Building a Culture of Intellectual Risk-Taking: Isolating the Pedagogical Elements of the Harkness Method

Critical Analysis

In this paper, the authors examine a specific teaching model—the Harkness Method—that emphasizes intellectual risk-taking. Based on their ethnographic research, they identify a framework made of eight elements that describes the method studied.

In education, mistake-making is argued to have many benefits, including providing opportunities for students to grow, offering evidence that a student is learning, and shifting focus away from interpreting difficulty as “identity-defining flaws” (1). When mistakes are judged, the authors claim that students “become reluctant to try anything new for fear of failure and what failure says about them” (1). A large body of scholarly work has tied “intellectual risk-taking” to mastery, where this form of risk-taking is defined as “engaging in learning by contributing an idea, question, or creative thought regardless of potential errors judgement” (2). The authors explain that, emphasis added, “Any academic behavior that might result in an unpleasant result or consequence in the classroom… can be considered risky or courageous academic behavior.” (2)

Fear, mistake-making, intellectual risk-taking, courageous behavior, and mastery, then, are argued to be conceptually related, and a link is implicitly offered: students are afraid of making intellectual errors, and making these errors in an academic context takes courage. When students take intellectual risks, they are more likely to master concepts. The authors continue to assert that students who engage in intellectual-risk taking also participate in class more, enjoy learning, are motivated, demonstrate problem-solving skills, and show evidence of grit. They continue further, in arguing that these students are high-achievers, study more effectively, and are welcoming to others. At least rhetorically, risk-taking seems to have endless benefits.

Two existing frameworks have worked to translate these benefits to tactics. Lemov’s framework calls for a “culture of error,” where instructors encourage errors and praise risk-taking (3). Steuer and Dresel’s framework similarly calls for an “error climate,” where teachers and students never react negatively and students are encouraged to comment even if they do not think their comment is correct (3).

The authors contribute their own framework, based on comprehensive ethnographic research in a private academy, and their framework shares some qualities, but also offers new ways of thinking about risks in an academic context. Vulnerability and trust are introduced as core elements of a successful classroom. “Teachers,” the authors state, “cannot expect students to take risks and be vulnerable if a culture of safety and trust is not present” (5). Examples from their study include labeling the classroom as a “judge-free zone” where students “can’t hide.” (6) Yet these concepts of risks, vulnerability, safety and trust are not defined and the rhetorical devices are not explained. Safety is likely not referring to physical harm, but the word escalates the stakes of correctly structuring the environment. The same is true of vulnerability; to be vulnerable typically means to show defenselessness. Students should not need defenses in a classroom, but the language serves to amplify the potential consequences of a lack of correct action on the part of the educator.

Disagreement, they explain, should be normalized, and students should be encouraged to change their opinions based on these disagreements. The disagreements are related to problem-solving, and the authors’ conclusion, that “this kind of normalization—and celebration—of problem solving contributed to the genuine value placed on intellectual risk-taking in the classroom” (8) ties risks to problems. Arguments for fearlessness are about eliminating and resolving challenges; content and experience are largely absent in the discussion. Another key framework element, “students providing evidence,” reinforces that a rational form of substantiation is to be celebrated: “students were encouraged to provide evidence to support their ideas,” as ideas should not be shared without justification (9).

The authors conclude by stating “intellectual risk-taking leads to learning, reflection, growth and community” (10). This more succinctly asserts the causal chain introduced above—that, returning to their definition of intellectual risk-taking as “contributing an idea, question, or creative thought regardless of potential errors or judgement,” successfully provoking this behavior ultimately “leads to learning, reflection, growth and community.” As the authors have earlier indicated that “any academic behavior that might result in an unpleasant result or consequence” is to take a risk, the assertion becomes broader.

When considered in the context of design, at issue is the linkage between such a generous definition of risk with the permissive culture in which it is attempted, the focus of the process on problem solving, and the generally accepted view that learning to “be innovative” is a beneficial outcome of design education. If risk is considered as taking a chance with an opportunity to fail, and failure is considered to be a solution that does not effectively solve a problem, several assumptions become active. One is that design is a form of solving a problem. This ignores the many other views of design: that it is an investigative process, that it is about making items of beauty, that it is about humanizing technology, and so-on. Another assumption that goes unquestioned is that design problems can actually be solved. This rejects views of the artificial as largely culturally enacted and considered, perspectives that feel a “solution” should always be culturally considered and judged when it is “used,” as compared to when it is “made.”

One of the most tangled parts of the argument of risk and failure in the design studio is the dual nature of the subject matter of the design project and the skillset of the student, progressing in parallel. Assuming the above definition of risk and risk-taking, a design student can try things that are new to them—attempt to use methods that they have not used before, to explore a style that is unfamiliar to them, to draw ideas in perspective when that skill has not been mastered, and so on—while they are simultaneously trying to come up with a new design that is new to everyone. It is a dual risk, and they are rarely teased apart.

A student draws a flashlight and is uncomfortable with their ability to sketch. They show the drawing at critique, taking a “risk of exposure.” Their sketching ability is offered for judgement, and simultaneously, the design itself is offered for judgement. What’s more, the quality of the sketch impacts the understanding of the design concept; one cannot be completely understood without the other. The rhetorical nature of design further complicates this, as a student may “successfully take the risk” of the sketch and the concept, yet struggle to narrate their process and intention. The ability to provide evidence is claimed by the authors as a fundamental part of risk-taking; is the quality of the sketch the evidence? The concept that is generated? The spoken words that are offered as justification? The charisma of the student themselves?

In design education, these issues are at play during critique, and critique is constant. The elevated language of risk, failure, trust and vulnerability may inadvertently lead the instructor to focus more on the environment in which learning occurs and less on the actual content of the project that is assigned and the results that emerge. Where is practice in the conversation of risk—how should hand-skills be described? How should ideation? A student who struggles to bring the idea they have to life in the way they intend has “failed” if they bring their output to critique. What, exactly, have they failed at? Without a clear and articulate answer, the efforts around environmental safety may be misguided or even harmful. Celebrating that failure without being precise about the risk can ultimately lead to a confusing assessment for the student, and encouragement of negative development of craft.

A process note

Beginning with this paper, I’m trying several new things. First, I’m going to include basic citation information in the context of my analysis (when I quote verbatim), so that if I use these materials later, I don’t need to hunt down page numbers. Next, I’m going to (where it makes sense) write my content so that it can be copy/pasted into a working draft of some future document with ease; this probably includes more overtly connecting what I’m reading to things I already know or care about. When I’m writing, I find myself already doing this, but there’s some messiness or unnecessary complexity to the process, so I’ll try to make it smoother.

I’m also going to actually analytically engage with the material. I’ve been using a header of “critical analysis,” for lack of a better label, but these have really been fairly superficial summaries. So, I’ll try to be more critical, and do more analysis. We’ll see how it goes.