Jersey.

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It’s for moments like these that I teach and that I most appreciate the nuance inherent in the Harkness model – moments when students realize that they don’t have all the answers, and neither do I, because our learning resides in the nuance.

Former colleagues and friends have asked: Are there flaws in Harkness practice? Are there risks, perhaps, in allowing students such range and flexibility within the curriculum? I think, yes. One of the main flaws, though, is not within the theory itself but within the practice. Good Harkness in any environment requires that its leaders and facilitators assume responsibility for the needs of all students, that “they create the social, emotional, and cognitive conditions that allow students to more actively engage and take ownership of their

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table carvings

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Lawrenceville’s community service office is full of light and life. We have everything

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R ACHEL CANTL AY DIRECTOR OF COMMUNITY SERVICE

from magic markers to children’s books to hand-medown furniture and cartons of lemonade and a cabinet full of board games. But the most important thing in the room is a Harkness table. It is older and slightly smaller than the newer, prettier ones. It is scratched up, with students’ names, nicknames and initials from about 20 years ago. It is our favorite hand-medown and a place where we do

our best work—and thus see Harkness in action.

There are all kinds of groups that convene at the table.

Lawrenceville’s community service requirement is deliberately not based on hours — instead we ask students to do projects that (hopefully) connect them deeply to the people they work with. The Lawrenceville Community Action Project (LCAP) gives students the opportunity to develop these relationships through weekly, ongoing, sustained engagement with children, adults or senior citizens.

Sometimes at the table, there are groups of Lawrenceville students and their buddies children from the local area that come to campus for our weekly “Friday Fun” program – doing arts and crafts or playing games.

Or it might be the same students who convene to “debrief ” once

the children have headed home on the bus. Since students are responsible for planning all the activities, they ask each other a lot of questions at the end of the day. What went well? What didn’t? Why not? How were the children today? Energized?

Moody? Distractible? What could have been going on with them if they seemed out of sorts? How do we take what happened today and use it in planning the next session? Figuring out what might have contributed to successes and failures is the goal of these wrap-up meetings. Students throw in reactions, impressions and ideas and often demonstrate a lovely, surprisingly intuitive understanding of their individual partners’ personalities. Ideally, the voices of the students combine to help shape subsequent sessions that are more fun and engaging for the kids.

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been in place for many years so we could reshape it to reflect more fully our goals. There were a lot of different opinions about how to go about making these changes, and their thoughtful contributions ensured that we looked at all sides of the issue.

Harkness can be messy, a little like the “slime” that kids made this afternoon at the table. It is a simple recipe but has a seemingly random combination of ingredients, all dumped together.

You have to get your hands deep into the bowl of stickiness and knead it around for a few minutes. Nothing much seems to happen, until all of a sudden, it starts to coalesce. Then, with a little more kneading, it becomes recognizable as “slime”— a blob that’s still malleable, but somehow holds together.

The old scratches on the table intrigue the current students.

The carvings are risky, often illegible and a little mysterious.

Students feel a connection to these old names and don’t really know that twenty years later they are sitting across from each other still asking the same kinds of questions and working out the answers together.

“Students throw in reactions, impressions and ideas and often demonstrate a lovely, surprisingly intuitive understanding of their partners’ personalities.”

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the voices of the students combine to help shape subsequent sessions that are more fun and engaging.”

Another group that convenes at the table is the Community Service Council. Elected by their housemates, these community service reps are important student leaders on campus. Headed by the Community Service Representative to the Student Council, this group is responsible for many of the studentled projects on campus. We encourage every House to do a House service project and during council meeting students share ideas, feedback and strategies for coming up with projects and most importantly keeping housemates engaged. As a group, they were instrumental two years ago in the change from an hours-based to a project-based system. Through many discussions and debates, they helped us look carefully at an hourly requirement that had

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Something Special

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Some people just don’t have something to say.

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DREW INZER HISTORY & ECONOMICS TEACHER, HEAD OF HAMILL HOUSE

Not all the time, but sometimes.

During my history and economics classes, this holds true once in awhile as I often look around our table and see my students’ less than good days.

Or good days. Or mediocre days when they’re moving through their day with a lot on their minds, perhaps things unrelated to my class. Since we’ve cultivated our class culture, we feel this energy at our oval Table and realize that we need to help each other overcome individual obstacles.

This energy emanates from and is transmitted by a questioning glance one gives to another after someone’s provocative comment. It’s the look of confusion at a remark someone makes, and we step in to help. It’s the multiple affirmative looks of pride when someone makes an impactful contribution to class. It’s the intense lean-in to the Table when we’re all deeply invested in a particular aspect of the problem at hand. It’s the side-to-side glances during those fidgety pregnant pauses as nervous brinkmanship builds to a chuckle or public acknowledgement that today, we just might not have something to say. From this emerges a new idea, a deep thought, a clarifying question, an insightful comment, or a keen observation--then, we’re back into the thick of it.

In our classes, it’s too easy to notice the positive, extroverted nature of what we call a “Harkness” class.You can make particular and distinctive moves by building on someone’s remarks, anchoring the discussion with textual evidence, serving a role during a discussion, or even asking poignant questions of your peers or the text. In our symphonic class discussions or activities, we always notice the first violins’ piercing renditions of the motif, or perhaps the higher pitched woodwinds pushing the development, or the low brass section anchoring the recapitulation.

In my class, we want to hear a bit more from the second bassoons, a little more bass clarinet, and actually see the second violinist who is buried deep from the view of the audience. We’re only successful as a class if we hear from the bleary-

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and I feel this daily through the affirming glances, genuine questions, calculated tangents, and thoughtful insights that we experience together. This is what sticks out to me as a teacher at Lawrenceville and what I’ll miss well past retirement.

Some days, my confidently vocal student, who usually anchors a discussion, needs her quiet counterpart to give her a lift or make a difficult point a bit clearer. Other days, my more reserved student may fill the need for a collective jolt of energy and finds himself in the vanguard of our class discussion, drawing on his diligent yet often unseen work that he puts in, day in and day out. It’s the ‘class product’ that matters--the individuals need to do their work, but the heavy lifting happens together. If someone takes issue with another

person’s remarks, we feel it. If someone makes a nuanced, clear connection during a discussion, we sense it. We then process it together, add to our experience, then proceed on. Each class period has its own fingerprint.

This energy draws students into the collective, inspiring them to find ways to help their peers. In my classes, we keep an eye on the big picture and problematic nature of history or economics rather than sinking from the millstone of factoids, ‘teacherthoughts,’ and memorization, killing our energy. We own what we’re doing--even as a teacher, I don’t own the class, but gently guide or hold the mirror up as needed. None of us are allknowing, so we experience, grapple, question, and analyze the historical documents, ideas, or economic theories set before

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This energy draws students into the collective, inspiring them to find ways to help their peers.”

eyed student who just took an Honors Chem major assessment or the excited student whose championship soccer game looms near. We’re successful if we harness the collective energy, however subdued or chaotic, towards a deeper understanding of the historical forces, problems, or theories that we’re faced with.

We’re a community, with each student as important as the next, regardless of what we each bring to the Table any given day.

In my mind, the type of learning we immerse ourselves in at Lawrenceville can’t always be summed up in an anecdote.

It’s the collective classroom experience and ‘feel,’ one that needs many people to build each class through the push and pull of trust essential to problem solve together in a safe, comfortable space where we can take intellectual risks. Students

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Knowing oneself helps you reinvent yourself daily and approach each class free from the previous day’s baggage while we add to the collective experience. ”

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us. We’re colleagues in a learning experience, each pushing and pulling as the class may need on that given day.

As a teacher at Lawrenceville, I’m forever trying to preserve the ephemera of the collective class product, day in and day out.

During discussions, I take detailed records on my computer while the video projector displays them to serve as guideposts. I’m taking mental snapshots or jotting written

notes of the looks and glances that students make or I steer the ship for a bit to get us back on track.

I try to see and feel how students offer contributions during discussion--what are they referencing? Is their text annotated? Do they have their notes? What is their body language? During every test or inclass writing assignment, I move around the room at least once and ask each student, individually,

in their own intellectual space, “Are you ok?” to let them know that they matter--while also giving them a chance to ask me a question. Students may chuckle, but I know they feel the energy.

I can see--and feel-- the look on their face, such as the intense hyperfocus of deep thought or the slim smile of quiet confidence that they’re proudly sharing their diligence and preparation. At the root of this is how effective we

were as a collective.

Students in my class need to know themselves. Most importantly, they need to know that their contributions during one discussion, assessment, or essay doesn’t typecast them for the term.

While each class is ephemeral, we do collect this ephemera to learn from it. Knowing oneself helps you reinvent yourself daily and approach each class free from the previous day’s baggage while we add to the collective experience. If someone struggles to participate, we talk honestly about it and offer help. If someone tries to dominate class, we talk honestly about it and offer help. If we’re successful, we feel these issues and adjust accordingly.

If I’ve learned anything as a student of economics, I know that small, marginal gains pulls up the average. Small, seemingly insignificant changes in the short

Lawrenceville values and supports as we all work to, “through House and Harkness,... inspire the best in each to seek the best for all.�

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run results in a new long run equilibrium for the individual, which then boosts the aggregate for the class.

Self-awareness helps each student--and myself--keep focused on what we each offer on a given day to benefit the class. We can only do this relationally within our small class communities, which

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what we believe is best

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As students, we go to school to ultimately prepare us to perform in the real world as adults. While in school, we

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MAK AYL A BOXLEY CLASS OF 2020, ANCHOR AND EXECUTIVE DIRECTOR OF PRODUCTION FOR L10

sometimes find ourselves stressed over in-depth topics that are hard to understand. Sometimes we find ourselves exasperatedly wondering Why do we even need to know this? or When will I ever use this?

It’s only natural to wonder how the math concept I’m dedicating time to understanding will ultimately translate to something I may encounter in the real world.

Or wonder when my knowledge of the in-and-out details of Homer’s Odyssey will come in

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The beautiful thing about what we do is that we all know it

cannot be done by one person alone.”

handy in my future occupation.

Sometimes the answer is that the specific material has very little to do with our ultimate destinations. Frankly, it is unlikely that my knowledge of how to balance a chemical reaction will truly aid me in what I hope is a career in foreign service. But Harkness, the method through which I explore all of this material, is perhaps the most useful and universal skill I will ever have.

Sometimes in our everyday use of it, we as students, learning

not only the material but also the method, can begin to lose sight of what we are really trying to do. The practice of coming to class armed with our own ideas yet prepared to not only hear others’ ideas but also create new ones together can become lost on us. It is easy for us to break under the perceived pressure of our awkward silences and feel compelled to merely reiterate information from previous class day or text. While experiencing, like all Lawrentians, the faults

segments we think could be good for the show, asked our peers what they think they’d like to see, and are ready to put forth our own personal ideas about what segments will best accomplish our collective goal.

In discussion, we consider the pros and cons of each idea, challenge others’ proposals, and edit our own perspectives and suggestions based on our group conversation. Each of us brings a valuable perspective to the table. One producer has an understanding of one House, athletic team, affinity group, or club, while others are familiar with others. When we come together, we share these viewpoints with one another to ultimately create what we believe is the best, most feasible combination of ideas for the best show we can produce that week.

That, in my mind, is Harkness.

At L10, we rely upon the voices of one another. Without them there is no show. The beautiful thing about what we do is that we all know it cannot be done by one person alone. This fact has led me to believe that good learning, just like our news show, can not be realized by one person only. Relying upon the voice and experience of each person around that table is vital to gaining the best understanding of the concept at hand.

When we leave Lawrenceville, there will always be tables to sit around and goals to accomplish.

We will always work with others to achieve these goals. And when we do, we must always remember that no one person has the answer. But, with the help of others and all that they bring to the table, that answer, goal, or perhaps even news show, will be found.

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which occur while learning to employ the Harkness method, I have also had the privilege of seeing how Harkness can be used for the way it is intended: outside of the classroom.

I work for L10, Lawrenceville’s student-run online news broadcast. Right now, I serve as the show’s Anchor and Executive Director of Production, but I have been involved ever since I was a Second Former. The ultimate goal of L10 — the planning, creation, and production of a product for the advancement of our mission— automatically calls upon us to employ the Harkness method, even if we don’t realize that fact. At each board meeting, we come together with the collective goal of planning and producing a show for the next week. By the time we meet, we have each already brainstormed

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finding a shared vision of beauty

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“That’s it, the course is over,“ I declare. “Thanks for coming.

Go home.”

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BRIAN DANIELL VISUAL ARTS TEACHER ON THE INDEPENDENCE FOUNDATION CHAIR, CHAIR OF VISUAL ARTS DEPARTMENT

Ten students, all new third formers, look uncertain. They don’t know me yet, and they barely know one another; they are a little off-balance.

Ten minutes into our first class in Foundations of Art, I have pronounced the course a deadend. No one gets up to leave, however; they wait to see how this will play out. The students appear engaged but slightly uncomfortable, ideal conditions for learning. First days can be critical to hooking a class: got

to “get ‘em in the room” first before any learning can occur.

“Are you serious?” a bold young woman finally asks earnestly. “Do you really want us to leave?”

“Don’t worry; you didn’t do anything wrong; I’m just cutting our losses. There’s no point in continuing if we can’t come to some agreement on this one basic question. Our whole term of study is based upon some level of resolution on this.” The question at hand is whether a “common aesthetic” — a culturally shared sense of beauty — exists, or whether each person decides individually what for him or her comprises beauty.

To get at the question, I have had students place themselves along a spectrum against the wall, with those who believe “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder” (that each individual

decides on standards of beauty) on the left, and those who believe that beauty is a shared ideal that most can identify and agree upon, to the right. A major cluster has formed on the left with just a few toward the middle; brief discussion has had little effect on moving anyone from his original convictions.

In a course heavy on principles of composition and how artists use harmony and proportion to create beauty, we need to concur that some qualitative assessment is possible, that not all design or fine art is created equal. Without this underlying agreement, critique would be futile and might too often end with a shrug and, “Well, I guess everyone’s opinion is different.”

If that were true, there would be no art or design greater than any other, no museum devoted to great works (who can tell,

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the question at hand is whether a ‘common aesthetic’ exists, or whether each person decides individually what for him or her comprises beauty.”

composition…). Gradually, over the rest of the hour in discussion of preferences, shared and not, students tease it out of one another that, indeed, while there remains room for some variation in taste, they agree upon much. Common aesthetic, acknowledged, albeit grudgingly by a few. The course can proceed.

When students enter Pop Hall from the Bowl side, they pass under a decorative element above the double doors, an

open book with a few words carved into its wooden pages. In our busyness, few of us notice or remember the words there: “Truth is within ourselves.”

This pithy Socratic reminder plays out daily in classrooms all over campus, as we attempt to derive truth from literature, historical documents and science experiments. And, yes, from works of art. I am not surprised that these new students have found common ground (they always do), nor am

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after all?), merely arbitrary collections.

Class resumes and we return to the question as we consider a series of images, presented in pairs. I prompt the students to select and justify their preferences to their peers. It’s not enough to say “I like this one more; it just looks better.”

I then mostly back out of the exercise, trying not to betray my own bias. Which of these two houses is more attractive?

Why? (variation in roofline, one says, substantial roof overhang, connection to land around it…) Which of these two bedrooms is more inviting to enter? Why? (restful simplicity is invoked, harmonious color scheme, matching angles).

Which of these two paintings, of similar subjects, appeals to you more? Why? (unified tone, reflected color, logical

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I surprised that there remains at least one contrarian (the reason we speak of common aesthetic, not universal).

Although some of the language may be new, art teachers are not surprised to find themselves full partners in Harkness, as we have long felt central in the search for Truth, Beauty and Goodness. At conferences with colleagues from other schools, we in the Visual Arts occasionally allow ourselves a bit of playful smugness: when the latest pedagogical direction is presented--often as insightful innovation-- we put our figurative feet up on the desk and state, “Been doing it for years.” Peer editing? Art schools have been conducting group critiques for centuries.

Rewriting and revising? Look under the surface of Picasso’s Guernica. Portfolio building to

demonstrate growth? Find an art student without one!

The studio is as good a venue as any for promoting Harkness principles and practices.

High among the traits fostered in a healthy studio, for instance, is empathy. Most obviously, a group critique brings that out.

A diplomatic student might say, “I can see what you are trying to accomplish with that color scheme—and it works well in the foreground—but the colors in the back seem too bright: they don’t recede. Maybe muting them would help.”

Empathy infuses other projects, too: late in the Foundations

term, for example—the one that began with the threatened cancellation of the remaining weeks-- students choose an artist from a departmentally curated list (Jacob Lawrence, Georgia O’keeffe, and Rene Magritte are popular choices). In the course of a couple of weeks, they inhabit the mind of their chosen artist through research and study of that artist’s body of work. What societal trends affected their work? What biographical factors shaped their thinking and their subject matter?

What other artists’ work affected their style? Students, acting as that artist, create journal pages containing sketches and snippets of thought and observation, demonstrating their understanding of the artist’s motivation, inspiration and training. They then create an entirely new work of art—of the student’s own subject

matter-- in the style of that artist.

In effect, the student “becomes” that artist for a short time, culminating in a presentation, critique and discussion of the piece with peers.

Like the rest of my colleagues here, we in the art department know that there always remains room for improvement. We can “do” Harkness better, more deliberately and more frequently.

While the traditional image of Harkness teaching may invoke an oval table and a dozen chairs, we find that it equally dwells on a drawing bench, behind an easel and at the design screen in a computer lab. And soon, of course, amid the sounds and smells of the innovative and beautiful new Gruss Center for Art and Design.

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classroom without walLS

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LEADERSHIP, COMMUNICATION, COLLABORATION, and

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TRIPP WELBORNE DEAN OF ATHLETICS AND CO-CURRICULAR EDUCATION CO-CHAIR OF DIVERSITY, EQUITY, AND INCLUSION TASK FORCE

teamwork. These skills and dispositions are integral and synonymous to the Harkness experience in the Lawrenceville Athletics classroom.

Before Harkness at Lawrenceville became the fundamental way of learning, Athletics has always harnessed the essence of the Harkness education as an approach to collective success in group sport and competition. Team unity, information sharing, and interactive motivation is at the

core of the shared experience, intimacy, and purpose within athletics, which is the driving force behind the mission of athletics. To this end, the same principles and ideals that are displayed in our traditional classrooms “with walls,” are further validated and encouraged in an alternative learning environment during athletic competition in the “classroom without walls.”

It is a common misconception that one person can win or lose an athletic competition on their own. At Lawrenceville, no student-athlete succeeds or fails alone. Even in traditional individual sports (e.g. Cross Country, Tennis, Track & Field, Swimming & Diving, Wrestling, etc.) the success of any athlete is principled in the interactive and supportive commitment of the team to each team member.

Teammates rely on the person “next to them” in practices and competitions to listen, discover, challenge, and push achievement beyond pre-determined limits for desired and aspirational success.

The vehicle to opening minds and believing that more can be achieved through the collective, is a reliance and partnership with one another, and is essential to promoting team comradery and individual success.

The phrase, “there is no I in team,” has been an endearing mantra of many successful coaches and programs over the years. The essence of teamwork is that everyone works collectively towards a common goal and experience for all. An outside hitter in volleyball can’t be successful without a setter.

A wide receiver in football can’t catch a pass if there is no quarterback to throw the ball.

athletes beyond their individual limitations and/or constraints, much like Harkness in the traditional classroom, they utilize guidance and reflection to spark in depth learning and ignite the maturation process, which is the catalyst for individual growth.The unique learning environment that is afforded during athletic completions adds urgency and agency to the Harkness approach of cooperative success through failure, interaction, resilience, and confidence. Relying on teammates to open up and be willing to extend themselves to impact others in a positive and constructive manner is imperative to effective learning and the greater good of the whole.

Effective leadership and guidance from teammates and coaches is critical to promoting a sense of belonging and inclusion, which is designed to evoke a

high degree of ownership and participation by each team member. That being said, being fully involved and engaged as a teammate is not optional, it is expected. In order for any team to perform at its optimal level, athletes must collaborate with their teammates and consistently work towards cultivating an environment of trust to ensure appropriate navigation of complex/emotional situations and conversations. This constant

cultivation helps to fortify the construct of a “circle of trust,” which has been an all-for-one calling card for Big Red athletic teams for many years, and is at the center of the Harkness heartbeat.

This comprehensive and genuine approach to learning brings life to the collaborative process and ultimately creates an opportunity for an unparalleled educational experience for all in the Athletics “classroom without walls.”

PERSPECTIVES

The analogies are endless, each sport unique in their own way.

But it all reverts back to the simple principles of teamwork through the collaboration of thoughts, ideals, and skills to achieve a common goal. Within Harkness education, student learning and growth is not only possible, it is inevitable.

Depending on others around you to contribute ideas and push conversations forward is woven into the fabric of the process, and athletics relies heavily on the spark of action to launch into deeper understanding and untapped talent discovery.

In order for team and individual goals to be met, effective collaboration amongst the athletes and coaches is paramount. While coaches (the teachers in the “classroom without walls”) are instrumental in preparing and propelling our

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empathy + Inquiry = ability

PERSPECTIVES

Harkness learning has a natural place in a math classroom. Lawrenceville’s

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NOELLE NIU MATHEMATICS TEACHER, LATIN TEACHER, ASSISTANT HEAD OF DAWES HOUSE

approach to student centered learning is driven by questioning and collaboration. Bouncing ideas off peers and giving and receiving feedback are the majority of the discussions. We often hear phrases like, “What if we tried…” and, “Could this be like…”. Students talk to each other — in small groups or as an entire class — and depend less on their teacher to find solutions. The students’ ideas and questions motivate the class and that day’s discussion. This type of

exploration and collaboration is challenging but rewarding, and gives the students ownership of their own understanding.

However, in math, there can be a perception that something is either right or wrong, that there is one solution, or that there is little room for interpretation.

With this mindset, it can be difficult to share ideas and ask questions to the class because you have to be vulnerable and open yourself up to the possibility of making mistakes. For a Harkness classroom to work, there needs to be a sense of community and support across the room before we can dig deeply into each topic. Each student needs to feel the full support of the room in order to practice vulnerability — it is what drives learning.

It is for this reason that I prioritize empathy in my classroom and work to build

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It is extremely rewarding to see students fully dive into a problem, and then discover a

new mathematical idea with their peers.”

each other through inquiry and exploration; students lean on each other, and their level of success depends on the success of the entire class. A Harkness classroom creates enduring and meaningful understandings, and I personally love seeing my students work together and care for one another. It is extremely rewarding to see students fully

dive into a problem, and then discover a new mathematical idea with their peers. It is easy to see the passion and excitement in the room. And after they have left Lawrenceville, even if they remember none of the math itself, they still have cultivated the skills to collaborate empathetically, communicate effectively, and lead compassionately.

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a strong community each year.

When I was a Woods Teaching Fellow, I spent a year examining what Harkness teaching and learning looks like in my classroom and how it affects the experience of my students.

I found that Harkness learning works best when there is a strong sense of compassion, community, safety, and belonging in the learning environment. Without the comfort or freedom to take risks, ask questions, and make mistakes, my students cannot effectively engage the material or each other. When there is empathy, the students have the space to offer help to a classmate or ask for help themselves. With a strong sense of community in the classroom, each student is invested not only in their own learning, but also their peers’ learning.

Harkness teaching and learning requires students to learn from

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by listening we learn

PERSPECTIVES

As children, we learn from parents, teachers, and peers that our encounters with

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PANOS VANDRIS ALUM ‘17

language encompass two aspects: comprehension (listening and reading) and production (speaking and writing). Students of foreign language might agree that the latter is usually regarded as more difficult than the former. As just one example, my mother, who once spoke and wrote German and French fluently on top of English and her native Greek, can no longer produce more than a couple sentences in either tongue.Yet she can still comprehend plenty.

I believed this too, at least until I sat around my first Harkness table in Humanities – Cultural Studies during freshman fall at Lawrenceville. There we were, twelve 13-year-olds collectively exposed to this strange method of learning through discussion rather than lecture, of treating our teacher more as a facilitator than an authority figure, of no longer raising our hands in response to questions. I quickly realized that in this setting, production was far easier than comprehension. I would often catch myself plotting my next contribution to the conversation at the same time that a classmate was offering theirs. Of course, I would take notes on only what the teacher said, strategizing its possible integration into my own thoughts. Class discussions were battles, and I aspired to earn the title of “Harkness warrior.” I

could speak, but I did not know what it meant to listen.

This lapse did not go unnoticed by my academic adviser, who gave me the single most influential piece of feedback I received during my high school education. In my first house report, she wrote: “[Panos] can sometimes appear over-confident and at times even arrogant with both his peers and […] with his teachers. It can be easy […] to answer every question or in some instances not realize how demanding he may sound […] he and I plan to work on having a level of humility and understanding when it comes to academics.” I wish I could say I accepted this comment with grace, but in reality I was crushed. Humility? I had conceptualized school life as an individual endeavor, believing I held no more responsibility for

purpose turned from domination to compassion? Meaningful collaboration with classmates and teachers, improved understanding of the material at hand, and above all, a pursuit of learning as an end in itself. There is no reason to treat the classroom like a battlefield, when it can be so much more as a welcoming space for mutual comprehension and joint production.

Harkness tables are nowhere to be found on my college campus.

Professors hold all the power in lecture halls. Hand-raising has returned with a vengeance to my courses, even in seminars the same size as classes at Lawrenceville.

Yet whenever I see a fellow student sitting across from me preparing to speak, I ready myself to listen. Hong injects humor in her presentation of this “active listening” when she writes: “Nunchi requires that you admit

the value of collectivism, of introversion, and above all, of never passing up a good opportunity to shut up.” It is only in silence that we can listen with attention as well as intention.

This conviction has empowered me to resist giving in to the perception of higher education as war. We speak of certain universities as being “cutthroat,” we call the competition for internships a “rat race,” we hear horror stories about desperate measures taken by students to score higher, to finish faster, to be better. In this view, there are winners and losers, and one should strive to be a winner without regard for the loser. Harkness revealed the absurdity of this worldview to me. If just one member of my community—whether it be a class, a club, or a house—loses, I lose

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I quickly realized that in this setting, production was far easier than

comprehension.”

too, and so does everyone else in that community. I am deeply indebted to those at Lawrenceville who helped impart this lesson to me: my advisers, my teachers, and my peers. We are all inextricably bound to one another, and we have in common an obligation to make the most of this shared life.

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the learning of my classmates than they did for mine. It took me a long time—indeed the rest of freshman year—to grasp what my adviser had written and to react not with indignation but instead with gratitude.

Humility. This is Harkness in a nutshell. I recently read a piece in The New York Times by journalist Euny Hong, in which she reflects on the Korean concept of nunchi.

“Nunchi is the art of sensing what people are thinking and feeling, and responding appropriately. It’s speed-reading a room with the emphasis on the collective, not on specific individuals.” Hong establishes comprehension as a precondition for production. One must listen before speaking. (One must read before writing, too.)

Harkness is Lawrenceville’s nunchi.

What ensued when I embraced this radical vision of communal scholarship, in which my

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students at the helm

PERSPECTIVES

As a teacher who utilizes project-based learning in my classes, students faced

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MATTHEW R.CAMPBELL PERFORMING ARTS TEACHER, ROBERT S. & CHRISTINA SEIX DOW DISTINGUISHED TEACHING CHAIR IN HARKNESS LEARNING, HEAD OF STEPHENS HOUSE

with creating something from nothing, solving for a problem that demands a tangible answer, seems, on its face, daunting.

There often is no one correct answer, and the paths in getting to the desired result are varied and unclear. I see this pattern time and again and it is in these moments when students realize that their success can only be achieved through genuine interaction with their peers. Even the most prepared Lawrentian gains insight and

experience when they are thinking on their toes with their peers, allowing questions to spring forth in the moment as they process new information and listen attentively to opinions, ideas, additions, and rebuttals that come through working together.

This is Harkness in action.

Whether it is a design project in Design for Social Change, an acting project in Foundations of Theatre, or solving a multifaceted technical challenge in our co-curricular Performing Arts program, getting from “problem defined” to “problem solved” is not a clearcut process. The way we succeed is through shared listening and learning, carving out the path together.

In our co-curricular theatre program, problem solving exists in nearly every aspect of the work we do, and the students are doing the navigating. At the

start of the year, I work closely with a cohort of seasoned student technicians in the construction of the set for the upcoming musical production. All of them are self-motivated thinkers and doers, who have put considerable time toward learning how technical theatre works, building on safety and skill training as modeled by their predecessors. At the start, we gather to talk through the scenic design, and its evidencebased connection to the plot of the musical: how pieces are intended to function, what are the important technical elements, and what aesthetic properties they will have. There are always wide-eyed moments of wonder mixed with excitement over the challenges presented, followed quickly by a slew of questions.

While I help provide some answers to these initial questions, in actuality I do not directly

PERSPECTIVES

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Whether it is a design project in Design for Social Change, an acting project in Foundations of Theatre, or solving a multi-faceted technical challenge in our co-curricular Performing Arts program, getting from ‘problem defined’ to ‘problem solved’ is not a clearcut process. ”

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PERSPECTIVES

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answer most of them. My aim is to model a space for inquiry and problem solving, often turning questions back to the students to hear how they might tackle the given problem. The students observe this and are quick to practice the same approach with each other.

As construction begins, we frequently break into smaller groups, with each group having a given task and just enough information to get them to the next step in the process. Students ask, “Well, how do I do that?” or “How should I make that?”

They are confronted with what they do not know and must share their opinions, observations, and ideas in order for the project to be achieved and the group to succeed. What happens soon after is a collaborative laboratory, designed for students to argue how they might tackle the project,

to push their ideas -- good and bad -- out to the group. This skeletal approach gives them everything they need to lean into their learning and rely on each other for a collaborative approach to success.

For example: In a recent scenic design project, students were tasked with constructing an eleven-foot diameter sprocket, or gear, to be suspended between two weight-bearing pylons, allowing it to spin freely. The students had never thought of how they might approach making such a structure, let alone the engineering behind it, putting them in completely new territory. What they did have was a diverse group of skills, access to tools and materials, time, a technical drawing, an encouraging supervisor, and the drive to see it through to completion. Since the students were all assigned to

the same project, there was group buy-in and everyone’s input was valued. One student suggested they start with the math involved.

Another student countered, suggesting they start with the materials, laying out sheets of plywood to give them a visual of the scope of the project. A third student suggested the group consider the inner structure first, since that would contribute to the overall weight of the piece.

Suggestions were heard, built on, reworked, upended, and tested; it was Harkness learning in its truest form.

In our Performing Arts cocurricular program, the students are truly at the helm of the production and have a hand in shaping all that is seen and heard.

In working toward the production, Harkness is also modeled in our meetings before and after each performance.

Prior to a show, the tech crew of about fifteen to twenty students gather to go through notes, cues, and concerns, and anticipate how they will respond to problems that might occur during the performance. While

in this context we might not be discussing the intricate themes of the production, students are engaging with each other and working together toward a shared goal. Having ownership over their work and celebrating their collective abilities and achievements is what gives these experiences such powerful impact.

Creative problem solving comes naturally to the performing arts, which draws on many other disciplines, and student collective knowledge is arguably easier to observe. Though project-based learning the process that students go through may be riddled with questions and obstacles, but it is in this “riddling� and overcoming of obstacles that effective Harkness learning truly takes place.

PERSPECTIVES

Eventually, the group recognized that there needed to be several approaches and decided split into three teams. One team tackled the math required, the second laid out the materials and gathered measuring and marking tools, and the third acquired materials to construct a template that could be reused in quartiles based on the math. The math team brought their calculations to the materials team, who had penciled the eleven-foot diameter circle onto plywood, and the template team interpreted the math into a cardboard stencil, which was used to trace out the final shape by the whole group.

Individually, they would have had great difficulty reaching a solution to this problem, but through Harkness, their collaborative process enabled them to achieve their goal.

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IN A HARKNESS LEARNING ENVIRONMENT AT ITS FINEST, THERE IS NO ABSOLUTE POWER AND NO ABSOLUTE TRUTH.” – ENITHIE HUNTER “A HARKNESS CLASSROOM CREATES ENDURING AND MEANINGFUL UNDERSTANDINGS.” – NOELLE NIUR