The Simple Genius of the Blackboard 黑板：平凡的奇跡

作為現代課堂的“標配”，黑板是學生們再熟悉不過的工具了。盡管最初的黑板已經逐漸演變為“綠板”“白板”，但其功能并未發生太大的變化。黑板仍然是整間教室注意力的中心，是全體學生矚目的焦點。它猶如一面神奇的反光鏡，老師將知識投射到黑板上，黑板又將知識反射到一雙雙求知若渴的眼睛中，用點滴智慧滋養他們的心靈。

The blackboard is a recent innovation. Erasable slates， a cheap but durable substitute for costly paper and ink， had been in use for centuries. Students could practice reading and writing and math on their slates， in the classroom or at home. But it wasn’t until 1800 that James Pillans， headmaster of the Old High School of Edinburgh， Scotland， wanting to offer geography lessons to his students that required larger maps， connected a number of smaller slates into a single grand field. And in 1801， George Baron， a West Point mathematics teacher， also began to use a board of connected slates， the most effective way， he found， to illustrate complex formulas to a larger audience.

The blackboard-centered classroom offers more than pedagogical1） efficiency； it also offers an effective set of teaching possibilities. In such a classroom students are focused on the teacher （on a good day）， but most importantly， they are focused. The teacher is not the focus of the class but rather a lens through which the lesson is created and clarified. The teacher draws the class toward her， but she projects the lessons onto the blackboard behind her， a blank surface upon which smaller ideas may be gathered into larger ones. The blackboard is the surface of thought.

During Miss Babb’s fourth-grade science lessons， when she drew the solar system or the structure of a molecule2） on the blackboard， my mind became inflamed with new ways of seeing the universe. The school provided， of course， a science textbook， with lovely illustrations and photographs， some in color， and detailed descriptions in prose， of the very same things Miss Babb drew on the board. But it was not the textbooks that made science infiltrate3） my brain. It was Miss Babb and a piece of chalk， her writing on a blank field. With her there， describing the shape of an orbit as she drew it， or clicking the chalk on an atom’s nucleus and saying “nucleus” at the same time so we were sure not to miss it， she brought science to life for me in a way a textbook could not have.

There is a theatrical element to teaching， and it is necessary. The physical dramatics of the classroom—all those bodies and brains ritually focused—can create a new and singular mind， and foster in the individual student an urgent hunger to learn. A good teacher， like Miss Babb， can， with a nod or a wink， or by simply repeating a key phrase slowly and with certain emphasis， maybe leaning toward her student body， deliver a chapter’s worth of information instantly and unforgettably. Otherwise， we might as well stay home and read to ourselves. The teacher commands her audience， conducts them.

As terrifying as it can be， there is value in the student being told to go to the board alone. The real terror， for me at least， in standing before the blackboard， came during class， when I might be called on to “show my work.” At such moments， the student is completely vulnerable—to public failure， to private anxieties， to an absolute freeze on all thought.

I recall a precise moment of blackboard terror in Miss Babb’s class， one I may never forget， and of course， it involved math. It was a silver-bright afternoon， and I was directed to the blackboard to solve an equation as part of a contest， the left half of the class versus the right. Some of the equations were long division， my nemesis4）， but some were multiplication， in which I was fluent. Please， God， I silently prayed， or whoever is in charge of math， please let it be multiplication.

I stood at the board， chalk ready， and sensed my classmates waiting gleefully5） for me to fail in a gossip-worthy manner. As with most spectator sports6）， failure is often the more alluring outcome.

Miss Babb called out the first number—I don’t recall the exact number， but it was four digits long—and my hope rose. But then she called out the function， “divided by，” followed by a three-digit number. Not just long division： impossible long division. A collective gasp7） filled the room.

I was OK through the first column of division， but during the next， I saw that I had already screwed up. I motored on， though， as if stubbornness would win out. Growing desperate， and wishing only to be finished now， I faked the ending. I looked to Miss Babb： Was I even close？

“That is incorrect，” she said， ticking her score sheet.

Titters all around.

Miss Babb joined me at the board， and we worked out the problem together. I erased everything but the equation and started over. I got it right this time： half a point. Errors were made， but I had not failed.

From behind me， I heard a collective sigh of relief. While my fellow students were at first thrilled by my “failure，” they also knew their turn was coming and were relieved， it seemed， that the contest was not lost yet. Math wasn’t black magic8）， and there was hope for us all.

The blackboard is a wonderful place to make a mistake. School wants to put us in unique situations， frightening ones sometimes， and to be able to perform in front of others is a valuable skill. School drags us， sometimes kicking and screaming， out of our shells.

The clichéd image of a child alone at a blackboard is seen each week during the opening credits of The Simpsons， when Bart9） writes his lines， repeating one sentence 100 times， punishment for his high jinks10）.

I saw nothing unusual in the teacher’s lounge.

WWII could not beat up WWI.

Teachers’ unions are not ruining this country.

Blackboarding is not a form of torture.

We DO need no education.

Bart has lovely board skills， and his printing is immaculate11）.

As a teacher， I have never been a gifted board worker； Miss Babb， while she might be happy to know I’m a teacher， would be ashamed of my chalk skills. I don’t have the patience for color-coding12）， and my handwriting， I see when I step back， is practically illegible13）. My “the” frequently looks like “tle.” I attack the board， I don’t write on it. And the thing is， I don’t really need to use the board at all. My graduate writing classes are small seminars with rarely more than 10 students. We sit around a large table （or smaller tables smooshed together） and we talk. We read from books， we read from manuscripts， we suffer through small silences， but mostly we talk. The ideas build up in the air above our heads.

But every once in a while I can’t help myself and have to go to the whiteboard. I scribble on it and draw pictures， try to “illustrate” my points. In an early class discussion on the history of the novel， I frequently bring up Stendhal14）’s phrase “the mirror in the roadway，” which the critic Frank O’Connor uses to describe the form of the novel. For me this phrase is key to understanding that a novel is about the journey of its characters， but a journey that is also a reflection of the world through which the characters pass. The mirror in the roadway is a strange but effective metaphor， yet I cannot do it justice with words alone. So I get up and draw a roadway， and a mirror in that roadway， and moving toward that mirror， a wagonload of characters. I’m not a draftsman， and unless I tell you what I’m drawing on the board， you would never know there was a horse-drawn wagon， much less a mirror or a roadway.

Once I start on the board， I often can’t stop and continue to add phrases， strange pictures， the titles of books， sometimes just marks， a kind of visual punctuation. The palm of my left hand will be covered with red or blue or green dry-erase marker by the end of the evening， and when I stand back to look over what I’ve written， nothing makes any sense. My board work looks more like a foreign language than literary criticism. But it’s still effective board work. I’ve been able to draw connections； I’ve been able to drive home15） key points. I’ve made the students look beyond me， themselves， and our little room.

黑板是近來才有的發明。相比昂貴的紙和墨，可擦寫的石板是一種既便宜又耐用的替代品，幾百年來人們一直在使用。無論在教室還是在家中，學生們都可以在自己的石板上練習閱讀、寫作和算術。但是直到1800年，蘇格蘭愛丁堡老高中的校長詹姆斯·皮蘭斯想要給學生上地理課，需要較大的地圖，他才把幾塊較小的石板拼成了一塊大板。在1801年，西點軍校的數學老師喬治·巴倫也開始使用由多塊小石板拼成的一塊板，他發現這樣能夠最有效地向一大群聽眾展示復雜的公式。

以黑板為中心的教室不僅提高了教學效率，還提供了一套有效的潛在教學方案。在這樣一間教室內，學生的注意力集中在老師身上（運氣好的話），但最重要的是，學生的注意力是集中的。老師不是課堂的焦點，而是一面透鏡，通過這面透鏡，課堂內容得以創造并被闡釋清楚。老師把全班學生的注意力引向她，但她把課程內容呈現在身后的黑板上，在這塊空白的平面上，點滴所思可以匯聚成更宏大的想法。黑板是思想的平臺。

在芭布小姐所教的四年級科學課上，當她在黑板上畫出太陽系或是分子的結構時，這些看待宇宙的新方式讓我的內心十分激動。當然，學校提供了一本科學教科書，里面配有生動的插圖和照片（有些還是彩色的），而且用直白的語言作了詳細的描述，所述內容與芭布小姐在黑板上畫出的內容一模一樣。但是讓科學滲透到我頭腦中的不是教科書，而是芭布小姐和一根粉筆，是她在一片空白的區域內寫下的東西。她站在那里，一邊畫一條軌道一邊對其形狀進行描述，或者一邊用粉筆點擊一個原子的核一邊同時說出“核”這個字，確保我們聽到了她的話。她就這樣把科學栩栩如生地呈現在我的面前，而這是教科書所做不到的。

教學中有一種戲劇性元素，這種元素必不可少。課堂所呈現的有形的戲劇性行為—所有人像參加儀式一般身心專注—能夠創造出一種新的整齊劃一的思維，使學生個體萌生強烈的學習渴望。一位像芭布小姐那樣的好老師點一下頭，眨一下眼睛，或者只是緩緩地重復一個關鍵的短語并加以強調，也許身體朝學生們的方向前傾，頓時就能傳達出相當于書本中一個章節的信息，而且讓人難以忘記。如果不是這樣，我們還不如待在家里自己看書。老師指揮聽眾，也引導聽眾。

學生會被要求獨自站到黑板前，盡管這很可怕，但也有其價值。至少對于我而言，站到黑板前的真正可怕之處是在課堂上，在我可能被點名上去“展示我的功課”時。在這種時候，學生完全脆弱不堪，害怕當眾失敗，內心感到焦慮，大腦徹底停擺。

我想起在芭布小姐的課堂上，確有那么一刻，我陷入了黑板恐慌，那一刻我大概永生難忘，當然是跟數學有關。那是一個晴朗的下午，教室左半側的學生與右半側的學生在進行一場比賽。我被要求到黑板前去解方程，這是比賽的一個環節。有些方程是長除法—我的死敵；但有些是乘法—我掌握得很熟練。求求你，上帝，我暗自祈禱，或者哪個掌管數學的神，請給道乘法題吧。

我站在黑板前，準備好了粉筆，能感覺到同學們正在滿心歡喜地等著我算錯，這樣就能議論一番了。和人們愛看的大多數體育運動一樣，失敗的結局往往更吸引人。

芭布小姐喊出了第一個數字，具體多少我記不起來了，只記得是個四位數。我心中升起了希望。但之后她喊出了運算方式—“除以”，然后是一個三位數。這不僅僅是長除法，而且是很難對付的長除法。整個教室的人都倒抽了一口涼氣。

我順利完成了除法的第一步，但在接下來的一步，我發現自己已經搞砸了。不過我繼續往下做，仿佛憑著固執就能勝出一樣。我越做越絕望，只希望能馬上完成，于是就胡亂編了一個結果。我望著芭布小姐：有沒有一點接近正確答案？

“答案錯誤。”她說，在計分表上做了個標記。

教室里一片竊笑聲。

芭布小姐來到黑板前和我站在一起，我們一起解決了那個問題。我把所有字跡都擦掉，只留下算式，然后重新開始算。這次我做對了：得0.5分。雖然犯了錯，但我并沒有失敗。

我聽到身后的大家都松了一口氣。盡管我的同學們最初因為我的“失敗”而竊喜，但他們也知道要輪到自己了，而且因為比賽還沒輸，他們似乎也安心了。數學并不是巫術，大家都有希望。

黑板前是犯錯誤的好地方。學校想要把我們置于獨特的情形下，有時這些情形令人感到恐懼，而能夠在其他人面前表現自己是一項寶貴的技能。學校強迫我們擺脫羞怯心理，有時這是我們極不情愿的。

一個孩子孤單地站在黑板前的典型畫面每周都能看到，就在《辛普森一家》的片頭，巴特在黑板上寫字，把一句話重復寫一百遍，作為對他搗亂的懲罰。

我沒有看到老師休息室里有任何異常。

二戰沒法痛打一戰。

教師協會沒有破壞這個國家。

在黑板上寫字不是一種折磨。

我們真的不需要教育。

巴特在黑板上寫字的技能不錯，寫出的印刷體完美無瑕。

身為一名老師，我向來沒有使用教學板的天分；芭布小姐要是知道我當了老師，可能會感到高興，但對于我使用粉筆的技能，她會感到丟臉。我沒有耐心用不同的顏色來標記，當我退后幾步看時，我的筆跡幾乎難以辨認。我寫的“the”常常看上去像是“tle”。我是在“痛擊”教學板，而不是在上面寫字。事實在于，我其實根本不需要用教學板。我的研究生寫作班都是小型研討班，學生數量很少超過十個。我們圍坐在一張大桌子（或是把幾張小桌子拼在一起）旁交談。我們閱讀書籍，閱讀手稿，還經歷短暫的沉默，但大部分時間我們都在交談。各種想法在我們頭頂的空氣中逐漸形成。

但偶爾我會控制不住自己，一定要走到白色的書寫板前。我在上面龍飛鳳舞地寫字、畫圖，努力“闡明”我的觀點。在早前關于小說史的一次課堂討論中，我頻繁提及司湯達所說的“途中的鏡子”，評論家弗蘭克·奧康納使用該說法來描述小說的形式。在我看來，這個說法是理解以下內容的關鍵：小說關乎的是小說中人物的歷程，而這一歷程也反映了人物所經歷的世界。“途中的鏡子”是一個奇怪但有效的隱喻，而我僅僅憑借言語無法加以充分說明，因此我站起身來畫了一條路，在路上畫了一面鏡子，又畫了一輛駛向鏡子的馬車，車上載著書中的人物。我不擅長繪畫，除非我告訴你我在教學板上畫的是什么，否則你根本不會知道那里有一輛馬車，更看不出有一面鏡子或一條路。

一旦開始用教學板，我往往就停不下來，不斷地添加短語、奇怪的圖畫、書名，有時只是記號—某種視覺的標點。一晚上下來，我左手的手心滿是紅色、藍色或綠色的干擦記號筆的痕跡，而當我退后審視我寫下的東西時，發現全是一團糟。我的教學板作品看上去更像是一種外語，而非文學批評，但它依然是有效果的。我建立起了關聯；我講明白了要點；我讓學生的眼界超越了我，超越了他們自己，也超越了我們小小的教室。

1.pedagogical [?ped??ɡ?d??k（?）l] adj. 教學的

2.molecule [?m?l??kju?l] n. [化]分子

3.infiltrate [??nf?ltre?t] vt. （使）滲透

4.nemesis [?nem?s?s] n. 難以取勝的對手；天敵

5.gleefully [?ɡli?f（?）li] adv. 歡快地，欣喜地

6.spectator sport：吸引大量觀眾的體育運動

7.gasp [ɡɑ?sp] n. 喘氣；倒抽氣

8.black magic：巫術，魔法

9.Bart：即Bart Simpson，動畫片《辛普森一家》中的人物，是一個淘氣的男孩，每集開頭都被罰在黑板上寫字。

10.high jinks：狂歡作樂；胡鬧

11.immaculate [??m?kj?l?t] adj. 無瑕疵的，完美的

12.color-code：用不同顏色標識；給……加上色標

13.illegible [??led??b（?）l] adj. （字跡）模糊的；難辨認的

14.Stendhal：司湯達（1783～1842），19世紀法國杰出的批判現實主義作家，代表作為小說《紅與黑》（The Red and the Black）。在《紅與黑》中，司湯達將小說描述為“途中的鏡子”。

15.drive home：把……講得透徹明白，使充分理解