Reviews by Joe Petrulionis Back to Joe’s “About Me”
Page
1. American History D. Other Topical
Andrew
Hartman
Education and the Cold War: The
Palgrave Macmillan, March 2008.
255 pp. Cloth. ISBN-13: 978-0-230-60010-2.
($74.95)
Guidance for the Perplexed
Reviewed by Joe Petrulionis
Many people will not appreciate this book. Any candid
review should help such readers save their precious money and more scarce
reading time. With this initial caveat, I condition my strong recommendation in
favor of this scholarly analysis of a timely and politically charged topic. But
if you believe the expenditure of public funds in support of free and secular
education to be an inappropriate role for a government; if you think the only
proper places to learn to read, calculate, and write are in the church basement
or at your own breakfast table, then you should avoid this book. With all due
respect, it does not weigh in to your squabble, but presumes public education
to be both beneficial and appropriate.
Andrew Hartman, these days Assistant
Professor of History at
Hartman accomplishes these ambitious
goals by focusing on the Cold War Era, but he recaptures the threads of the
narratives where they begin, even when the search may require a visit to Cotton
Mather or Jean-Jacques Rousseau. This is
not a simple story to tell but the tenacious reader will be well compensated.
The book is organized according to
developments in the American public school curriculum; therefore it casts only
a shadow of chronological order. Since policies and practices of public
education rarely moved in uniformity in all regions of the United States and at
all levels of government, Education and the Cold War succeeds in
achieving coherence by beginning and finishing one story--usually--before
undertaking the next. Not diversions, and certainly not pauses for analysis,
these individual pieces of the mosaic are each engaging narratives in
themselves. Reconsidered here are
important episodes from the careers of educators and administrators, of course
progressives like William Heard Kilpatrick and George Counts, but also others,
like William Torrey Harris, who resisted the early gains of “child centered”
innovations.
A recognized risk in the way
historians are often trained arises from a simplifying effect of synthetic
bibliography. Scholars can be inclined
to condense and abbreviate contributions of complex intellectuals into brief
outlines and summaries. When subsequent scholars rely on a predecessor’s
capsule, the subject becomes a caricature in a process likened to exponential
simplification. Hartman does not accept the untested judgments of earlier scholars,
even from the giants of his field. At
Hartman’s keyboard, John Dewey regains the complexity of a philosopher and an
administrator, fully invested yet never able to unilaterally dictate the
meaning and practice of “progressive education.” Likewise, Theodore Brameld
recovers from hasty and lingering classifications, and emerges an
internationalist-pragmatist, boldly considering class antagonism in his
theorizing, even when applied to the great historical exception. Too often, the
broad spectrum of populist thinking has been sorted into rather arbitrary
compost heaps: Marxism and Liberalism. Any attempt to do the same with this
book would be sloppy scholarship.
Much new ground is cleared here and
fallow fields have been productively re-plowed. This book will appear on
graduate school reading lists for scholars preparing in education history,
curricular theory, American philosophy, and the history of the cold war. I hope
that some clever press will entreat the author to conduct a similar analysis of
the next generation, an explanation of how the Cold War era’s rejection of the
label “progressive education” morphed into a subsequent crisis, code named, “No
Child Left Behind.”