In this case, we are like the haunted house in Pliny that only the Stoic philosopher Athenagoras can liberate by following the ghost to the courtyard and digging up the bones of an ancient murder. This tactic requires an approach that is both open and critical to the great thinkers of the past who have contributed to the jumble of ideas about the soul in contemporary culture. In the last article we responded mostly positively to Plato’s tripartite view of the soul, though of course we rejected the idea of the soul’s preexistence as inconsistent with a biblical worldview. But there is a dark side to Plato’s understanding of the soul that has cast its long shadow on western tradition.

In the article on the soul in Mortimer Adler’s Syntopicon, that masterful guide to the Great Conversation, the perennial question of the soul is framed around a central dispute: Is the soul a distinct substance that inhabits a body, or is it inextricably bound to the body it enlivens? This is not merely an abstract debate. As educators, our answer determines whether we see our task as training a “ghost in a machine,” or as cultivating an integrated, living person. Plato gave us the classic dualist image of the soul as a prisoner longing for release from its bodily cage. This was a helpful, if limited reaction to the materialistic atomism that preceded him in Greek thought. But it is Plato’s student, Aristotle, who offers a third way—a profoundly unified vision that grounds our entire educational project in the rich soil of embodied reality.

From a Christian perspective, Plato’s view might resonate well with the soul’s ongoing existence after death (a truth that Aristotle is also able to account for), but it falls short in accounting for the resurrection of the body, and therefore in what it means to be human from a biblical perspective.

For Aristotle, the soul is not the body’s prisoner but its very principle of life. His psychology (a word originally derived from the Greek for ‘soul’ – psyche), laid out in De Anima, is therefore the necessary foundation for his ethics and thereby his view of proper education. To understand how to cultivate the virtuous mind, we must first understand the living form of the human person. Aristotle’s hylomorphic view of the soul provides the essential framework for understanding and cultivating his five intellectual virtues. In this way, we can shift our pedagogy from the fragmented focus on either mind or body, so common in the modern world, to the integrated formation of the whole person.

A Soul Needs a Body: The Hylomorphic Revolution

Aristotle’s great innovation was to reject both the pure dualism of the Platonists and the crude materialism of the atomists. He charted a middle course known as hylomorphism (from the Greek hyle, “matter,” and morphē, “form”). As scholar Christopher Shields notes, Aristotle saw the soul not as a distinct substance, but as the “principle of organization of a body whose matter has the potentiality for life” (Shields, 2024). In short, the soul is the actuality of a body that has the potential for life. It is the substantial form that makes the matter of a body a living, unified thing.

Aristotle’s own language in De Anima emphasizes this unity with a decisive analogy:

Therefore, we have no need to inquire whether soul and body are one, just as we have no need to inquire whether the wax and its shape are one, nor in general whether the matter of a thing and that of which it is the matter are one. (De Anima, Bk. II, Pt. 1)

This hylomorphic vision is revolutionary for educators. It means we teach embodied souls. The physical world of the classroom—the beauty of the art on the walls, the order of the desks, the posture of the students—is not incidental to learning. It is part of the architecture of the soul’s formation. Because all knowledge begins with the senses, the body is not a distraction from the life of the mind but rather its gateway to the world.

The Ladder of Life: Aristotle’s Ascent and the Imago Dei

Once Aristotle establishes that the soul is the form of the body, he spends the rest of De Anima investigating what this form looks like across the vast spectrum of living things. His method is empirical and observational; he builds his argument from the ground up, starting with the simplest forms of life and ascending to the most complex. This “ladder of life” not only provides a brilliant taxonomy of the natural world but also offers a profound parallel to the biblical account of creation and the nature of man. In a way that mirrors the progression of the days of creation in Genesis, Aristotle’s argument ascends through three fundamental levels of soul, or life-principle.

First, he observes the nutritive soul, the power shared by all living things, from the humblest plant to man. Its functions are the most basic: nutrition, growth, and reproduction. This is the soul in its most foundational sense, the biological urge to sustain oneself and to generate new life. This resonates powerfully with God’s first commands to his creatures in Genesis 1. To the plants, the sea creatures, and to mankind, the imperative is the same: “Be fruitful and multiply” (Gen. 1:22, 28). For both Aristotle and the biblical authors, life’s primary and most universal impulse is a good and ordained principle of flourishing. It affirms the goodness of our createdness and our participation in the fundamental rhythms of the cosmos.

Next, Aristotle identifies the sensitive soul, which belongs to animals and, by extension, to humans. This faculty adds to the nutritive powers a new set of capacities: sensation, appetite (desire and aversion), pleasure and pain, and locomotion. This is the realm of the passions and corresponds to the lowest part of the soul in Plato’s tripartite conception. Here we see the raw material for what the Apostle Paul calls the “flesh”—the seat of desires which, since the Fall, are disordered and at war with the spirit (Gal. 5:17). Yet these passions are not inherently evil; they are God-given capacities for experiencing and navigating the world. The capacity to feel pleasure is a gift that allows us to enjoy God’s creation; the capacity for anger can be a righteous passion against injustice. The Christian life is not about the Stoic eradication of these passions, but their right ordering. As educators, our work in habituation and character formation is largely the work of disciplining and directing this sensitive soul, training our students’ loves so that their desires are aligned with the good.

Finally, at the pinnacle of the earthly ladder, Aristotle arrives at the rational soul, which is unique to human beings and immortal in its essence (see De Anima, Bk. 3, Pt. 5). This is the power to think, to reason, to use language, and to grasp universal truths. It is here that Aristotle’s philosophy most profoundly intersects with the biblical doctrine of the Imago Dei. “Then God said, ‘Let us make man in our image, after our likeness. And let them have dominion…'” (Gen. 1:26). While the Imago Dei is a rich and complex concept, it has always been understood to include this unique human capacity for reason, moral deliberation, and relationship with God. Our ability to abstract the form from the matter, to contemplate the eternal, and to order our lives according to a known good is the echo of our Creator’s rational nature. The ultimate goal of a Christian education is the redemption and sanctification of this power—what Paul calls being “transformed by the renewal of your mind” (Rom. 12:2)—so that our reason is no longer a tool for self-service but an instrument for knowing, loving, and serving God.

This ascent from the nutritive to the sensitive to the rational provides the essential psychological map for our work. We are tending to whole persons, honoring their physical needs, training their passions, and ultimately, guiding their reason toward its proper end. It is the perfection of this rational soul, working in concert with the lower powers, that Aristotle identifies as virtue.

The Soul’s Toolkit: Forging the Intellectual Virtues

In the Great Conversation, a key question about the soul concerns its powers or faculties. Aristotle provides a brilliant taxonomy, showing how the soul’s capacities build upon one another, from the basic nutritive powers we share with plants to the sensitive powers we share with animals, culminating in the rational power unique to humans. It is within the rational soul that the intellectual virtues reside. Aristotle subdivides our reason into two functions: the calculative part, which deliberates about contingent reality (what can be otherwise), and the scientific part, which contemplates necessary reality (what cannot be otherwise). Our task is to bring both to their peak form.

The Virtues of Making and Doing: Technê and Phronēsis

The calculative part of the soul works on the world of action and production, using the data provided by our senses. The two virtues that perfect it are technê and phronēsis.

• Technê (Artistry/Craftsmanship): As we explored in the “Apprenticeship in the Arts” series, technê is the excellence of making, “involving a true course of reasoning” (NE 1140a). It is the virtue of the artisan who can see the form of a chair in a block of wood and guide his tools to bring it into being. When we teach students the technê of grammar, rhetoric, or even long division, we are doing more than transferring skills; we are habituating their souls to reason productively, bringing order and form to matter.
• Phronēsis (Prudence/Practical Wisdom): While technê produces a good product, phronēsis produces good action. This is the master virtue discussed in “Counsels of the Wise,” the “reasoned state of capacity to act with regard to the things that are good or bad for man” (NE 1140b). Phronēsis cannot be learned by abstract rule-following. It requires experience—a deep reservoir of memories built from sensory engagement with the world—to perceive the particulars of a moral situation and deliberate well regarding what is best. We cultivate this by immersing students in history, literature, and scripture, training them to see the world with moral clarity.

The Virtues of Knowing and Contemplating: Epistēmē, Nous, and Sophia

Beyond the changing world of action lies the unchanging world of truth, the domain of the scientific part of the soul. Aristotle argues this highest human faculty, the intellect (nous), is unique among the soul’s powers, describing it as something divine and immortal.

This intellect is separable, impassible, unmixed… and when separated from the body it is that only which it is, and this alone is immortal and eternal… and without this nothing thinks. (De Anima, Bk. III, Pt. 5)

This power of the intellect is what allows us to move from seeing particular examples to grasping universal truths. The virtues that perfect this power are epistēmē, nous, and sophia.

• Epistēmē (Scientific Knowledge): This is knowledge of necessary truths through logical demonstration (NE 1139b). It is the virtue at work in a Euclidean proof or a scientific syllogism.
• Nous (Intuitive Intellect): This is the direct, intuitive grasp of the first principles from which demonstrations begin (NE 1141a). It is the moment of insight, the “seeing” of a self-evident truth that cannot be proven but only understood.
• Sophia (Wisdom): Sophia is the pinnacle of intellectual virtue, the union of nous and epistēmē (NE 1141a). It is the comprehensive understanding of the highest truths, seeing both the foundational principles and the logical conclusions that flow from them. This is the ultimate aim of a classical education: to equip students for the contemplation of ultimate reality.

The Aristotelian Classroom

Aristotle’s answer to the great question of the soul provides us with a fully integrated model for education. Our work is the patient cultivation of the living form, moving students up the ladder of their own God-given capacities.

An Aristotelian classroom begins with rich sensory experience, recognizing the body as the foundation of learning. It proceeds through disciplined apprenticeship to form the virtues of making (technê) and acting (phronēsis). Finally, it guides the student in the joyful work of demonstration (epistēmē) and the profound act of contemplation (nous), all in the service of wisdom (sophia), which finds its ultimate fulfillment in the knowledge and love of God.

References

Adler, Mortimer J. “Chapter 85: Soul.” The Great Books of the Western World, vol. 3: The Great Ideas II. Encyclopedia Britannica, Inc., 1952.

Aristotle. De Anima. Translated by J.A. Smith. The Internet Classics Archive. Accessed August 26, 2025. https://classics.mit.edu/Aristotle/soul.mb.txt.

Shields, Christopher. “Aristotle’s Psychology.” The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Summer 2024 Edition), edited by Edward N. Zalta & Uri Nodelman, https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/sum2024/entries/aristotle-psychology/.

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This is why it has been so crucial for classical Christian educators to return to foundational questions. The average parent or teacher in our movement may tire of such stargazing, but it is necessary. The means that we use to educate young human beings must be consistent with the end or purpose of education. 

But the purpose of education itself and the means we use to educate must also be consistent with our answer to the even larger question of what a human being is. Most of our practical disagreements in how to educate children have these fundamental worldview questions hovering in the background, like a ghost that will continually haunt us if we do not acknowledge its presence. 

To picture worldview commitments as star-gazing or a set of higher level propositions, at the top of a chain of deductions written out on a whiteboard somewhere, tricks us into thinking that we can assume them and get on with application. But this is untrue. The soul of education must enliven our work with children and be embodied in our curriculum, pedagogy and classroom leadership moment by moment, otherwise we will repeat the errors of competing worldviews and beliefs, half-truths and downright falsehoods.

The soul of education is therefore found in our view of the soul. Charlotte Mason’s philosophy of education is a notable example of this recognition. She grounded her educational ideas on the fundamental claim that children were persons. “I believe that the first article of a valid educational creed–’Children are born persons’–is of a revolutionary character; for what is a revolution but a complete reversal of attitude?” (The Parents’ Review 22; June 1911, 419-437). Our attitude toward children will inevitably shape our work as educators in ways that are beyond our immediate awareness. Classical Christian educators advocate a similar reversal of attitude or revolution in education.

We may not think of the word ‘person’ as carrying the same theological or philosophical weight as the word ‘soul’. But Charlotte Mason draws our attention to our modern assumptions about the nature of human beings through this word. Today even as classical Christian educators, we are stymied by a mishmash of terms for the nature of human beings: from traditional and religious terms like ‘soul’ and ‘spirit’, to the language of modern psychology and neuroscience. How do we make sense of it all? And how are these terms and our half-formed understanding of them implicitly shaping our attitude toward the children we educate? 

I have heard one of the leaders in our movement meaningfully claim that in education we are “nourishing souls,” rather than any number of alternatives. At the time there was a collective sigh in the room as we felt at a visceral level the weight of this re-imagination of education. But why? What does the word ‘soul’ even mean? And how can it be more than the ghost of our traditional imagination in a world where human beings are conceived in terms of their amygdala, frontal lobes, and dopaminergic system?

As Christians committed to the language of scripture regarding our flesh, soul, mind and spirit, how can we sift through the varying conceptions of the human person for the fundamental insights that can create a Christian revolution of attitude and methods in our educational endeavors? 

In this series of short articles on the soul of education, I propose to evaluate ancient and modern theories of the soul, from Plato and Aristotle to modern psychology and neuroscience, in order to glean important and revolutionary insights for our day-to-day educational practices. The ghost of these various conceptions of the soul are haunting our schools and classrooms. Like the Stoic Athenodorus we have to keep our heads about us, follow the ghost out into the courtyard of ideas, and learn its story by digging in the spot where it left, if we would no longer be haunted (see Pliny the Younger’s Letter to Sura). In our next article we will begin this process with Plato’s tripartite soul and its implications for education. 

I hope you enjoy this series of short articles as I take a break from my series of articles on Aristotle’s intellectual virtues. The Soul of Education is tangentially related to that extended exploration and will provide me with some needed time to wrap up book editing and writing projects, as well as research for the next series on Aristotle’s intellectual virtue of intuition or understanding (nous). Share a comment or thought on how you think any of the competing theories of the soul might be affecting our attitude and methods in education!

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Clearly I have Star Wars on the mind. We are watching all the movies with my son, and they have so much to teach about education. I have to be careful, because once someone gets me started on Star Wars, I can go on and on. Watching through the series of movies, I have been struck by the stages of development young Jedi go through. The very young receive training in the basic Jedi arts in the Jedi temple. Later, a master Jedi will take on an apprentice, called a padawan. Most of the younglings in the temple will not make it to this stage. After being apprenticed for a number of years, the padawan must undergo a series of trials in order to become a Jedi knight. And only after many years of service as a Jedi knight, might one become a Jedi master. The aspect of Jedi training that stands out to me is the role of the powerful Jedi master training the apprenticed padawan. Here we have the more knowing mind enabling the younger Jedi to grow and learn.

In previous articles, I have written about the nature of the mind (is knowledge innate or written on the empty tablets of our minds?) and the stages of development as laid out by Piaget. The Jedi sequence of development strikes me as being more similar to the way Aristotle and Plato understand the stages of development. What I am interested in developing in this article is a more nuanced understanding of development. Even though we can perceive major stages of development, much of the development that occurs for learners happens within the major stages. What I mean is that new knowledge and understanding happens in moments of learning that build over time into true mastery of a topic, subject or skill. The concept we will be dealing with today concerns the level of difficulty the learner must encounter on the pathway towards mastery. Too much difficulty and the learning halts due to frustration. Too little difficulty and the learning halts because there is no challenge to encourage growth. The concept of the right level of difficulty goes by the name “the zone of proximal development.”

Previous article in the series, Human Development:

Part 1: What Do You Have in Mind?

Part 2: All the World’s a Stage

Lev Vygotsky and the Zone of Proximal Development

So far as we have thought about learning, the child has been viewed as an independent learner retrospectively. What this means is that the stages of childhood development have been viewed from the standpoint of the finished article (a child arriving at adulthood) and that children are dependent upon the internal mechanisms that will enable them to learn. Lev Vygotsky turned this viewpoint on its head. Let’s examine the person and work of Vygotsky and then see how his work connects to the learning environments we are trying to create today.

Born the same year as Jean Piaget in 1896, the Russian Lev Vygotsky produced most of his work on psychology in Soviet-era Moscow particularly during the 1920s and 1930s. One of the hallmarks of Vygotsky’s work is a connection of psychology to social or cultural ideas. He also was a pioneer of integrative science that looked at emerging knowledge of the brain alongside studies on behavior and cognitive function. A prominent group of psychologists gathered around Vygotsky, known as the Vygotsky circle. The most well-known psychologist of the twentieth century, Alexander Luria, was influenced by Vygotsky and carried on his work well after Vygotsky’s death in 1934 at the age of 37.

The prodigious mind of Vygotsky worked on many different problems confronting psychology at the turn of the last century. Of special interest in this series on childhood cognitive development are three main areas he addressed. First, Vygotsky was deeply interested in the development of language. He recognized that children learn language as a means of connecting to society. He writes:

“The specifically human capacity for language enables children to provide for auxiliary tools in the solution of difficult tasks, to overcome impulsive action, to plan a solution to a problem prior to its execution, and to
master their own behavior. Signs and words serve children first and foremost as a means of social contact with other people.”

Lev Vygotsky, Mind in Society (Harvard University Press, 1978), p. 28

The language that they learn, which includes not only words but also facial expression and gestures, is a tool to access social connection with other members of the family and then eventually to wider circles of society.

Second, Vygotsky saw how the individual develops holistically within a socio-cultural environment. As noted with language above, child development occurs in connection with the people surrounding the child. Vygotsky’s insights are remarkable in that it placed childhood development within a larger context. One of the liabilities of the scientific method is that it tends to isolate phenomena and processes in order to examine the parts of a greater whole. When it comes to childhood cognitive development, observing a child in isolation can reveal many interesting facets of growth. However, Vygotsky recognized that something was missing when examining childhood cognitive development in isolation from the larger socio-cultural environment. He writes:

“Every function in the child’s cultural development appears twice: first on the social level, and later, on the individual level; first, between people (interpsychological), and then inside the child (intrapsychological).”

Mind in Society, pg. 57

One of the reasons why a child develops is to enhance his or her ability to relate within that socio-cultural environment.

Third, Vygotsky flipped the prevailing understanding of the relationship between development and learning. In the prevailing model of cognitive development, it was assumed that particular kinds of learning can only occur after reaching a certain level of development. What this means, in terms of the prevailing model, is that the brain matures to such an extent that it can now carry out new kinds of learning functions. We could think of the brain as reaching a new size and can now hold a greater volume of learning. Once you have a bigger glass, then you can pour water into it. These analogies break down somewhat, but hopefully this gives a simple picture of the prevailing model. Well, Vygotsky considered an alternative approach. In his own words:

“Our analysis alters the traditional view that at the moment a child assimilates the meaning of a word, or masters an operation such as addition or written language, her developmental processes are basically completed. In fact, they have only just begun at that moment. The major consequence of analyzing the educational process in this manner is to show that the initial mastery of, for example, the four arithmetic operations provides the basis for the subsequent development of a variety of highly complex internal processes in children’s thinking.”

Mind in Society, pg. 90

What if learning actually precedes cognitive development. What if pouring more water forces the brain to get a bigger glass, so to speak? This shifts our thinking of the child no longer as a person who has reached a particular level of development, but as a person with a level of potential development.

These three main ideas come together in what Vygotsky formulates as the zone of proximal development (ZPD). Like language, learning functions as a tool that the mind uses to gain access to a wider socio-cultural network. The mind of the child is interacting with the minds present in the socio-cultural environment such that learning is predicated on more knowledgeable others who provide learning to the child. This contextual picture of learning, then, precedes cognitive development as the mind builds itself based on the learning it acquires. What the zone of proximal development describes is the place of potential development where learning is occurring at the optimal level of challenge to encourage cognitive growth. Let’s take a deeper look at what this means.

The Educational Value of the Zone of Proximal Development

The brilliance of Vygotsky’s insight is that childhood cognitive development rarely occurs in a state of isolation. Children are most often in contact with other people who are more knowledgeable. This contributes to our understanding of the mechanism of cognitive development in new ways. It also points to insights we can glean in practical terms for our classrooms. Vygotsky spells out what the ZPD is:

“[The zone of proximal development] is the distance between the actual developmental level as determined by independent problem solving and the level of potential development as determined through problem solving under adult guidance or in collaboration with more capable peers.”

Mind in Society, pg. 86

What this means is that a child has a certain level or capacity on their own. For instance, a student might be able to accomplish basic addition and subtraction problems independently. This independent level or capacity is the base of the zone. If you continue to provide training at this level, you will not provide enough challenge for the child to grow and develop cognitively. She would be operating below the zone of proximal development.

To take this a little further, that same child has a level of potential development that is just beyond her current capacity. Maybe she is on the verge of understanding multiplication problems. She cannot work these problems on her own. But she can work the problems with the assistance of a teacher or maybe an older sibling. What she cannot do on her own, but can do with assistance from a more knowledgeable other (MKO) places her in the zone of proximal development. At the higher end of this zone is knowledge that is too far beyond the current capacity of the child. Even with the assistance of an adult, the concepts of, say, trigonometry are too far beyond her capacity and have exceeded the zone of proximal development.

Vygotsky goes on to explore the utility of this theory (what he calls a method) for educators:

“By using this method we can take account of not only the cycles and maturation processes that have already been completed but also those processes that are currently in a state of formation, that are just beginning to mature and develop. Thus, the zone of proximal development permits us to delineate the child’s immediate future and his dynamic developmental state, allowing not only for what already has been achieved developmentally but also for what is in the course of maturing.”

Mind in Society, pg. 87

The immediate and distant future for children is independence. What they cannot do now, ultimately they will be able to do on their own. Between these two places stands the teacher who provides just enough assistance to take them from what they don’t know to what they need help knowing, and ultimately to what they then know on their own. And upon achieving a level of independence the next level comes on the horizon for which they require assistance leading to yet another level of independence.

Scaffolding and Retrieval Practice

The concept of scaffolding came many years after Vygotsky developed his theory. It depends upon the presence of the more knowledgeable other, usually a grown up. This adult knows what the child does not yet know. The organic relationship between the child as learner and the grown up as the more knowledgeable other is such that the child can’t help but learn through interaction. We see this through language acquisition. The mother talks with the child. Soon the child imitates the mother’s speech patterns and eventually communicates relatively well, even if there are mistakes. The mother provides scaffolding with little hints and corrections the enable the child to practice language at higher and higher levels of competence.

As teachers, this concept of scaffolding is simply a way to guide a student in learning what we already know. It is like leaving a breadcrumb trail for them to follow along the path of learning. One aspect of being a more knowledgeable other (I prefer this language to being a subject expert) is that the teacher not only knows the subject matter, but also areas of challenge and potential pitfalls a student can fall into. This is important to the concept of scaffolding. We want to provide for the student some amount of challenge in order for them to grow, but not so much that we frustrate the child. The essential characteristic of scaffolding is to be systematic in the building of a child’s experiences and knowledge.

Now we can picture the cascade of increasing complexity in all kinds of subjects: mathematics, science, literature, grammar, spelling, etc. There is a natural progression as a child grows older and older. This is one aspect of scaffolding evident at a macro level. But on the day-to-day basis, we can implement the concept of scaffolding to enable the student to do the primary work of learning. This is the fifth law in John Milton Gregory’s The Seven Laws of Teaching:

“Excite and direct the self-activities of the learner, and tell him nothing that he can learn himself.”

John Milton Gregory, The Seven Laws of Teaching (Veritas Press, 2004), pg. 100

How we go about exciting and directing the learner comes by way of resources, tasks, guidance, modeling, coaching or advice.

One key practice that has recently been associated with scaffolding is retrieval practice. The authors of Make It Stick talk about conventional approaches to learning that emphasize “massed practice” in an effort to “burn into memory” a concept or skill (pg. 47). Instead, spacing out practice and interleaving subjects provides enough time to elapse for the brain to start to forget the concept or skill. Then after a span of time, the mind is called upon to retrieve something from memory. This spaced and interleaved method more deeply engrains the new knowledge in memory.

“When you space out practice at a task and get a little rusty between sessions, or you interleave the practice of two or more subjects, retrieval is harder and feels less productive, but the effort produces longer lasting learning and enables more versatile application of it in later settings.

Peter C. Brown, Henry L. Roediger III, and Mark A. McDaniel, Make it Stick (Harvard University Press, 2014), pg. 4

Notice that for the learner it feels harder or less productive than cramming one moment of massed practice. The learner would not choose this strategy, so it is incumbent on the more knowledgeable other to establish this strategy as the scaffold of learning. Recollect that optimal growth occurs through challenge at an appropriate level. And it is the nature of the challenge that counts. It is challenging to mass practice or cram information for a test. But research has shown how ineffective that kind of challenge is. A better form of challenge is spaced and interleaved practice, enabling the mind to create better neural pathways for learning.

The Zone of Proximal Development for Classical Classrooms

In our educational renewal movement, it is important to reclaim the lost tools of learning. As we train our students in the classical liberal arts, we do ourselves a disservice if we make the assumption that lecture-based learning is equally classical in nature. There is so much compelling evidence that lecture is of limited utility. Understanding the zone of proximal development actually helps us make the most of our tools of learning. Let’s look at a few ideas for the classical classroom.

First, learning should be organized around the “energy” of the student. What I mean by energy is that the student should be putting for considerable effort in the learning process. Picking on lecture one again, the energy of lecture-based learning is provided by the teacher as students sit passively listening. Instead, seeking methods to shift the energy away from the teacher and onto the students is essential to optimize learning. Here’s where narration can be so effective. The energy of attention must be provided by the student to listen, see and observe. Then the energy of assimilation of knowledge is borne by the student as he or she tells back. It is not that the teacher isn’t active in this environment. But the kind of energy the teacher provides is maintaining focus, providing feedback, keeping things moving, asking effective questions, etc.

Discussion is another high-energy activity conducive to optimal learning. Students verbally grapple with ideas and listen to differing perspective from other students. The role of the teacher here is to moderate the discussion to get everyone involved. Careful guidance is required to help move the discussion in productive directions. However, the best way to kill good discussion is for the teacher to be the answer man, resolving the debate too soon or giving a definitive perspective at the end. Allowing tension and conflict to remain even for days causes students to continue to chew on an idea over time. A great teacher technique is to come back to a point of discussion after time to see if new ideas have emerged.

Second, there are numerous techniques in Teach Like a Champion 2.0 (TLaC) that create an appropriate amount of challenge and provide ample support. For example, the technique called “Stretch It” (technique 13) builds extension of learning into a rather simple exercise. When a student get a right answer, the reward is to then receive harder questions. Another technique is “Without Apology” (technique 15). This helps build a culture of academic challenge where everyone embraces challenge, understanding the hard work that goes into scholarship.

Teachers can use lesson planning to create scaffolding for their students. TLaC technique 21, “Name the Steps” breaks down concepts into simple steps allowing students to follow a clear pathway toward mastery. In a subject like mathematics, we are used to steps in problems solving. But students can also learn steps for how to memorize foreign language vocabulary or steps to write a good sentence or steps to discuss events in history. There are lots of ways the plan the pacing or tempo of the class to maximize not just the amount of time you have, but also the feel of the time. Check out techniques 27-31 in TLaC.

Third, a significant aspect of growth occurs when students buy into their own development as something they contribute to. So many students think about education as something that happens to them. They become educated. However, when we truly understand what Vygotsky is saying about cognitive development, it is the mind of the child that craves deeper connections with the people and the world around them. Students gain the buy in when they are given greater awareness of their own learning process. Our role as teachers is ultimately for them to have independence. We help them along for a short time as the more knowledgeable other, providing sufficient challenge until they gain enough mastery to work independently. That goal for independence and autonomy actually feeds into further and further loops of challenge. They crave more knowledge and greater mastery, so they turn to you for more. Helping them to self-check the accuracy of their answers can be a powerful tool. “You tell me if that’s the right answer. How would you figure that out?” This is an approach I take frequently with my high school students. Along with this is the concept of self-advocacy. Are they able to seek help when needed from the more knowledgeable other, whether that’s a teacher, parent or peer?

So as you work with your young ones, your padawans, do not be afraid of providing appropriate levels of challenge. “Training to be a Jedi is not an easy challenge, and even if you succeed, it’s a hard life” is equally true of the Christian life. Training to follow Christ means taking up your cross daily. (Yes, I’m spiritualizing Star Wars!) I think of Paul’s admonition to Timothy to “train yourself for godliness” (1 Tim 4:7) and to “practice these things,” meaning reading and teaching the scriptures (1 Tim 4:15). Growth requires challenge, but it results in fruit. May we as teachers devote ourselves all the more to finding ways for our students to experience the growth God has designed for them.

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