The news of Lee Shulman’s passing has led me to reflect on the profound impact he has had on my career and worldview, despite our paths crossing in person just once. While we never formally collaborated, our academic journeys shared a fascinating connection through Michigan State University – where he developed his groundbreaking Pedagogical Content Knowledge framework, and years later, where Matt Koehler and I would build on to develop TPACK.
Shulman’s contributions to education went far beyond PCK – he fundamentally changed how we think about teaching as a profession, putting educators’ knowledge and practices on a professional footing. But this reflection isn’t about his scholarly achievements. It’s more personal—what Shulman and his work meant to me.
I vividly remember my one meeting with him. It was at DePaul University in Chicago. I had been invited to lead a workshop and he had come to give a keynote at the same conference. The organizers of the conference had invited both of us to dinner but sadly I was placed at the opposite end of the table from him and didn’t really get to talk at any length. At the end of the dinner, as we were breaking up, I approached him to at least get a moment and to thank him for his contribution to our thinking. Truth be told, I was somewhat nervous, wondering what he thought of a couple of upstarts modifying his work. But my concern was misplaced. He was graciousness itself, his response embodying everything I’ve come to admire about true scholarly leadership. He spoke about how the greatest recognition scholars can receive is seeing their work live on in the minds and representations of others who build upon their ideas. This generosity of spirit, this embrace of having others extend and transform his work, has stayed with me ever since, and is something I have attempted to emulate in my own work.
With Lee Shulman, in Chicago. April 15, 2010
But Shulman’s influence on my thinking goes far beyond TPACK. Years ago, when I was a junior faculty member at MSU, I came across a 1979 paper in a pile to be trashed. He described, in the introduction to this paper (titled “Research on Teaching in the Arts: Review, Analysis, Critique“) his approach to the task, as being akin to the Talmudic view of four levels of Biblical exegesis:
p’shat: explication of the plain meaning of the text; d’rash: interpretation of plain meanings; remez: broader inferences based on discerning nuances or “hints” from the text; and sode: barely bridled speculation soaring effortlessly from the text and tethered loosely, if at all, to its sources (normally the level of exegesis assigned to the Kabbala, or mystical literature). The reader should be forewarned that there will appear little interpretation of the first kind, much interpretation of the second and third kinds, and occasional forays into the dangerous altitudes of the fourth.
I cannot describe how much these words appealed to me—I was somewhat frustrated by traditional educational psychology research and its inordinate focus on data, something I felt was inherently limiting in our attempt to understand the deeply human process of teaching and learning. While data was important, it was, I believed, not enough. Education is a design profession, and like all design professions, works in the space of indeterminacy. Data is often messy and incomplete, and sometimes contradictory. But waiting for all the data to arrive was not an option, or maybe even impossible. The only way forward was thoughtful, grounded exploration, seeking insights not just from experiments, data and theory but also from history, philosophy and experience. And here was someone who was willing to indulge in “barely bridled speculation” and open to connecting academic analysis to a rich cultural and religious intellectual tradition. How cool was that!
His playful warning about “dangerous altitudes of the fourth” kind (sode) is especially memorable – it acknowledges that scholarly work sometimes needs to take creative leaps while maintaining a sense of humility about such speculative ventures. This framework seems particularly relevant to educational research, where we often move between direct observation (p’shat), straightforward interpretation (d’rash), nuanced inference (remez), and theoretical speculation (sode).
And there was also the writing itself, elegant, and beautiful, something I had found severely lacking in most academic prose. I mean, how can you not be thrilled to read the poetic and precise metaphor of “barely bridled speculation soaring effortlessly.”
This is why this quote still stays with me—resonant and rich, connecting what we do, as educators and researchers, to deeper historical and philosophical traditions, and yet humble in its claims. This way of looking at the world resonated deeply and has influenced how I approach the complex intersection of technology and education, validating the need for multiple levels of analysis and interpretation. And finally, his emphasis on the craft of writing, spoke to me and, in some sense, gave me permission to think deeper and write with a greater emphasis on beauty and meaning.
Like the best of thinkers and writers, Shulman had the ability to capture complex ideas and convey them so powerfully. His short article, titled “Taking Learning Seriously,” is one I have revisited often over the years, for its clarity of exposition and for effortlessly capturing what learning is all about. And then there is this nugget, in that paper, about the nature of learning itself – a single sentence that has become central to my philosophy of teaching and learning:
“Learning is least useful when it is private and hidden; it is most powerful when it becomes public and communal.”
These words capture something fundamental about knowledge – how it grows stronger when offered as “community property among fellow learners” to be tested, examined, and improved. This idea has permeated almost everything that I do, from sharing my work (even works in progress) publicly through my writing and my blog, to how I approach my teaching. I try to make everything we do in class public—either within the class or, when possible, with the wider world. Very little is done solely for the instructor, as there is little of value in that.
As I look back, I regret not having more opportunities to work directly with Lee Shulman. From all the descriptions I have heard or read, he was a wonderful mentor and collaborator—insightful, humble, generous and wise. Yet his impact on my work and thinking has been profound. Through his writings and ideas, he taught me not just about the science and art of education, but about the very nature of scholarship itself – that it thrives on generosity, benefits from multiple levels of interpretation, and grows strongest when shared within a community.
In his passing, we’ve lost a giant in educational research. But true to his own words about learning becoming “public and communal,” his ideas continue to live on and evolve through the countless scholars he has influenced. For that enduring legacy, I am deeply grateful.
0 Comments