Education and Mock Pedagogy

In Wonderland, instruction appears as form without understanding. The Dodo’s caucus-race (Chapter 3) turns political procedure into running in circles until he declares, “all have won and all must have prizes,” rewarding participation without criteria. Alice’s improving recitations deform into burlesque—“How doth the little crocodile” (Chapter 2) and “You are old, Father William” (Chapter 5)—where meter survives but moral sense evaporates. The Duchess spouts portable morals (“Everything’s got a moral, if only you can find it”), yet her pepper-choked nursery is unlivable and the baby turns into a pig (Chapter 6), exposing maxims detached from circumstances. At tea (Chapter 7), the Hatter’s riddle has no answer (“Why is a raven like a writing-desk?”) and etiquette hardens into a seat-shifting algorithm; cleanliness is simulated by moving, not washing. In court (Chapters 11–12), a nonsense letter counts as evidence and the Queen demands “sentence first—verdict afterwards.” Across these scenes, pedagogy is performed—recitations, drills, rituals—but knowledge is not. Carroll aligns Alice with inquiry instead. She tests sizes, asks for meanings, and finally names the sham: the court is “nothing but a pack of cards.” Education, in this comic laboratory, becomes the capacity to distinguish rule-keeping from understanding and to withhold assent when procedures yield no reasons.

The narrative charts Alice’s education from obedient performer to reflective experimenter to critic of institutions. Chapters 1–2 show her trusting ready-made lessons: she tries to manage size by rule, recites familiar verses, and expects stable cause-and-effect. The hall of doors and the pool of tears resist such habits. A pedagogical pivot arrives with the Caterpillar in Chapter 5. His cool “Who are you?” refuses to supply content, pushing Alice to test and measure. Using the two-sided mushroom, she discovers proportional control by iteration—nibble one side, then the other—creating a method of self-regulation rather than a maxim learned by heart. From here she increasingly rejects environments that mistake form for knowledge. The kitchen’s moral aphorisms (Chapter 6) ignore context; Alice chooses to leave rather than extract a lesson. At the Mad Tea-Party (Chapter 7), conversation policed by etiquette proves circular; she exits the non-lesson. With the Mock Turtle and Gryphon (Chapters 9–10), an exhaustive curriculum—“Reeling and Writhing,” “Uglification,” “Derision”—and the Lobster Quadrille stage solemn performance without content. Alice now listens, demands definitions, and withholds belief. The courtroom (Chapters 11–12) presents assessment without learning: jurors write their names to remember them, a nonsense letter is elevated to proof, the King searches for rules to domesticate chaos, and the Queen wants verdicts before evidence. Having practiced experiment and strategic exit, Alice adds refusal: she calls out the category mistake—confusing authority with truth—and collapses the spectacle by naming it. Her growth is not moral uplift but epistemic agency: to inquire, to test, and to insist that procedures answer to reasons and language answer to sense.