The Solution

Four days ago I outlined some of the problems plaguing the educational system - at least those I saw from my own, very limited, experience. But I have not as yet presented any solutions to this problem. Herein I intend to do so. There are a few imperfect, relatively traditional solutions (autodidactism, the Oxford tutorial system, online universities, trade schools and online universities). Each of this historically tried methods has its respective failings, but there is one method on the horizon which has the potential to not only provide for the deficiency in higher education, but to radically reform the society in which we live.

The first of the old systems is autodidactism. Autodidactism, literally translated from Latin, means "self-teaching," but that's a little bit of a misnomer. Autodidacts actually tend to learn from a wider variety of teachers than their own limited experience, including family and friends, experimentation, books and any number of other media resources. Often autodidacts are intellectual renegades - they have a desire to learn, but naturally rebel against formal teaching.

A wide array of criticisms have been aimed at autodidacts. The first lies in the fact that autodidactism, in certain cases, can be a lonely process (one that is replete of the benefits of teaching and learning from other live human beings). The second is that their education is undisciplined by a general curriculum and that, even when they manage to give themselves a decent education on a subject they are passionate about, they tend to be overtaught in some aspects of that subject and undertaught in others. The last is that the autodidact's "self-image depends on showing that his command of history and politics is an order of magnitude greater than other people’s" (Ezra Klein, TAP), as they have to constantly prove themselves, not having been validated by a degree. One flaw I find is that the human element is removed, and information thus becomes an abstract and not a living process.

But we have other options. One is the Oxford tutorial style, a simple answer to the problem of mass-producing thinking students. The Oxford tutorial style consists of a self-designed curriculum a student pursues, writing an essay each week and regularly meeting with a professorial tutor who criticizes the essays, corrects misapprehensions and challenges assumptions. Learning culminates in an examination, whereby students are evaluated to determine the thoroughness of their understanding and assigned a grade, eventually leading to a degree providing tangible validation for that student.

There are a couple of flaws I see in the Oxford system - one of the oldest formal educational programs in the world. The first is that, while it does allow professors to tailor teaching to individual students' needs, it doesn't provide for one of the most fundamental of those needs, which is to teach. What we read, write and listen to is valuable, but what we teach has exponentially greater staying power in our minds. One other is that, much like autodidactism (but to a smaller extent) it can be a lonely process, despite the fact the student does have a professor to guide them in their journey. The last I consider highly relevant: it costs money. I would hope that one gets a significantly higher value for their dollar (or pound, as the case may be) in this situation than in the traditional higher education system, but human learning on its most fundamental level costs nothing more than time and effort, and it ought to remain so.

Another option is the online university, which I will only discuss briefly. The cost may be more efficient than that of the traditional university, but the problems still remain: it is even more isolating than the traditional university as students are stripped of interaction even with a living, breathing professor and other students, it still costs money (the problem of overpriced textbooks advocated in a classroom still remains) and, well... it countenances all of the issues attached to the traditional universities. The few advantages are a slight monetary cost decrease and the ability to study in the comforts of one's own home - which may or may not (I tend to side with "may") be a crippling disadvantage in and of itself.

The last of the many options I'll discuss here is the trade school. Once again, the problems of the traditional university, with one advantage: lower monetary costs (but, statistically speaking, lower monetary return).

It seems there is no end to the problems we're facing. The most feasible option for having a truly educational experience at the lowest cost seems to me to be autodidactism. And here we have outlined the problems it presents. Perhaps, though, further investigation into autodidactism's shortcomings could yield some answers to its questions. Let us examine some solutions to these problems one at a time.

1. Autodidactism is a potentially lonely process. Any learning that is done by oneself can bear some improvement. After all, as we mentioned earlier, the most effective way to learn is to teach or do. Well, then let us teach or do!

My friend Brandon and I have been experimenting with this concept as of late: we will go to any given library - as they are the most conducive atmosphere for quiet contemplation - with our books, read for an hour, and then teach each other what we have learned in that hour. A recent experience went about like this: I was reading a book on microeconomics and Brandon was reading the autobiography of Steve Wozniak, inventor of the personal computer. I learned a prodigious amount in our four hours of study, not only about microeconomic terms like trade, individual optimization, production possibility frontiers, and property rights, but about dreams, personal ownership, diodes, and transistors. The discussions we had were scintillating and enlightening. It amazes me what profound conclusions can be drawn when two human beings with different backgrounds and perspectives feed each other from the feast of words contained in a book. The ideas that we exchange intertwine and transform and understanding is amplified one hundredfold simply from the fusion.

A second solution to this problem lies in the mentor. It amazes me how willing most people are to proffer their wisdom for free. Take my dad for example. Last night we were playing a popular board game intended to teach sound investment principles and kept noticing the limitations of the game. I suggested that we make the improvements ourselves, changing the format from a boardgame to a computer game. My dad is an extremely successful and experienced software engineer. I suggested that I could write up a plan and text for the computer game and he could do the programming. My suggestion got a lukewarm reception. I reformatted my offer: I could write up a plan, tell him what I wanted to do, and he could teach me how to do it myself.

His attitude changed immediately and he accepted my offer almost without hesitation. Now, the information that I can glean from a professional software developer with more than twenty years' experience in a hands-on environment I would be hard-pressed to receive in a lecture hall. And it's entirely for free. I've signed on my brother to tutor me in my learning of the French language and intend to enlist a close friend of mine who has built, managed and sold a multi-billion-dollar business to mentor me in my study of the fundamentals of accounting, economics, finance and business management. I'll let you know how that one goes.

The propensity to teach is hard-wired into human beings. When something is close to our heart, we are often willing and excited to share it for nothing more than the privilege.

2. Another criticism is that autodidacts are lopsided in their learning. This is clearly true in a genuine self-learning situation. But if we can involve others in our learning, willing to teach and be taught, one aspect of the issue is abated. But it could still be possible that there could be huge gaps in our learning and we could fail to receive a real general education. As for myself, I intend to resolve these two issues through a twofold system of first following strictly a college curriculum for my chosen major, Finance, and secondly testing (but I'll get to that subject a little later).

3. The last criticism I'll attempt to address is the issue of validation. What a shame it would be to have spent hours of study and gained the equivalent knowledge of a bachelor's-degree-holder and have no leverage with employers to show for it. There won't be many - well, any - accounting firms that will hire a student without their CPA, law firms that will hire one without their J.D., computing firms that will hire one without a B.S. in Computer Science or Engineering or... the list goes on.

There is an imperfect answer. To fix this problem completely would entail a complete overhaul of not only the education system, but the hiring system, both of which are thousands of years in the making. So, at least for now, there is some cold comfort that can be offered: the CLEP and the challenge.

The CLEP (College Level Examination Program) basically equals the AP-test for grown-ups. Knowledge one has gained outside the classroom is tested on a mainly multiple-choice exam, the passing of which most universities award credit. But the CLEP has limitations: CLEP tests are offered by the College Board for only a select few classes, mostly general education or entry-level core classes within any major. So there's no test for Advanced Corporate Finance Principles, though a person could conceivably test out of the entirety of their general education.

But there is hope for those upper-level classes. It lies in the challenge-option, which should be offered at most universities, if it isn't already. At the school I was going to last year, to challenge a course is to prove one's breadth of knowledge in the particular area of that course without having to sit in class. The system at the school I was going to last year works about like this: a person wishing to challenge a course contacts the department offering that course and requests to challenge it (I imagine that the greatest roadblock in the process happens right here in this first step) and receives either assent or denial, then picks up a "challenge form" from the testing center, is evaluated by the department offering the course using the equivalent of a cumulative final test or project regarding their understanding of the material covered in the course, a fee is paid (which could constitute a significant roadblock) and credit is received.

For both the CLEP test and the challenge, at least at my last university, no grade is assigned, but performance is based on a pass/fail system.

So, in theory, one could CLEP and challenge their entire way through some university programs. Others are - and should be - totally off limits to this kind of behavior (think of being treated by a doctor who never received a single traditionally-earned credit. I shudder to think). And some things can't be taught by the reading of books and personal experimentation (think the performance of a musical instrument). And I imagine that most universities place some restrictions on this kind of credit-reception.

So I have a great deal to learn about the system myself, and it has imperfections to be resolved from the start. One imperfection is the cost: it sure costs less to pay $77 for a CLEP test than it does to pay upwards of $400 for tuition, fees and textbooks for a class on the same subject, but it still costs. But I would hope that, if multitudes used this as their principle way of getting through college, colleges would begin to recognize the failure of their current system and not necessarily abandon it, but at least radically reform it.

So autodidactism is limited, that is clear. But what about pandidactism? Let us consider a world where every man, woman and child is involved in a network, based out of public libraries, where each teaches and learns from each other for nothing more than the privilege - for that is what is to teach. It is a privilege. It is a pleasure. And it is a duty for each of us. A world where a student of life can enter into the job market without thousands of dollars of student debt. A society that spins a web of learning strong enough to lift the weakest learner and powerful enough to transform, for the better, every person alive. I see it, and I shall endeavour to prove that it can be done, at least in microcosm. But I can't throw this party alone. The music is good and the beer is cold... you want in?

The Cave

Today I am lost. I wandered up a canyon with my dad for a couple of hours as we taught each other microeconomics, burrowing into its depths and raising its dark questions. I went to Barnes and Noble and finished my book on economics, SparkNoted Dante's Inferno and got a little bit into a book on ethics.

But it all strikes me as... vast. Neverending. And directionless. I have to wonder - what if Virgil never arrived to save Dante from his aimless confusion? What if, barred by beasts and his own lack of knowledge, he wandered through the oppressive forest, unable to find his path to Paradise, ad eternum?

Maybe life is a grand quest for learning. Maybe education does constitute the steps to an attainable Parnassus. But maybe this existence is nothing but an innavigable forest, and maybe I am a lone child, so bewildered be his solitary plight that he at last has abandoned the search for divine reward, seated himself in the dark woods and commenced to examine the scenery. Perhaps there is no God above or hell beneath, or, if there is, perhaps there is no guided tour - no Virgil to conveniently appear in my time of need.

No, fellow wanderers, this is no time for speculation. Pondering what's on the outside of this cave won't get me out if it. Only a fixed determination to tear my eyes away from the shadows on the wall and crawl out of this cell will see me through. But it well may be that, having crawled my way out of this cavern, I will find there is only another enveloping it, and another beyond that.

But precursive faith dictates that I cannot believe it so to be. I must shake off these chains of doubt and step out of the shadows or have no hope but to forever remain in darkness. And if, at the end of one lifetime's sojourn in this world, I am still entrenched in these caverns of existence, I can say that at least - at least - I spent my life trying.

The Mind

The other day I was sitting in the Salt Lake City public library on one of their tidily modern brown couches, reading Philosophy for Dummies (which is kind of a contradiction in terms) by Tom Morris, and intermittently looking out the massive third-story window at the sun playing down on the cars, on the buildings and on the graceful impressiveness of a skyline that I have come to love over time. I was reading about a school of thought known as Idealism, which Morris summarizes as:

“The view that all that exists are minds… and ideas in minds. According to the idealist, nonmental matter is an illusion projected by our minds. All of the physical universe is just bundles of ideas, a virtual reality, perhaps produced by the mind of God.”

I was forced to pause for a moment, jarred out of my sleepy rumination. Was this something that I could believe? My heart wouldn’t necessarily swallow the concept hook, line and sinker, but it stirred something within me as I looked out at the urban landscape spread out before my eyes. Could it be that this world was not brick and mortar, concrete, aluminum, oxygen, flesh, skin and eyeballs, but just concepts floating through the ether of my - no, not my brain, but my mind?

Well, why not? I certainly wouldn’t be able to prove otherwise, though my intuition wants to put some parameters on the Idealist's doctrine. The truth is, the world as I perceive it probably does exist, but to me, watching through the windows of my senses, it really is nothing but electrical impulses firing through the synapses of my brain.

Whoa. Suddenly my mind has become a world, a universe that is only as small as the things that it sees, hears, smells, tastes, touches and thinks. If the entire world as I perceive it is within me, then why must it seem like such a great task to accomplish anything outside me?

We as human beings - and I include myself in that “we” - often say things like “I wish I was as intelligent as so-and-so” or “I wish I could be morally upstanding and clear minded like the rest of my community.”

My question is - why don’t I, then? I can! The tools are immediately before and within me. My perception of personal weakness is nothing but a dark, cloudy apparition haunting my brain. Should I desire to be an intellectual giant, I can and ought to be pursuing that course this very moment. This very moment. I ought not to wait until there’s a class on the subject that I can attend. I ought not to wait to ask someone who knows. It is just this easy, Cameron: pick up a book on any subject you’ve long desired to learn (you can even get it for free at a library like this one) and read it. And - voila! - you are already well on your way to brilliance.

I believe that what we truly want in the deepest recesses of our hearts is usually good. So if I really want something, I ought to take it! There is, after all, nothing stopping me.

I put down the book and pulled out a piece of paper and began to make a list of what I wanted. It included a number of subjects I wished to learn about - French language, the history of New York City, literary analysis, philosophy and modern musical composition - in addition to a number of other life goals I’ve long held.

Ever since that day I’ve been in a library or a bookstore every available moment. I’ve read all of Tom Morris’s book, nearly finished a book on microeconomics (which is a story in and of itself) and embarked upon a course of French language study. And all because I wanted to.

It amazes me, the way I can turn and look at a light bulb or listen to music or read a book or sink into a comfortable couch or eat a hot dog and suddenly my brain is reaching out its feeble tendrils, touching, viewing, tasting the world, beginning to wrap its roots around the foundations of this universe.

The Problem

Well, it‘s time to throw down the gauntlet and say: the price of education, on every plane of human sacrifice, is too high. The last semester of my college experience, for which I paid quite healthily, proved this aphorism in spades. I was under the impression for the majority of this semester that my education was mostly free, paid for by a scholarship which the school had awarded. Unfortunately, that scholarship was pulled out from under me just weeks before the end of the semester and I was locked out of all my accounts and campus services until I could find some way to cough up $2,900 in tuition. Here’s what I spent those $2,900 on: one teacher of the arts with a god complex who stood before our class and blew smoke six hours a week and one teacher of the sciences who stood before a class of five hundred students and, essentially, recited the textbook three hours a week. Thereafter I spent $150 to rent two e-textbooks for the semester that cost nothing to print and $300 on fees of whose purpose I am still not clear.

And the price of this semester’s learning must have surely included the approximately eighteen hours of lonely study I pushed through every week in order to receive fairly mediocre, albeit passing, grades. The price must have included the feeling of isolation experienced in two classes of five hundred and three hundred students, respectively. And the list goes on.

By the end of this particular semester, I decided that perhaps the price was too high, in a way, because of the university of my choosing. I’m a pretty metropolitan guy by nature, but I had chosen to attend a school in a very rural area because of that particular school's excellent piano performance program (when I first enrolled I had dreams of becoming a concert pianist and had received a full-tuition scholarship to pursue those dreams). But, like the vast majority of aspiring concert pianists, I came to find that, despite the fact that I’ve got plenty of technical chutzpah, becoming a professional pianist was simply not a realistic option for me (I may be good, but not that good), and decided to switch to a finance major, losing my scholarship. It seemed there was nothing left to keep me at this more rural university with its boundless acres of farmland (their finance program was good - but not that good). So I decided to transfer to a more hip, urban university, despite paying almost $700 more, in tuition alone, for that particular choice.

Needless to say, after all the work and decision-making, the summer came as a welcome relief. I got to move home, away from my snoring roommate, away from the burden of schoolwork, and away from the interpersonal drama that comes from living in a community of eighteen- to twenty-five-year-olds. So I settled into trying to find a job so I could start saving up the $12,000 it would take to get me through the next year of my schooling.

But all of this paying and paying and paying began to get me wondering: am I behaving rationally? Is there a reason I am choosing to follow this particular educational course instead of another? Is this the most efficient way to be learning? Why am I getting an education at all?

Well, there seems to be a pretty intuitive answer to the latter of my concerns: an education is important in and of itself. Robert Kiyosaki, financial guru, is known to say, “Ultimately, it is your financial intelligence… that makes you rich.” Peter Brougham: “Education makes a people… easy to govern, but impossible to enslave.” Joseph Addison: “What sculpture is to a block of marble, education is to the soul.” So education is valuable - that seems self-evident. But couldn’t there be a better way to get an education?

One challenge I face is that I’m not entirely sure what I want to study. I am currently pursuing finance, but I don’t really know that a career in finance is ultimately what would make me the most happy. I know that if I invest in a career in finance, I’m fairly certain to get a significant monetary return on my investment. But I’m not sure if the aforementioned career would lead to a genuinely fulfilling life for me.

My dad is a big proponent of doing what you love, something for which I respect him a great deal. I’ve talked with him about my plight of not being sure what I want to study, and have suggested that perhaps I take a break from school until I do know what I want to do, to which he observes that a person will never know what he wants to do unless he goes into the world and tries a lot of things, and a great way is to go to college, taking classes in many subjects until one strikes a chord.

Sounds like wise advice to me, but expensive. $12,000 a year seems like a pretty big down payment on finding yourself. Couldn’t there be a better way to find out what I want to do? Why? Why pay so much for my education? Why pay so much for textbooks? Why pay so much for professors to read those textbooks to me? Why continue to feel isolated in a system that is meant to unite me with other human beings?

I am intrigued by what Emerson, who was clearly well-educated, had to say about higher education: “We are shut up in schools and college recitation rooms for ten or fifteen years, and come out at last with a bellyful of words and do not know a thing.”

Now, of course, I have to insert a concession here. Is getting a college education worth it? Is the benefit you get from a college education greater than the cost exacted for getting it? Without a doubt. It’s the best system that we have right now. Well, that is to say, it’s really the only system we have right now. And it’s full of - I believe - benevolent people intending to improve their community. But could there be a better way? Could there be a more stimulating, enlightening, efficient way? To this I must respond with equally emphatic fervor - yes! And with the price of education getting higher every year, the flaws in this system - the inefficiencies - will prove to be fatal unless something changes. The system of higher learning stands to be fixed. And I intend to show that it is possible to fix it.