In preparing for tomorrow’s lesson, I came across a little blog fodder.
First, the context: I am teaching my Research Methods class how to annotate their readings. This is a skill that will come in handy in just over a year when they hit college.
The lesson on annotating separates critical reading strategies into two basic strategies: reading for meaning and reading like a writer. The first strategy focuses on the ideas, structure, and arguments of a text. The point here is to gain understanding about the text so you can evaluate it. The second focuses on rhetoric: the how of communication.
So far so good. That’s a mighty fine distinction. Afterall, the rhetoric can be powerful and moving, yet the argument itself can be a load of hooey (think most atheistic diatribes from Christopher Hitchens).
Then, however, the lesson goes dreadfully off the rails:
The first strategy for reading critically focuses on how you make meaning as you read. We use the expression make meaning to emphasize the active, even creative, role readers play. As a reader, you are not a passive receptacle into which meaning is poured. Nor are you a decoder, deciphering the black marks on a page to discover the text’s hidden message. A better analogy for reading is translating: As you read, you transfer into your own words what you understand the words on the page to mean. Depending on what you already know and what you consider important, certain aspects of the text come to the foreground, while others retreat into insignificance. Consequently, the meaning or interpretation you construct as you read is influenced by who you are as an individual.
The jist of it is that the relationship between reader and text, or even reader and world, is not one of matching, but one of making. That is why the phrases “make meaning” and “construct” are used. Authorial intent is of little importance. Many are quite pessimistic that a reader can even discern such a thing, or that it really matters. The reader, using his own interpretive grid, constructs his own meaning of the text. The question to ask is, “what does this mean *to me*?”
Most teachers, since they have imbibed a steady diet of constructivist thinking in their teaching classes, don’t question this. It’s almost axiomatic for them. Most non-teachers are the same way.
I’ve never been comfortable with constructivist thinking like this. In fact, it’s downright sloppy stuff.
One of the many problems is this: how many correct answers are there to the question, “what does this mean *to me*?” Answer (no pun intended): an infinite amount. In fact, there really are no wrong answers to that question. If I construct meaning, I construct meaning; it’s my meaning for me. I used my background and individual life to make my own meaning out of the text. In that context, it’s nonsensical to say that my meaning is “wrong.”
“Well, isn’t that what makes it fun?” Some might ask. “After all, who wants their ideas critiqued? What a drag!”
Again, they fail to think through the consequences. Think: if we really lived that out consistently when it comes to communication, what a disaster it would turn out to be!
Example: recently, President Obama has gone on tour saying that certain Republicans are spreading lies about his healthcare plan. “My healthcare plan won’t create ‘death panels,’” he claims, “I never said that. That’s ridiculous.”
Imagine if a Republican applied the “making meaning” view to reading Obama’s healthcare plan and his speeches: “well, that’s what it means *to me.* Beg off.” Poor Obama! That would be frustrating to respond to.
You can only correct someone if you are talking about “what did s/he mean,” period…erase that lil *to me* bit. Only if we are discoverers, not makers, of meaning can Obama coherently say, “no, that’s not what I said. You are misunderstanding me. Here is what I said and here is what I meant.”
Does that make us “passive” readers? Not by a long shot. A scientist doing research on genetics isn’t passive, yet she discovers the mysteries of our DNA. An archaeologist isn’t passive by any means, yet she discovers the wonders of our past. Just because you discover meaning when you read doesn’t mean you are passive, and being active in reading doesn’t mean you are creating meaning.
“What about the reader’s background. Doesn’t that affect the way he reads the text?” Of course, but again, it’s a non sequitur to suggest that means he’s creating or making meaning. Oftentimes, our background knowledge and individuality can help us in the process of discerning meaning. Other times, it hinders us. In both cases, it helps or hinders our ability to see what is already there in the text.
If I am trying to figure out what the author means (as opposed to make meaning *for me*), then, and only then, can I be corrected if my background assumptions get in the way. If I go completely haywire and make something up out of left field, I can be corrected if the relation is one of matching, not making. If the lesson is right, though, it doesn’t even make sense to say I went “haywire” in making something up.
By the way, this is the way most communication naturally goes. I’m talking with my wife, and I get upset about something I said. “No, honey, you’re not listening. Let me explain this again. Here’s what I mean.”
So don’t get snookered, fellow teachers! Drop those two little words at the end. The relationship between reader and text is one of matching, not making. Authorial intent is everything. Just as the archaeologist’s world remains enthralling in the face of “discovery” talk, so the reader’s world shouldn’t be made boring by this acknowledgment. There is so much joy and excitement to be found in a humble quest for…discovery….and I plan on teaching that tomorrow instead.
