The other night at The Scholar’s Table, we discussed Michel de Montaigne’s On the Education of Children. The French essayist concluded, “To return to my subject, there is nothing like alluring the appetite and affections; otherwise you make nothing but so many asses laden with books.” The problem, says Montaigne, with most education is that through punishment (whether it be the lash of his day, or the “F” of ours), teachers force learning on students. The result? Donkeys laden with books. The real goal of learning must instead be to “allure the appetite and affections.”
Montaigne shares his own experience as a child. When young, he was taught be a tutor who spoke to him in Latin. Because his tutor spoke German, and he French, as a first language, Latin was the common language. Montaigne shares that it wasn’t until school that he learned that Latin was a subject – and a frighteningly boring subject at that, burdened with declensions and vocabulary lists. Montaigne had to re-learn an affection for learning in his adult years.
Montaigne has hit on a central problem in education. How do you get students to love to learn?
My friends at The Scholar’s Table shared their experiences. Christian told us a story. When he was a child his father would play him jazz music. So, naturally, he asked for a saxophone for his fourth birthday. Instead, his father bought him “a cheap recorder.” Devastated, he protested until he got a saxophone. When he eventually got his saxophone, the band teacher told him not to touch it until the next day. He still needed to learn how to use it. Christian said, “That night, I stared at my saxophone case wide-eyed, until I couldn’t take it anymore. I tore open the case, and taught myself the scale that week…That was the beginning of twenty years of saxophone for me.”
My friend Chris similarly told the story of when he became a Christian. Otherwise apathetic to learning, when he became a Christian, he had a deep and intense desire to read the Bible. His desire catapulted him into voracious reading – and even to seminary. However, much of seminary felt like the process of becoming “a donkey laden with books.” His early affection theological learning has now been significantly tempered by formal education.
Peter told the story of his mentor’s son. When in high school, he told his parents (both highly educated), “I’m not going to college. It’s not for me. I’m going to work for Disney.” A bit dismayed, his parents gave way and let him follow his dream. And work for Disney is just what he did. As he advanced in the company, however, he realized there were many leadership issues he needed further advice on. And so he read. He now is a constant learner of leadership principles, principles in which he applies each day.
The key to learning in each of these cases was affection. They had the desire to learn. Without this desire, learning is burdensome, and makes them see future learning as a chore, and not a joy.
This issue is really centrally important for a single reason: we don’t teach students all they need to know in school. This may seem rather obvious, but students leave school with rather spotty knowledge, and much of it will soon be forgotten. (I can’t recall more than 3 classes I took all of high school…and I was an “A” student.) Yet upon graduation and entry into the workforce, they will surely come upon problems they can’t solve on their own. And most of these problems will probably be in “subjects” they’ve never studied. (I’ve never taken a course in marketing, yet that is what I find myself needing to know today as an Admissions Director.) All that will be left will be a problem, and either a student with an attitude that says, “I hope somebody figures that out,” or one that says, “I love learning. I will seek out a solution. It will be a joy.”
All the tests and state standards on the planet can’t make somebody love learning. Nor can a teacher, as much as we’d all like to. So what can we do?
A proposal was thrown around the Scholar’s Table. Wouldn’t it be ideal if we could get to know each individual student well enough that his or her natural affinities would be known, and we could then pour resources and encouragement on that student? For instance, if a student loves saxophone, what if we could adjust his schedule to make half his day a saxophone lesson, and thus bringing joy and love to the learning process? But somebody would say, “No, what kind of a one-sided education would that be? Where would he be in math, English, or science?” A good point. However, as each of us shared our stories, it was some deep passion for a single subject that acted as a gateway to all kinds of learning. For me it was Christian theology, and because I loved learning the things of God, I eventually developed a love for learning about God’s world (the liberal arts).
It seems to me that we must seek each individual child’s gateway to learning. Whether it be saxophone, art, or science experiments, let his or her experience of learning be an enduring joy. And as it stays a joy, make it be a door to all kinds of learning, thus producing the rarely educated individual – one who learns out of sheer pleasure.
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