So, I was reading The Credibility Circus' 'Creation and criticism' and thought it apt to give something of a reply, from a rather different perspective. Go and give that a read for context, though I will quickly summarise the points with which I wish to engage, for the teal deer amongst you.
1 - A disagreement with the academic claim that "the creative facility resides in one hemisphere of our brain and the critical in the other, and that our brains are not capable of creating and criticising simultaneously," based on the idea that "A successful poet's mind is intrinsically different to that of other people, in that it has sufficient cross-hemisphere communication to simultaneously create and criticise."
I think this response is too narrow. I actually would disagree with the academic claim on more general grounds: simultaneously creating and criticising is a skill, which is perfectly accessible to a majority of people if given the correct training. I will give a few examples of what I would count as 'simultaneously creating and criticising'.
A) Writing parody or satire, or, more generally, using humour to make a point. It seems strange to think that one must, in separate steps, employ the creativity needed to imagine the humour in a situation, and the critical mindfulness to make it 'hit' a given serious target. Instead, these processes overlap and feed one another.
B) Improvised debating (the skill of argument). This requires creativity, in shaping style and wit for maximum stylistic effect, but also criticism, in attacking a perspective or concept in a methodical, precise way. They must be synchronous or the effect is lost.
C) Sketching or performing political caricatures. Such a process is creatively visual, but obviously follows certain critical mental processes (what is to be exaggerated? Why?).
D) Analytical writing. Anyone who says that creativity is not required for analysis does not really understand what analysis is. Finding novel ways to attack or defend a proposition is not a matter of just assessing existing options, but of imagining unexpected ones.
Simultaneously creating and criticising is the skill I most value in myself, and one which I endeavour to foster in those who I tutor on a regular basis. I am fortunate to have something of a talent for this process (though I believe this is just as much a result of attitude as aptitude), and find it relatively easy. Others do not, and need to be taught the skills involved. Those skills are, principally:
- The ability to automate multiple critical processes to the point that they are almost unconscious (identifying language techniques, common fallacies, the meaning of visual symbols, etc.).
- The confidence to experiment with the unknown (wordplay, sympathy and empathy, experimental images, novel combinations of arguments) and a willingness to get it wrong a few times and try again.
- The ability to be self-aware about internal emotional states and beliefs, and aware of those of others (awareness of what kinds of things / thoughts make us laugh, feel angry, intrigued or moved, what we believe in, and how to manipulate the emotions and ideas of others).
These skills can be taught, or at least learned. Some are harder than others. I do not believe poets are a unique exception, though I certainly agree that the way poets work seems a good example of these skills in action.
The teaching and learning process, particularly of the third skill set, can be deeply personal. One-on-one teaching is ideal, I think, for all three, but most useful relative to classroom teaching in the third case, as the student can be approached as an individual rather than as a member of a group.
2 - The idea that disagreement with an authoritative claim functions as a "cognitive cattle prod" - I call it an 'analytical trigger' - which leads to contemplation, enlightenment and (later) confirmation.
Here, I certainly agree. A certain young whipper-snapper seems to have rather pioneered this approach recently, and his ideas strongly inform my response to the next point.
3 - A personal account of the conflict between a "know-it-all" nature and the desire to employ humility in regards to those who claim academic authority.
Now, speaking for the devil's advocate, I have to say that in an academic context, I see great value in mischievous, sometimes cynical (though not trivial) arguments - that is, arguments that are designed to raise uncomfortable, challenging and/or confronting questions for a teacher, lecturer or other authority figure. As a skeptic of sorts, I see great value in challenging arguments whether or not I personally agree with them. One of my favoured approaches to ethics tutorials was to argue one position for the first thirty minutes, persuade as many people as possible to agree with it, and then promptly shred it to pieces in the second half hour, taking the opposite position. For all that this sometimes caused obvious discomfort, challenging deeply held orthodoxies and beliefs amongst my teachers and peers, the educational benefits were immense for those who had the self-discipline to remember that we were here to think, not just to believe.
In short, being a mischievous smart-arse is at the core of the skill of blending the creative and the critical. It promotes the automation of analytical skills, a willingness to experiment and take risks, self-awareness, and awareness of how others think and function.
Of course, there are good and bad times to apply this smart-arsery, this creatively critical knack for mayhem. In the context of personal life, it can often be a cruel and counter-productive approach when used indiscriminately. A basic credo in which I believe is that one should be utterly ruthless with one's self, but, wherever possible, forgiving of others: but I also hold that the field of education, and especially secondary and tertiary education, is an exception: one should be ruthlessly critical with all ideas, no matter who believes them or how they feel. If the object of education is to think critically, then nobody can be excused, and nobody should be protected, from the most powerful of critical arguments, no matter how many sacred cows they slaughter.
Education is at the core of critical thinking, and nothing - nothing! - is sacred in the arena of critical thinking. Nothing. For if one belief is protected, why not others? If I cannot question your beliefs about religion or abortion or human rights, how can I question a racist's beliefs, or a misogynist's, or a fascist's? How can you, without being a hypocrite? Taste and tact are important, but not that important, by comparison.
Additionally, I generally feel that people often overvalue humility in education. The quiet, humble student does not ask the question, does not understand the material, does not grow, becomes confused, and ends up falling behind. I spend much of my time tutoring such students, addressing the cause as well as the symptoms, making them question, challenge, assert themselves, giving them the confidence to take control of their education.
Perhaps, as part of the minority of difficult, smart-arsed students, I made some of my less confident peers worse. But I do know that we prompted many of them to come out swinging, to argue, to call bullshit. To learn to think on their feet. Just occasionally, hearing someone else argue like that inspired them. We asked lecturers questions that made them squirm, and did not let them off the hook until they (a) justified themselves, or (b) admitted defeat. I was not the only one, but several lecturers frankly admitted to me that they wished they had more like us. One of the saddest moments of my education was hearing Martin Stone, one of the most inspiringly brilliant lecturers I ever saw, talk about why he was retiring: he loved teaching, but he was sick of being sandwiched by mediocrity: between the bureaucracy on high, and the facile majority of the student body. Smart-arses are, apparently, a dying breed.
So, in conclusion, when it comes to education, be a smart-arse. It's good for your brain.
