One of the great joys of being a teacher is summers off. This may be one of the chief compensations, more important to teachers than healthcare or retirement accounts. I for one love the rhythm of the schoolyear and delight in the summer downtime. Working as an administrator for several years now, the joy has somewhat diminished since there’s still so much work to be done. But even in this case, the nature of the work is different, and therefore enjoyable in its own way.

As I reflect on the dynamic of summer vacation, I wanted to inspire our readers with an opportunity that lays before us. During the school year, when it is our responsibility to teach, we rarely have the time to be learners ourselves. It’s true that quite a number of teachers take continuing education courses. Many of my colleagues over the years have worked towards their masters degrees during the school year. I myself had finished all my degrees before teaching full time. So these educational warriors have my admiration.

Two of my colleagues, one in St. Louis and another here in Chicago, caught my attention by taking what might be considered special interest classes. They weren’t working towards a degree. Instead, they took classes sheerly from their interest in the subject. My colleague Rachel at Providence took a pottery class, making beautiful pieces that she eventually gifted to our graduating seniors. My colleague Nathan at Clapham was caught carrying a cello down the road. When asked what he was doing lugging such a large instrument, he said he was taking cello lessons. Both of these examples epitomized for me the value of lifelong learning. If you are like us at Educational Renaissance, then you value lifelong education. We often consider this concept in light of our students. But what about us?

Therefore, when a professor at Wheaton College – who also happens to attend my church – offered a basic pottery class this summer, I jumped at the chance to learn a new skill. Here are some thoughts that emerged through the process. As I reflect on my experience as a learner, hopefully it will inspire you to find something to learn this summer, and then you can experience the joy of learning by taking a summer class.

The Basics of Pottery

First, for the uninitiated, here is an outline of basic pottery. You grab a clump of wet clay. You work it around in your hands until it becomes a ball. Take a small part of the ball, and flatten it to the size of an iPhone, marking out a round portion for the base of, say, a mug. Then you roll the rest of the ball between your hands to form it into a snake. You probably remember doing something like this with Play-Doh when you were a kid. You continue to roll the snake on the board until it is long enough to form a coil around the circumference of the base. You then squish (not being very technical here) the coil, working it into the base and upward slightly. You can add on more coils; I did three. You continue to squish the sides, forming a flat surface on your cylinder. After letting it set for a day, I added a handle. And, voila, a mug ready to be glazed and fired.

There are definitely other levels to pottery. For instance, I didn’t do anything with a wheel, which is what many people associate with pottery. One can learn about different kinds of clay, or different tools of the trade. I didn’t go into this aiming to set up a home studio. Instead, I wanted to try something new. I wanted to get my hands working with something. And I wanted an activity that would serve as a stress reliever during one of the strangest ends to a school year I had ever experienced.

Learning Means Confronting the Fear of the Unknown

Fear is an interesting emotion. We learn in 1 John 4:18 that “There is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear.” From this we might surmise that fear is a bad thing. Yet we are called to fear God, by which we understand fear to mean respect or worship. This seems to be a good thing. Fear of the unknown is a very real aspect to our existence as human beings. If God is unknown to an individual, the fear that person experiences would be substantially different than that of the individual who knows God and is known by God. I believe I have a healthy fear of my wife, but not the kind of fear one has when one’s life is threatened. Love has cast out that kind of fear. All that remains is the niggling kind of fear that somehow my imperfections will collide with her imperfections in some way that causes sparks to fly. But we’ve been through enough of those, that fear really isn’t the right word for it anymore. Forgive my tangent into fear, but it does relate, I promise. (Perhaps I am causing you the fear of the unknown right now).

When we learn, there is a genuine fear of that which is not known or only partially known. We have an entire neurological system devoted to processing fear. The limbic system helps our bodies scan for danger. A small, almond-shaped part of our brain called the amygdala is ready to initiate the fight, flight or play dead programmed response to danger. There were reasons our ancestors were scared to leave their caves. And yet without overcoming those fears, there would have been no food, no exploration, and no learning. You see, when we learn something new, there’s a part of our brain that is afraid of this new thing. Will it hurt? Will it change me? Am I any good at it? Will everyone make fun of me if I fail, or even if I succeed?

With pottery, there is the fear that whatever it is I’m making will look terrible. I might try to make a mug, but end up with a clumpy, amorphous blob that isn’t even good enough to be an ashtray (and who uses those anymore anyway?). Another fear is that I’ll make something that I’m pleased with, but it cracks when it is fired. That’s a real risk. Why take the risk, one asks oneself. Better not to begin at all than set oneself up for failure. I find it helpful to face these fears as a learner. How many of our students face these fears with multiple subjects every day? We are working with true heroes.

Learning Ought to Humble You

Learning is not only about gaining intellectual courage, it is also about acquiring intellectual humility. The expectation on all teachers is that they are the experts in the classroom. We prepare ourselves through careful study to deliver content and guide students to knowledge based on the fact that we know substantially more than our students. Now it ought to be the case that despite our teacherly expertise, we have simultaneously cultivated intellectual humility. Pride should not get in the way of us admitting areas where we lack expertise. Intellectual pride can trip us up when students ask questions. We want to mask our fallibility by seeming omniscient. Telling our students, “I don’t know,” or “I need to think about that more,” goes a long way towards being rigorously honest with our students. Not knowing everything is not a sign that we are not experts, it just shows that we are aware of what we know and what we don’t know. This can enable greater connection with our students, as we establish an atmosphere of learning together.

With these thoughts in mind, I was so happy to enter an environment where I had no expertise. Like my students, I had to submit myself to teacher who would guide me based on his expertise. David, my teacher, has a calm voice and a positive attitude. His advice to novice potters is based in years of working with clay and producing lots and lots of great pieces. The clay itself is a teacher as well, and the clay will humble you. There were several projects I started that fell apart in my hands. All I could do was ball the clay up and start over. Even the pride one feels in a finished project has in it the flaws or unrefined areas that become evident the more you learn and grow.

One aspect of the joy of learning is addressing this concept of humility. As human beings, we are limited, frail and fallible. Frequently we attempt to cover this up, to hide what we truly are behind the smoke and mirrors of our expertise and accomplishments. True human growth, though, only occurs when we uncover our true nature and deal with it. As an individual confronts an area of lack, there is a transformation that can occur, whereby something about us becomes strengthened. For instance, my hands are completely unpracticed in the art of pottery. I compared one of my rolled coils with that of my teacher, and it fell way short of his standard. In owning that self-assessment, I continued to practice rolling the clay, getting a little bit better feel for it. Learning some subtle techniques to more evenly roll out the clay. I’m certainly not there yet, but I can see growth that occurred through honest self-evaluation and acceptance of personal weakness.

Learning is about Process rather than Product

Often our thinking about learning focuses too much on the end product, whether it’s a grade, an award or entrance into some college or career. In one of my previous articles, I challenged our thinking about using end product as the measure of success. We tend to measure success based on end product rather than process largely because it’s often easier to measure. Does Johnny meet the objective or not? There’s a place for summative assessment, to see where things stand at a key moment in time. But the most important work of learning is setting up good processes that will last a very long time, most often beyond the timeframes we set up for measurements.

Working with pottery was a chance for me to see the process of learning at work. You keep working at the clay, shaping it and refining it. For several days I would set aside the piece I was working on to take it out and work it some more. Each time I could feel that my hands were becoming more used to the clay. I was gaining more insight into the techniques being taught. New ideas emerged for what direction I wanted to take this project as well as the next one. Imperfections were evident each new day that weren’t as obvious the previous day. I’m looking forward to the end product, don’t get me wrong. I will use my handmade mugs with pride. But the process is so alluring that I find myself more looking forward to the next time I can work the clay.

There seems to be a lesson in this for us. Learning should entice us to enter into the process again and again. Our students should be encouraged to rework and refine whatever it is they are learning. Yes, there will be moments where we celebrate the work we’ve finished, but our learning comes in the moments when we are working through the process. We should create an atmosphere in our classrooms where we celebrate the moments when we are metaphorically or literally getting our hands dirty in the work.

Learning Brings True and Lasting Joy

There is a profound difference between true and lasting joy and the trifling hits of dopamine on offer in today’s world. We are tempted to think we have been productive or done something meaningful after a morning of reading through email, scrolling through a Facebook feed, and watching a few YouTube videos. Yet we all know that feeling of wondering where the day went and whether we actually did anything of any worth. We really need moments of true and lasting joy, but they almost always occur as a result of concerted effort. This was a point I made in my review of Josh Waitzkin’s book. Learning places us in a position where we are able to engage in something that will help us to grow, and in that growth we will find true and lasting joy.

In speaking about educating children, Charlotte Mason connects the dots of a holistic education. She writes:

‘Education is the Science of Relations,’ is the principle which regulates their curriculum; that is, a child goes to school with many aptitudes which he should put into effect. So, he learns a good deal of science, because children have no difficulty in understanding principles, though technical details baffle them. He practises various handicrafts that he may know the feel of wood, clay, leather, and the joy of handling tools, that is, that he may establish a due relation with materials.

Charlotte Mason, Towards a Philosophy of Education, 31

This quote is packed full of ideas. What I want to draw from this for now is that student aptitude is drawn out and promoted through effort. This effort is a joyful experience not only in the moment of learning, but that joy also gets compounded at later points. One aptitude enhances another. Different areas of learning begin to influence each other. The whole person is deeply impacted by this “science of relations” whereby a student gains mastery of multiple and varied areas of knowledge. And notice that these areas of learning are not just intellectual. She sees how intellectual learning and handicrafts work together, giving students transferable skills.

In the introductory video, my teacher mentioned how working with clay could be a stress reliever. I have been reflecting on this, because he’s right, it is a stress reliever. I think that’s another way of saying that when you work with the clay, you will experience true and lasting joy, which is an antidote to stress. For us as educators, there is a lesson here. The subjects we teach are full of potential joy that comes through deep work. Students sometimes confuse the effort of deep work with the stress of life today. We need to help them to understand this difference, and the way to do this is by tracking joy. Our classrooms should be places where we celebrate the effort of deep work and the accumulation of aptitudes in different areas.

I hope you’ve enjoyed my reflections on learning pottery. Maybe this will inspire you to sign up for a class this summer. If you are plan to learn something this summer, let us know in the comments. The Educational Renaissance community is one that promotes life-long learning, so we’d love to hear what you’re learning. Having mentioned the concept of joy, allow me to promote Jason’s new book, The Joy of Learning: Finding Flow through Classical Education. Learn more about it on our webpage promoting his book.

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Truth

Peterson grounds truth in the biblical conception of the Divine Logos as the creative force behind the universe.

“In the Christian tradition, Christ is identified with the Logos. The Logos is the Word of God. That Word transformed chaos into order at the beginning of time. In His human form, Christ sacrificed himself voluntarily to the truth, to the good, to God. In consequence, He died and was reborn. The Word that produces order from Chaos sacrifices everything, even itself, to God. That single sentence, wise beyond comprehension, sums up Christianity.”

Peterson, 12 Rules, 223

As a consequence, truth is what orders the universe. To live in harmony with the universe is to encounter truth, brutal as that may be at times, and to abide by truth in speech and conduct. Peterson takes us to the prison camps, both Soviet and Nazi, through the accounts of Solzhenitsynn and Frankl (pg. 215) to see that truth often comes at great personal expense, and that untruth corrupts at all levels of society. For both the individual and society, “lies war the structure of Being.” (pg. 215). Knowing the truth will set us free, according to the words of Jesus in John 8:32, who calls us to abide in his Word. Centering our lives around truth is not easy, but the alternative is a life that lacks freedom, even though lies entice us through the deception that we can attain freedom through them. Peterson’s advice in rule 8 is “Tell the truth – or, at least, don’t lie.” As educators, this advice orients us to assisting our students in the acquisition of truth, and challenging them to root out deception.

Educators often fall prey to the urgent needs of the moment. Grades are due, the students need to be prepped for the annual performance, or we’ve simply fallen behind in our unit. We figure delivering content efficiently is the best solution. Content delivery, that is the teaching of the facts and figures in our curriculum, is not the same as centering our classroom on truth. Surely, we are telling true things to our students, but the content is more likely to glance off the surface of their minds. To be truly centered on the truth, we must recognize the transformative nature of truth. Truth needs to be reflected upon. Truth needs to be expressed. Truth needs to be committed to. These are necessities that take time and effort in order for truth to take its full effect in the lives of students. I appreciate Peterson’s vulnerable self-reflection, recognizing how to detect truthfulness and deception within himself.

“If you pay attention to what you do and say, you can learn to feel a state of internal division and weakness, when you are misbehaving and misspeaking. It’s an embodied sensation, not a thought. I experience an internal sensation of sinking and division, rather than solidity and strength, when I am incautious with my acts and words. It seems to be centred in my solar plexus, where a large knot of nervous tissue resides. I learned to recognize when I was lying, in fact, by noticing this sinking and division, and then inferring the presence of a lie. It often took me a long time to ferret out the deception. Sometimes I was using words for appearance. Sometimes I was trying to disguise my own true ignorance of the topic at hand. Sometimes I was using the words of others to avoid the responsibility of thinking for myself.”

Peterson, 12 Rules, 224

My mom taught me something similar to what Peterson describes here. She called it the “uh-oh” feeling. I now call it my conscience. Our students need to learn how to feel and respond to their consciences, and to know when they are exhibiting the strength of truthfulness or are succumbing to deception. This takes time, and peace, and quiet. It also requires of us a level of commitment to the student that is challenging. We often want to detach ourselves from our students at the most opportune moments for learning to take place: namely lunch and recess. But these are the moments when we most get to live together with our students in meaningful ways. We’ll explore meaning a bit further below.

In the classroom, though, we can be mindful of two pillars that ground study in truthfulness. First, is the assumption that others have something to teach us. Peterson’s 9th rule states, “Assume that the person you are listening to might know something you don’t.” Intellectual humility is a virtue our society desperately needs. Intellectual humility is the disposition a thinker has that recognizes the limited nature of the individual’s knowledge. It is learned in the classroom not only when we read new texts. In some ways a student is more willing to listen to the books we read because there is an innate trust they have that the school will put before them something valuable. Beyond this, though, is the interchange between students through discussion and debate. Helping our students to listen effectively to their classmates is so important to developing an awareness that they don’t know everything. I would love for students to even know that they barely know anything at all, but that would be asking too much. Even while I say that, I also recognize my own need to listen effectively to my students, because there are plenty of times that the ethereal knowledge comes through the mouths of babes.

The second pillar of truthfulness is to mark the words you speak very carefully. Peterson’s 10th rule is to “be precise in your speech.” The classical tradition of liberal arts education promotes this ideal. The three forms of the trivium – grammar, logic and rhetoric – trained individuals to become competent language users through the acquisition of the mechanics of language, thought and persuasive speech. Precision in language gives us a means of accurately perceiving the world around us. Peterson describes Adam in the garden naming the animals. In an exposition on Genesis, he makes the point that “We can’t really get a grip on something before we have a name for it.” Precision in language helps us come to terms with the world that already exists around us. But it also affords us the creative potential to make something of the world around us. Language is the means by which we create narratives and poetry. Words can alter our perception of reality, creating order where once there was chaos.

Clear language is the heart of excellent teaching. This idea is similarly expressed by John Milton Gregory in his The Seven Laws of Teaching. His third law — the law of language — is condensed into the statement, “Use words understood by both teacher and pupil in the same sense — language clear and vivid alike to both.” The words we use in our lessons should be precise, and we then look for precise language from our students. This pertains not only to academic stuff, but also to our general speech. I don’t permit loose words in my classroom. Any students who drops a fake swear word will be guided to consider what it truly means and why one would choose to use it. These have become a rarity simply because they know they have to be careful in their speech, or at the very least will have a lengthy conversation about the etymology of their colorful language.

Meaning

Precise speech not only enables us to accurately perceive the world around us, but it also assigns meaning to our reality: “We don’t see valueless entities and then attribute meaning to them. We perceive the meaning directly” (Peterson, 12 Rules, 261). This leads us to a consideration of life as meaningful. We teach not merely so students can learn facts. The words we learn aren’t merely a set of definitions. Our students are acquiring the ability to make sense of their world and to find meaning through their experience of the world. The last rule we will consider in this series is Peterson’s rule 7, “Pursue what is meaningful (not what is expedient).”

There really are two alternatives for each and every one of us. One can do nothing except that which would enable one to keep doing nothing. Or one can do something. Once that choice is made, you are either on a path of nihilism or on a path of meaning. The most frustrating thing to encounter as a teacher is the student who chooses the first path. We want all the best for them, but dance, sing, cajole as we might, they will only be satiated by their own wants and desires. The homework is unfinished yet again, only to find out they spent the better part of the evening playing video games. Or the child falls asleep in the middle of class yet again, only to find they stayed up most of the night binge watching an inane series on Netflix. The child clearly doesn’t care. There may or may not be concerned parents equally mystified by the behavior. Prodding doesn’t work. Rewards don’t cause lasting change. What’s to be done? Probably nothing. Nothing is what they’ve chosen.

Fortunately, this rarely occurs to the greatest extreme. But we see gradations in all of our classrooms. “Life is suffering,” Peterson states right at the outset of the chapter (pg. 161). One way to cope with that reality is to simply live for the moment.

“Follow you impulses. Live for the moment. Do what’s expedient. Lie, cheat, steal, deceive, manipulate – but don’t get caught. In an ultimately meaningless universe, what possible difference could it make?”

Peterson, 12 Rules, 162

The lure of meaninglessness beckons our students more and more. Hours can be spent on meaningless scrolling through memes and YouTube videos. Time has passed and nothing meaningful has been done.

“There is no faith and no courage and no sacrifice in doing what is expedient. There is no careful observation that actions and presuppositions matter, or that the world is made of what matters.”

Peterson, 12 Rules, 200

The subtle lie behind the choice to live according to expedience is that you get to avoid suffering. That can never be.

We must be careful as educators to not shy away from meaning. Every class and every subject holds great potential for our students to encounter meaning. How sad it would be to come away from reading Homer without the student understanding in a personal way what it means to live a heroic life through personal sacrifice! History shows us over and over that tyranny must be opposed by people who value life and liberty. What just cause will capture our students hearts, propelling them into the world to make it a little bit better as they see it? Unfortunately, our students aren’t evaluated according to virtue or wisdom on their standardized tests. Yet, the quality of their lives most corresponds to their sense of value and worth. My concern with the state of education today, borrowing from the outdated factory model, is that its chief end is employment. But life is so much more than a job.

Education ought to be transformative in the lives of our students. As young people, they already experience suffering. If school is to truly equip them for life, we ourselves as teachers must be in touch with matters of vital interest to our students in acquiring for themselves a life of meaning. This only comes about by caring about something. Charlotte Mason’s educational method is founded on living ideas. We present to our students a vast array of possible interests about which they can develop care.

“We owe it to them to initiate an immense number of interests. ‘Thou hast set my feet in a large room,’ should be the glad cry of every intelligent soul. Life should be all living, and not merely a tedious passing of time; not all doing or all feeling or all thinking––the strain would be too great––but, all living; that is to say, we should be in touch wherever we go, whatever we hear, whatever we see, with some manner of vital interest. We cannot give the children these interests; we prefer that they should never say they have learned botany or conchology, geology or astronomy. The question is not,––how much does the youth know? when he has finished his education––but how much does he care? and about how many orders of things does he care?”

Charlotte Mason, School Education, 170-171

Bringing students to a place where they care for a great many things sets them on a course to experience a life of meaning. Will they still suffer in life? Most assuredly. But will they find purpose and meaning through the suffering? Absolutely. And they will be better people for it.

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