College students are a lot more worried about grades these days. This is something I myself have witnessed in the large general education courses I teach at UCI. My offerings are part of the breadth requirements common at most universities. These attract learners from a wide array of academic disciplines –– which at UCI translates into large numbers of science, technology, engineering, and math (STEM) majors. The changes I’m seeing manifest in a growing preoccupation with grades and rankings, as well as increasing concerns about future earnings potential. This shift has not gone unnoticed by my colleagues, many of whom express disdain for students more invested in grade point averages than the intrinsic value of learning. Some view this as a troubling trend towards a consumer mentality in education. But I take a more sanguine view.
While grade pressure always has been present to some extent, its recent intensification goes beyond individual classrooms. Almost every university uses these metrics as the primary measure of learning. This makes assessments and scores central to most university teaching for a variety of reasons: measuring comprehension, motivating student effort, providing feedback, generating student rankings, etc. But grade-centric approaches also can fail to account for learners’ diverse challenges, and may undermine equity as a result. Moreover, too much attention on grades can compromise critical thinking and intellectual curiosity crucial not only for academic success but also for life after college.
The university classroom long has been dominated by teacher-centered instruction, which has shown some adaptability while retaining its fundamental characteristics. It wasn’t until the late 20th century that this approach faced significant challenges, as evidence-based practices and learning sciences began to inform educational methods. Understanding this transition requires examining the extensive history of teacher-centered education, including the influence of global pedagogical traditions and the effects of industrialization and technological advances.
Throughout educational history, our understanding of how children and young adults learn has continuously evolved. For centuries, this understanding remained notably one-dimensional, failing to account for the complexity of human learning. Prior to the 20th century in most parts of the world children were either seen as blank slates or miniature adults, requiring little more than information and discipline as they matured. Philosophers in the 1700s described children as possessing a natural goodness or in need of stern training. But it wasn’t until the early 1900s that Swiss psychologist Jean Piaget began charting children’s “stages” of maturity.[i] From this would emerge understandings of how youngsters transition from self-centeredness into social beings, eventually acquiring capacities to actively “construct” knowledge rather than passively taking it in. These insights about cognition and learning would eventually underlie the fields of child development and “child-centered” education.
Yet even as these progressive educational theories were evolving, families and educators continued to prefer traditional instruction, owing to “common sense” resemblances of teaching to parenting in activities like establishing routines, setting expectations, imparting knowledge, and providing feedback. These resemblances make teacher-centered instruction feel familiar and natural, especially in K-12 years. This broad-based appeal speaks to a deep-seated human desire for guidance and a reverence for wisdom embodied in the teacher figure. But as any teenager will tell you, such methods can become counterproductive over time as learners develop levels of independence and autonomy, requiring less and less supervision, direction, and monitoring. Failure to recalibrate instruction to the maturing learner can lead to stress, resentment, and underperformance in what educators term “resistance.”[ii]
Education in the U.S. has a complex history, marked by intellectual progress and systematic exclusion. For over three centuries, its institutions have often prioritized certain forms of knowledge and ways of thinking, inadvertently or intentionally reinforcing intellectual hierarchies. Western philosophical traditions played a significant role in this by emphasizing reason and science while promoting a Eurocentric worldview. The influence of colonialism further complicated matters, as it led to the suppression and erasure of Indigenous knowledge systems around the world and in the U.S. This historical context left a lasting impact on the structure and focus of American higher education, influencing who has access and what is considered valuable knowledge.
Much of this can be traced to the Age of Reason of the 17th and 18th centuries, which profoundly shaped philosophical and educational frameworks in Europe and internationally. Prominent thinkers like John Locke and Immanuel Kant advanced the authority of rationalism and empiricism, influencing philosophical discourse and promoting certain disciplines over others.[i] This focus led to the development of university curricula that, while comprehensive, often functioned selectively.
The Age of Reason reinforced a Eurocentric perspective that marginalized non-Western forms of knowledge and understanding. Visions of world history that placed Europe at the pinnacle of civilization, as set for by Georg Wilhelm Friedrich Hegel, rendered other cultures as less developed or worthy.[ii] This prejudice led academic institutions to the criticize, misrepresent, or entirely disregard non-Western philosophies, sciences, and cultural practices. Edward Said’s concept of “Orientalism” explained how Western academia constructed and perpetuated distorted views of non-Western societies, often rendering them as exotic, backward, or irrational in contrast to the supposedly rational and progressive West.[iii] This intellectual bias not only shaped academic disciplines like anthropology and geography but also influenced broader educational curricula, diplomatic relations, and colonial policies. Consequently, the university emerging from this intellectual milieu often failed to recognize or value Indigenous knowledge systems, oral traditions, and alternative epistemologies, further entrenching the dominance of Western thought in global academic discourse.
The “college premium”is the shorthand term for the income differential accruing to those who complete four-year degrees. Often attributed to research begun in 2011 by Georgetown University’s Center on Education and Workforce (CEW), the college premium concept came about from estimates comparing the average lifetime earnings of college graduates ($2.3 million) to those of high school diploma holders ($1.3 million).[i] In the subsequent decade, the CEW estimate swelled from its initial $1 million to $1.2 million as the premium made college seem like a mandatory life choice.
But families often pay heavily for this benefit, as top-tier universities edge ever closer to tuition costs of $100,000. This year, Vanderbilt University came nearest to this much-watched threshold, projecting tuition of $98,426, though it also emphasized that most students receive financial aid. This trend is evident in other prestigious institutions like Brown, NYU, Tufts, and Yale, whose costs are similarly approaching six figures. While these universities cater to a specific segment, it’s noteworthy that the national average tuition is $56,000 for private colleges and $26,000 for public universities. The rising costs across the industry continue to be a significant concern.[ii]
Choosing a college from one of the America’s 5,775 public and private options in the U.S. can be one of the biggest decisions a young adult makes. With 25-million applicants making these choices, a large industry exists to help with this process, encompassing high-school guidance counsellors, college admissions offices, professional advisors, industry organizations, books and guides, and ranking publications – all devoted to help applications find the “best” school for them.[i] From elite private universities to regional state colleges, for-profit institutions, and community colleges, the hierarchy of institutions is well-recognized and often shapes public opinion. This stratification raises crucial questions about access, equity, and whether the status of an institution significantly determines a graduate’s long-term success.
This “brand hierarchy” is a reality of the U.S. higher education system. The public often assigns greater value to highly selective, well-resourced institutions with name recognition Rankings and media portrayals fuel this perception, creating an implicit understanding that some colleges are simply “better” than others. In fact, studies from the U.S. Department of Education show 74 % of prospective students rating important “reputation/academic quality” the most important factor in choosing a school –– more important than tuition cost (67%), proximity to home (26%), or personal recommendations (24%).[ii]
A central question for the public is whether the name of the institution on a diploma translates to tangible differences in earnings potential and life satisfaction. There’s a prevailing assumption that graduates of elite universities have a clear advantage, but the reality is more complex. Partly this has to do with the structural benefits that higher education institutions provide as a transitional ground between high school and adulthood. For many young adults, elite colleges are seen as sources of social connections, professional networks, access to organizations, recommendations, and mentoring, much of linked to a particular college or university brand identity.
Admissions processes, particularly at elite schools, contribute to the perception of stratification. The intense competition reinforces the notion of scarcity, and the “brand” of the university becomes a factor for ambitious students. Furthermore, legacy admissions systems, where preference is given to children of alumni, perpetuate the image of higher education as tied to existing social class structures –– a perception not easily dispelled. And obviously, acceptance rates very widely, according to the status and type of institution involved. The most exclusive schools like Caltech, Harvard, MIT, Princeton, and Stanford take about 4% of applicants.[iii]Most public community colleges accept all applicants, although demand for certain classes can limit individual enrollments. In all of this, it is very important to keep in mind one’s individual needs, since some highly competitive and prestigious institutions do not have the greatest programs in certain fields, and less well-known schools may Have the best program in the nation in certain areas.
The structural inequities and systemic biases present in higher education profoundly affect learners’ sense of belonging, which in turn influences their academic and social experiences. Research consistently shows that students from historically minoritized backgrounds, including students of color, low-income students, and first-generation college students, often feel less connected to their institutions. This lack of belonging can have far-reaching consequences, impacting learners’ engagement with courses and materials, their sense of connection with peers and community, and their overall well-being and acceptance within the campus culture. As institutions strive to create more inclusive environments, it is essential to understand the multifaceted ways in which belonging influences student experiences and outcomes.
When learners perceive themselves as outsiders, their motivation and participation in academic activities suffer. A recent study found that students who do not feel a sense of belonging are less likely to engage in classroom discussions or participate in group projects, leading to a diminished learning experience.[1] This disengagement is particularly pronounced among learners from underrepresented groups, who may already feel alienated due to cultural and institutional biases. Such environments fail to support these learners, exacerbating feelings of isolation and disengagement. Consequently, these students are often left to navigate academic challenges without the support structures necessary for success, further entrenching existing inequities.
Everyone wishes for higher intelligence. Like beauty and fitness, it’s another quality everybody seems to want. But at some point in life, most people accept what they have and just plow ahead. This sense of defined limits comes from grades, standardized tests, performance evaluations, and chosen pathways reinforced throughout life in competitive comparison. Because of this, attitudes toward intelligence become a perfect set-up for transhumanist enhancement. Rarely is the definition of intelligence questioned, even though the concept is extremely murky. Instead, what gets advanced is the hope of salvation, supplement, addition, or replacement of native functioning, these days offered in a dizzying array of methods, tricks, and technologies.
Memory boosting supplements like Brainmentin and Optimind flood the consumer market, often pitched to aging baby-boomers. Students drink Red Bull or acquire ADD-drugs to study for tests. Exercise and nutritional products promise sharper thinking through purportedly “natural” means. Dig a little further, and one finds unexamined values in intelligence discourse, which privilege reasoning and memory over just about anything else. Important as such traits may be, alone they can’t account for many and diverse ways people navigate their lives, adapt to changing circumstances, or act in creative ways.
So, what is intelligence? The Cambridge Dictionary says it’s the “ability to understand and learn well, and to form judgments and opinions based on reason.”[i] Most other sources say roughly the same thing. Yet people who study intelligence argue that single definitions just won’t do. There simply are too many variables that go into “intelligent” thinking and behavior –– among them cognition, capacity, context, experience, emotion, orientation, language, memory, motivation, and overall physical health. Definitions of intelligence have changed throughout history and vary from culture-to-culture. Western societies in particular tend to value analytical skill over other traits. Critiques of such narrow thinking have a long history in philosophy, with Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle each coming up with different views. Much in these early debates focused on the question of knowledge itself and how people express their thoughts. But as societies became more bureaucratic and mechanized, increasing value was placed on spreadsheets, metrics and algorithms.
Neuroscientists call the brain an “anticipation machine” because it spends so much time predicting the future.[i] It does this by piecing together past experiences to build scenarios of expected outcomes, in a process that reinforces itself as predictions come true. But of course things don’t always come true, creating uncertainty and wreaking havoc on the anticipation machine. In mild cases this expresses itself in a sense of worry that things might go wrong. But pile up a lot of bad experiences and you end up expecting the worst, in what psychologists call “anticipatory dread.”[ii] While this can be a healthy process in buffering the shock of negative events, it also can spiral into a harmful sensation of crisis.
Recent research has a lot to say about the anticipation machine’s relationship to the update impulse. Visions of the future don’t spring from a vacuum, but link to objects, expected outcomes, or something we think we want. This desiring process applies to just about everything, whether it’s a slice of pizza or the admiration of others. But here’s the fascinating part: Getting things is less powerful than wanting them. That new pair of jeans might bring a thrill. But soon comes the yearning for another purchase. Neuroimaging reveals that “wanting” and “liking” occur in different parts of the brain, with the former more strongly active than the latter. Contrary to common wisdom, motivation isn’t influenced by animalistic hungers and drives. What gets people going is the imagination, which is why advertising favors feelings over facts.
The past year has witnessed unprecedented assaults on Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion (DEI) initiatives in universities. Often disguised as support for “traditional” values or academic freedom, these criticisms mask a deeper debate about the role and direction of higher education in a diverse society. To navigate this turbulent discussion, it’s important to move beyond slogans and delve into the evidence-based benefits of DEI, not just for educational institutions, but for the very fabric of a democratic society.
Historically, American academia has been marked by exclusion. Access to knowledge, the cornerstone of a thriving democracy, was largely reserved for privileged white students. This reality underscores the dynamic nature of tradition in higher education. True progress lies not in clinging to past practices, but in expanding access to reflect the rich tapestry of American life.
DEI serves as a crucial tool in this expansion. Far from a political tool or mere slogan, it represents a data-driven approach to dismantling barriers that impede access and success for historically marginalized communities Research paints a clear picture:
Improved Student Outcomes: Studies by the National Bureau of Economic Research show that diverse learning environments significantly enhance academic performance and critical thinking skills.
Higher Graduation Rates: The American Association of Colleges and Universities reports that campuses with robust DEI programs boast higher graduation rates, particularly for sociallt marginalized students.
Stronger Civic Engagement: Research by the National Center for Education Statistics reveals that universities with strong inclusivity practices foster greater student satisfaction and civic engagement.
In the world of academia, where the pursuit of knowledge and excellence in teaching are paramount, one might assume that evaluation methods would be impartial and objective. However, a thought-provoking article by David Delgado Shorter, a UCLA Professor of World Arts and Cultures, sheds light on the problematic nature of student evaluations. In his article titled “Teaching Evaluations Are Racist, Sexist, And Often Useless: It’s Time To Put These Flawed Measures In Their Place,” Shorter questions the validity and fairness of using student evaluations as a basis for academic merit and promotion decisions.
Shorter’s journey into this subject began when he reviewed his own teaching evaluations from the previous years, aiming to compile them for promotion purposes. What he found was a mixture of bizarre comments and personal narratives that had little to do with the actual course content. He realized that this was not an isolated incident; many of his Black and Asian colleagues, especially women, faced even more problematic evaluations.
In recent times, America has been witnessing a seismic shift in the perception and value of higher education. Historically, a college degree had been regarded as a quintessential stepping stone to financial stability and a prosperous future. The early 2010s saw a high rate of affirmation from college graduates, with 86 percent considering their investment in college education to be worthwhile.[i]Additionally, 70 percent of high school graduates chose to pursue higher education directly after their graduation in 2009, showcasing the predominant belief in the benefits of a college education. The economic data around this time period significantly favored those with a bachelor’s degree, who were found to earn about two-thirds more than individuals with just a high school diploma. This earnings gap suggested that higher education could be a reliable pathway to greater financial security and prosperity.
Unfortunately, a stark contrast can be observed in recent years, as public sentiment regarding higher education has experienced a monumental shift. As of 2021, undergraduate enrollment figures plummeted to below 15.5 million, compared to over 18 million a decade earlier.[ii]Surveys conducted during this time reveal a staggering decline in the value attached to a college degree, with only 41 percent of young adults considering it very important, a dramatic decrease from the 74 percent recorded previously.[iii] This waning confidence is mirrored in the diminishing trust towards higher education institutions, with only a third of the American populace expressing a high degree of faith in them.[iv]
As the new academic year begins, the shifting demographics of undergraduates bear acknowledgment. Today’s students are navigating a profoundly altered landscape when it comes to higher education. Coming of age amidst shifting sands, they no longer view college as a mere rite of passage into adulthood, a perception held by many in previous generations. Instead, higher education has emerged as a perceived bulwark against an unstable future, a necessary tool to secure a foothold in an increasingly competitive market. Armed with a critical eye and a deep-seated desire for value in their educational investment, these students are willing to devote the time and effort necessary to achieve grades that promise to pave a promising pathway into the workforce or further studies, viewing each step as a vital cog in the machinery of their future success.
The metamorphosis in the racial and ethnic composition of American higher education institutions is indeed noteworthy. According to data from the National Center for Education Statistics, there has been a discernible increase in the enrollment rates of several minority groups. In the fall of 2019, it was noted that the proportion of white students enrolled in colleges was around 55.9%, while Hispanic and Asian/Pacific Islander students represented 20.1% and 7.4% of enrollments, respectively.[i] Furthermore, the number of African American students enrolling has also seen an incremental rise, accounting for 13.2% in the same year. These developments illustrate a promising trajectory towards fostering a more inclusive and diverse educational environment. The progressive shift not only indicates a break from a predominantly white majority but also hints at an enriching academic milieu where perspectives from various backgrounds can converge. This diversification is a cornerstone in preparing students to navigate a globally interconnected world, where understanding and appreciation for diverse cultures and narratives is a critical asset.
In the vast landscape academia, one constant lingers. The venerated lecture is an historical artifact that traces its origins to the very inception of higher learning. Such a tradition, efficient as it might be for transmitting facts, often falls short in sparking genuine engagement. This passive style stands in stark contrast to true education, especially in our digitally charged era where learning has undergone a dramatic metamorphosis.
Our digital age hasn’t just redefined how we retrieve information, but reshaped our very expectations of learning. The omnipresence of online tools and multifaceted communication avenues heralds a marked shift in pedagogy. Brick-and-mortar classrooms, once the sole sanctums of knowledge, are being complemented by, if not at times replaced by, vibrant alternative modalities.
As John Tagg insightfully noted in his now- classic The Instruction Myth: Why Higher Education is Hard to Change, And How to Change It (Rutgers, 2019), established education structures can unwittingly ensnare itself in a misguided “universal solution” mindset. They risk glossing over the rich potentials of diverse learners, their individualized backgrounds, and inclinations. In this milieu, learning that foregrounds students’ individual aptitudes emerges as a promising way forward. Such adaptive approaches beckon a richer, more encompassing educational horizon.
However, the journey to innovation is fraught with institutional roadblocks. The gravitational pull of longstanding norms, coupled with an almost reverential deference to the established order, can thwart progress. To Tagg these institutional barriers can be compounded by faculty hesitancy, often stemming from tech apprehension or the perceived threat of new methodologies –– all of which amplifies the challenge. Alleviating these concerns demands a renewed commitment to professional growth and the fostering of a collaborative ethos among educators. Moreover, it’s an irony that external accreditation entities, designed to enshrine the zenith of academic excellence, might inadvertently ossify outdated methods. A recalibration towards genuine learning outcomes, rather than the means of instruction, seems imperative.
In the American panorama, fitness culture has taken a front-row seat. Sculpted physiques have become the driving force in our self-image-fueled society. An aesthetic representation of health has hijacked the popular consciousness, becoming not only coveted but also expected. It’s a celebration of the human body, but with its glorification, the “healthy” standard morphs into an unreachable Everest for many.
Couched in the language of possibilities without borders, fitness campaigns shine a spotlight on personal responsibility, with Nike’s “Just Do It” mantra being the poster child for such efforts. It’s not about selling sneakers, it’s about selling the dream that we can all ascend to athletic greatness. Their website continues this narrative, stating, “Your daily motivation with the latest gear, most effective workouts and the inspiration you need to test your limits ––and unleash your potential.” The push is persuasive, especially for young customers grappling with identity, schooling, or job hunting.
Similar slogans resound from the likes of Equinox, LA Fitness, and Shadow Fitness, all tapping into the ethos of self-determination, willpower, and personal growth. As Forbes reports, the multi-billion dollar fitness industry, which has grown steadily over the last decade, is fueled in part by gym-rat adults. The motivation? Lower health insurance costs and the powerful self-affirmation that accompanies taking the reins of one’s health.
Contrast this landscape with the stark reality: many Americans remain outside this idealized circle of health and fitness, intensifying the quest for better bodies. The message to our ageing, overweight, and unwell population is unequivocal: “get in shape or get left behind.” And this pressure isn’t limited to one demographic; it’s an equal opportunity oppressor, driving men, women, and the non-binary to chase this epitome of health. Fitness obsession seeps into every corner of our lives, from diet plans to gym memberships, from yoga studios to the booming wellness industry. Even giants like Amazon have recognized this lucrative market, snapping up Whole Foods.
Yet another backlash against student diversity was discussed this past week in the Chronicle of Higher Education. In this case the assault came against pandemic-era inclusive teaching measures designed to mitigate the risk of student disconnection and failure –– methods such as group work, deadline flexibility, enhanced faculty interaction, and Universal Design for Learning. However, critics argue that these measures have led to a lax academic environment and decreased student motivation. What is needed, the critics assert, are stricter and more difficult courses to force students back in line.
In an article, “Why Calls for a Return to Rigor Are Wrong,” Chronicle columnist Kevin Gannon counters this perspective, contending that a simple increase in workload, tougher grading, and heightened standards do not equate to academic rigor. He argues that these conventional methods often serve as a veneer for practices that raise barriers to student success, rather than tearing them down.
Critics of the pandemic-era teaching efforts often focus on metrics such as the volume of reading per week, the number of writing assignments, or the duration to complete an academic program. According to them, these have fallen far too low. In essence, they attribute “rigor” to logistical challenges in course delivery. However, Gannon emphasizes that higher education needn’t be prohibitive, and introducing practices that stifle student motivation and engagement is counterproductive.
In the midst of this debate, the University of California, Irvine (UCI), has taken a progressive step towards educational inclusivity with the launch of the Inclusive Course Design Institute (ICDI). This post will explore the transformative initiative of ICDI at UCI, which serves as a beacon of inclusivity and equity in the shifting landscapes of higher education.
How do you live a “good life”? It’s a question philosophers have pondered and pollsters still pose. Answers vary a lot, given differences in opinion and the breadth of the issue. What often comes to mind is a definition of happiness or what makes a life satisfying. For most people, the question entails both “self-directed” aspects of personal experience and “other-directed” elements of one’s place among others.[i] Definitions of the good life can refer to abundance (“luxury, pleasure, or comfort”) or insight (“simplicity, health and morality).”[ii] Other qualities include freedom or the idea of life as a journey. This chapter explores how people view and pursue the good life, and what obstacles may stand in their way.
Discussions of the good life date to the ancient Greek concept of eudaimonia, a word commonly translated as “happiness,” “flourishing,” or “well-being.”[iii] Aristotle cast eudaimonia as an aspirational state that individuals could achieve by demonstrating authenticity and virtue in the eyes of the divine. This differed somewhat from the more immediate state of pleasure and enjoyment known as hedonia. As later philosophers gave people more credit for self-determination, enlightenment erafigures like René Descartes and Baruch Spinosa linked the good life to a reasoned control of human passions.[iv] Christian interpretations of the good life sometimes gave it a moral character in beliefs that humans were created in God’s image, which is “good” by definition. In this line of thinking, virtue and success in life go hand-in-hand.
Historical figures sometimes made lists to define the good life. Socrates said such a life should follow five principles: temperance, courage, piety, justice, and wisdom.[v] Gautama Buddha spoke of an eightfold path of understanding, thought, speech, action, livelihood, effort, mindfulness, and concentration.[vi] Almost all traditional good life lists had people conforming to widely held doctrines or belief systems, with the “self” cast as an element in a larger plan. In today’s more secular times most people see the good life as a matter of perspective. Unfortunately, this relativization has brought with it a certain emptiness. A simple online search for good life will provide you with a list of “bucket lists” of activities such as traveling or skydiving.
You’ve probably never heard of TestingMom.com. It’s part of a new generation of test-prep companies like Kaplan and Princeton Review –– except this one is for toddlers. Competition for slots in kindergarten has gotten so intense that some parents are shelling out thousands to get their four-year olds ready for entrance tests or interviews. It’s just one more example of the pressure that got celebrity parents arrested for falsifying college applications a few years ago. In this case the battle is over getting into elite elementary schools or gifted programs. While such admissions pressure is widely known, what’s new is how early it’s occurring. Equity issues aside, the demand to improve performance is being drilled into youngsters before they can spell their names. All of this bespeaks the competition for grades, school placement, and eventual careers that has transformed the normal impulse to do better into an obsession for students and their families. Much like the drive for perfection, an insatiable hunger to be quicker, smarter, and more acceptable to admissions officers is taking its toll in many ways.
What explains this obsessive behavior? Brain science has been proving what advertising long has known –– that wanting something is far more powerful than getting it. School admissions and other markers of success are part of an overarching mental wanting mechanism. That new iPhone might bring a thrill. But soon comes the yearning for an update, a newer model, another purchase. Neuroimaging shows that processes of “wanting” and “liking” occur in different parts of the brain, with the former more broadly and powerfully operating than the latter. This reverses the common wisdom that primal hungers and “drives” underlie human motivation. Unlike animals, the motor force driving human beings is imagination –– with anticipation of something more important than the experience itself. This partly explains why merchandizing deals more with feeling than facts. Slogans like “Just Do It” and “Think Different” bear no direct relationship to shoes or computers, but instead tingle feelings of desire. In the fuzzy realm emotion pleasure is a fungible currency.
Bing, Bard, and other bots. The world is rushing headlong into a ChatGPT future. Yet amid the giddy optimism over boundless new capabilities lie deeper questions about how artificial intelligence is reshaping human consciousness in unnoticed ways. Update Available: The Algorithmic Self (2023) take a critical look at this emerging phenomenon.
Update Available is available as a free download from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble and other major retailers, published as an Open Access Creative Commons book.
Other books by David Trend include Welcome to Cyberschool: Education at the Crossroads in the Information Age,Worlding: Media, Identity, and Imagination, and The End of Reading: From Guttenberg to Grand Theft Auto.
Trend’s popular “Changing Creativity” course is taken each year by over 1000 students throughout the University of California system.
“How to Find Your Superpower” is among thousands of recent articles, books, and improvement programs about the age-old dream of an updated self. Like others in its genre, the piece offers guidance for achieving “peak performance” through a blend of passion, mastery, and hard work. “The #1 thing you can do is determine your strengths, determine your superpowers,” the authors state in coaching readers to sharpen “a dominant gift an attribute, skill or ability that makes you stronger than the rest: a difference between you and your coworker.”[i] Find that elusive something, and you are sure to succeed. Pitches like this appear everywhere these days. Witness the massive market for fitness, beauty, self-esteem, and cognitive improvement products. These range from dietary supplements and workout regimes to books, videos, and apps. Amazon is loaded with titles like Your Hidden Superpower, Finding Your Superpower, and the kid’s book What’s My Superpower?[ii]
Juvenile appeals notwithstanding, a consistent theme runs through all these books – that it is up to you alone to find, develop, or somehow acquire missing capacities. Rarely is there a mention of structural advantages or disadvantages in the superpower quest. The impulse to exceed one’s limits has a long history in Western thought, with roots in religious doctrine and philosophy. Some even link enhancement to hard-wired survival instincts. Simply put, people have been augmenting themselves for thousands of years, first by using tools, then by working in groups, and later with machines and technology. From the Enlightenment Era onward, this was seen as humanity’s “natural” impulse for continual improvement and progress. Ongoing developments in science and medicine have intensified this drive, along with the heightened sense of crisis in the 21st century. The result has been a growing mania to become stronger, smarter, and better looking than anyone else.
Anxious Creativity: When Imagination Fails (Routledge) now is available without cost as an Open Access ebook thanks to funding from UC Irvine. You can get it as a Kindle ebook from Amazon or in PDF format from Routledge using this link.
Creativity is getting new attention in today’s America –– along the way revealing fault lines in U.S. culture. Surveys show people overwhelming seeing creativity as both a desirable trait and a work enhancement, yet most say they just aren’t creative. Like beauty and wealth, creativity seems universally desired but insufficiently possessed. Businesses likewise see innovation as essential to productivity and growth, but can’t bring themselves to risk new ideas. Even as one’s “inner artist” is hyped by a booming self-help industry, creative education dwindles in U.S. schools.
Anxious Creativity: When Imagination Fails examines this conceptual mess, while focusing on how America’s current edginess dampens creativity in everyone. Written in an engaging and accessible style, Anxious Creativity draws on current ideas in the social sciences, economics, and the arts. Discussion centers on the knotty problem of reconciling the expressive potential in all people with the nation’s tendency to reward only a few. Fortunately, there is some good news, as scientists, economists, and creative professionals have begun advocating new ways of sharing and collaboration. Building on these prospects, the book argues that America’s innovation crisis demands a rethinking of individualism, competition, and the ways creativity is rewarded.
