On November 11, 1953, psychology professor B.F. Skinner sat in a fourth-grade math class, perturbed. It was Parents Day at his daughter Deborah\u2019s school. The lesson seemed grossly inefficient: students proceeded through the material in lock-step, at the same pace; their graded assignments were returned to them sluggishly.<\/p>\n
A leading proponent of what he called \u201cradical behaviorism,\u201d\u009d Skinner had devoted his career to studying feedback. He denied the existence of free will and dismissed inner mental states as explanations for outward action. Instead, he focused on the environment and the organism\u2019s response. He had trained rats to push levers and pigeons to play Ping-Pong. A signed photo of Ivan Pavlov presided over his study in Cambridge. Turning his attention to a particular subset of the human animal\u201d\u201dthe schoolchild\u201d\u201dSkinner invented his Teaching Machine.<\/p>\n
Roughly the size and shape of a typewriter, the machine allowed a student to progress independently through a curriculum, answering test items and getting instant feedback with a few pulls of a lever. \u201cThe student quickly learns to be right. His work is pleasurable. He does not have to force himself to study,\u201d\u009d Skinner claimed. \u201cA classroom in which machines are being used is usually the scene of intense concentration.\u201d\u009d With hardly any hindrance from peers or teachers, thousands of students could receive knowledge directly from a single textbook writer. He told The Harvard Crimson, \u201cThere is no reason why the school room should be any less mechanized than the kitchen.\u201d\u009d<\/p>\n
Sixty years later, Skinner\u2019s reductionist ideas about teaching and learning continue to haunt public education\u201d\u201despecially as it\u2019s once again being called upon to embrace technology.<\/p>\n