Since I began college in the early 1990s there has been a growing trend for fields of study to birth new sub-disciplines with the precursor “applied” attached to the front of their names. For example, there are fields of applied anthropology, applied geography, applied zooarchaeology, applied economics, et cetera. Undoubtedly the roots of this trend extend deeper back in time than I recognize; but no one doubts that applied perspectives are growing in number. There is value to applying geographical or anthropological research to real-world problems such as water management or cultural brokering for indigenous groups, and these enterprises justifiably deserve their own sub-fields, sub-disciplines, branches, or whatever one would like to call them. However, there is also risk in these new directions; frankly, we have already begun to lose our senses of ourselves.
In a similar vein, Gene Anderson writes in his recent book The Pursuit of Ecotopia (pp. 203) that his “field of anthropology used to be based on real interest in people, and was dedicated to understanding them.” Anthropology has devolved into denunciation of “multifarious evils” and “sterile critiques.” In addition, I would argue, that we have replaced “real interest in people” with an applied perspective that “must do something for the world.” What about applied geography? Is it more valuable than fascination with variability in phenomena across space—geography? The title of a chapter by a colleague of mine in an applied zooarchaeology book is “Doing Zooarchaeology as if It Mattered;” the paper is a brilliant example of applied zooarchaeological research, and she and I have talked about the title. Clearly she values traditional zooarchaeological research for its own sake. But one has to wonder, what has happened to the unapplied roots of applied studies? I vividly recall a student commenting after one archaeology class that she was relieved that I advocated studying archaeology for its simple interest; this was foreign to her, and she felt that her major (applied) program prioritized application to the point that students felt pressure to be “practical” more than freedom to be “interested.” What this amounts to is a struggle to be relevant. Good anthropology, geography, or zooarchaeology is relevant, and the best applied research is done by those who excel in their (unapplied) fields of study. That is, an expert applied researcher must first be an expert zooarchaeologist, geographer, anthropologist, economist, ecologist, et cetera, something we are overlooking in our academic programs, in my opinion.
The move toward applied perspectives derives from at least two sources. One of these is a need for new data to solve the many global problems that all societies now face from those of the environmental crisis to those of simply getting along with members of cultures dramatically different from one’s own. However, another reason is a striking decline in curiosity for its own sake, which I have described in other posts as an educational crisis. We face a new era in education in which consumerism reigns, and this has devalued the almighty degree. The reason is simple, education is now something one gets rather than something a person explores—it has become an entitlement, hence the drive for ‘edutainment’ and the obsession by university administrators with ‘time to graduation’ (which matters, obviously, but not to the degree it is being touted). The logic behind this movement is faulty because experts in disciplines gain experience through years of intense training for which curiosity is a requirement. The notion that one should simply pay tuition, show up to class, and consume an education is intensely flawed, and it is a deadly blow to appreciation for curiosity.
In addition, members of our society will probably come to find too late that curiosity is an applied perspective. Development of a curious mind is essential for creative problem solving, which is required for life in the modern world. Compare a curious, dedicated problem-solver with the wrong training to a narrow-minded technician who can only apply a limited skill set. The former can creatively work through new situations and adopt new skills; the latter is threatened by new ideas and must restrict the world around them to the skills they know. A colleague of mine eloquently stated that the undergraduate degree is for “learning to learn.” I could not agree more.
Gene Anderson’s book is about making the best of global society in the context of the current environmental crisis. He states that grass-roots solidarity is the mechanism by which change in human-environmental interactions can occur. To do so, to live in a healthy environment, he argues, must be considered a basic human right. A similar argument must be made for education; curiosity is a right, a responsibility, and a privilege. The renovation of a broken education system that currently promotes edutainment, standardized testing, and top-down legislation of course materials requires grass roots activism, now. Else, the current education system will train an army of the uncurious who will not know any better and will not be capable of change. Members of this army will be skilled technicians with poor problem-solving abilities. Only solidarity among inquisitive individuals can preserve curiosity as an essential component of education and society. I shudder to think of how humanity can overcome current global social and environmental challenges without curious minds and without unapplied applied perspectives.
Reference
The Pursuit of Ecotopia: Lessons from Indigenous and Traditional Societies for the Human Ecology of Our Modern World, by Eugene N. Anderson 2010 Praeger, Santa Barbara
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