Note for my diverse audience of readers: The IB is the International Baccalaureate, whose diploma program “is an assessed programme for students aged 16 to 19. It is respected by leading universities across the globe.” It’s a total curricular program for 11th and 12th grades through which students can earn an IB diploma. This diploma can be used to apply to universities around the world, such as Europe or Korea. It was developed as a way for expat kids to get a standardized, externally assessed diploma and return to their home countries for college. (The US does not require an IB diploma for students to be admitted, an American diploma is sufficient, which our school offers. European Universities, on the other hand, require students to complete the IB diploma in lieu of the country’s own end-of-high school exams.)

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My senior hoodie from last year says “I did the IB.” I’m not sure if when the seniors picked that there was a dig in there about how frequently I reminded them of this fact. I don’t care if there’s irony in their choice, I love my “I did the IB” hoodie unironically.

Yes, I do in fact have an IB diploma. I believe I’m currently the only adult on my campus with an IB diploma. I’m not going to claim it gives me magic perspective powers, but I do personal memories of what it was like take my oral exams, submit CAS hours, write a TOK essay, and sit the 3-5 hour exams for each class.

There’s a couple things that I can speak about meaningfully when it comes to the IB, that feel worthy of elaboration.

First, the IB diploma was really hard, but when I finished, I felt very ready for college. This was confirmed when I arrived at college, and it didn’t feel like a huge leap in challenge. I had learned how to work hard and manage my time.

One major factor in being able to handle the demands of college is the fact that I wrote an EE (extended essay). I wrote mine in Biology and it was 4,000 words about a pretty mediocre experiment I designed. Even though it scored a C (scores go from A to E), and it wasn’t really a success as an exercise in the scientific method, I learned a lot. I learned about process, resilience, and managing setbacks. Sure, I didn’t fail the EE, but don’t make me talk about the experiment I did on some really cranky hamsters.

Next, I completed 150 CAS hours (creativity, action, service). I had an abundance of hours in the creativity category because I was a theater kid who did 2-4 shows a year. But because I had to include hours in the service category, I joined a club that visited a nursing home in Caracas. We helped feed the residents, we talked, we played dominoes. I probably wouldn’t have pushed myself to do that had the IB not said, hey, you gotta do more than tap dance and sing.

Finally, I took the TOK (theory of knowledge) course. And I wish I could flex right now and claim I was a top student who saw the value in TOK from the first moment. I wish that I charmed my teachers and served as a role model for my classmates. No. Maybe you could argue I got there by the end, but that is not how I started.

Let me back up a step. In the IB, in addition to taking classes in the 6 core areas (roughly stated: primary language, secondary language, natural sciences, history/human sciences, math, arts) you take a seventh class called Theory of Knowledge. The purpose of this class is to examine and question all the knowledge that students are learning in the subject areas. TOK aims to show students how these areas are interrelated, and to push them question what and how we know what know. The ultimate goal is critical thinking and active participation in a community of knowledge.

If you are over 30, I wonder if, like me, this sounds awesome to you right now. How cool would that course be? Discuss the nature of knowledge, examine what you know, probe your own biases and perspectives. Okay, now imagine you’re 16. Maybe your one singular focus is college, and to get there you need the highest grades possible. And you happen to be in a place where classes are IB courses, and they are challenging. Now, I have to tell you that you don’t have 2 free periods, just 1, because in the other one you will be learning something called TOK. I can say whatever I want about how valuable it is, but students right away see TOK as an superfluous, less crucial thing that gets in the way of their primary goal.

That’s how I was. In year one, I bet I could have been categorized by teacher as annoying and less than enthusiastic. I think my arms were crossed; I was probably huffy.

And then we got to the natural sciences and we watched a Jane Goodall documentary. I’m not sure what clicked, but I was riveted. I could see how knowledge was developing, and the way that paradigms were shifting. I could see Jane’s struggle to be taken seriously in the scientific community despite her age and lack of science training. The discovery of knowledge was fascinating! In our study of the math area of knowledge, I got to write an essay about how much I love the puzzle of math. I talked about the satisfaction of the right answer, the feeling of falling into the rhythm all the way until the end. I didn’t really get to talk about that very much, and I got compliments on my writing. The metacognition of TOK finally made sense to me. In this class, I realized, we were thinking about thinking–about our own thinking, but also the history of the thinking of our subject areas.

I don’t totally remember the context, but at one point we had to study something on our own and then teach a lesson to our class. For reasons I don’t remember, I studied the human sense of smell. The things I learned then I have never forgotten. Did you know that the nerves in your nose are actually exposed neurons? They go straight to your brain. They are the only nerves like that in your body. Did you know smell is one of our most primitive senses? The parts of our brains that process smell are deep, related to the parts associated with emotion and memory. This is why smells make us have vivid flashbacks and emotional responses. I designed an experience for my classmates where I blindfolded them and had them smell certain classic things, like vanilla, and asked what memories came into their minds.

I’m not sure why all that stuff stuck so well for me. I guess it was because it felt like it explained a lot of the human experience to me. It was one of my early moments of interest in how the human mind learns and acquires knowledge. I felt a spark of interest that was unrelated to grades and college applications.

Now, here I am, teaching TOK. Perhaps my old teacher would call it fitting punishment for my initial attitude. But it’s also a chance to give to my students what he gave me: space and time and room to talk about what I knew and how I knew it. To question and dissect all the things I was learning in my academic classes.

Another reason I love TOK is that, in its essence, TOK is a writing course. The way that students process and share their thinking and answers to these deep questions is through writing. And I love this type of writing. It’s closer in style to the personal essay than the literary analysis or criticism paper. As the knower, they are by necessity present in all of their writing in some way. The best TOK work draws on a student’s own sense of wonder and curiosity.

Teaching TOK is both a challenge and a gift. I’m not taking it lightly, but I’m also can’t take it personally. I did, however, just show my students the 2017 documentary Jane (available on Disney+) and it was great to hear their oohs, as Jane sees, for the first time in scientific history, a chimp modify a twig to make a tool that pulls termites out of an ant hill. At one point in the documentary, I student turned to me and said, “How could they have not thought that chimps had personalities and emotions?!”

I’m working hard to engage students and inspire them. It’s not always a success and they’re still teenagers, but here’s hoping it does for them what it did for me.

To close, I’d like to share with you the letter of introduction that I wrote specifically for my two TOK classes.

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August 11, 2024

São Paulo, Brazil

Dear TOK students,

Welcome to your first day of Theory of Knowledge! I feel like I’m welcoming you into a SpaceX ship that’s going to take you to Mars.  It’s going to last almost 2 years and it will probably be like nothing you’ve ever experienced before.  

Thank you for coming aboard, I am your captain, Mrs. Griswold!  This is my 7th year at Graded, and before teaching high school English and TOK, I taught middle school humanities.  Some of you were my students!  I’m so excited to see how my old students have grown and changed, and also to get to know new students.  I have 3 kids at Graded: a 2nd grader, a 5th grader, and a 7th grader.  My husband teaches high school math and computer science.  

I am originally from the US, but as a kid, I moved overseas for my dad’s job.  I lived in Mexico City and then I moved to Caracas, Venezuela.  In Caracas I went to a school like Graded and I got an IB diploma.  That means that I, too, have taken TOK.  The course looked a bit different then, but not by much.  I still studied the different areas of knowledge and asked big questions.  We wrote essays and discussed.  

One of the core concepts of TOK is perspective, and I think perspective is key with how this year will go for us.  You can approach TOK with the perspective that it is this extra class you have to do on top of all your other important work.  One of those woo woo things that teachers make you do but don’t have any purpose or meaning.  Something you suffer through just to get to where you need to go.  It only gets a “Meeting” or “Not Meeting” grade, so clearly it doesn’t really matter.  That could be your perspective.  You will dread each class, groan inside your head a lot (or out loud), and you’ll generally feel a lot of discomfort. 

To be honest with you, that’s how I felt about TOK myself at first.  

But there’s another perspective.  That perspective says, a class without regular 1-7 grades, so I can try new things without worrying about my transcript.  A class where I don’t have to memorize things for quizzes or tests.  A class where we get to talk about the things that really matter in life, not just high school. A time to hash out the questions that real people ask about their lives and their reality.  A class where I will get to share who I am and how I think.  It’s not about how the teacher thinks, or what experts of the past have said, but my unique perspective.  A class where I get to share my hobbies, my passions, my interests—the kind that may not come up in other classes.  Finally, a class where I can be myself and make my own choices.  

In the first perspective, you suffer, you strain, you generally hate every minute.  In the second perspective, you are energized, introspective, and you walk away feeling changed, smarter and more sophisticated.  This class can be one you forget immediately or one you remember forever.  So what makes the difference?  What decides which experience you have?  

You.  You decide.  And the truth is that it will take some faith and vulnerability from you.  It’s easier to close yourself off, cross your arms, and call the whole thing stupid.  It’s harder to open yourself up and bring your heart to this.  

And by extension, if we all decide we are in this together, then we all have a better experience.  Let me give you an example.  When I’m in Brazil and live music starts playing, all these people get up and start singing and dancing.  It’s infectious.  I’m on the dance floor, everyone is smiling and the joy is palpable. Could you argue that it’s Brazilian music that made us all have such a good time?  Yes.  Brazilian music is awesome.  But I’d argue that what makes a dance floor in Brazil so awesome is the people dancing on it.  The love, the open hearts, the joy they bring.  

So, trust me to bring cool things to read and watch and talk about.  Trust me to design this class to blow your mind, to make you think, to make you question.  And let me ask you to bring the joy, the curiosity, the openness, the willingness to dance.  

And now comes the part I will hopefully not have to say too much, but it bears repeating.  There are people who have to take TOK, because the place they want to go for college requires a full diploma.  I got you.  But if that’s not you, ask yourself why you are here.  Because of a parent?  Because of pressure from friends?  Or do you actually want the challenge of the full diploma?  Do you enjoy academic and intellectual challenges?  I already have an IB diploma, so I’m not here because I need it.  I’m here to help you achieve this.  I shouldn’t have to fight you.  If you don’t want to eat what I’m cookin’, you should get outta the kitchen.  I will high five you and send you down to OCC to let them know that you don’t think the full diploma is for you.  If you’re still here, then be here.  

Now that I’ve written and introduced myself to you, can you write me a letter back and tell me about you?  Who are you?  Where do you come from?  How are you feeling about TOK?  Are you feeling ready to dance or fly to Mars, or some other mixed metaphor?  What brings you here?  What are your goals?  What can you tell me that will help you be the best version of you this year?  

From here to the stratosphere,

Mrs. Griswold