Category: 4QM Teaching

I confess that I might find it comforting to believe that a small group of shadowy insiders — the “deep state,” an international cabal, George Soros — is manipulating everything behind the scenes. Sometimes I’d prefer to think that someone, anyone, knew what the hell was going on and could do something about it. On the other hand, even those paragons of cunning manipulation, our social media savants, Mark Zuckerberg and Jack Dorsey, appear to be in a state of continual slack-jawed confusion about the unintended consequences of their clever inventions. In my sober moments, I have to acknowledge the forlorn truth: it looks like it’s just us here, humans who can barely make accurate predictions about what will make them happy next week, never mind manipulating millions of strangers. 

What’s wrong with conspiracy theories is obvious enough: they’re lousy explanations. They presume both knowledge and an ability to keep secrets that strain credulity. And, if they get popular enough, they can be dangerous. Yuval Noah Harari’s recent op-ed in the New York Times gives a great summary of the typical fallacies in global cabal conspiracies, and provides a salutary reminder that Nazism was, after all, one of these theories. (The Soros theory, rampant now, echoes Nazi antisemitism, an association not lost on Viktor Orban of Hungary, one of the theory’s promoters.) 

Conspiracy Theories = Q2, Not Q3

Global conspiracy theories reveal much more about their adherents — how they feel and what they fear — than they do about events in the world. But they also reveal something about the logic of explanation, and about the need for us as Social Studies teachers to do a better job teaching it to our students.

At our 4QM overview workshop, we typically use the example of the Salem witch trials to describe the Four Questions and show how to answer them. We picked that case specifically because it helps people to see the difference between our explanation question (Q3: Why then and there?) and the other questions, especially our interpretation question (Q2: What were they thinking?). The people of Salem thought that Satan was recruiting witches into a secret cabal (!) that was hellbent, literally, on undermining the righteous people of Salem. It’s important for us to know that. It’s also important for our students to understand that this is an answer to Q2, an interpretation of ideas about the world of a particular and somewhat peculiar group of people, the Puritans of Salem, in the late 17th century.

What it’s not is an explanation of the outbreak of a witchcraft hysteria at that time and place. Q3 asks us to step back from our narrative (Q1) and interpretation (Q2) and to do something else: try to figure out why this set of beliefs and the attendant actions — witchcraft accusations, trials, and executions — happened when and where they did. Why 1692, but not earlier or later? Why in Salem, but not other towns and regions? More generally, under what conditions, exactly, can we expect panics like this one to break out? In order to resolve puzzles like these, we teach our students two handy phrases designed to ward off fallacies and remind them of what a genuine explanation requires: “explain a change with a change and a difference with a difference.” And: “factors, not actors.” 

Scholars have applied this explanatory logic directly to the Salem case. At our workshop, we share some of their results. Boyer and Nissenbaum, in Salem Possessed: The Social Origins of Witchcraft (1974), notice the growing economic tension between the agrarian west and mercantile eastern part of Salem. Karlson, in The Devil in the Shape of a Woman: Witchcraft in Colonial New England (1987), notices the relatively high number of independent property-owning women in Salem, likewise a source of tension in a largely patriarchal society. Both observations support classic Q3 claims about why the Salem panic broke out when and where it did. Changes in the economic geography or gender demography of Salem, or both, led to increased social tensions, which activated some prior beliefs and led to an outbreak of witch hysteria.  

The fact is, we’ll probably never really know what concatenation of factors turned a latent possibility in Salem into a painful reality. The more general Q3 aspiration, to say something sensible about the conditions under which panics like this break out — including our own current rash of conspiratorial enthusiasm — is even more elusive. Explaining patterns and anomalies in human behavior is an uncertain business. For better or worse, we’ll never be able to run controlled experiments on small New England towns, let alone countries of 330 million people, to see what factors induce an outbreak of panic about satanic conspiracy. The best we can do is what Boyer and Nissenbaum and Karlsen did: try to identify factors that interacted dynamically with the outcomes we’re interested in and then posit a mechanism to account for that interaction. 

Why Bother With Question Three?

If our results are so likely to be partial and tentative, why bother grappling with Q3 at all? I can think of two good reasons. First, it’s unavoidable. The fact is, we do this all the time. Are some of your students happier in the morning than the afternoon? Are they more attentive at the beginning of the week than at the end? Do students respond differently to you based on your race, ethnicity, or gender and theirs? Can you mitigate that effect by building relationships? Altering curriculum? If you’re a teacher and you’re paying attention, you’re working on Q3 puzzles like these all the time. We humans all do this as we make our way in the world, taking context and conditions into account as we calibrate our responses to other people and theirs to us. We’re just typically not reflective and systematic when we do so. Q3 practice makes us moreso.

More important, though more tenuous: maybe, just maybe, knowing how the logic of explanation really works will help our students to avoid the lure and trap of the fake kind. While explaining things is difficult and uncertain, the logic of explanation is not. The Q3 operation is very clear: ask a specific version of the why-then-and-there question, and then try to identify differences (between places) and/or changes (between times) that may plausibly be associated with the differences you’re asking about. If you get good at this mental operation, you’ll think more deeply, in a very specific way. You’ll acknowledge, as global conspiracy theories do, that what people think they’re doing is rarely the entire story. 

Our explicit knowledge, our conscious awareness, is too limited and partial to actually explain the patterns and anomalies in our own lives. That’s what Salem shows clearly, but it’s always true. Our actions, our lives, take place in a sea of shifting economic, demographic, social, and cultural conditions that shape what we do, what happens to us, even how we think. We can’t know with certainty exactly how those forces operate. But learning a technique for sorting and parsing them will give us the satisfaction of insight, if not power. 

Powerlessness, after all, is the likeliest driver of the temptation to organized paranoia represented by global conspiratorial thinking. Knowing what’s going on behind the scenes, unmasking the diabolical manipulators, is a kind of power-insight. Reality is, alas, stingier with its allocation of both power and insight. Maybe what Q3 practice does best is to remind us that this is always our condition: seeing through a glass darkly, trying to keep our ships afloat in a murky sea that expands beyond the horizon. 

G.S.

It’s been an exciting few weeks, news-wise, here in the United States. A few weeks ago Gary wrote a post about 4QM-ing the news, and recent events have me thinking about that too. In particular, I’ve been thinking about which of our questions are most often contested, and which ones are less so. 

The election fracas is interesting in part because the Trump campaign and state election officials are arguing about a Question One: What happened? Trump says there was widespread election fraud, the election officials say there wasn’t. Most of the time in history class we’re not arguing over Question One. It’s more difficult to answer Question One definitively for events in the distant past than for current events, but the process is essentially the same: seek evidence from artifacts and witnesses. Sometimes we can and do argue over what happened in the past, but most of the time the narratives we teach are fairly well settled, as I expect the 2020 presidential race soon will be.

Question Two, What were they thinking? Is more often debated. Was Truman trying to save American lives when he ordered the use of the atomic bombs? Was he trying to impress the Soviets? Was he trying to justify an enormous sunk cost of time and treasure? What motivated the European imperialists of the 19th century? What was Abraham Lincoln’s attitude towards African Americans? These sorts of inquiries are rich and powerful classroom activities that require students to read and think carefully in order to answer well. In my urban Massachusetts blue bubble asking and answering Question Two for President Trump has been a favorite parlor game for years now, and especially during these last few weeks. What is he thinking?

Gary likes to say that the fun of Question Three is mostly in the questioning, because the answers tend to be fairly straightforward. He’s right that Question Three is more cold and scientific than the hot psychology of Question Two. Even when Question Three is contested it’s contested in a kind of social scientific manner that lacks the kind of emotional intensity of Question Two. Why has the Trump phenomenon happened now, and not a generation ago? Our rule for Question Three is “explain a change with a change and a difference with a difference.” The change in economic and social status of non-college educated white men in the last thirty years or so might explain why so many of them find an anti-elitist non-politician appealing in a way that their parents didn’t; the power of new social media might also have something to do with it.

Question Four, What do we think about that? Is always contested. Even if you have a Question Four that’s not contested in your classroom, you can be sure there are people somewhere who see things differently than you and your students do. In my blue bubble everyone I know thinks Trump’s attacks on the election results are shameful, and I entirely agree with my friends and neighbors. But obviously not everyone in the country (or even everyone in my state) thinks like I do. 4QM Teachers strive to take their questions seriously always, so when we’re teaching we want to write Question Fours that will generate some disagreement in the classroom. I’m starting my industrial revolution unit with my tenth graders this week, and the unit Question Four is “What is the best response to industrialization?” In a typical year I get a few communists, a few laissez-faire capitalists, and a nice spread of opinions between those poles. It makes for a great discussion, and a great essay question.

I’m looking forward to some slow news weeks someday, maybe after January 20th. But using the Four Question Method and taking our Questions seriously can keep our classrooms lively, even when current events are mercifully dull.

J.B. 

There are a lot of ideas for teaching inquiry-based history and social studies out there. That’s because pretty much everyone agrees these days that students should be exploring questions when they learn. But what’s missing from all the inquiry-based curricula we’ve come across so far is a solid understanding of question types. Some of the materials we’ve seen are hopelessly muddled because the authors don’t understand their own questions, or clearly don’t take them seriously. These materials leave teachers and students badly educated at best, and confused or frustrated at worst. Some of the materials we’ve seen are pretty good, but even the good ones could be improved. You get the feeling that the occasional quality is a result of happenstance or trial and error, rather than a systematic understanding of how questions in our field actually work. Without a systematic understanding of how to ask and answer important questions consistently, day in and day out, planners, teachers and students are missing opportunities to make inquiry methods really work in the social studies classroom.

C3 Teachers & The New Deal

One of the curricula we hear most about is “C3 Teachers.” Originally focused on New York, the organization now offers inquiry social studies units keyed to standards in many states. Each unit (or “Inquiry”) starts with a “Compelling Question,” followed by three or four “Supporting Questions” that aim to guide students to answer the Compelling Question. The best of these units follow the Four Question Method hierarchy of questions, although without realizing it (as far as we know). The “Compelling Question” in these units is a Question Four, What Do We Think About That? One example is, “Was the New Deal a Good Deal?” This is clearly a Q4, as it asks students to make their own judgment of the New Deal. The first two supporting questions in this inquiry are Question Ones, What Happened?: “What conditions existed at the onset of the Great Depression?” and “What kinds of programs did the New Deal create?” So far so good.  But the next two supporting questions are both ambiguous, combining Questions One and Four: “What were positive effects of the New Deal?” and “What were negative effects of the New Deal?” Asking about the effects of the New Deal is a Question One, but the judgment of them as positive or negative is Question Four. A socialist might find the expanded role for government a positive, while a libertarian might find that a negative. A Keynesian would find large budget deficits a positive, while a fiscal conservative would think them negative. You get the idea. And the sources provided for these questions further muddy the water by bringing in contemporary opinion pieces, which clearly address Question Two, What Were They Thinking? Students pursuing these last two questions as written will either be indoctrinated or confused, and maybe both.

But as widely available inquiry curriculum in social studies goes, the C3 New Deal unit is serviceable. It has a clear Question Four focus, and a 4QM-trained teacher could layer the Four Questions over the existing activity and use the existing materials to address Questions One, Two, and Four in sequence. What happened during the New Deal? What did some people think about that? What do you think about that? (And hopefully, continuing the Q4 inquiry, Why do you think so?)

C3 Teachers and The Versailles Treaty

We’re on shakier ground with the C3 Inquiry on the Treaty of Versailles. Its “Compelling Question” is, “Can Peace Lead To War?” I’m honestly not sure what to make of this. It seems to me to be a question that is meant to sound engaging but not actually taken seriously. Just take a moment and try to answer it yourself right now. You’ll find that since the condition preceding every war is peace, the answer is “yes.” Every time, except when it doesn’t. This question serves more as a cute rhetorical introduction to the inquiry (see how we juxtaposed “peace” and “war?”) than a focus for student inquiry.

The first two supporting questions for this inquiry are more clear. “What did President Woodrow Wilson mean by ‘Peace Without Victory?’” is a straight Question Two. “What did Germany lose by signing the Versailles Treaty? Is a straight Question One, although the formative task for this question implies Question Two as well. The third question is ambiguous: “Why was Germany blamed for World War I?” This question could be asking what Germany did that led people to blame her for the war (Question One), or it could be asking why those who did blame her did so (Question Two). The fourth supporting question is both ambiguous and uncontested: “Did the German reparations payments stipulated in the Treaty of Versailles set the stage for World War II?” It’s ambiguous because it could be asking Question One, Two, or Three. And it’s uncontested, because no serious scholar of twentieth century Europe would suggest that World War Two was unconnected with German reparations from World War One. The question would be more honest as a straight Question One: “Describe how the German reparations  payments stipulated in the Treaty of Versailles set the stage for World War II.” 

Contrast this unit with the New Deal unit. In this case, the “compelling question” disappears after we get into the nitty-gritty of what happened at the Versailles Treaty conference and what all the key players at the time were thinking about that. Once we’ve explored that story, “Does peace lead to war?” feels even more silly than it did at the outset.

I’ve recently had a lot of success teaching this topic using this Question Four: “Was the Versailles Treaty fair to Germany?” Notice I don’t ask if it was smart, or if it was good policy. Those questions are generally uncontested “no.” The treaty created bitter resentment in Germany that fueled a fascist movement that unleashed horror on the world. But was it fair, given what Germany had done between 1890 and 1919? Clearly many people at the time thought it was, and many did not. This Question Four makes for a lively discussion in 2020, just as it did in 1920.

The point I want to make with this post is that while there’s a lot of social studies inquiry material out there, almost all of it could be better. The Four Question Method offers curriculum planners, teachers, and students an accessible understanding of the questions that define our field. This understanding is what allows us to consistently design and execute successful inquiry lessons. Without it, we’re shooting in the dark. 

J.B.

By middle school, students who cannot read fluently and with comprehension need urgent help and attention. Students who cannot read historical nonfiction with fluency and comprehension — most students, when they first encounter it — urgently need the help of their Social Studies teachers. When they first encounter informational text about history and society, beginning readers typically get overwhelmed by the welter of names, dates, and events. It’s hard to keep track of all the information. 

In our 4QM workshops, we show teachers how to coach students in disciplinary literacy skills. Our method is simple and straightforward. Story first! We know that historical nonfiction typically includes an account of something new and notable in the world. Students of 4QM teachers learn quickly how to identify those new and notable outcomes. They also learn to identify settings that precede those outcomes in accounts they hear and read. And they learn how true stories take shape through events, as protagonists act and interact. When you read historical nonfiction, first track the story. 

Once you’ve got the story (and taken good, hierarchical notes), then look for interpretation. How does the author account for protagonists’ actions and decisions in the story? Are the interpretations — the answers to Question Two: What were they thinking? — plausible, compelling, and supported by evidence? Then explanation: does the author make claims about how context informed and structured the shape and outcome of the narrative? How plausible and well supported are those claims? Finally, what judgment does the author appear to make about the protagonists in the narrative, their motives, and the story itself? What exactly does the author think about the story she’s just told? 

Proficient readers of historical nonfiction do all this as they read, mostly automatically. Great readers (and writers) do it with awareness, skill, and versatility. Nobody makes progress in reading informational text without building memory, stamina, and strategies for understanding what questions the author is trying to answer and how the author is answering them. Those strategies can be named and taught to students. That’s the job of Social Studies teachers.

Reading As A Teacher

Social Studies teachers have the same problem their students do. They have standards documents, containing lists of content, historical thinking skills, literacy skills, and sometimes civic and technology skills. They have textbooks and ancillary materials provided by publishers. They have curriculum materials shared by local colleagues and tons more on the internet. They have handouts, worksheets, documents, activities, and advice galore. Like beginning readers of historical nonfiction, they have to learn to sort through an overload of information. 

Social Studies teachers need a framework for reading curriculum intelligently. Jon and I are in the business of teaching teachers to make decisions about what to teach and how to teach it. Think of that as a reading exercise. What do you do with all the stuff available to you? Our claim, substantiated many times over, is that all curriculum materials in Social Studies ultimately address one or several of the Four Questions. (If not, that’s almost always an indication of a problem in the source.) We teach teachers to read and interpret that curriculum intelligently using the Four Question Method. 

The technique is the same as the one we use with students. The beauty of the simple conceptual framework of the 4QM is that it functions as a lens, or better, as a sorting mechanism. There’s tons of stuff in front of me. Story first! Let’s see what I can use for that. (Get your storyboards ready.) Then interpretation: there are meaningful documents and artifacts here. Let’s round up some that fit our story. Information about changes in context and conditions will help us to frame an engaging, tractable explanatory puzzle for our students. Last, we’ll round up some judgments on the protagonists and their decision making in order to provoke some Question Four thinking in our students. 

It’s a notorious fact that people can’t shop effectively when they face too many choices. It’s obvious to us that students can’t read when there’s too much on the page that’s mysterious or opaque to them. Content knowledge and familiarity with the topic open many, many doors for our students — that’s part of why, if their education goes well, they get so much more capable over time. The other part is having a filtering and sorting strategy. We like to tell students to read for purpose. The 4QM names those the constituent parts of that purpose and sequences and scaffolds them. That simplifies the reading task, and so addresses the too-many-choices problem. 

If you’re trapped in your textbook, baffled by your state standards, or out crawling the web the night before a lesson, chances are you don’t yet have a coherent framework to guide your choices. We can help. We’ve been there and have figured out a better way. Drop us a line. 

GS

History teachers, especially new history teachers, have a really hard job: they’ve got to teach a lot of content, and they’ve got to teach it in a way that gets kids to think actively about it. It’s extremely difficult to do both things well, and anything that makes those tasks easier will be eagerly embraced. As a first year teacher told me last year, “Anything that saves me fifteen minutes of internet searching makes my job better.” 

New York City recently published a 107 page document aimed at saving teachers time by agglomerating over fifty “historical thinking tools” for tenth graders. (Here’s the link. Click “view” to download a Word Doc version: Grade 10 Historical Thinking Tools and Analysis Strategies) I’m teaching tenth grade this year, so I was especially curious. The document does a great job putting a lot of resources into teachers’ hands quickly, and the fact that everything can be easily edited and adapted is great. But I found most of the “tools” to be overly complicated, and I suspect most teachers won’t use them very often. I think that 4QM’s simpler approach would be much more useful to both students and teachers. Here’s an example of what I mean.

A COMPLICATED CONTEXTUALIZATION TOOL

Pages 25 and 26 of the NYC document are a “Contextualization Tool” for students to use when examining a source. The top of the document explains that “Understanding historical context is useful when examining a resource because it allows the reader to situate a person, group, or event in the larger narrative of the past.” So far so good. But then the document directs students to identify five “forces” that acted on the person, group, or event featured in the source being studied: intellectual, socio-economic, political, geographic, and “general questions.” Each “force” is to be identified both in the “Immediate View: What forces acted on the person, group, or event close to the time it occurred?” and in the “Distant View: What long-term forces acted on the person, group, or event?” There are bullet points underneath each “force” in both categories, for a total of twenty-one specific questions for students to answer. The document then provides a graphic organizer of some ten boxes to help students organize all those short and long-term forces. The tenth box prompts students to write a paragraph: “Synthesize relevant information from the contextual information and immediate and distant views to contextualize the person, group, or event being studied. The context you draft should include a combination of the different forces as well as a balance between immediate and distant views.”

Whew. I haven’t taught in New York City since the 1990s, but unless their tenth graders are a lot different from the ones I’m teaching this year in Boston, they’re going to find completing this form to be extremely challenging. Try it yourself with a primary source from a unit you teach. Can you address all those categories of context, short and long term? If you can, stop and consider how much expert knowledge you are bringing to bear in actually completing the task, then consider how much of that knowledge you can reasonably expect a tenth grader to possess and be able to recall in class. If I were to use this thinking tool in my classroom, I’d need to budget a lot of time — maybe a whole class period — to coaching my students through it. And that means that I’m probably not going to use it, or at least not very often. 

If I want my students to get in the habit of contextualizing sources (and I do), I need to make contextualization simpler and quicker. It needs to be something they can do every time they work with a primary source. The Four Question Method shows us how to do that.

4QM CONTEXTUALIZATION

Question One of the Four Question Method is “What Happened?” and we always start teaching history by establishing a story of the unit, which is in the form of a narrative. The NYC document is right that “contextualization” means “to situate a person, group, or event in the larger narrative of the past.” Where New York City defines that task with twenty-one questions and ten boxes, the 4QM Primary Source Analysis Sheet asks three simple questions: 

Contextualize: What has happened in our unit story at the time this source was created? How is the author or creator related to the story so far? What might you assume about the author given their relationship to the story?

The first question situates the source in chronological relationship to the “larger narrative of the past.” The second question asks students to define the author’s relationship to the narrative, and the third question asks students to consider the implications of that relationship. Our questions incorporate the five “forces” delineated in the NYC document without belaboring the point or requiring students to know technical vocabulary. A tenth grader who knows the story of the unit and not a whole lot more can answer our three questions in a way that prepares them to read the source carefully and critically. And most students can answer these questions in a few minutes of careful thinking, which means we can coach them into the habit of asking and answering them for every source we use in class. 

ELEGANCE, EFFICIENCY, COMMUNICABILITY

One of the plugs that we’re most proud of on the 4QM Website comes from Peter Seixas, who is a scholar of historical thinking. He says, “This is a most impressive scheme. I love its elegance, efficiency, and communicability.”  

Historical thinking skills are important, and New York City’s resource recognizes that. But I’m afraid that in their efforts to be comprehensive in defining those skills, the resource writers have created tools that are inelegant, inefficient, and difficult to communicate to students. The Four Question Method offers a more simple, direct, and powerful set of thinking tools to both students and teachers. 

J.B.

I don’t know about you, but I’m afraid of my phone. Email is fine, and phone calls from people I know are always welcome. But I’m in the habit of checking the news pretty much every time I pick up the phone. The habit is ingrained, so hard to break. Right now, reading the news feels like swallowing shards of glass. I keep clicking, and keep swallowing. My throat is sore. 

The fact is, I’ve been reading news for far too long to stop. For at least 35 years, I’ve followed the stories around me, both domestic and international. I feel connected to the ongoing stories, and moved by sudden and surprising events — typically natural and human-made disasters. Some stories are both, and so I feel both shock and connection. 

I’m on leave this year, writing the book manuscript for the Four Question Method. I took the month of September off to go hiking with a friend in Sequoia National Forest in California. He and I have been backpacking together for as long as I’ve been reading the news. This time, the news caught up with us. We were three days into the forest when the smoke blew in from the southwest. We woke in the morning to a spectacular alpine basin covered in ash, the air thick, heavy, and aggressive. We wore masks for the next two days as we made our way out of the forest, part of a steady stream of hikers. If it hadn’t been for the disaster of pandemic, the disaster of wildfires would have scorched our lungs. 

One of the great things about wilderness camping is getting off the grid. No phones, no messages, no news. The break is always refreshing. This time, the news caught up with us. We knew about the California wildfires, but didn’t know they’d get so close to us, or us to them. 

There are two stories about those fires, actually. One is a story of natural disaster and its immediate consequences. Our interrupted trip is the least of it. People have been killed. Many homes have been destroyed. People are breathing air filled with hazardous particulates all up and down the coast. And Sequoia and the High Sierras: large parts of that stunning landscape have been ravaged. 

The second story is longer and slower. The wildfire season, predictable enough — a regular pattern — is much worse this year, and in recent years, too. Something’s changed: the climate is hotter and drier, more extreme. Hundred-year fires, like floods and hurricanes, need new names: “ten-year,” or “frequent.” That story isn’t about lightning and house construction in wooded areas. That story is about the consequences of petroleum-based industrialization, and our political incapacity to address those consequences. 

The climate-change story is not a happier story than the wildfires-are-burning story. Both are true and important, and both are upsetting. But the reality is, right now, that the climate-change story is the perspective I need in order to be able to click through to the news sites on my phone. Climate change, global warming, is about changes in conditions. It’s a Question Three topic, in 4QM terms. 

Climate change is a game changer. But it’s one we still have time to address. The future of that story is still unwritten, which means we still have the opportunity to try to write it. 

Same with the daily news of the Trump Era. The President, who mocked mask-wearing and lockdowns, is, as I write, in the hospital with COVID-19 symptoms. I’m an educated person living in Massachusetts. The odds that I’d find Donald Trump a credible reporter on news of the day are low, and in fact I don’t. But I know Trump supporters, even at this late date. I find it profoundly unedifying to debate news of the day with them. We have startlingly misaligned sensibilities about who we can trust and what we can believe. 

But I can talk to my political adversaries in a time of great and deep polarization because I can track Question Two. As I told a neighbor, we’re not trying to persuade one another. We’re trying to understand one another. That, right now, will be the best we can do. 

So: if the news is important to you — if following the ongoing stories in the news is important to your sense of the story of your life — some advice: now is a time for Questions Two and Three. You need to know what’s happening. That’s what daily news is all about. But that alone will drive you to distraction. And you need to judge. Question Four is the point of knowing and thinking, after all. But Questions Two and Three, the true inquiry questions, are where I need to be right now, and I recommend them to you as well. 

In a time of polarization, redouble your efforts to understand. You need not agree, or even judge. Question Two: What are you thinking? That question is enough. Take it seriously enough to gather the evidence that will get you a convincing answer. Working out an answer will build empathy and agency. 

And Question Three: Why here and now? What’s happening now, I’m willing to wager, is epochal. The ground is shifting beneath our feet. Our republic is on trial; our society is fractured; our country is burning. We answer Question Three with “factors, not actors.” There are lots of factors to consider about our political predicament: the shape of contemporary media; the systematic rewards and failures of our economy; the pace of cultural and demographic change. In any case, it is, as always, the questions that matter most. 

Now is a time to interpret and explain, to ask and try to answer Questions Two and Three. And, if you get a chance, I strongly encourage you to get off the grid for a while. My friend and I ended up in New Mexico in the Santa Fe National Forest. Ten days when our boots hit the trail and our phones did not function. Every day, the news of the day was auspicious. 

G.S. 

History and social studies teachers are used to asking a lot of “W” questions: who, what, where, when, and hopefully why. At 4QM Teaching we contend that the first four of these are actually parts of what we call Question One:” What Happened?” And we believe that good history teaching starts with a good story that tells students who did what, when and where. But you can’t stop there. Well, of course you can, but you shouldn’t. You should use your story as a launching pad to push students to consider “why” questions as well. Question Three, “Why then and there?”, asks why explicitly. But Question Two, “What were they thinking?”, is also a kind of “why” question. In this post I’ll explain the difference between them.

Question Two v. Question Three

Question Two, “What were they thinking?” asks us to get into the heads of some of the key people in our historical story. It’s a why question, but on a very personal level: Why did the people in our story do what they did? What was motivating them? The Question is phrased as “What were they thinking?” to emphasize its focus on the conscious ideas of individual people. We’re not asking about their subconscious, or about the underlying conditions and contexts that made them think the way they did. Question Two imagines that we were able to interview the people in our historical story and ask them why they did what they did, what would they say? Examples of Question Two include, Why did so many white Southerners support secession in 1860 and 1861? Why did the Mau-Mau rebels in Kenya support violence? Why did so many rural voters support Donald Trump in 2016?

Answering Question Two keeps us close to the story. Question Three, “Why then and there?” pulls us back from the story. We’ve blogged about Question Three before; it’s the most abstract and difficult of the Four Questions, and takes the most practice to learn. Question Three thinking doesn’t try to get into the heads of the people in our story. Instead we pull back, and look for changes or differences in underlying conditions that explain why the story was more likely to end up as it did. One useful historical case for understanding how “Why then and there?” is different from “What were they thinking?” is World War One. Most of the common explanations for the outbreak of what contemporaries called The Great War are really answering Question Two. As such, they don’t explain why this particular diplomatic dispute triggered a general European war, when so many others since 1815 had not. We know that Europeans were thinking nationalist thoughts — but they had been doing so for decades (or longer!) without causing a general conflict. What underlying change explains why nationalist thoughts led to military conflagration this time? (Click on the second link in this paragraph to find out!) This kind of “why” thinking requires a broader view, more data, and a more scientific kind of thinking than the personal “why” of Question Two. 

“Why” questions are important, and we owe it to our students to explore them deeply and thoughtfully. Those explorations are more effective and fruitful when we know which kind of “why” we are asking.

J.B. 

This week’s post is by guest author Sarah Bassett. Sarah is a college sophomore, and a reluctant history student. She is also 4QM co-founder Jon Bassett’s daughter. In this post she describes how she used the Four Questions to de-mystify some unpleasant reading — a technique that we recommend for social studies students on all grade levels.

A Reluctant History Student

Having to read anything more than one page has always made me groan. Picture books are amazing. But a textbook? Yeah no. So naturally, history class has never been my favorite. That might seem like a normal dislike for a teenage girl, but for me, it feels abnormal. Both of my parents are total history and political science nerds (a fan favorite Harvard poli sci lecturer and a rockstar history teacher/the creator of 4QM), and I constantly wonder how I didn’t end up with those genes. I mean, come on. It would definitely be nice to feel an ounce of interest while studying the American Revolution, but nope. You would have to bribe me with candy to sit through a lecture on that again. High school history was a challenge for me. I associate the memory of it with long nights of reading a giant textbook full of ancient people I had never heard of, wars that seemed to last forever, time periods I couldn’t put in the right order, and constantly asking myself, “why do I even care about this?” My sophomore year teacher asked me once what my favorite historical time period was. My answer? The dinosaur age, which apparently is not an acceptable response.

In an effort to try and avoid ever having to read a long chapter about a war or Karl Marx ever again, I have avoided history classes in college at all costs. I am an early childhood education major, and I adore young children and the idea of becoming a teacher. Child development is my favorite class- I could listen to a peppy preschool teacher lecture about toddler brain development for hours. However, despite all the fun education courses that I get to take, there is one part of my degree that makes me cringe: 9 credits of “social studies.” And since I didn’t dare take APUSH, I don’t have any AP credits rolling in. So all 9 credits are still sitting there, waiting to be awarded. 

Karl Marx, Again!

This semester, I thought I’d dip my toes in the water and take sociology. It sounded simple and historian-free. The study of how humans socialize and interact with the world? Easy peasy. All was calm until I opened the first chapter of my textbook, and who was on the first few pages? Karl Marx. Memories of sophomore year history flooded back, and as I flipped through more pages, I realized that I really could not avoid the whole history thing. I was going to have to bite the bullet in college at some point. Frantically, I called my dad, who first after laughing at my frazzled state, suggested that I ask myself four simple questions about the “old guys” I was reading about. What happened? What were they thinking? Why then and there? What do we think about that? 

Obviously, I have heard those questions before. I have watched the video of my dad and Gary bantering about their new teaching method and have giggled at their humor. I am an avid 4QM twitter follower. But, since 4QM was born at the tail end of my public school career, I had never actually put those questions into use, and I decided to try it. I sat down and reopened my textbook to the pages with the old people with confusing sociological theories. I typed up a “4QM for sociology” organizer with a girly font. I started to re-read, focusing on the four questions.

4QM To The Rescue

I may be biased, but the 4QM is genius. Suddenly, reading the pages became much easier. I wasn’t taking sloppy, pointless notes, and was able to actually gain an understanding of these people. What happened? Karl Marx created a viewpoint based on a materialist conception of history. What was he thinking? He thought social change was prompted by economics. Why then and there? He wanted to explain the social changes that were arising from the industrial revolution. What do we think about that? Personally, I don’t really know what I think about that.  I haven’t read enough Marx (and probably never will honestly) to form a solid opinion. However, sociologists today are still influenced by his ideas about class systems. 

I called my dad, and I asked him why this system didn’t exist when I was younger. The 4QM has made history click for me in a way that it never has before. No, I am still not going to sit through a lecture on the American Revolution without groaning and Karl Marx is most certainly not my favorite dude. But this notetaking system makes the information attainable and understandable for me, and I am in awe at how simple and concise it is. I will be carrying this with me for the rest of college and into my teaching career. You better believe my future third graders will be asking the 4 questions when they learn about the Pilgrims and Wampanoags. Oh, and I’ll stop teasing my dad about his introduction video on the front page, because yeah, he’s right, 4QM works.

S.B.

History teachers have a really hard job. I know I’m biased, but I actually think unit planning is harder for history teachers than it is for teachers of other subjects. Unit planning is especially challenging for us because we have an enormous amount of content to cover, and not a lot of guidance about what specifically to teach. Consider a common unit in U.S. history courses: World War One. What about World War One should kids learn? What can you leave out? Is the Lusitania important enough to include? What about Wilson’s 14 points speech? What about women’s roles on the home front? The start of the Great Migration? Poison gas? Sometimes I want to be an English teacher, and just tell the kids to read a book.

At 4QM Teaching, we approach the history unit planning challenge with a six box storyboard. Using a storyboard to plan your units forces you to be thoughtful and coherent. The storyboard is a structuring and limiting device: it forces you to make clear and intentional decisions about when the unit ends (that’s the “outcome” box), when it begins (that’s the “setting” box), and what specific content you can include and what you have to leave out (if you can’t fit it in six boxes, you’ve got too much content). 

“Planner’s Block”

But what if you just can’t figure out how to wrestle all your unit content into a storyboard? That was the dilemma facing a group of teachers at a 4QM workshop in Springfield (Massachusetts) this summer. We were planning a World War One storyboard, and had settled on the unit outcome: the unit would end with the Senate’s final rejection of the Versailles Treaty in March of 1920. The fifth box, right before the outcome, was obvious: the Versailles Treaty conference and the creation of the treaty itself. We agreed on the unit setting: the unit would start with the outbreak of war in Europe in 1914, and U.S. neutrality. But the group was struggling to figure out how to chunk, or “chapterize” all the content between 1914 and 1919. It was challenging in part because there were some experienced teachers in the group, and they knew a lot. As we talked about all the things that we might include in the unit, one teacher sighed in frustration: “There’s just a lot of layers on it.” We had arrived at the history teacher’s equivalent of writer’s block: Planner’s Block.

“Brain Dump” + Storyboard

We broke out of planner’s block using a fun and simple technique that you can do at home when you get stuck in your unit planning. We started with a brain dump. I told everyone in the group to just call out things that they think of when they think about World War One, and I wrote them all down. (If you’re working by yourself, you just make your list individually, without thinking about it — just write down whatever comes to mind.) It was a pretty long list, but it only took about two minutes. Here’s an approximation of what we came up with:

Submarine Warfare

Zimmerman Note

Archduke Ferdinand

Spanish Flu

Trench Warfare

Propaganda 

Sedition Act

Selective Service Act

Russian Revolution

Machine Gun

War profiteering, Capitalism

Trading with Both Sides

Lusitania

Wilson’s War Message

Factory production

Tanks

Our next step was to look over the list, and see if there were things we could discard because they didn’t really fit in the unit. In this case, we agreed that the Spanish Flu was tangentially related to the war, but came afterwards, and wasn’t really part of the unit narrative. We cut it. The Russian Revolution was trickier: it’s important because it’s why Russia leaves the war. But we agreed that for this unit that was the only reason it was important — so we decided that we would not teach a tangential mini-unit on the Russian Revolution, and instead would simply tell students that there was one, and it took Russia out of the war. Everything else we left.

Our final step was to go back to the storyboard, and see if we could sort the remaining list into chronological chapters with the boxes you have available. In this case, most of the remaining items on the list sorted into one of the three boxes we had left, and we were able to create a pretty coherent story of the unit. The storyboard gave us the structure we needed, and helped us to see that 1917 was really a crucial year for the U.S. in the war.

It’s easy for history teachers to drown in content when unit planning. The most common reaction to “planner’s block” is to throw up one’s hands and just muddle through, planning day-to-day, and then after a few weeks decide that it’s time for a test and call that a unit. But the brain dump method is much better. It honors the mass of incoherent content inside our heads, but doesn’t leave it unorganized.

Give it a shot! We think you’lll be pleasantly surprised at how well the messiness of the brain dump and the discipline of the storyboard can work together to create a strong unit plan.

J.B. 

When I was a young student of American history and American popular culture, the 1950s were described as a time of conformity. The 1950 sociological analysis The Lonely Crowd and the 1953 novel The Man In The Grey Flannel Suit described a numbing popular culture that valued consumerism and going along with the majority point of view. It was the McCarthy era and the start of the cold war. Middle class women were pushed out of the workforce and into traditional roles as wives and mothers, and toxic masculinity was the norm for boys and men.

This understanding of the 1950s is of course more of a caricature than reality, but it has lived with me for decades as a kind of historian’s shorthand in my head: “Roaring ‘20s, Great Depression, WWII, Age of Conformity, The Sixties.” The pandemic of 2020 has led me to rethink my understanding of the 1950s, and the Four Question Method has shaped my thinking.

THE 1950s AND QUESTION TWO: WHAT WERE THEY THINKING?

I started thinking about the 1950s because I was thinking about what it’s going to be like for us when the pandemic is over. We will have been through a trauma, both as individuals who have lost family members, jobs, apartments and the like, and as a society that has seen economic and social disruption on a massive scale. I was wondering if maybe we’ll all be more cautious when this is over: Will we save more money? Advise our children to take the safe and secure job? Put off purchases that require larger loans? And that got me thinking about my “Age of Conformity” shorthand. Maybe people in the 1950s were more conformist because they had a visceral knowledge that bad things happen. They knew first hand that sometimes very bad things happen, like depressions in which people starve and wars in which civilians are slaughtered. Were young people being told to play it safe because their parents had been through trauma and didn’t want their children to risk experiencing the same thing? It’s easy to advise a child to “find your own path” if you’re confident that most paths lead to good places. What if you’re not at all confident of that? What if you invested your life savings in a restaurant that opened in February of 2020? Would that change the way you see risk?

THE 1950s AND QUESTION THREE: WHY THEN AND THERE?

To check my theory about what people were thinking in the 1950s I’d have to read the sorts of sources that get me into individuals’ heads: diaries, letters, memoirs and the like. But I could also test my “social trauma leads to social conformity” hypothesis using Question Three methodology. Did we see similar social conformity after the Civil War? After the economic crises of the 1890s? In order to make these comparisons I’d need to establish some standards for measuring social trauma and social conformity, then I’d have to measure to see if I’ve identified a recurring phenomenon or not. Under what conditions does social trauma lead to social conformity? When we phrase the question that way we can immediately see that an alternative hypothesis seems plausible: perhaps social traume tends to lead to social upheaval instead. After all, the “Roaring ‘20s” followed World War One and the flu pandemic of 1918-19. Maybe my hypothesis about the reasons for 1950s conformity is entirely wrong – or maybe if I developed good measurements and applied them faithfully I would find that the “Roaring 20s” were not so roaring, and/or the “Age of Conformity” was not so conformist. No matter what, I’d have a better understanding of the country’s past than my historian’s shorthand implies.

THE 1950s AND QUESTION FOUR: WHAT DO WE THINK ABOUT THAT?

“The Age of Conformity” is a pejorative label. I imagine that for most of us who came of age after the dramatic changes that we summarize as “The ‘60s,” the 1950s are easy to look down on: Leave It To Beaver, Ike’s golfing, Levittowns, and so on. I find myself much more sympathetic to the people who called out that world’s hypocrisy, especially on matters of race, than to the people who built and celebrated that world. But the pandemic has changed my thinking a little bit. After this is over, what do I think I’m going to want for myself and my children? A secure job, a house or apartment that won’t disappear with one economic crisis, social stability. I’m a little more sympathetic to the depression-scarred WWII vet who doesn’t want to rock the boat at the office so he can keep making payments on his Levittown cottage on Long Island. 

Of course the structural problem with the society built by those depression-scarred WWII veterans was that it was designed so that only white people could address their anxieties. Levittown was segregated, black women often worked raising white people’s children because their husbands’ wages were depressed by racism, and “social stability” was created through Jim Crow laws and customs. While the pandemic makes me a bit more sympathetic to the people who made the 1950s an age of conformity, the murder of George Floyd makes me a lot more sympathetic to those who made the 1960s a time of great tumult. 

J.B.