History Teaching 02
17th Cylus, 721
owever old she lived to be, Perdita thought to herself, she would not learn how to make notes well - or quickly. She most assuredly would not be learning how to keep up with Professor Deadnut, either.
Earlier on, she'd arrived a full hour early for her lesson. That had led to Perdita meeting and talking with the professor. He'd been stern, but that was fine - but he'd also said that he expected her to do all the homework and to the same standard as her notes. He was talking and she was trying to make notes, but she really hadn't prepared for the reality of how fast people spoke. Perdita knew, in that moment, that she had to forego neatness for functionality. And so, she began to write.
"I want you to consider," the Professor said. "If you have ever been to a party or an event. Even this lecture. When you go home this evening, you might describe this lecture to your room mate, your parents, your husband or wife. I might tell my wife about it." Looking around, he asked, "will we all say the same words? Have we all experienced the same thing?" There was a general mumbling of no around the room. "Context! Context is everything. You will remember what you enjoyed, what you hated. If the person next to you smells particularly good, or the person in front of you annoys you or delights you - you will focus there. And that is now!" Perdita wondered how he actually managed to talk so fast, she was rather amazed.
"Imagine now, that you are asked to remember this lecture in five arcs time. What will you remember? Westcott? What will you remember?" Perdita looked at him and thought that she'd remember nothing because she'd be dead because she was about to die. "Well?" Did he not see that her cheeks were flaming. "This moment," she said, quietly and he nodded. "Exactly! Miss Westcott will remember me asking her a question. She will remember not wanting to answer, she will remember it because it is significant to her. But will you, or you? Probably not."
He moved then and grabbed a book from his lectern. It was a large tome and he put it down with a bang.
"This is a book about history. It is not a book of history. It can tell you dates and if enough people agree that a certain thing happened on a certain day, then it probably did. If I told you the trial my wife and I married, and she walked in here, and said the same. You can agree the date. It's probably valid. That is because I am - and she is - a primary source. We were there. But if you go home and tell your room-mate the date, you are a secondary source. There are issues with those. They are removed a step from what happened, so they may be more prone to errors."
Looking around, he continued to speak and Perdita had to acknowledge that the man had marvelous breath control. "But, when you are a primary source, you were there! That means you experienced it and so you are more accurate, right?" There were some nods around the room. "WRONG!" Professor Deadnut said. "On my wedding, it was a perfect day. It was wonderful, everything was ideal. It was exciting, uplifting, a marvel. Some of our guests were probably bored witless! A primary source is a biased source." He gestured to them. "If every guest at our wedding had written a report on it, giving their version of what happened and you came along and read them all? Arguably, your understanding and breadth of knowledge would be greater than any one of us who were there. It's a juggling act, do you see?"
Again, some murmurs of agreement.
"Additional exercise 1, I want you to find two books dealing with the same issue or subject and compare them." Perdita wrote furiously. "Not the whole book, just the one topic or incident. Questions?"
There were none, and Perdita sighed as she continued, well aware that her handwriting
had seriously degenerated.
Still, she figured. She'd lived. That was a start, surely?
Earlier on, she'd arrived a full hour early for her lesson. That had led to Perdita meeting and talking with the professor. He'd been stern, but that was fine - but he'd also said that he expected her to do all the homework and to the same standard as her notes. He was talking and she was trying to make notes, but she really hadn't prepared for the reality of how fast people spoke. Perdita knew, in that moment, that she had to forego neatness for functionality. And so, she began to write.
"I want you to consider," the Professor said. "If you have ever been to a party or an event. Even this lecture. When you go home this evening, you might describe this lecture to your room mate, your parents, your husband or wife. I might tell my wife about it." Looking around, he asked, "will we all say the same words? Have we all experienced the same thing?" There was a general mumbling of no around the room. "Context! Context is everything. You will remember what you enjoyed, what you hated. If the person next to you smells particularly good, or the person in front of you annoys you or delights you - you will focus there. And that is now!" Perdita wondered how he actually managed to talk so fast, she was rather amazed.
"Imagine now, that you are asked to remember this lecture in five arcs time. What will you remember? Westcott? What will you remember?" Perdita looked at him and thought that she'd remember nothing because she'd be dead because she was about to die. "Well?" Did he not see that her cheeks were flaming. "This moment," she said, quietly and he nodded. "Exactly! Miss Westcott will remember me asking her a question. She will remember not wanting to answer, she will remember it because it is significant to her. But will you, or you? Probably not."
He moved then and grabbed a book from his lectern. It was a large tome and he put it down with a bang.
"This is a book about history. It is not a book of history. It can tell you dates and if enough people agree that a certain thing happened on a certain day, then it probably did. If I told you the trial my wife and I married, and she walked in here, and said the same. You can agree the date. It's probably valid. That is because I am - and she is - a primary source. We were there. But if you go home and tell your room-mate the date, you are a secondary source. There are issues with those. They are removed a step from what happened, so they may be more prone to errors."
Looking around, he continued to speak and Perdita had to acknowledge that the man had marvelous breath control. "But, when you are a primary source, you were there! That means you experienced it and so you are more accurate, right?" There were some nods around the room. "WRONG!" Professor Deadnut said. "On my wedding, it was a perfect day. It was wonderful, everything was ideal. It was exciting, uplifting, a marvel. Some of our guests were probably bored witless! A primary source is a biased source." He gestured to them. "If every guest at our wedding had written a report on it, giving their version of what happened and you came along and read them all? Arguably, your understanding and breadth of knowledge would be greater than any one of us who were there. It's a juggling act, do you see?"
Again, some murmurs of agreement.
"Additional exercise 1, I want you to find two books dealing with the same issue or subject and compare them." Perdita wrote furiously. "Not the whole book, just the one topic or incident. Questions?"
There were none, and Perdita sighed as she continued, well aware that her handwriting
had seriously degenerated. Still, she figured. She'd lived. That was a start, surely?
History is a gallery of pictures in which there are few originals and many copies.
