In German folklore, the tale of Faust follows a scholar who, disillusioned with life, seeks greater knowledge and power. He makes a deal with the devil, often represented as Mephistopheles, exchanging his soul for these worldly gains.
We know how this story plays out.
The Faustian tale reappears time and time again: in literature, pop culture, and even real life. In music folklore, the legendary blues guitarist Robert Johnson is said to have gained his skill by striking a deal with the devil at the crossroads. In Marvel comics, Johnny Blaze becomes Ghost Rider after a pact with Mephisto, Marvel’s own version of Satan. Countless novels, films, and TV shows continue to retell this narrative.
But why do we cling to stories like this?
I believe it’s because they carry deep moral value. They're timeless reminders of the cost of trading long-term meaning for short-term gain.
In a Faustian bargain, we sacrifice integrity, deeply held values, or even our sense of self to achieve an outcome that seems irresistible. But these bargains always come at a cost. Eventually, we realise that what we've lost is far more important than what we gained.
In our current world, Faustian bargains aren’t confined to legend. We see them play out in modern institutions: particularly in education.
Consider what happens when exam scores are prioritised over deep learning and creativity. When schools become Google or Apple schools, and new technology is rolled out without thinking about its effect on screen time or the loss of face-to-face connection. When education is treated as a competitive marketplace, and schools are forced to brand themselves like businesses, vying for better reputations, higher Ofsted ratings, and rising house prices.
We may see improved test results. Though those often correlate more with students’ socio-economic background than with school policies. We may see shinier classrooms and sleeker marketing materials. But what do we lose?
Joy. Community. Critical thinking. Teacher and student wellbeing. Intrinsic motivation. Creativity.
Yes, technology in schools can have genuine benefits. It can improve access for disabled students, introduce new ways of learning, and support research and problem-solving. But too often it reduces learning to a single platform, a single method, a single story: lessons delivered entirely via PowerPoint, homework assigned and submitted through one app, students passive in front of screens. Watching videos of other children doing activities they could be doing themselves.
Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie warns of “the danger of a single story.” In education, an overreliance on technology can create exactly that: a single story of what learning looks like. If we’re not intentional, we replace diversity of thought and experience with uniformity. Schools often frame this uniformity as ‘consistency.’ And yes, consistency has its place. But if we want children to think deeply and critically, they need more than a single story of learning. They need to see many examples on how to complete a problem. Not just the one their teacher has been told is most effective. They need to come across many types of people and their many scripts. Not a script that is deemed to be most effective that everyone is expected to parrot.
As Neil Postman argues in Technopoly, new technologies do not simply add to culture, they change the cultural ecology. They shape how we learn, how we interact, and what we value.
In our pursuit of modernisation and ‘success,’ we rarely stop to ask: at what cost?
Education has become big business. The biggest earners are EdTech giants like Google and Apple, supplementary education companies like Kumon, and testing companies like Pearson who all earn billions each year from government contracts, families, and schools directly. We must always question what they are offering because they are definitely not free. Financially or morally. The “devils” in this story may not wear horns, but they often wear suits. They sell us tools without systems of reflection. They sell us policies with no regard for the people expected to implement them. They frame competition as progress, but it often comes at the expense of collaboration, equity, and care.
So when we’re offered the latest reform, the newest tech platform, or the next educational silver bullet, we need to ask ourselves:
Is this a bargain worth making?
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