Think of a large office building that was constructed in the 1950s. It was built with the best technical and artistic understanding of the time, both to please the eye (possibly) and to be functional (primarily).
It’s taking up highly valuable real estate in a location that everyone wants to be and build. It’s kind of an eyesore now, unless you’re exceptionally nostalgic. It’s been maintained fairly well, including some paint, new windows, a fresh roof, and so on.
But all around it in that costly area we see that newer, better buildings have sprung up. They are feats of engineering, testaments to materials science, and visions of artistic grandeur. They are massive edifices that reach high upwards, dwarfing the quaint neighbour from a time that is dimly, though fondly, remembered.
We have two choices.
We can continue to give that tiny building a face-lift, replacing the carpet or changing the fixtures. Or we can rebuild, keeping the parts that make it a functional building while applying our new understanding and skills to an improved design.
That new building will look and feel dramatically different. There will be more space, more options, more possibilities for its use. It will still be a building, and it will still have the same basic purpose, but it won’t be a barrier to progress the way the aging structure is.
Most importantly, perhaps, are the windows: the new building will be much more transparent.
This is education.
We currently have that old building in Ontario. Let’s stop replacing broken tiles and repainting the paneling, and let’s talk about how to rebuild.