Social Studies for the Twenty-First

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 P REFACE

“It is my desire, it is my wish

to set out to sing, to begin to recite
to let a song of our clan glide on, to sing a family lay
The worlds are melting in my mouth, utterances dropping out,
Coming to my tongue, being scattered on my teeth.” The Kelavala
(Compiled by Elias Lonnrot, Harvard U. Press, 1963, p. 3)

As this new edition of Social Studies for the Twenty-First Century goes to press, the social studies
community is living in a changed educational world, one dominated by the Internet—our
huge and rapidly growing electronic base of knowledge. The advantages of this base for
social studies offers astounding possibilities for teachers: unheard of quantities of original
sources now digitalized, vast troves of lesson plans, and canned versions of almost anything a
teacher could desire, including aims, lessons, units, courses, texts, tests, scholarly discussions,
and lectures. And let us not forget wonderful media, including online courses, videos, film
clips, interviews, lectures, and music. All this material is ours for the taking and is very rich
and varied. Easily found and easily forgotten, too.
However, the specter of a knowledge explosion and subject fragmentation haunt the hori-
zon of a virtual reality that seems to be replacing ordinary reality in the secondary school
curriculum. There are many problems and issues that have arisen as the Web has expanded,
and computers, electronic notebooks, and cell phones have become almost universally avail-
able. Problems range from sublime to ridiculous, but the biggest, in my view, is that teaching
methods and curriculum are out of synch with the new electronic opportunities. Students
are distracted by machines and social media, with outcomes positive and negative.1
Certainly, the new C3 NCSS Framework based on Common Core goals bears a deep
desire for an ‘inquiry arc’ rather than data collection as a supreme objective. The Common
Core seeks a much richer and deeper kind of instruction for our youth based on decades of
accumulated research on teaching and learning.2
Despite widespread dissemination of computers and most teachers’ extensive knowledge
of websites, the sheer quantity available tends to overwhelm both us and our students. Rather
than providing deeper insight and analysis, the Web gives so many choices (many not sourced

vii
viii PREFACE

or checked) that research is required simply to choose the one or two sources we hope to get
across to our students.
Added to the complexity of knowledge expansion and curriculum rigidity and lack of
innovation is the new ‘reform’ movement that has encompassed and endorsed quite an array
of methods and structures to organize goals and content. These reforms run the gamut from
multiple evaluation systems to the newly popular Common Core, with many attempts dis-
carded or added in between.
In this new world, the authorities (federal, state, and local governments), often in conjunc-
tion with private industry, have imposed new objectives and evaluation systems for teachers
without a great deal of philosophical consideration about what we really want from ourselves
and our pupils in terms of input and results. Teachers and educators have seldom been at the
forefront of consultations.
The Common Core—a basis for new integrated standards for the social studies—in par-
ticular needs careful examination and conversation because it is the dominant set of goals that
has been adopted widely across our nation by many professionals, states, and communities.
Irony abounds since the deeply analytical Common Core demands complex inquiry behav-
ior from teachers who must also face cutbacks and a rather antique curriculum. Legislated
inquiry and historical habits of mind are on the way in, if not already in place, largely by fiat
from above.
Yet, as teachers of social studies, we are still left with the same old basic problems and
questions: what to teach, how to teach, why this organization of curriculum, and how do we
ascertain results? The Web has created opportunities unlimited but also issues of information
overload and sourcing the origins of materials, sometimes now called social studies ‘phenom-
ena.’ However, choosing quality data and quality learning are even greater problems since
the Internet desperately needs a version of Consumer Reports for educators so we can sift the
wheat from the chaff. There are websites now designed to find other websites.
And above all is that perennial question of what is worth teaching. This question is our
central focus throughout the book, helping you to decide in the light of multiple demands
from within and without, what is really of value for the youthful citizens of tomorrow, and
for ourselves as social studies and history teachers. Must we teach manifest destiny?
You are invited to use this newly revised and updated fourth edition of Social Studies for
the Twenty-First Century as a guide, framework, and reference for teaching social studies at the
middle and secondary levels. In earlier editions, I had sought to provide a fair and balanced
review of the field using up-to-date curriculum, research, and theory, including important
work on history, civics, and economic education, and this will continue along with transmis-
sion of a sprinkling of classic lessons and research studies.

ABOUT THE FOURTH EDITION

In this edition, expansion of horizons is increased to include other social sciences, and I
extend a welcome to the humanities and sciences, as well. The social studies can draw suc-
cessfully from a wide array of fields and connect to many subjects to enrich lessons, units, and
courses. However, caution must be exercised in making the social studies a conglomeration of facts
and ideas without a character or focus of its own.
This edition employs the concept of ‘multiples’ as a guide: multiple perspectives, intelli-
gences, sources, strategies, and course conceptions. There are many ways to achieve and exceed
the standards. These techniques are spelled out clearly and supported with multiple examples.
PREFACE ix

As in previous editions, I stake out a position on what I think constitutes excellence in

teaching, rooted in the inquiry method proposed by John Dewey and others 100 years ago
or more, but still not terribly well implemented in schools. More than ever, I am in favor
of deeper and more reflective teaching of history through primary and secondary sources
promoting higher order thinking and the development of empathy as springboards to seeing and
understanding the world, not only as we want to see it, but as others view it.
However, social studies and history, as well as much of the U.S. curriculum, is facing
‘reform’ from above, not from teachers themselves, with legislated goals and standards that
demand a ‘constructive,’ ‘productive,’ ‘value-added’ core-like curriculum without giving
much attention to the nitty-gritty of daily lessons, or course content. The Common Core,
for example, asks teachers to advance their skills and promote high levels of historical and
language literacy, while curriculum itself is left largely at a standstill.3
So, we have problems facing our field that are similar to those facing most other fields,
as well: issues of content, process, adaptation to audiences (differentiation), knowledge out-
comes, measurable results, and emotional satisfaction for teachers, parents, and students.
Questions can also be raised about investment in education rather than tests and evaluation
systems. Therefore, for the foreseeable future, several key questions need consideration in our
field. These include:

• Deciding what knowledge is of greatest worth in terms of process and content—an

overall philosophy of instruction.
• Deciding how to judge the quality of knowledge, texts, sources, and websites in terms
of accuracy and fairness, balance and agenda.
• Deciding why we adopt and adapt specific materials we have chosen or have been cho-
sen for us to student audiences.
• Deciding on methods of teaching that may best advance student and teacher growth
from lower to higher levels of thinking.
• Deciding and experimenting with ways of engaging student interest and stimulating
ideas about history and the social sciences, as well as related subjects.
• Deciding when and how to bring students into conversations about key emotional and
value issues that are embedded in human history that persist to the present day.
• And deciding when, where, and how to be creative professionals who invent our mate-
rials and strategies.

The social studies is a large and complex field, embedded in what is now a rapidly grow-
ing electronic world of knowledge seemingly so fragmented, yet entertaining, so rich, yet
distracting, that, at times, its essence is difficult to grasp. In the future, we will need approaches
to knowledge as much as knowledge itself.
In this edition, I review and critique much of the new and recent research on youthful
comprehension of history, civics, and economics, noting reported and potential classroom
application. History is a primary focus of social studies and always has been, but it is still part
of a larger and more complex whole of the social sciences and humanities. There are also
new advocates appearing promoting connections to STEM (the sciences, math, technology,
and engineering) and STEAM (the “A” is for “Arts”) that make the work of a social studies
teacher more difficult and demanding than in previous eras.
While I strongly favor an integrated concept of the field, with improved connections to
other fields, I also suggest caution to avoid social studies becoming amorphous and pointless.
x PREFACE

And there is the continuing problem of teachers learning how to integrate and intelligently
use subject matter infusions. How about talking about the huge problems facing humankind
in social studies: the decline and exploitation of the environment; the rapid rise of security
and decline of privacy; and the growing inequality with the U.S. and around the globe?
Therefore, throughout this text, I argue for more thoughtful and realistic history teaching as
part of better social studies instruction.
As in previous editions, I provide an overview of social studies/history theory, goals, cur-
riculum, and everyday practice in terms of three interlocking components: the didactic
(information), the reflective (reasoning), and the affective (values). These components of
planning for instruction should be thought of as three overlapping spheres of development,
each moving into the other and contributing to an overall view of subject that includes facts,
reasons, and judgments.
Didactic refers to all teaching and learning activities that revolve around gathering knowl-
edge, from memorizing dates and definitions to matching tests. Reflective concerns all activi-
ties that focus on analyzing and thinking about data, research, or issues—reasoning for which
more than one answer is possible. Affective deals with those facets of classroom life in which
feelings, opinions, values, ethics, empathy, and morality dominate. Thus, each of the three
components has a different, although not exclusive, focus: didactic mainly on the what, reflec-
tive on the why, and affective on decisions about the good—what ought to be decided in a
better world. Each component is discussed as contributing to and complementing the others;
each enriches classroom discussion and learning.
In addition to offering a basic philosophy of teaching social studies, informative “boxes”
are scattered throughout for you to think about: summaries about research studies past and
present (Research Reports); items to stimulate curriculum ideas (Food for Thought); instruc-
tional gimmicks (On Lessons); and places for you to get involved with designing activities
that grow out of each subject and chapter focus (Applications).
And do not forget that as social studies folks, we have the most powerful justification for
our subject as a key subject: we are teaching about the real world where present evolves out
of past, and where similar questions, issues, and mysteries appear as perennial companions to
human behavior.
 A N OTE ABOUT THE N ATIONAL C OUNCIL
FOR THE S OCIAL S TUDIES C OLLEGE , C AREER ,
AND CIVIC LIFE (C3) FRAMEWORK FOR SOCIAL
S TUDIES S TATE S TANDARDS
“YOUNG PEOPLE need strong tools for, and methods of, clear and disciplined thinking
in order to traverse successfully the worlds of college, career, and civic life.”
C3, 154

Just as I began to revise this book, the National Council for the Social Studies brought out its
new standards. Covering more than 100 pages of material, the new standards offer guidance
and goals across the social studies, from history through the social sciences, linking these to
the more abstract goals of the Common Core.
The C3 Framework offers a translation of the Common Core into social studies speak and
represents the hard work of a large committee of educators at all levels—college, secondary,
middle, and elementary/early childhood—in consultation with nearly all of the professional
organizations and foundations with deep interests in the survival and improvement of social
studies education.
While I have suffered the slings and arrows of many outrageous reforms, and some good
ones, each leaving a residue of change, the basic issues of instruction in our subject have not
altered significantly in over a hundred years. Therefore, I decided to embrace (with reserva-
tions) the C3 Framework as the honest work of a broad-based group of colleagues with the
same best interests at heart, and I recommend that all pre- and in-service teachers thoroughly
examine the standards.
However enthusiastic, I must report that most reforms have resulted in, at best, modest
change in daily instructional practices and even less on the curriculum. In fact, one of the
enduring problems of education is a curriculum tradition that stifles change. Even as the
‘tsunami’ of Internet data overwhelm us and produces rallying cries with buzzwords of ‘lit-
eracy’ in language, history, science, and even data gathering, we grow more confused by the
riches presented. We are distracted and a bit disoriented by the vast new technology and
vaster resources available. Thus, the C3 Framework provides goals and direction across a
fragmented field.
Therefore, beloved quotes of yesteryear have been eliminated as chapter headings, and
replaced with C3 Standards that seem relevant. Every teacher of social studies should have a
grasp of the new standards, whether in agreement or not.
xi
xii A NOTE ABOUT THE NATIONAL COUNCIL

Pre- and in-service teachers need to work with the standards to get and hold a position—
no easy matter. However, in my personal view, reforms and standards are only a beginning.
Quality teaching, exciting teaching, and artistic teaching grows out of subject knowledge
thoughtfully united with techniques and strategies that ask provocative questions with
engaging and surprising content. The technological format has a lot less to do with instruc-
tional success than the framing of the content and the queries attached. A lecture from a
podium and a lecture or podcast on the Internet is still a lecture. Lack of controversy, lack
of mystery, and lack of an open climate of inquiry still yields relatively little give and take
of conversation. Thus, this book is devoted to inviting you to become the best social studies
teacher you know how to be, but this cannot be achieved without devotion to content and
to process, linked together and designed for maximum impact for a particular audience, not
any audience.
While adopting the C3 Framework, and beginning each chapter with a brief quote from
the standards, most of the content of this book will be focused on helping you create interest-
ing lessons out of engaging materials with quests, queries, and questions open for discussion.
Note that C3 Standards bear letters and numbers: letters for the dimension involved and
numbers for expectations at grades 8 or 12.
No single answers, no right answers, no dictated judgments please: we seek multiple
responses, multiple intelligences, and multiple strategies. My most fervent goal for reform is
the death of the single right answer, single leading question, and single assessment high-stakes
test.
As C3 adopts an ‘arc of inquiry,’ I applaud its boldness and coherence of philosophy; how-
ever, an inquiry approach is not new and has motivated many educators for quite a long time
in American history, born of several previous Ages of Reform. So, please critically examine
the new goals and framework with me, keeping one eye on a goal and the other on its transla-
tion into classroom engagement daily, weekly, monthly, and beyond, into ‘real life.’
And remember that, in the Game of Standards, the devil is in the details.

NOTES
1. H. Gardner and K. Davis, (2013) The App Generation: How today’s youth navigate identity, intimacy
and imagination in a digital age (New Haven, CN: Yale University Press).
2. H. Gardner and K. Davis, (2013) The App Generation: How today’s youth navigate identity, intimacy
and imagination in a digital age (New Haven, CN: Yale University Press).
3. edutopia.org/common-core-state-standards-resources
4. National Council for the Social Studies, (2013) The College, Career, and Civic Life (C3) Framework for
Social Studies State Standards: Guidance for Enhancing the Rigor of K-12 Civics, Economics, Geography,
and History (Silver Spring, MD: NCSS).
 A CKNOWLEDGMENTS

It is with great pleasure that I acknowledge the untold contributions of my students and col-
leagues who have tested, reacted to, and suggested ideas for the new edition of Social Studies
for the Twenty-First Century. I especially want to recognize the advice of my wife, Iris, also a
social studies teacher, and a recent departed colleague, Ellen Sherman, who may have taught
my book better than I did to her methods classes at Queens College. She will be missed.

xiii
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 P ERSONAL P ROLOGUE

Social Studies for the Twenty-First Century is an effort to present the field of social studies with
an up-to-date discussion of its most important developments and persisting issues in our
rapidly globalizing, electronically connected world. Like many other fields, social studies is
a vast and complicated subject full of problems and inconsistencies. To the new teacher and
the uninitiated, social studies may seem confusing and fragmented, leaving practitioners rud-
derless in steering a course through its reefs and shoals.
As in previous editions, in this fourth edition, I attempt to offer an overall framework that
can act as a guide for setting objectives, devising lessons, and choosing classroom strategies. I
also offer assistance in constructing tests and planning lessons, units, and courses for some of
the field’s most popular and widespread programs. Throughout, all aspects of curriculum and
instruction are viewed from a tripartite perspective that divides the world of social studies
into didactic, reflective, and affective components. I use didactic, reflective, and affective to
stand for the lower (factual), middle (analytical), and higher ( judgmental) orders of think-
ing, decision making, and feeling, allowing each about a third of classroom time. The three
levels are seen as supporting one another in a C3 ‘arc of inquiry’. At no time do I subscribe
to interest groups in the field who want only their goals stressed at the expense of others. In
my view, the greatest need is for social studies professionals to balance goals so their students
obtain necessary knowledge, time for adequate discussions, and encouragement to probe their
own feelings and those of others on the important issue, ultimately taking a stand that they
are willing to act upon. It is the teacher’s job to give students the knowledge and skills needed
to prepare a solid defense for their views, decisions, and actions.
Of course, giving equal emphasis to each of the three components of teaching is deeply
optimistic. We know that social studies (maybe all) teachers are pressed from myriad direc-
tions to cover the “facts,” finish the textbook, teach thinking skills, complete special proj-
ects, use cooperative learning techniques, add assessments to their testing repertory, keep up
to date with research and curriculum in the field, join and become active in professional
organizations, and now meet professional, state, and national standards ad infinitum. On top
of this, many schools provide a work experience that can be characterized as regimented,
demanding, and overstuffed with nonteaching responsibilities. Some schools are repressive

xv
xvi PERSONAL PROLOGUE

and authoritarian as well, giving little or no leeway for creativity or time to breathe freely for
a few moments of creativity.
Pressured situations make excellence in teaching social studies nearly impossible. Valiant
effort is necessary to overcome professional demands and personal development problems.
Certainly, stoic qualities of endurance have served teachers and teachers-to-be better than
Epicurean, fun-loving characteristics!
Nevertheless, I believe that this frequently grim picture must be resisted or we will all lose
sight of the joys of teaching—working with young adults and future citizens, trying new and
exciting methods and materials and improving our own knowledge and understanding of
the subjects we teach. Teachers and students need to recapture a sense of play as well as meet
the goals of work.
Part of the reason social studies is disliked by so many secondary students is that it holds
out the promise of democracy, of vibrant discussion and debate, without delivering much
in actual practice. Didactic or knowledge nearly always triumphs over reflective reasoning
and controversy. The “sexy stuff,” as one of my students put it, caves in to the “laundry
list” of purportedly vital knowledge of dates, names, and places. Oddly enough, the famous
“great books” or historical artifacts are almost never experienced first-hand by young adults,
although reports and studies decry lack of familiarity with the classics.
To my mind, the only topics in the social studies worth teaching and talking about are
those that contain or suggest questions with many answers. As a beginning high school teacher
in Chicago, I remember vividly how bored my urban, inner-city classes were with the facts
they had to know and how lively they would become when we did anything that gave them
an active role and a chance to “spout off.” Many were so unused to speaking in public that
they would at first slump down into their desks to avoid a question from their overzealous
teacher. Others found the experience of free speech in a social studies classroom utterly
exhilarating and shone immediately. However, after a period of frustration and struggle with
their new roles, most found that they not only had something to say, but also were getting
better at saying it!
I still recall having to teach these young people the dynasties of ancient Egypt—a really
‘useful’ topic for them! The class session was awful until we got around to discussing death, a
grim but fascinating topic to which nearly everyone suddenly had something to contribute.
The class divided along the lines of those who judged the ancient Egyptians “nuts” for their
practices and others who empathized with their fears about death and their need to soften its
blow. The dynasties were quickly forgotten, but the conversation on death and how humans
cope with sadness carried on throughout the year. Such experiences taught me a lesson in
ideas, how to motivate student inquiry, and what goals are important to creating an exciting
classroom.
Clearly, didactic information is necessary, but not enough to gain deep understanding or
reach for the big ideas! There must also be analysis, synthesis, examination of feelings and val-
ues, or the whole teaching enterprise dies a slow death from information overkill and lack of
emotion. My second job, teaching younger middle-school students in Michigan, only served
to confirm this principle. The young teens were, if anything, even more restless and impatient
than the senior high school students. They, too, had plenty to say, although much of it was
relatively uninformed and immature. Nevertheless, the teacher must start where the students
are (prior knowledge!) if some measure of success is to be achieved. The opposite path seems
to lead mainly to college-style lecturing and the worst kind of pedantic demands—that stu-
dents need great amounts and of background data to think adequately about any topic in
PERSONAL PROLOGUE xvii

history and the social sciences. Overlooked is the fact that it takes a lifetime truly to master a
field! Thus, full background knowledge is a goal that is not only impossible for young adults,
but one that also prevents going beyond the data given to reach higher realms of understand-
ing, reasoning, and making choices.
So, you might ask, where is this all going?
To this point: The heart and soul of social studies instruction, perhaps all teaching lies in
stimulating the production of ideas, looking at knowledge from others’ viewpoints, develop-
ing a sense of empathy, and formulating for oneself a set of values, and beliefs that can be
explained and justified in open discussion. Questions and answers should be open both ways,
with audience and actor, teacher and student willing and able to exchange and modify each
other’s conclusions and commitments.
Thus, you are asked to read this book as a set of optimistic suggestions for setting goals,
lesson planning, curriculum design, and experimentation. You are free to choose from its
resources what you need and can handle. You are also free to reject ideas and opinions that
you see as unsuitable. You may say, “You’re kidding, I can’t do this!” or “I have better ideas!”
You are also invited to experiment with curriculum and judge the outcomes yourself. This
book is constructed to represent a ‘reach’ for the social studies classroom. But what can I do
as a teacher who has devoted many years to our field? Bemoan its problems and restrictions?
Fall into the trap of cynicism and apathy? It seems to me we must all struggle with our local
work situations, local, state, and national bureaucracies, redefining teaching in terms that suit
ourselves and provide the deepest and most exciting instruction for our pupils.
One way of doing this is to keep our minds open to new ideas and keep a wary eye on
those administrators, bureaucrats, and social problems that hem us in and sap our energies.
Let’s try not to be seduced by vast compilations of “facts” on lovely websites, but always be
ready to check sources and test arguments and conclusions against other sources, and a strong
sense of logic. Let’s talk about the big issues of our times, both positive and negative, such
as freedom and inequalities, empire and peace, the destruction of habitat and environmental
protections, and apathy versus empathy for our fellow human beings.
Just as I am advocating a balance between social studies goals and techniques, content and
process, so am I advising you to juggle subjects, students, and school life until a satisfactory
equilibrium is achieved among competing forces. Any classroom session I observe in which
the social studies teacher and the students divided their time equally between acquiring
knowledge, thinking about motives, and making choices amid competing values rates as a
wonderful enriching inquiry experience, deeply assisting in comprehending the human and
physical world as we know it. So take this as an invitation to think about subjects, stories,
and students on the way to developing your own style and stand as a teacher, and let me hear
from you now and then.
This page intentionally left blank
 P A R T

I
P HILOSOPHY AND H ISTORY
OF S OCIAL S TUDIES :
W HAT I S (A RE ) THE S OCIAL S TUDIES ?
This page intentionally left blank
 CHAPTER

1
S OCIAL S TUDIES : D EFINITION ,
O RGANIZATION , AND P HILOSOPHY

LINKS TO C3 FRAMEWORK

D1.1.6–8. Explain how a question represents key ideas in the field.

D1.1.9–12. Explain how a question reflects an enduring issue in the field.
C3 Framework, p. 24

OVERVIEW

What Is (Are) the Social Studies? Defining a Discipline

Organizing Principles from Way Back When
The Origins of Differing Social Studies Perspectives
Goals as a Bridge between Theory and Practice
Theory and Practice
Summary
For Further Study: Foundations
Notes

Social studies should be defined in multiples. It is an all-encompassing subject representing

a fusion of history and the social sciences with help from the humanities and the sciences.
Most teachers, however, are teaching history and civics, a smaller portion geography and
economics, and still smaller percentages devoted to psychology, sociology, and anthropology.
Different traditions flow within the veins of social studies, one coming from history as a dis-
cipline, another from civics, and a third from the social sciences. So, one definition of social
studies is to include pretty much everything having to do with human history and society.
Educators have never fully agreed on a common definition of social studies. We have
not yet decided whether the subject is singular or plural, a unity or a collection. We have
3
4 PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF SOCIAL STUDIES

experienced considerable conflict over goals, and this is ongoing. As a result, all social stud-
ies teachers confront certain dilemmas at the outset: what to teach, how to teach, and why
to teach it. A major question is what lies at the heart of the subject. Some say history, some
decision-making, and some scientific method.
There are fissures within the field between and among subgroups, but nearly all unite
around the recently developed Common Core-inspired “College, career, and civic life (C3)
Framework for Social Studies State Standards” that calls for ‘an inquiry arc’ as its overall
philosophy:
“Social studies prepares the nation’s young people for college, careers, and civic life.
Inquiry is at the heart of social studies.
Social studies involves interdisciplinary applications and welcomes integration of the arts
and humanities.
Social studies is composed of deep and enduring understandings, concepts, and skills from
the disciplines.
Social studies emphasizes skills and practices as preparation for democratic decision-making.”
While the C3 Framework provides goals and guidance, teachers must still make decisions
about evolving and testing a teaching style that suits their situations and audiences, hope-
fully within an inquiry philosophy. Creating and practicing a pedagogical style is exactly
what this book is designed to help you accomplish. Social studies has a history that can
be traced back to philosophical debates about its purpose and place in the curriculum. A
deep divide is represented by a split between those who emphasize learning content versus
those emphasizing critical thinking and preparation for democratic life. Many argue that
the main goal of social studies is to transmit knowledge about the past, a didactic goal—one
that emphasizes telling.
Others protest strongly that the goal of acquiring knowledge is not enough. Critics point
out that information must be digested, analyzed, and applied in order to be useful. Forms of
reasoning are a reflective goal. There is also a strong lobby for social studies to serve as an agent
of social change, for active citizenship education. Even citizenship education has its problems
now and long ago. Socrates—probably an outstanding activist and gadfly—was put on trial
in a democracy for impious acts. Could there be such a thing as asking too many questions
in a democracy?
Advocates in the activist camp worry about the need for participants in the democratic
system, those who vote and pursue an ethical lifestyle. This we describe as an affective goal
because it encompasses moral questions, feelings, emotions, judgments, and values. Didactic,
reflective, and affective dimensions of teaching social studies form part of everyday school
practices and disputes about education theory and philosophy.
In addition to debating goals, some define the social studies largely as the study of history;
others see it primarily as a study of the social sciences: anthropology, economics, political
science, psychology, and sociology. Still others suggest that social studies is a field unto itself,
offering an interpretation of society to young people, while a minority views it as useful for
building of student self-confidence and encouraging good values. Each view has contributed
to the current complexity of the curriculum.
At the secondary school level, our field is usually defined in practice by mandated course
content: world and U.S. history, economics, and civics with a smattering of social sciences and
special electives. Classroom realities like too much work, public opinion, budget restrictions,
and insufficient classroom time further narrow the range of what is actually offered and how
the subject is taught. In addition to the usual pressures are newer ones involving national
DEFINITION, ORGANIZATION, AND PHILOSOPHY 5

standards, a Common Core curriculum, and a push for uniform testing. Also, do not forget
to keep up with your email, texts, tweets, and other inboxes!
Theoretically, social studies may include any topics or issues that concern human
behavior—past, present, or future. Content is most typically organized around one of the
three dimensions or goals identified. Some educators would add at least two other orga-
nizing principles to this list: (a) a philosophy of social action, and (b) a person-oriented
humanism that encourages self-regulation, confidence building, and personal growth. Each
of these organizing principles has goals, methods, and curriculum additions, which have
grown out of those schools of philosophy that influenced educators over the last 100 years
and more.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Which subjects have you studied that should be included in social studies and which
excluded? Sociology? History of science? Driver training? Marketing? Media? Ancient
history? Character education? Service learning?

In this chapter, you are invited to study different definitions of social studies, different ways
of organizing goals, and the competing schools of philosophy that have influenced this field.
You are invited to apply the three dimensions to help you decide what, how, and why to teach
every day in your social studies classroom.

WHAT IS (ARE) THE SOCIAL STUDIES? DEFINING A DISCIPLINE

A major conflict in the definition of social studies is contained in the title of this section: Is the
social studies a single, integrated field, or are the social studies a series of related disciplines?
Social studies is a relatively new subject in the world of academic disciplines, a product of public
school expansion in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. The field of study was originally
designed to meet a number of needs, including the preservation of democratic life; the upgrad-
ing of skills for an increasingly industrialized, technological economy; and the socialization of
vast numbers of new immigrants into the general population.1 Given diverse purposes, it comes
as no surprise that social studies represent a fusion of several different strands, including history
(a classical humanities academic discipline), the social sciences (with roots in empirical, scien-
tific traditions), citizenship training (derived from both nationalism and social criticism), and
self-enhancement (with roots in psychological and pluralistic/multicultural traditions).
Edgar B. Wesley’s famous definition, “the social studies are the social sciences simplified for
pedagogical purposes,”2 suggests that social sciences form the heart of the discipline—a notion
that many would dispute and that does not typically represent the practices of secondary school
teachers. More fairly, we can define secondary school social studies as the study of history, citizenship,
and ethical issues that deal with human history, human behavior, and human values. In short, social
studies in the classroom is about how and why people act, what they believe, and where and how
they live. It is about actions, ideas, values, time, and place—a series of topics that covers an immense
range, but allows tremendous latitude in the selection of materials and methods for teachers.3
Although there is and will continue to be considerable debate on a theoretical level about
what social studies is and should be, most secondary instruction on a practical level is defined
6 PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF SOCIAL STUDIES

by content and courses mandated by state or local requirements that are basically similar from
district to district. In this area, it is always useful to read through landmark thinkers like John
Dewy, Jerome Bruner, and Howard Gardner, as we all borrow freely from them.
Your style and philosophy, however, are your own. As a social studies teacher, you
should understand the different schools of thought and the rationales behind them, and
from this understanding, slowly and carefully evolve a philosophy that suits your own
view of subject and audience. A key issue here is the choice between eclecticism—an
attempt to include many viewpoints—or a commitment to one major approach as your
principal guide to action. An eclectic approach that collects many topics, views, and tech-
niques may seem fairer in the classroom, but it may also lead to confusion about goals,
inconsistency, and a disorganized approach to content. A consistent approach, however,
may produce clear, consistent results, but leave you and your students with a narrower
range of ideas.
The social sciences, history, citizenship, social action, and personal development advocates
want to give social studies a different “heart” to supply its body with the sustenance of life,
set its goals, and direct action. Each position derives from different philosophic grounds and
tends to stress widely varying criteria for the content, methods, and outcomes of instruc-
tion. For example, in a reflective social science lesson, students might be asked to analyze the
reasons for the rise of dictators rather than focus on any single example such as Mussolini or
Hitler. A didactic history lesson might discuss political causes of the American Revolution.
Citizenship-centered material might be a debate focused on voting rights and responsibilities
in the here and now. A social action approach might typically ask students to study an issue
such as world hunger, take a position on how to address it, and implement a plan for action.
A lesson stressing personal or character development could involve service learning and social
activism asking students to make contributions to the community. Thus, a dilemma exists not
only of definition, but also of choice: Should you attempt to resolve conflicting conceptions,
integrating and fusing them into a united whole? Or should you accept and utilize one of
the competing conceptions, the ‘arc of inquiry’ to guide all classroom decisions? How can we
organize our thinking about a diverse and fragmented field?

LET’S DECIDE

Form a group of at least three colleagues or classmates, write your own definition of social
studies, and share your views. Is everyone’s view more or less alike or different? Why?
Do you think history IS social studies, or do you prefer a civics or social science overall
theme? Why or why not?

Organizing Principles from Way Back When

A Three-Part Approach

A number of organizing conceptions of social studies can serve as an aid to understanding

the dynamics and pressures of the subject. Barr, Barth, and Shermis, for example, offer a
view of social studies as divisible into three traditions: one to promote social science, a
DEFINITION, ORGANIZATION, AND PHILOSOPHY 7

second to promote citizenship, and a third to promote reflective inquiry.4 The social science
tradition offers the findings, concepts, and rules of the different social sciences, centering
on the scientific method. Organizing ideas might include social class, culture, location,
power, or the market system. The social science tradition seeks to give secondary students
a sample of the ideas, skills, and data available to social scientists, “reduced to manageable
terms for young people.”5 Ultimately, Barr, Barth, and Shermis see the social sciences as
supporting citizenship education by encouraging analysis of and generalizations about
human behavior.
The citizenship transmission approach is teaching goals and expectations for U.S. society,
seeking to develop the ideal participant in a democratic society. The desired product is
someone who knows and understands the culture and its values and is able to function
effectively as an active citizen. The intent of the transmitters is to inculcate within stu-
dents those democratic beliefs and convictions that will be supportive yet critical of social
and political institutions while providing assistance in choosing careers and developing
personal capital. Barr, Barth, and Shermis view the purpose of the citizenship transmission
tradition as being “to raise up a future generation of citizens who will guarantee cultural
survival.”6
The third tradition, social studies taught as reflective inquiry, proposes analysis and decision-
making as the heart of a student’s classroom life, applied to the content and process of
knowing and valuing. Method and content are closely related to conclusions, theories, and
judgments subject to critical interpretation. Problem solving and critical thinking are integral
to the reflective inquiry tradition; the student is placed in a situation in which she or he must
deal with ambiguities and unknowns in order to make sense of the world. Inquiry process,
according to Barr, Barth, and Shermis, is one “that involves all of the techniques and strate-
gies that lend themselves to improving the students’ ability to ask important questions and find
satisfactory answers.”7
The three traditions to correlate purpose, method, and content:

Tradition I: Citizenship/Cultural Transmission/National Values and Heritage

Tradition II: Reflective Thinking/Inquiry-Problem Solving/Social Criticism
Tradition III: Social Science/Scientific Method and Empiricism/Search for Truth.8

Brubaker, Simon, and Williams suggest a similar organizing scheme that includes cit-
izenship, social science, and reflective inquiry, but adds a student-oriented tradition of a
sociopolitical “involvement,” meaning participation in social action.9 The purpose of the
student-oriented tradition is self-enhancement and the building of self-confidence; and it
includes cultural awareness. The authors view social studies as a vehicle for building identity
and strengthening psychological perceptions of the self, aimed at successful social, family, and
community relationships. Sociopolitical involvement is a label for social criticism and political
activism. A major purpose of social studies is to promote political activism for such goals as
social justice, free speech and assembly, international peace, etc.
Note that these earlier analyses of social studies and its traditions has much in common
with the three major dimensions: didactic, reflective, and affective. Social science and history
can have a heavily didactic purpose. Reflective inquiry and critical thinking are, of course,
most like our reflective dimension because reasoning is primary. Civic education clearly
involves moral values, social criticism, self-analysis, and public controversy—judgments that
fit the affective dimension. Thus, current practices and philosophies have grown out of
8 PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF SOCIAL STUDIES

earlier models picking up new ideas and content as we head into the 21st-century Age of
the Internet.

RESEARCH REPORT

A previous five-dimensional view of social studies was bolstered by a survey of teachers’

philosophic preferences by Irving Morrissett for the Social Science Education Consortium
(1977). In this study, most teachers surveyed identified one or more of five principal areas
that comprised social studies:
1. The transmission of culture and history.
2. The life experiences of personal development.
3. Reflective or critical thinking and inquiry.
4. Social sciences processes and subject matter.
5. The study of social and political controversies with the aim of promoting political
activism.
A sample of secondary teachers saw history as a main link for knowledge of the past along
with citizenship values. The social sciences overall were viewed as providing a scientific/
analytic framework. Reflective inquiry was considered as promoting students thinking through
the investigation of social issues and problem solving. The action approach was viewed as
involvement in real political processes and leadership in the world outside, as well as in school.
Teachers saw the student-centered approach enhancing appreciation and understanding of
self and others in society through discussion of personal beliefs and deeply held values.
Source: Irving Morrissett, “Preferred approaches to the teaching of social studies,” Social Education,
41 (March 1977), pp. 206–09.

The Origins of Differing Social Studies Perspectives

Social studies goals, definitions, categories, research agendas, curricula, and pedagogy can be
traced wholly or in part to several philosophical movements that have had widespread impact
on education as a whole in the U.S. and abroad. Almost every teacher’s pattern of behavior,
self-concept, and curriculum decisions reflect one or more of these philosophic conceptions.
Often conflicting, sometimes overlapping, evolving one from another, some systems have
had almost universal impact, while others have remained the province of theoreticians and
researchers. The major organization for social studies education, the National Council for the
Social Studies, reflects the many competing philosophies of education, now drawn together
into a single C3 Framework. Some advocate citizenship as central, others claim history as
central; some view social studies as a “theory of instruction,” whereas others see it as a real
“education program.”10 Multiple views have directly affected the choice content and prac-
tice. Overall, the social sciences and special topics have lost ground. The recent trend has
definitely been in favor of history and historical ‘habits of mind’ but this view certainly falls
within an inquiry arc and supports long-sought reflective goals.

Perennialism and Essentialism

Advocates of an ancient influential philosophy labeled perennialism argue that absolute and
unchanging truths exist in human history. Social studies educators who adhere to this tenet
DEFINITION, ORGANIZATION, AND PHILOSOPHY 9

believe that students need to understand and apply truths to daily life and that studying these
truths will produce competent, culturally literate individuals who know and understand
their own history, capable of transmitting events to others. Perennialists support the study of
history with an emphasis on skill development; curriculum centers on the study of West-
ern civilization’s classic works, typified by Mortimer Adler’s ‘Great Books program’ that still
exists.11 A perennialist perspective continues in the work of E. D. Hirsch’s Cultural Literacy.
School lessons should consist of two complementary parts: an intensive and an extensive
curriculum. “The extensive curriculum is traditional literate knowledge, the information,
attitudes, and assumptions that literate Americans share: cultural literacy.” The intensive cur-
riculum “encourages a fully developed understanding of a subject, making one’s knowledge
integrated and coherent.”12 Hirsch extends his argument for common goals and curriculum,
arguing in favor of a standard national curriculum as a key to improving student learning.13
A Core Curriculum ancestor for sure!
A second school of thought closely allied to perennialism is often referred to as essential-
ism. One advocate, William Bagley, argued that students must know the basics or essentials of
knowledge to be truly educated, and that these essentials include a strong dose of skills, con-
cepts, and values drawn from the study of history, government, and economics.14 Essentialism
and perennialism have a classical bent, usually emphasizing rigorous training in traditional
disciplines of study. Theodore Sizer, for example, is a more modern exponent of essentialism,
directing a movement for school reform through a “coalition of essential schools” that aim
to train teachers in asking “essential questions.”15
Essentialism seeks a primary commitment to the transmission of knowledge as effectively
as possible. In a recent work, Sizer made clear that the essential schools movement seeks a
“focus on helping adolescents learn to use their minds well,” learning to use classical knowl-
edge rather than simple rote memorization.16 Advocates have probably had a greater impact
on social studies content perhaps than followers of any other philosophy.

Scientific Empiricism and the New Criticism

A second approach to social studies education derives from the principles of scientific inquiry.
Social scientists have built on the techniques and tools of the scientific method in an effort to
identify laws, principles, theories, and rules of human thought and behavior. These “empiri-
cists” studied people as individuals, groups, and across cultures.
In secondary schools, educators sought to emulate empiricism by involving students
in the scientific method, creating projects based on experimentation, survey research,
and case studies. Students were encouraged to think in terms of probabilities rather than
absolute truths, offered different perspectives to interpret evidence, and exhorted to be
fair, objective, and unbiased in drawing conclusions. This search for solidly grounded data
was an all-consuming passion in social science during the 1950s, 1960s, and early 1970s.
Toward the end of the 1970s, criticism mounted against attempts to define social science
through the scientific method alone, especially against the notion that conclusions and
theories could ever be entirely value-free. Strongly influenced by philosophers Jurgen
Habermas and Thomas Kuhn, many turned to the so-called “new criticism.”17 These
ideas, sometimes termed phenomenology or critical theory, abandoned, wholly or in part, the
concept of objectivity and suggested that science can never be ‘fully’ free of value claims.18
Critics in social studies as elsewhere expressed deep suspicion not only about empiricists’
10 PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF SOCIAL STUDIES

conclusions, but also about research designs and methods, arguing that values form a basis
for human investigation, and must be examined and made explicit. As Richard Bernstein
points out:

When we examine those empirical theories that have been advanced, we discover again and
again that they are not value-neutral, but reflect deep ideological biases and underlying con-
troversial value positions. It is a fiction to think that we can neatly distinguish the descriptive
from the evaluative components of these theories, for tacit evaluations are built into their very
framework.19

Scientific empiricism greatly influenced content and method in social studies curriculum
throughout the middle and later decades of the last century. The ‘new’ criticism has wielded
less influence, but has had a considerable impact on academics and administrators who seek
to promote student activism and decision-making. Advocates suggest that a willingness to
examine policy and value claims should be fundamental to social studies education.20

Pragmatism and Progressivism

Pragmatism is a term often applied to the work of John Dewey, a key educational philosopher
in the U.S., along with other educational “progressives” who emphasize the development of
students’ reasoning and judgment applied to everyday civic life. Dewey saw education as part
and parcel of supporting democratic traditions in the United States and around the world.
Terms associated with Deweyian philosophy include problem solving, problem finding, reasoning,
reflective thinking, inquiry, critical thinking, and creative thinking. Social studies methods are very
strongly influenced by pragmatic or philosophical ideas. Dewey stressed the importance of
building links among schools, community, and student experiences. Relationships are rec-
ognized, ideas analyzed, and decisions made through a thinking process that works from
grounding in evidence and inductive and/or deductive logic culminating in conclusions.
Conclusions or decisions will then presumably lead to taking action in terms of social com-
mitments, political decisions, and personal growth.21
If essentialists tend to be preoccupied with content and traditions, pragmatists and progres-
sives tend to emphasize process.22 Pragmatists see the curriculum as an open and flexible sys-
tem capable of absorbing and applying new ideas, rather than be defined by a list of universal
or eternal classics. As might be expected, progressives advocate the building of critical think-
ing and decision-making skills in the social studies classroom. The product of a progressive
social studies education might well be a shrewd consumer, an intelligent and well-informed
voter, an active participant in community life, and a life-long seeker of new ideas and new
skills. Common Core seems very much in a Deweyian mode of thought, though giving less
attention to social justice or making judgments.
Some educators see pragmatism as including personal growth in a democratic society
and use terms like self-actualization, self-fulfillment, identity, and character education.23 Service
learning is a descendant of this point of view contributing to civic action for the common
good, although perhaps rather conservative in terms of political action. Multiculturalism
also draws on the same philosophical base because transformative education and social pro-
test are part of good citizenship in a democracy that seeks to correct injustices. Activism
against civic and social prejudices is seen as part of citizen responsibility. Overall, pragma-
tism seeks what might be called a middle ground between essentialism and the more radical
reconstructionism.
DEFINITION, ORGANIZATION, AND PHILOSOPHY 11

Reconstructionism and Public Issues

Social justice is a cherished value in Western tradition, and promoted in social studies. For
those to whom social justice is a primary goal, social studies education provides a perfect
vehicle for encouraging students to take a role in the affairs of the community, the nation,
and the world, and to raise their voices in objection to moral lapses, political chicanery, and
the destruction of the Earth for economic gain.
George S. Counts, who christened this philosophy “reconstructionism,” argues that the
schools must play a role in changing or reconstructing society.24 Count’s work has been
eagerly adopted by many, some of whom see schools, especially secondary, not only as sites
for discussion of controversial issues, but also as participants in social action projects.25 Doing
good, not just discussing good, is seen as the result of studying history.
Critical pedagogy developed by scholars such as Michael Apple, Henry Giroux, Peter
McLaren, and Joel Spring provides a thorough analysis of the relationship between
schooling and society, rooted in arguments that social injustice grows in part out of an
unequal distribution of skills, knowledge, and resources in schools.26 The long tradi-
tion in favor of discussing controversial issues also stems from earlier activist notions of
teaching.
Reconstructionism has had a wide-ranging impact on social studies education—especially
in the 1930s, 1960s, and 1970s, continuing to the present—reflected in curricula that empha-
size current events, mock trials, debates, and simulations, raising judgmental questions about
equality, the distribution of goods and services, foreign policy choices, international conflict
and peace, and environmental issues such as famine, exploitation, destruction of wetlands, and
air and water pollution. A public issues curriculum reflects a primary concern with current
and persisting problems in history.27
Reconstructionists have in common with pragmatists their emphasis on critical
thinking and decision-making. Adherents teach students to examine their own beliefs
in order to decide which ones they would be willing to uphold with action; others
frankly seek to indoctrinate students with their own values that they view as ethically
correct. Participation, protest, and political action are major goals for social studies
because ‘social reconstruction’ still runs wide and deep within educators at many levels
in our field.

WHAT DO YOU THINK?

Which of the philosophies or traditions do you find most appealing for a teaching career?
Do you enjoy content? Is activism necessary? What are the reasons for your choices?

For you, as a teacher, two worlds—one of day-to-day classroom practice and the other of
ideological goals, debate, and research—must always be kept in mind if you hope to make
sense of the field. Although the theoretical is often intensely debated by representatives of
the different philosophic schools of thought, practical classroom concerns usually reflect pro-
fessional standards, mandated content, course sequence, testing, subject matter, and student
audiences. For better or worse, classroom practice tends to be quite stable from decade to
decade, with remnants of all of the earlier philosophies of education still competing with one
12 PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF SOCIAL STUDIES

another for dominance.28 The bottom line is still tell and ask later, while we would prefer
‘ask, don’t tell!’

RESEARCH REPORT

Based on a study of more than 300 junior high and 500 senior high school classrooms,
John Goodlad found that, by and large, teaching social studies is and has been geared
to present information as fact in a style closer to old-fashioned recitation than to modern
democratic discussion. He concluded:
What the schools in our sample did not appear to be doing was developing all those abili-
ties commonly listed under “intellectual development:” the ability to think rationally, to use
and evaluate knowledge, intellectual curiosity, and a desire for further learning. Only rarely
did we find evidence to suggest instruction likely to go much beyond mere possession of
information to a level of understanding the implication of that information and either apply-
ing it or exploring its possible applications. Nor did we see in subjects generally taken by
most students (including social studies) activities likely to arouse students’ curiosity or to
involve them in seeking solutions to some problems not already laid bare by teacher or
textbook. The traditional image of a teacher possessing the knowledge standing at the front
of the classroom imparting it to students in a listening mode accurately portrays the largest
portion of what we observed. . . . And why should we expect teachers to teach otherwise?
This is the way they were taught in school and college.
From your own school experiences and observations, do you agree with Goodlad’s
30-year-old findings? Do you see more or less variety than he and his researchers uncov-
ered? What do you believe the “climate” of a secondary social studies classroom should
be now to fit C3 Standards?
*John Goodlad, “What some schools and classrooms teach,” Educational Leadership, 40, no. 7,
(1983), p. 15.

TO DO

Collect two or three social studies history textbooks.

Find passages on the same topic or period, perhaps World War I, or the Progressive Era,
or 9/11. Read and decide whether the lesson represents a fusion of several philosophies
or is presented from a single viewpoint. Are facts most important or are questions most
important? How can you tell?

GOALS AS A BRIDGE BETWEEN THEORY AND PRACTICE

Virtually every choice you will make as a social studies teacher will be based on the goals or
learning objectives that you set for students. Objectives and goals, by their very nature, are
drawn from theory and philosophy then translated into practice in the form of topics, goals,
and questions.
Goals are the bridge between philosophy and practice, between setting objectives, car-
rying out the lessons, and evaluating results. Look, for instance, at the following typical
objectives:
DEFINITION, ORGANIZATION, AND PHILOSOPHY 13

1. Students will learn the important dates, places, and events of World War II.
2. Students will memorize the definitions of commonly used legal terms.
3. Students will list five issues that divide Israelis and Palestinians.

These goals share a common thread: data collection. They suggest methods, materials, and
questions that are didactic, stemming from a cultural transmission approach to social studies.
Now look at a second set of goals:

1. Students will compare and contrast policy positions of the state of Israel and the Pales-
tinian Authority.
2. Students will discuss some causes and consequences of the rise of rebellions and revolu-
tions, recent and past.
3. Students will use data analysis to produce a theory of economic development for a
given nation.

These goals all involve a reflective approach to social studies emphasizing a social science
data analysis scientific approach to drawing conclusions.
Finally, here is a third set of objectives.

1. Students will study and evaluate U.S. foreign policy on Syria and the Middle East.
2. Students will identify the most urgent environmental problem in their area and propose
actions to remedy it.
3. Students will debate the political, ethical, and moral ramifications of gun control or the
lack of it.

These goals share a commitment to the examination of values and represent different
elements of social criticism, social action, and citizenship traditions. All reflect controversial
themes and an affective approach to social studies education.
Objectives are not always as clearly derived from one or another of the major social stud-
ies philosophies. However, goals almost always reflect one or more of the three dimensions
in some way. Knowledge of philosophical premises and definitions of the dimensions will
enable you to choose your goals more effectively and support them with appropriate materi-
als, methods, and teaching strategies.
There is considerable agreement—although for different reasons and toward different
ends—that the development of high-quality reasoning skills is a key goal, but there is
considerable disagreement about how much stress should be placed on teaching con-
troversial and current issues as opposed to teaching the heritage and traditions of the
common, dominant culture. Similarly, proponents of virtually all philosophic positions
support presentation of accurate content and engaging methods of inquiry, such as in
teaching global studies and American history, but argue heatedly about the role of indoc-
trination versus value-free teaching. If teachers set goals that demand one right answer,
in terms of data or values, that limits inquiry and student opportunities to work out their
own values. In other words, inquiry demands great care by teachers in speaking their
own values, or endorsing any one particular interpretation as correct, even when patri-
otic controversies are raging. Inquiry nurtures young people into the art and science of
thinking through and defending choices based on evidence and reasons, not prejudice
or loyalty.
14 PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF SOCIAL STUDIES

Although philosophical debate breaks out in scholarly journals, what happens in the class-
room is considerably more practical and stable. Classroom teachers tend to be preoccupied
with mainly historical content, sequence and scope, curriculum materials, strategies, and test-
ing. There is modest attention to civics and economics, with a smattering of other disciplines
added here and there. On the whole, studies show that teachers avoid controversy, and fear
affective expressions of feelings. They avoid one-third of our dimensions, and a great deal of
the C3 Framework of objectives. Information and reflection seem a lot safer than walking
into contested areas of the curriculum or methodology.
Yet, it is important for you to recognize that social studies is a fragmented and dynamic
field: A level of uncertainty exists concerning issues ranging from the lack of an acceptable
definition through methodology and content. That inherent uncertainty, although problem-
atic, provides us with your most potent tool: freedom to select an individual point of view
within the constraints of district or state requirements, and freedom to set at least some goals,
design homemade lessons, and choose strategies that build an effective and defensible phi-
losophy of instruction guiding both short- and long-range decisions.

A CLASSIC QUESTION: WHAT DO YOU THINK?

In discussing the NCSS, Shirley Engle, then president of the NCSS, noted that the mem-
bership and its leaders are “held uneasily together by a common concern for the social
education of children and youth. We avoid definition of our field of competence, confus-
ing social education with the social sciences . . . and afford our members a kind of smor-
gasbord of educational goodies and services, throughout which no cogent philosophic or
pedagogical position runs, and from each, each according to his own interest or bent,
may choose to eat whatever he will . . . [with] no clear and consistent position on social
education and, for that matter, no clear definition of our field.”*
*Shirley Engle, “The Future of Social Studies Education and NCSS,” Social Education, 34 (1970),
pp. 778–81, 795.

Do you think a clear definition of social studies is possible? An advantage or disadvantage

to everyday teaching? Think about your views: How would you define the field? Is social
studies defined by Common Core, or C3, or by its multiple traditions, curriculum, and
teaching approaches?

Theory and Practice

As we have pointed out, social studies objectives, methods, units, lessons, and courses reflect
a particular viewpoint or collection of viewpoints about ultimate goals. In practice, however,
teachers typically offer students an eclectic collection of materials that is often inconsistent
and lacks an overall approach—a particularly critical review of multiplying sources. Social
studies curriculum is defined more by state, city, or district requirements than by the develop-
ment of a reasonable, well-planned scope and sequence guided by a philosophy of education.
Consider this fairly typical secondary social studies program:

Grade 7: World cultures/world history/world geography/state history

Grade 8: U.S. history
DEFINITION, ORGANIZATION, AND PHILOSOPHY 15

Grade 9: World cultures/world history/civics/government/state history

Grade 10: World cultures/world history
Grade 11: U.S. history/American studies
Grade 12: American government/civics and electives or requirements, including anthro-
pology, geography, economics, psychology, sociology, and problems of American
democracy.29

This out-of-sequence curriculum has not changed substantially since World War II or
even earlier. Courses may vary by grade and subjects may change somewhat, but the general
pattern has held for decades. Within this often repetitive and illogical sequence, students must
frequently contend with lessons derived from conflicting philosophies. They may be asked
one day to memorize World War I dates, for instance; the next day, to analyze the conse-
quences of the conflict for Germany, focusing on hypotheses that explain aggression and its
results; and the following day, to examine the morality of trench battles portrayed in Erich
Remarque’s All Quiet on the Western Front.
In addition to the curriculum, many other classroom realities are visited on the social
studies teacher. These include: pressures to cover a way-too-large number of topics, too
many students packed into small spaces, a sometimes adversarial view of the student audi-
ence, insufficient planning and preparation time, and a school culture of isolation from
colleagues.30 As you dash around trying to inform large groups of students— often restless,
questioning adolescents—about the entire sweep of American and world studies, including
relevant issues, in an even-handed and fair manner during precise 40- to 60-minute periods
using textbooks one or two decades old, you may lose track of the perfect social studies les-
son. In fact, you may lose track of the subject altogether! There is simply too much informa-
tion to teach, too many skills to practice, and too little time in the day to do achieve every
goal that has been set.31 And this was before the Internet offered us a much larger array of
lessons, units, and courses from which to choose our materials. The audience may be restless
or obstreperous.
Furthermore, as you try to carry out this mission impossible, many other demands will
emanate from the principal, parents, and colleagues, as well as an occasional bid for atten-
tion from state, county, or local boards of education. Old or new goals may become promi-
nent, such as the surge of interest in national standards or diversity needs and issues, calls for
improved science and technology instruction, higher-order reading and writing skills via
Common Core, or the clamor for a Common Core-inspired better writing “across the cur-
riculum.” All of this is crammed into an already overstuffed curriculum where time is at a
premium and planning at a minimum.
Conditions such as these may very well lead you to believe that there are reasons for
less-than-perfect instruction, and you may wonder why people in the field are still fight-
ing about lofty goals, philosophy, and instructional methodology. You may also understand
why teachers band together against critics and outsiders who condemn or criticize them
in newspapers, through reports and surveys, or in stereotypical and sarcastic portrayals in
film and TV.
Given all these problems, you must still decide each day what, why, how, and to whom
you will offer instruction in social studies. Whether a conscious decision or not, each
choice you make, each act you perform, is derived from historical roots. Each tradition and
topic is the product of values and beliefs that rest on an educational theory or philosophy.
Thus, theory has consequences for practice, and practice influences theory.32 If you spend
16 PHILOSOPHY AND HISTORY OF SOCIAL STUDIES

most of your classroom time covering factual material, transmission or didactic theory is
guiding your behavior. If you stress in-depth analysis of original sources, primary docu-
ments, and so forth, then a reflective or inquiry theory is influencing your decisions. If
you promote the examination of values, debate ethical and moral issues, and foster student
involvement, then an affective, citizenship, or social activist theory directs your teaching.
Whatever happens, there is and must be a link between theory and practice, and I will
relentlessly offer advice and guidance so you have ideals to strive for, even if not always
attainable.
Given the complexities of teaching social studies, an ideal balance between lower and
higher-order thinking—or among the didactic, reflective, and affective goals—may be dif-
ficult to achieve, but impossible if no ideal, theory, or central ideas exist to guide you. The
educational philosophy you adopt will strongly influence your practice, and your choice of
curriculum.

LET’S DECIDE

Get together with at least two or three classmates or colleagues and write a sample goal
that bridges theory and practice for a topic of your choice from a civics or economics
course. Can civics be taught only as didactic information? Is civics taught as ‘reconstruc-
tionism’ a preference, with a strong dose of making choices and taking action? Are you
willing to arouse controversy among students on social and political issues? Why or why
not?

SUMMARY

Tensions in social studies have arisen because competing schools of thought seek to imple-
ment different goals for the field as a whole. Those who stress mainly didactic goals
seek learning in which students acquire a great deal of knowledge about their traditions,
culture, and world. They want this transmitted knowledge to be accurate, reliable, and
meaningful. Essentialists stress understanding and intelligent reading skills (like Com-
mon Core and C3). They want students to build a sense of what is valuable knowledge
to be more than walking encyclopedias, facing problems dealing with a world in which
there is too much information, rather than too little. Those who espouse mainly reflective
thinking goals want students to develop a systematic, scientific way of approaching data,
a style for solving problems, and an overall sense of critical-mindedness. Social scientists
want skillful analysis, not a mechanical “scientific procedure.” Finally, those who fervently
endorse affective goals want to encourage students to deal with sensitive moral and ethical
issues, to be willing to examine their own values and those of others with an open mind.
Social activists want students who will make decisions that lead to purposeful political
and social action, not simply young people who go through the motions of expressing
their opinions as a polite classroom exercise. You, the teacher, must decide how to balance
goals and priorities.
To diminish confusion and enhance awareness of educational motives, this book offers a
view of social studies across didactic, reflective, and affective dimensions, relating and uniting
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 DANCE ON STILTS AT THE GIRLS’ UNYAGO, NIUCHI

Newala, too, suffers from the distance of its water-supply—at least

the Newala of to-day does; there was once another Newala in a lovely
valley at the foot of the plateau. I visited it and found scarcely a trace
of houses, only a Christian cemetery, with the graves of several
missionaries and their converts, remaining as a monument of its
former glories. But the surroundings are wonderfully beautiful. A
thick grove of splendid mango-trees closes in the weather-worn
crosses and headstones; behind them, combining the useful and the
agreeable, is a whole plantation of lemon-trees covered with ripe
fruit; not the small African kind, but a much larger and also juicier
imported variety, which drops into the hands of the passing traveller,
without calling for any exertion on his part. Old Newala is now under
the jurisdiction of the native pastor, Daudi, at Chingulungulu, who,
as I am on very friendly terms with him, allows me, as a matter of
course, the use of this lemon-grove during my stay at Newala.
 FEET MUTILATED BY THE RAVAGES OF THE “JIGGER”
(Sarcopsylla penetrans)

The water-supply of New Newala is in the bottom of the valley,

some 1,600 feet lower down. The way is not only long and fatiguing,
but the water, when we get it, is thoroughly bad. We are suffering not
only from this, but from the fact that the arrangements at Newala are
nothing short of luxurious. We have a separate kitchen—a hut built
against the boma palisade on the right of the baraza, the interior of
which is not visible from our usual position. Our two cooks were not
long in finding this out, and they consequently do—or rather neglect
to do—what they please. In any case they do not seem to be very
particular about the boiling of our drinking-water—at least I can
attribute to no other cause certain attacks of a dysenteric nature,
from which both Knudsen and I have suffered for some time. If a
man like Omari has to be left unwatched for a moment, he is capable
of anything. Besides this complaint, we are inconvenienced by the
state of our nails, which have become as hard as glass, and crack on
the slightest provocation, and I have the additional infliction of
pimples all over me. As if all this were not enough, we have also, for
the last week been waging war against the jigger, who has found his
Eldorado in the hot sand of the Makonde plateau. Our men are seen
all day long—whenever their chronic colds and the dysentery likewise
raging among them permit—occupied in removing this scourge of
Africa from their feet and trying to prevent the disastrous
consequences of its presence. It is quite common to see natives of
this place with one or two toes missing; many have lost all their toes,
or even the whole front part of the foot, so that a well-formed leg
ends in a shapeless stump. These ravages are caused by the female of
Sarcopsylla penetrans, which bores its way under the skin and there
develops an egg-sac the size of a pea. In all books on the subject, it is
stated that one’s attention is called to the presence of this parasite by
an intolerable itching. This agrees very well with my experience, so
far as the softer parts of the sole, the spaces between and under the
toes, and the side of the foot are concerned, but if the creature
penetrates through the harder parts of the heel or ball of the foot, it
may escape even the most careful search till it has reached maturity.
Then there is no time to be lost, if the horrible ulceration, of which
we see cases by the dozen every day, is to be prevented. It is much
easier, by the way, to discover the insect on the white skin of a
European than on that of a native, on which the dark speck scarcely
shows. The four or five jiggers which, in spite of the fact that I
constantly wore high laced boots, chose my feet to settle in, were
taken out for me by the all-accomplished Knudsen, after which I
thought it advisable to wash out the cavities with corrosive
sublimate. The natives have a different sort of disinfectant—they fill
the hole with scraped roots. In a tiny Makua village on the slope of
the plateau south of Newala, we saw an old woman who had filled all
the spaces under her toe-nails with powdered roots by way of
prophylactic treatment. What will be the result, if any, who can say?
The rest of the many trifling ills which trouble our existence are
really more comic than serious. In the absence of anything else to
smoke, Knudsen and I at last opened a box of cigars procured from
the Indian store-keeper at Lindi, and tried them, with the most
distressing results. Whether they contain opium or some other
narcotic, neither of us can say, but after the tenth puff we were both
“off,” three-quarters stupefied and unspeakably wretched. Slowly we
recovered—and what happened next? Half-an-hour later we were
once more smoking these poisonous concoctions—so insatiable is the
craving for tobacco in the tropics.
Even my present attacks of fever scarcely deserve to be taken
seriously. I have had no less than three here at Newala, all of which
have run their course in an incredibly short time. In the early
afternoon, I am busy with my old natives, asking questions and
making notes. The strong midday coffee has stimulated my spirits to
an extraordinary degree, the brain is active and vigorous, and work
progresses rapidly, while a pleasant warmth pervades the whole
body. Suddenly this gives place to a violent chill, forcing me to put on
my overcoat, though it is only half-past three and the afternoon sun
is at its hottest. Now the brain no longer works with such acuteness
and logical precision; more especially does it fail me in trying to
establish the syntax of the difficult Makua language on which I have
ventured, as if I had not enough to do without it. Under the
circumstances it seems advisable to take my temperature, and I do
so, to save trouble, without leaving my seat, and while going on with
my work. On examination, I find it to be 101·48°. My tutors are
abruptly dismissed and my bed set up in the baraza; a few minutes
later I am in it and treating myself internally with hot water and
lemon-juice.
Three hours later, the thermometer marks nearly 104°, and I make
them carry me back into the tent, bed and all, as I am now perspiring
heavily, and exposure to the cold wind just beginning to blow might
mean a fatal chill. I lie still for a little while, and then find, to my
great relief, that the temperature is not rising, but rather falling. This
is about 7.30 p.m. At 8 p.m. I find, to my unbounded astonishment,
that it has fallen below 98·6°, and I feel perfectly well. I read for an
hour or two, and could very well enjoy a smoke, if I had the
wherewithal—Indian cigars being out of the question.
Having no medical training, I am at a loss to account for this state
of things. It is impossible that these transitory attacks of high fever
should be malarial; it seems more probable that they are due to a
kind of sunstroke. On consulting my note-book, I become more and
more inclined to think this is the case, for these attacks regularly
follow extreme fatigue and long exposure to strong sunshine. They at
least have the advantage of being only short interruptions to my
work, as on the following morning I am always quite fresh and fit.
My treasure of a cook is suffering from an enormous hydrocele which
makes it difficult for him to get up, and Moritz is obliged to keep in
the dark on account of his inflamed eyes. Knudsen’s cook, a raw boy
from somewhere in the bush, knows still less of cooking than Omari;
consequently Nils Knudsen himself has been promoted to the vacant
post. Finding that we had come to the end of our supplies, he began
by sending to Chingulungulu for the four sucking-pigs which we had
bought from Matola and temporarily left in his charge; and when
they came up, neatly packed in a large crate, he callously slaughtered
the biggest of them. The first joint we were thoughtless enough to
entrust for roasting to Knudsen’s mshenzi cook, and it was
consequently uneatable; but we made the rest of the animal into a
jelly which we ate with great relish after weeks of underfeeding,
consuming incredible helpings of it at both midday and evening
meals. The only drawback is a certain want of variety in the tinned
vegetables. Dr. Jäger, to whom the Geographical Commission
entrusted the provisioning of the expeditions—mine as well as his
own—because he had more time on his hands than the rest of us,
seems to have laid in a huge stock of Teltow turnips,[46] an article of
food which is all very well for occasional use, but which quickly palls
when set before one every day; and we seem to have no other tins
left. There is no help for it—we must put up with the turnips; but I
am certain that, once I am home again, I shall not touch them for ten
years to come.
Amid all these minor evils, which, after all, go to make up the
genuine flavour of Africa, there is at least one cheering touch:
Knudsen has, with the dexterity of a skilled mechanic, repaired my 9
× 12 cm. camera, at least so far that I can use it with a little care.
How, in the absence of finger-nails, he was able to accomplish such a
ticklish piece of work, having no tool but a clumsy screw-driver for
taking to pieces and putting together again the complicated
mechanism of the instantaneous shutter, is still a mystery to me; but
he did it successfully. The loss of his finger-nails shows him in a light
contrasting curiously enough with the intelligence evinced by the
above operation; though, after all, it is scarcely surprising after his
ten years’ residence in the bush. One day, at Lindi, he had occasion
to wash a dog, which must have been in need of very thorough
cleansing, for the bottle handed to our friend for the purpose had an
extremely strong smell. Having performed his task in the most
conscientious manner, he perceived with some surprise that the dog
did not appear much the better for it, and was further surprised by
finding his own nails ulcerating away in the course of the next few
days. “How was I to know that carbolic acid has to be diluted?” he
mutters indignantly, from time to time, with a troubled gaze at his
mutilated finger-tips.
 Since we came to Newala we have been making excursions in all
directions through the surrounding country, in accordance with old
habit, and also because the akida Sefu did not get together the tribal
elders from whom I wanted information so speedily as he had
promised. There is, however, no harm done, as, even if seen only
from the outside, the country and people are interesting enough.
The Makonde plateau is like a large rectangular table rounded off
at the corners. Measured from the Indian Ocean to Newala, it is
about seventy-five miles long, and between the Rovuma and the
Lukuledi it averages fifty miles in breadth, so that its superficial area
is about two-thirds of that of the kingdom of Saxony. The surface,
however, is not level, but uniformly inclined from its south-western
edge to the ocean. From the upper edge, on which Newala lies, the
eye ranges for many miles east and north-east, without encountering
any obstacle, over the Makonde bush. It is a green sea, from which
here and there thick clouds of smoke rise, to show that it, too, is
inhabited by men who carry on their tillage like so many other
primitive peoples, by cutting down and burning the bush, and
manuring with the ashes. Even in the radiant light of a tropical day
such a fire is a grand sight.
Much less effective is the impression produced just now by the
great western plain as seen from the edge of the plateau. As often as
time permits, I stroll along this edge, sometimes in one direction,
sometimes in another, in the hope of finding the air clear enough to
let me enjoy the view; but I have always been disappointed.
Wherever one looks, clouds of smoke rise from the burning bush,
and the air is full of smoke and vapour. It is a pity, for under more
favourable circumstances the panorama of the whole country up to
the distant Majeje hills must be truly magnificent. It is of little use
taking photographs now, and an outline sketch gives a very poor idea
of the scenery. In one of these excursions I went out of my way to
make a personal attempt on the Makonde bush. The present edge of
the plateau is the result of a far-reaching process of destruction
through erosion and denudation. The Makonde strata are
everywhere cut into by ravines, which, though short, are hundreds of
yards in depth. In consequence of the loose stratification of these
beds, not only are the walls of these ravines nearly vertical, but their
upper end is closed by an equally steep escarpment, so that the
western edge of the Makonde plateau is hemmed in by a series of
deep, basin-like valleys. In order to get from one side of such a ravine
to the other, I cut my way through the bush with a dozen of my men.
It was a very open part, with more grass than scrub, but even so the
short stretch of less than two hundred yards was very hard work; at
the end of it the men’s calicoes were in rags and they themselves
bleeding from hundreds of scratches, while even our strong khaki
suits had not escaped scatheless.

NATIVE PATH THROUGH THE MAKONDE BUSH, NEAR

MAHUTA

I see increasing reason to believe that the view formed some time
back as to the origin of the Makonde bush is the correct one. I have
no doubt that it is not a natural product, but the result of human
occupation. Those parts of the high country where man—as a very
slight amount of practice enables the eye to perceive at once—has not
yet penetrated with axe and hoe, are still occupied by a splendid
timber forest quite able to sustain a comparison with our mixed
forests in Germany. But wherever man has once built his hut or tilled
his field, this horrible bush springs up. Every phase of this process
may be seen in the course of a couple of hours’ walk along the main
road. From the bush to right or left, one hears the sound of the axe—
not from one spot only, but from several directions at once. A few
steps further on, we can see what is taking place. The brush has been
cut down and piled up in heaps to the height of a yard or more,
between which the trunks of the large trees stand up like the last
pillars of a magnificent ruined building. These, too, present a
melancholy spectacle: the destructive Makonde have ringed them—
cut a broad strip of bark all round to ensure their dying off—and also
piled up pyramids of brush round them. Father and son, mother and
son-in-law, are chopping away perseveringly in the background—too
busy, almost, to look round at the white stranger, who usually excites
so much interest. If you pass by the same place a week later, the piles
of brushwood have disappeared and a thick layer of ashes has taken
the place of the green forest. The large trees stretch their
smouldering trunks and branches in dumb accusation to heaven—if
they have not already fallen and been more or less reduced to ashes,
perhaps only showing as a white stripe on the dark ground.
This work of destruction is carried out by the Makonde alike on the
virgin forest and on the bush which has sprung up on sites already
cultivated and deserted. In the second case they are saved the trouble
of burning the large trees, these being entirely absent in the
secondary bush.
After burning this piece of forest ground and loosening it with the
hoe, the native sows his corn and plants his vegetables. All over the
country, he goes in for bed-culture, which requires, and, in fact,
receives, the most careful attention. Weeds are nowhere tolerated in
the south of German East Africa. The crops may fail on the plains,
where droughts are frequent, but never on the plateau with its
abundant rains and heavy dews. Its fortunate inhabitants even have
the satisfaction of seeing the proud Wayao and Wamakua working
for them as labourers, driven by hunger to serve where they were
accustomed to rule.
But the light, sandy soil is soon exhausted, and would yield no
harvest the second year if cultivated twice running. This fact has
been familiar to the native for ages; consequently he provides in
time, and, while his crop is growing, prepares the next plot with axe
and firebrand. Next year he plants this with his various crops and
lets the first piece lie fallow. For a short time it remains waste and
desolate; then nature steps in to repair the destruction wrought by
man; a thousand new growths spring out of the exhausted soil, and
even the old stumps put forth fresh shoots. Next year the new growth
is up to one’s knees, and in a few years more it is that terrible,
impenetrable bush, which maintains its position till the black
occupier of the land has made the round of all the available sites and
come back to his starting point.
The Makonde are, body and soul, so to speak, one with this bush.
According to my Yao informants, indeed, their name means nothing
else but “bush people.” Their own tradition says that they have been
settled up here for a very long time, but to my surprise they laid great
stress on an original immigration. Their old homes were in the
south-east, near Mikindani and the mouth of the Rovuma, whence
their peaceful forefathers were driven by the continual raids of the
Sakalavas from Madagascar and the warlike Shirazis[47] of the coast,
to take refuge on the almost inaccessible plateau. I have studied
African ethnology for twenty years, but the fact that changes of
population in this apparently quiet and peaceable corner of the earth
could have been occasioned by outside enterprises taking place on
the high seas, was completely new to me. It is, no doubt, however,
correct.
The charming tribal legend of the Makonde—besides informing us
of other interesting matters—explains why they have to live in the
thickest of the bush and a long way from the edge of the plateau,
instead of making their permanent homes beside the purling brooks
and springs of the low country.
“The place where the tribe originated is Mahuta, on the southern
side of the plateau towards the Rovuma, where of old time there was
nothing but thick bush. Out of this bush came a man who never
washed himself or shaved his head, and who ate and drank but little.
He went out and made a human figure from the wood of a tree
growing in the open country, which he took home to his abode in the
bush and there set it upright. In the night this image came to life and
was a woman. The man and woman went down together to the
Rovuma to wash themselves. Here the woman gave birth to a still-
born child. They left that place and passed over the high land into the
valley of the Mbemkuru, where the woman had another child, which
was also born dead. Then they returned to the high bush country of
Mahuta, where the third child was born, which lived and grew up. In
course of time, the couple had many more children, and called
themselves Wamatanda. These were the ancestral stock of the
Makonde, also called Wamakonde,[48] i.e., aborigines. Their
forefather, the man from the bush, gave his children the command to
bury their dead upright, in memory of the mother of their race who
was cut out of wood and awoke to life when standing upright. He also
warned them against settling in the valleys and near large streams,
for sickness and death dwelt there. They were to make it a rule to
have their huts at least an hour’s walk from the nearest watering-
place; then their children would thrive and escape illness.”
The explanation of the name Makonde given by my informants is
somewhat different from that contained in the above legend, which I
extract from a little book (small, but packed with information), by
Pater Adams, entitled Lindi und sein Hinterland. Otherwise, my
results agree exactly with the statements of the legend. Washing?
Hapana—there is no such thing. Why should they do so? As it is, the
supply of water scarcely suffices for cooking and drinking; other
people do not wash, so why should the Makonde distinguish himself
by such needless eccentricity? As for shaving the head, the short,
woolly crop scarcely needs it,[49] so the second ancestral precept is
likewise easy enough to follow. Beyond this, however, there is
nothing ridiculous in the ancestor’s advice. I have obtained from
various local artists a fairly large number of figures carved in wood,
ranging from fifteen to twenty-three inches in height, and
representing women belonging to the great group of the Mavia,
Makonde, and Matambwe tribes. The carving is remarkably well
done and renders the female type with great accuracy, especially the
keloid ornamentation, to be described later on. As to the object and
meaning of their works the sculptors either could or (more probably)
would tell me nothing, and I was forced to content myself with the
scanty information vouchsafed by one man, who said that the figures
were merely intended to represent the nembo—the artificial
deformations of pelele, ear-discs, and keloids. The legend recorded
by Pater Adams places these figures in a new light. They must surely
be more than mere dolls; and we may even venture to assume that
they are—though the majority of present-day Makonde are probably
unaware of the fact—representations of the tribal ancestress.
 The references in the legend to the descent from Mahuta to the
Rovuma, and to a journey across the highlands into the Mbekuru
valley, undoubtedly indicate the previous history of the tribe, the
travels of the ancestral pair typifying the migrations of their
descendants. The descent to the neighbouring Rovuma valley, with
its extraordinary fertility and great abundance of game, is intelligible
at a glance—but the crossing of the Lukuledi depression, the ascent
to the Rondo Plateau and the descent to the Mbemkuru, also lie
within the bounds of probability, for all these districts have exactly
the same character as the extreme south. Now, however, comes a
point of especial interest for our bacteriological age. The primitive
Makonde did not enjoy their lives in the marshy river-valleys.
Disease raged among them, and many died. It was only after they
had returned to their original home near Mahuta, that the health
conditions of these people improved. We are very apt to think of the
African as a stupid person whose ignorance of nature is only equalled
by his fear of it, and who looks on all mishaps as caused by evil
spirits and malignant natural powers. It is much more correct to
assume in this case that the people very early learnt to distinguish
districts infested with malaria from those where it is absent.
This knowledge is crystallized in the
ancestral warning against settling in the
valleys and near the great waters, the
dwelling-places of disease and death. At the
same time, for security against the hostile
Mavia south of the Rovuma, it was enacted
that every settlement must be not less than a
certain distance from the southern edge of the
plateau. Such in fact is their mode of life at the
present day. It is not such a bad one, and
certainly they are both safer and more
comfortable than the Makua, the recent
intruders from the south, who have made USUAL METHOD OF
good their footing on the western edge of the CLOSING HUT-DOOR
plateau, extending over a fairly wide belt of
country. Neither Makua nor Makonde show in their dwellings
anything of the size and comeliness of the Yao houses in the plain,
especially at Masasi, Chingulungulu and Zuza’s. Jumbe Chauro, a
Makonde hamlet not far from Newala, on the road to Mahuta, is the
most important settlement of the tribe I have yet seen, and has fairly
spacious huts. But how slovenly is their construction compared with
the palatial residences of the elephant-hunters living in the plain.
The roofs are still more untidy than in the general run of huts during
the dry season, the walls show here and there the scanty beginnings
or the lamentable remains of the mud plastering, and the interior is a
veritable dog-kennel; dirt, dust and disorder everywhere. A few huts
only show any attempt at division into rooms, and this consists
merely of very roughly-made bamboo partitions. In one point alone
have I noticed any indication of progress—in the method of fastening
the door. Houses all over the south are secured in a simple but
ingenious manner. The door consists of a set of stout pieces of wood
or bamboo, tied with bark-string to two cross-pieces, and moving in
two grooves round one of the door-posts, so as to open inwards. If
the owner wishes to leave home, he takes two logs as thick as a man’s
upper arm and about a yard long. One of these is placed obliquely
against the middle of the door from the inside, so as to form an angle
of from 60° to 75° with the ground. He then places the second piece
horizontally across the first, pressing it downward with all his might.
It is kept in place by two strong posts planted in the ground a few
inches inside the door. This fastening is absolutely safe, but of course
cannot be applied to both doors at once, otherwise how could the
owner leave or enter his house? I have not yet succeeded in finding
out how the back door is fastened.

MAKONDE LOCK AND KEY AT JUMBE CHAURO

 This is the general way of closing a house. The Makonde at Jumbe
Chauro, however, have a much more complicated, solid and original
one. Here, too, the door is as already described, except that there is
only one post on the inside, standing by itself about six inches from
one side of the doorway. Opposite this post is a hole in the wall just
large enough to admit a man’s arm. The door is closed inside by a
large wooden bolt passing through a hole in this post and pressing
with its free end against the door. The other end has three holes into
which fit three pegs running in vertical grooves inside the post. The
door is opened with a wooden key about a foot long, somewhat
curved and sloped off at the butt; the other end has three pegs
corresponding to the holes, in the bolt, so that, when it is thrust
through the hole in the wall and inserted into the rectangular
opening in the post, the pegs can be lifted and the bolt drawn out.[50]

MODE OF INSERTING THE KEY

With no small pride first one householder and then a second

showed me on the spot the action of this greatest invention of the
Makonde Highlands. To both with an admiring exclamation of
“Vizuri sana!” (“Very fine!”). I expressed the wish to take back these
marvels with me to Ulaya, to show the Wazungu what clever fellows
the Makonde are. Scarcely five minutes after my return to camp at
Newala, the two men came up sweating under the weight of two
heavy logs which they laid down at my feet, handing over at the same
time the keys of the fallen fortress. Arguing, logically enough, that if
the key was wanted, the lock would be wanted with it, they had taken
their axes and chopped down the posts—as it never occurred to them
to dig them out of the ground and so bring them intact. Thus I have
two badly damaged specimens, and the owners, instead of praise,
come in for a blowing-up.
The Makua huts in the environs of Newala are especially
miserable; their more than slovenly construction reminds one of the
temporary erections of the Makua at Hatia’s, though the people here
have not been concerned in a war. It must therefore be due to
congenital idleness, or else to the absence of a powerful chief. Even
the baraza at Mlipa’s, a short hour’s walk south-east of Newala,
shares in this general neglect. While public buildings in this country
are usually looked after more or less carefully, this is in evident
danger of being blown over by the first strong easterly gale. The only
attractive object in this whole district is the grave of the late chief
Mlipa. I visited it in the morning, while the sun was still trying with
partial success to break through the rolling mists, and the circular
grove of tall euphorbias, which, with a broken pot, is all that marks
the old king’s resting-place, impressed one with a touch of pathos.
Even my very materially-minded carriers seemed to feel something
of the sort, for instead of their usual ribald songs, they chanted
solemnly, as we marched on through the dense green of the Makonde
bush:—
 “We shall arrive with the great master; we stand in a row and have
no fear about getting our food and our money from the Serkali (the
Government). We are not afraid; we are going along with the great
master, the lion; we are going down to the coast and back.”
With regard to the characteristic features of the various tribes here
on the western edge of the plateau, I can arrive at no other
conclusion than the one already come to in the plain, viz., that it is
impossible for anyone but a trained anthropologist to assign any
given individual at once to his proper tribe. In fact, I think that even
an anthropological specialist, after the most careful examination,
might find it a difficult task to decide. The whole congeries of peoples
collected in the region bounded on the west by the great Central
African rift, Tanganyika and Nyasa, and on the east by the Indian
Ocean, are closely related to each other—some of their languages are
only distinguished from one another as dialects of the same speech,
and no doubt all the tribes present the same shape of skull and
structure of skeleton. Thus, surely, there can be no very striking
differences in outward appearance.
 Even did such exist, I should have no time
to concern myself with them, for day after day,
I have to see or hear, as the case may be—in
any case to grasp and record—an
extraordinary number of ethnographic
phenomena. I am almost disposed to think it
fortunate that some departments of inquiry, at
least, are barred by external circumstances.
Chief among these is the subject of iron-
working. We are apt to think of Africa as a
country where iron ore is everywhere, so to
speak, to be picked up by the roadside, and
where it would be quite surprising if the
inhabitants had not learnt to smelt the
material ready to their hand. In fact, the
knowledge of this art ranges all over the
continent, from the Kabyles in the north to the
Kafirs in the south. Here between the Rovuma
and the Lukuledi the conditions are not so
favourable. According to the statements of the
Makonde, neither ironstone nor any other
form of iron ore is known to them. They have
not therefore advanced to the art of smelting
the metal, but have hitherto bought all their
THE ANCESTRESS OF
THE MAKONDE
iron implements from neighbouring tribes.
Even in the plain the inhabitants are not much
better off. Only one man now living is said to
understand the art of smelting iron. This old fundi lives close to
Huwe, that isolated, steep-sided block of granite which rises out of
the green solitude between Masasi and Chingulungulu, and whose
jagged and splintered top meets the traveller’s eye everywhere. While
still at Masasi I wished to see this man at work, but was told that,
frightened by the rising, he had retired across the Rovuma, though
he would soon return. All subsequent inquiries as to whether the
fundi had come back met with the genuine African answer, “Bado”
(“Not yet”).
 BRAZIER

Some consolation was afforded me by a brassfounder, whom I

came across in the bush near Akundonde’s. This man is the favourite
of women, and therefore no doubt of the gods; he welds the glittering
brass rods purchased at the coast into those massive, heavy rings
which, on the wrists and ankles of the local fair ones, continually give
me fresh food for admiration. Like every decent master-craftsman he
had all his tools with him, consisting of a pair of bellows, three
crucibles and a hammer—nothing more, apparently. He was quite
willing to show his skill, and in a twinkling had fixed his bellows on
the ground. They are simply two goat-skins, taken off whole, the four
legs being closed by knots, while the upper opening, intended to
admit the air, is kept stretched by two pieces of wood. At the lower
end of the skin a smaller opening is left into which a wooden tube is
stuck. The fundi has quickly borrowed a heap of wood-embers from
the nearest hut; he then fixes the free ends of the two tubes into an
earthen pipe, and clamps them to the ground by means of a bent
piece of wood. Now he fills one of his small clay crucibles, the dross
on which shows that they have been long in use, with the yellow
material, places it in the midst of the embers, which, at present are
only faintly glimmering, and begins his work. In quick alternation
the smith’s two hands move up and down with the open ends of the
bellows; as he raises his hand he holds the slit wide open, so as to let
the air enter the skin bag unhindered. In pressing it down he closes
the bag, and the air puffs through the bamboo tube and clay pipe into
the fire, which quickly burns up. The smith, however, does not keep
on with this work, but beckons to another man, who relieves him at
the bellows, while he takes some more tools out of a large skin pouch
carried on his back. I look on in wonder as, with a smooth round
stick about the thickness of a finger, he bores a few vertical holes into
the clean sand of the soil. This should not be difficult, yet the man
seems to be taking great pains over it. Then he fastens down to the
ground, with a couple of wooden clamps, a neat little trough made by
splitting a joint of bamboo in half, so that the ends are closed by the
two knots. At last the yellow metal has attained the right consistency,
and the fundi lifts the crucible from the fire by means of two sticks
split at the end to serve as tongs. A short swift turn to the left—a
tilting of the crucible—and the molten brass, hissing and giving forth
clouds of smoke, flows first into the bamboo mould and then into the
holes in the ground.
The technique of this backwoods craftsman may not be very far
advanced, but it cannot be denied that he knows how to obtain an
adequate result by the simplest means. The ladies of highest rank in
this country—that is to say, those who can afford it, wear two kinds
of these massive brass rings, one cylindrical, the other semicircular
in section. The latter are cast in the most ingenious way in the
bamboo mould, the former in the circular hole in the sand. It is quite
a simple matter for the fundi to fit these bars to the limbs of his fair
customers; with a few light strokes of his hammer he bends the
pliable brass round arm or ankle without further inconvenience to
the wearer.
SHAPING THE POT

SMOOTHING WITH MAIZE-COB

CUTTING THE EDGE

 FINISHING THE BOTTOM

LAST SMOOTHING BEFORE

BURNING

FIRING THE BRUSH-PILE

 LIGHTING THE FARTHER SIDE OF
THE PILE

TURNING THE RED-HOT VESSEL

NYASA WOMAN MAKING POTS AT MASASI

Pottery is an art which must always and everywhere excite the
interest of the student, just because it is so intimately connected with
the development of human culture, and because its relics are one of
the principal factors in the reconstruction of our own condition in
prehistoric times. I shall always remember with pleasure the two or
three afternoons at Masasi when Salim Matola’s mother, a slightly-
built, graceful, pleasant-looking woman, explained to me with
touching patience, by means of concrete illustrations, the ceramic art
of her people. The only implements for this primitive process were a
lump of clay in her left hand, and in the right a calabash containing
the following valuables: the fragment of a maize-cob stripped of all
its grains, a smooth, oval pebble, about the size of a pigeon’s egg, a
few chips of gourd-shell, a bamboo splinter about the length of one’s
hand, a small shell, and a bunch of some herb resembling spinach.
 Nothing more. The woman scraped with the
shell a round, shallow hole in the soft, fine
sand of the soil, and, when an active young
girl had filled the calabash with water for her,
she began to knead the clay. As if by magic it
gradually assumed the shape of a rough but
already well-shaped vessel, which only wanted
a little touching up with the instruments
before mentioned. I looked out with the
MAKUA WOMAN closest attention for any indication of the use
MAKING A POT. of the potter’s wheel, in however rudimentary
SHOWS THE a form, but no—hapana (there is none). The
BEGINNINGS OF THE embryo pot stood firmly in its little
POTTER’S WHEEL
depression, and the woman walked round it in
a stooping posture, whether she was removing
small stones or similar foreign bodies with the maize-cob, smoothing
the inner or outer surface with the splinter of bamboo, or later, after
letting it dry for a day, pricking in the ornamentation with a pointed
bit of gourd-shell, or working out the bottom, or cutting the edge
with a sharp bamboo knife, or giving the last touches to the finished
vessel. This occupation of the women is infinitely toilsome, but it is
without doubt an accurate reproduction of the process in use among
our ancestors of the Neolithic and Bronze ages.
There is no doubt that the invention of pottery, an item in human
progress whose importance cannot be over-estimated, is due to
women. Rough, coarse and unfeeling, the men of the horde range
over the countryside. When the united cunning of the hunters has
succeeded in killing the game; not one of them thinks of carrying
home the spoil. A bright fire, kindled by a vigorous wielding of the
drill, is crackling beside them; the animal has been cleaned and cut
up secundum artem, and, after a slight singeing, will soon disappear
under their sharp teeth; no one all this time giving a single thought
to wife or child.
To what shifts, on the other hand, the primitive wife, and still more
the primitive mother, was put! Not even prehistoric stomachs could
endure an unvarying diet of raw food. Something or other suggested
the beneficial effect of hot water on the majority of approved but
indigestible dishes. Perhaps a neighbour had tried holding the hard
roots or tubers over the fire in a calabash filled with water—or maybe
an ostrich-egg-shell, or a hastily improvised vessel of bark. They
became much softer and more palatable than they had previously
been; but, unfortunately, the vessel could not stand the fire and got
charred on the outside. That can be remedied, thought our
ancestress, and plastered a layer of wet clay round a similar vessel.
This is an improvement; the cooking utensil remains uninjured, but
the heat of the fire has shrunk it, so that it is loose in its shell. The
next step is to detach it, so, with a firm grip and a jerk, shell and
kernel are separated, and pottery is invented. Perhaps, however, the
discovery which led to an intelligent use of the burnt-clay shell, was
made in a slightly different way. Ostrich-eggs and calabashes are not
to be found in every part of the world, but everywhere mankind has
arrived at the art of making baskets out of pliant materials, such as
bark, bast, strips of palm-leaf, supple twigs, etc. Our inventor has no
water-tight vessel provided by nature. “Never mind, let us line the
basket with clay.” This answers the purpose, but alas! the basket gets
burnt over the blazing fire, the woman watches the process of
cooking with increasing uneasiness, fearing a leak, but no leak
appears. The food, done to a turn, is eaten with peculiar relish; and
the cooking-vessel is examined, half in curiosity, half in satisfaction
at the result. The plastic clay is now hard as stone, and at the same
time looks exceedingly well, for the neat plaiting of the burnt basket
is traced all over it in a pretty pattern. Thus, simultaneously with
pottery, its ornamentation was invented.
Primitive woman has another claim to respect. It was the man,
roving abroad, who invented the art of producing fire at will, but the
woman, unable to imitate him in this, has been a Vestal from the
earliest times. Nothing gives so much trouble as the keeping alight of
the smouldering brand, and, above all, when all the men are absent
from the camp. Heavy rain-clouds gather, already the first large
drops are falling, the first gusts of the storm rage over the plain. The
little flame, a greater anxiety to the woman than her own children,
flickers unsteadily in the blast. What is to be done? A sudden thought
occurs to her, and in an instant she has constructed a primitive hut
out of strips of bark, to protect the flame against rain and wind.
This, or something very like it, was the way in which the principle
of the house was discovered; and even the most hardened misogynist
cannot fairly refuse a woman the credit of it. The protection of the
hearth-fire from the weather is the germ from which the human
dwelling was evolved. Men had little, if any share, in this forward
step, and that only at a late stage. Even at the present day, the
plastering of the housewall with clay and the manufacture of pottery
are exclusively the women’s business. These are two very significant
survivals. Our European kitchen-garden, too, is originally a woman’s
invention, and the hoe, the primitive instrument of agriculture, is,
characteristically enough, still used in this department. But the
noblest achievement which we owe to the other sex is unquestionably
the art of cookery. Roasting alone—the oldest process—is one for
which men took the hint (a very obvious one) from nature. It must
have been suggested by the scorched carcase of some animal
overtaken by the destructive forest-fires. But boiling—the process of
improving organic substances by the help of water heated to boiling-
point—is a much later discovery. It is so recent that it has not even
yet penetrated to all parts of the world. The Polynesians understand
how to steam food, that is, to cook it, neatly wrapped in leaves, in a
hole in the earth between hot stones, the air being excluded, and
(sometimes) a few drops of water sprinkled on the stones; but they
do not understand boiling.
To come back from this digression, we find that the slender Nyasa
woman has, after once more carefully examining the finished pot,
put it aside in the shade to dry. On the following day she sends me
word by her son, Salim Matola, who is always on hand, that she is
going to do the burning, and, on coming out of my house, I find her
already hard at work. She has spread on the ground a layer of very
dry sticks, about as thick as one’s thumb, has laid the pot (now of a
yellowish-grey colour) on them, and is piling brushwood round it.
My faithful Pesa mbili, the mnyampara, who has been standing by,
most obligingly, with a lighted stick, now hands it to her. Both of
them, blowing steadily, light the pile on the lee side, and, when the
flame begins to catch, on the weather side also. Soon the whole is in a
blaze, but the dry fuel is quickly consumed and the fire dies down, so
that we see the red-hot vessel rising from the ashes. The woman
turns it continually with a long stick, sometimes one way and
sometimes another, so that it may be evenly heated all over. In
twenty minutes she rolls it out of the ash-heap, takes up the bundle
of spinach, which has been lying for two days in a jar of water, and
sprinkles the red-hot clay with it. The places where the drops fall are
marked by black spots on the uniform reddish-brown surface. With a
sigh of relief, and with visible satisfaction, the woman rises to an
erect position; she is standing just in a line between me and the fire,
from which a cloud of smoke is just rising: I press the ball of my
camera, the shutter clicks—the apotheosis is achieved! Like a
priestess, representative of her inventive sex, the graceful woman
stands: at her feet the hearth-fire she has given us beside her the
invention she has devised for us, in the background the home she has
built for us.
At Newala, also, I have had the manufacture of pottery carried on
in my presence. Technically the process is better than that already
described, for here we find the beginnings of the potter’s wheel,
which does not seem to exist in the plains; at least I have seen
nothing of the sort. The artist, a frightfully stupid Makua woman, did
not make a depression in the ground to receive the pot she was about
to shape, but used instead a large potsherd. Otherwise, she went to
work in much the same way as Salim’s mother, except that she saved
herself the trouble of walking round and round her work by squatting
at her ease and letting the pot and potsherd rotate round her; this is
surely the first step towards a machine. But it does not follow that
the pot was improved by the process. It is true that it was beautifully
rounded and presented a very creditable appearance when finished,
but the numerous large and small vessels which I have seen, and, in
part, collected, in the “less advanced” districts, are no less so. We
moderns imagine that instruments of precision are necessary to
produce excellent results. Go to the prehistoric collections of our
museums and look at the pots, urns and bowls of our ancestors in the
dim ages of the past, and you will at once perceive your error.
MAKING LONGITUDINAL CUT IN
BARK

DRAWING THE BARK OFF THE LOG

REMOVING THE OUTER BARK

 BEATING THE BARK

WORKING THE BARK-CLOTH AFTER BEATING, TO MAKE IT

SOFT

MANUFACTURE OF BARK-CLOTH AT NEWALA

To-day, nearly the whole population of German East Africa is
clothed in imported calico. This was not always the case; even now in
some parts of the north dressed skins are still the prevailing wear,
and in the north-western districts—east and north of Lake
Tanganyika—lies a zone where bark-cloth has not yet been
superseded. Probably not many generations have passed since such
bark fabrics and kilts of skins were the only clothing even in the
south. Even to-day, large quantities of this bright-red or drab
material are still to be found; but if we wish to see it, we must look in
the granaries and on the drying stages inside the native huts, where
it serves less ambitious uses as wrappings for those seeds and fruits
which require to be packed with special care. The salt produced at
Masasi, too, is packed for transport to a distance in large sheets of
bark-cloth. Wherever I found it in any degree possible, I studied the
process of making this cloth. The native requisitioned for the
purpose arrived, carrying a log between two and three yards long and
as thick as his thigh, and nothing else except a curiously-shaped
mallet and the usual long, sharp and pointed knife which all men and
boys wear in a belt at their backs without a sheath—horribile dictu!
[51]
Silently he squats down before me, and with two rapid cuts has
drawn a couple of circles round the log some two yards apart, and
slits the bark lengthwise between them with the point of his knife.
With evident care, he then scrapes off the outer rind all round the
log, so that in a quarter of an hour the inner red layer of the bark
shows up brightly-coloured between the two untouched ends. With
some trouble and much caution, he now loosens the bark at one end,
and opens the cylinder. He then stands up, takes hold of the free
edge with both hands, and turning it inside out, slowly but steadily
pulls it off in one piece. Now comes the troublesome work of
scraping all superfluous particles of outer bark from the outside of
the long, narrow piece of material, while the inner side is carefully
scrutinised for defective spots. At last it is ready for beating. Having
signalled to a friend, who immediately places a bowl of water beside
him, the artificer damps his sheet of bark all over, seizes his mallet,
lays one end of the stuff on the smoothest spot of the log, and
hammers away slowly but continuously. “Very simple!” I think to
myself. “Why, I could do that, too!”—but I am forced to change my
opinions a little later on; for the beating is quite an art, if the fabric is
not to be beaten to pieces. To prevent the breaking of the fibres, the
stuff is several times folded across, so as to interpose several
thicknesses between the mallet and the block. At last the required
state is reached, and the fundi seizes the sheet, still folded, by both
ends, and wrings it out, or calls an assistant to take one end while he
holds the other. The cloth produced in this way is not nearly so fine
and uniform in texture as the famous Uganda bark-cloth, but it is
quite soft, and, above all, cheap.
Now, too, I examine the mallet. My craftsman has been using the
simpler but better form of this implement, a conical block of some
hard wood, its base—the striking surface—being scored across and
across with more or less deeply-cut grooves, and the handle stuck
into a hole in the middle. The other and earlier form of mallet is
shaped in the same way, but the head is fastened by an ingenious
network of bark strips into the split bamboo serving as a handle. The
observation so often made, that ancient customs persist longest in
connection with religious ceremonies and in the life of children, here
finds confirmation. As we shall soon see, bark-cloth is still worn
during the unyago,[52] having been prepared with special solemn
ceremonies; and many a mother, if she has no other garment handy,
will still put her little one into a kilt of bark-cloth, which, after all,
looks better, besides being more in keeping with its African
surroundings, than the ridiculous bit of print from Ulaya.
MAKUA WOMEN