Telling better stories requires a mastery of language, one of the keystone benefits of a liberal arts education. Language is perhaps the most under-appreciated gift that God has given His creatures. We often do not grasp language’s necessity until we are in need of it: when we are stranded in a foreign country or trying to communicate with a one-year old. Language is important because it unites us like no other medium. It serves as the vehicle for communicating how we feel, what we think, and why we are acting the way we are. Additionally, language has the rare ability of integrating the disparate strands of life, indeed of lives, into a unified whole. Language is the precondition for story, and story-telling is the foundation of culture.

In this blog, I will make the case that the liberal arts, especially the mastery of language, are crucial for preserving and transmitting a culture. Without language, formative stories are lost, and cultures fall into decline. Of course, not all cultures are worth preserving. For example, it is a good thing that the culture of the late Roman Empire passed out of existence. The hunger for world domination, degradation of human life, and lust for pleasure became propagations of Rome that made our world worse, not better. On the contrary, our mission as Christian, classical schools is to cultivate future culture makers, moored in biblical values, and heralds of the gospel of Jesus Christ. Training in the liberal arts will equip our students to tell better stories, and in turn, cultivate more attractive cultures, superior to the ones contemporary secular society can possibly offer.

Studying Latin: An Act of Resistance 

Let me begin with the study of Latin, a well-known curricular emphasis in classical liberal arts education. One of the most frequent questions I receive as an administrator at a classical, Christian school is “Why Latin?” After all, our modern world has been highly successful in passing on the metaphor that Latin is a “dead language.” Moreover, using a modern rubric of utility and innovation, it is difficult to discern any clear benefit of studying a language that is no longer spoken in the public square.

Amongst classical schools, it has become fashionable of late to please the modern demand for utility by citing the correlation between Latin and high SAT scores or to remind prospective parents that derivatives of Latin are present in 60% of English words. The usefulness of Latin relieves us moderns temporarily from the fear that all the time invested in an ancient language may not pay off in the real world. 

Of course, this perspective assumes a particular definition of “the real world,” namely, the world of professional advancement, wealth accumulation, and personal success, all measured against the performance metrics of the 21st century. But what if “the real world” encompasses more than our present century? What if the surest way to educate students who will shape future cultures is to ensure they have an acute grasp of the histories and ideas of the past? What if the key to a treasure-trove of wisdom accumulated over millennia is available only through the long-lost language of Latin?

If the answer to these questions is in the affirmative, then the study of Latin should be recovered as an act of resistance. At the risk of overstating my point, this can be illustrated in the stunning image (and example) of Tank Man. Tank Man, the moniker for the courageous unnamed citizen who protested the totalitarian regime in communist China, boldly stood his ground the day after the massacre of pro-democracy demonstrators on June 5, 1989.

While studying Latin may not threaten one’s life (some students may disagree), it remains an act of sacrificial resistance in its own way. With the growing skepticism regarding the value of reading old books, coupled with the excellent English translations that are easily accessible today, doubt remains whether the study of Latin is worth it.

What we must remember is that Latin is a portal to “the real world” properly conceived. Contra popular opinion, the universe did not simply pop into existence one hundred years ago. Human civilizations across the globe have existed for millenia. Latin is one entry point into one prominent civilization that has served as the seed ground for the modern conception of human rights, modern science, and the development of the western church.

By studying Latin, students receive a rare gift: the ability to directly access the geniuses of this tradition: Virgil, Cicero, Augustine, Thomas Aquinas, Dante Alighieri, and John Calvin, to name a few. We read these authors as faithful trustees of the Great Conversation, listening carefully to these voices that we might preserve the insights of what is good and true for future generations, while also correcting them in places where they were wrong or misguided. This process of preservation and correction is crucial for the project of creating future cultures.

The Privilege of Studying the Arts

Lately, I have been reading and writing on the life of John Adams, a Founding Father of the United States. Adams kept up a faithful correspondence with his wife Abigail, despite years of living overseas in Europe. In one particular letter to Abigail, Adams shares his multi-generational vision for education and the development of culture. He looked forward to the day when his children and grandchildren would not be preoccupied with war, but instead, would have the freedom to build a culture of goodness, beauty, and order.

Adams writes,

“The science of government it is my duty to study, more than all other sciences; the arts of legislation and administration and negotiation ought to take the place of, indeed exclude, in a manner, all other arts. I must study politics and war, that our sons may have liberty to study mathematics and philosophy. Our sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy, geography, natural history and naval architecture, navigation, commerce and agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry, music, architecture, statuary, tapestry and porcelain.”

Here we gain a rare glimpse of how one cultural architect envisions building and transmitting a culture. Adams adopted a long-term mindset with regards to his role in the development of American society. He understood the pathway to freedom and order in society and that it runs through war and governance. Once a free and orderly society is established, the next phase of study, composed of STEM subjects like navigation and agriculture, is used to build on the foundation. Finally, it becomes the responsibility of those trained in the arts to create a beautiful and good culture, leading to a better world.

Unfortunately, many schools today have lost sight of this long-term vision by focusing exclusively on the urgent: career-readiness. We forget that careers only exist in the first place in a free, orderly, and cultivated society. The best way to prepare students for their future career, is ironically, to help them gain mastery in more rare and valuable skills: the liberal arts.

A Babylonian, Classical Education

Oddly enough, the ancients seemed to grasp the power of the liberal arts for culture building better than us moderns. In the book of Daniel, we see that the powerful Babylonian Empire followed a process for their territorial expansion: invade, capture and assimilate. 

After laying siege and destroying Jerusalem in 586 BC, King Nebuchadnezzar captured members of the Jewish elite to assimilate them into Babylonian culture. These members of Jewish nobility were “…youths without blemish, of good appearance and skillful in wisdom, endowed with knowledge, understanding learning, and competent to stand in the king’s palace…” (Daniel 1:4). The chief servant of the king was instructed to train these men in the language and literature of the Chaldeans. They were to be educated for three years, eating the food of the city and, more importantly, imbibing the Babylonian culture. 

Why were the Babylonians so set on educating a group of captive youth? They understood that the key to transmitting a culture was forming the mind through the liberal arts. By introducing Daniel and his friends to the gods, stories, myths, and values of Babylon, they would assimilate these young Jewish men into the culture. In fact, these young Jewish men were even given new names, with theological significance, branding them as citizens of the Babylonian Empire.

As we know, however, Daniel and his friends refused to be assimilated. They continued to use their original Jewish names and refused to eat the king’s food. Instead, they ate only vegetables, being careful to live within the dietary restrictions of the Mosaic Law. In return, God blessed them both intellectually and physically. God granted them “learning and skill in all literature and wisdom, and Daniel had understanding in all visions and dreams…. And in every matter of wisdom and understanding about which the king inquired of them, he found them ten times better than all the magicians and enchanters that were in all his kingdom” (Dan 1:20). 

The story of Daniel is a sober reminder, both of the perceived power of the liberal arts and the blessing of obedience to God’s Word. While the Babylonians sought to promote their mighty culture through the liberal arts, only God’s plan for this world would endure.

Telling the Greatest Story

Ultimately, for Christians, the most powerful, culture-shaping story we pass on to future generations is not about western civilization, the founding of a particular nation, or Babylonian mythology (I would surely hope not!). The most transformative story is the gospel of Jesus Christ, the good news that our loving Creator sent his Son to offer forgiveness of sin and life through the Spirit, and ultimately to usher in the kingdom of God. The culture we seek to build and transmit must be rooted in this great story.

Our learning communities, whether at school or at home, need to gather each day and remind one another of the story of the gospel. We can do this in a few ways.

First, we can begin each day in worship, singing songs that promote an understanding of the glory of God, the fallenness of humanity, and the need for a savior.

Second, when we teach classes on the Bible, we can lead students into deep dives in biblical studies, while also helping students see the grand narrative of the gospel that unites all of scripture. We can also leverage insights from other domains, for example, reading the Bible as literature, in order to engage the imaginations and hearts of students.

Finally, we can integrate the gospel in our approach to student discipline. The gospel is not a self-help manual to equip students to fix their problems on their own. Nor is it a legalistic tome, denoting each and every expectation God has for human behavior. Rather, it is the grand story of God’s grace in our lives and His restorative plan for creation. The gospel allows us to guide students in moments of discipline to utter the words, “I cannot do this on my own. Lord, please help me,” and restore them into the classroom.

Conclusion

The stories we tell are powerful for transmitting a culture, and the surest way to tell stories infused with meaning and persuasion is through training in the liberal arts. In the post-Christian western world in which we live, our society needs to hear the good news of Christ anew. By training our students in mastery of language and the arts, we are equipping students to not only have careers, but to be leaders of the future cultures of society. May God grant us much wisdom as we continue in this important work.

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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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The Human Capacity to Learn

First, when God looks upon humanity, what he sees in us is the capacity to learn. He has made us to crave knowledge and understanding. Our minds absorb information. While it is true that other animals think and learn, there resides in the human mind the capacity to think creatively and implicationally. We have the capacity to imagine abstract realities beyond our day-to-day material existence. We can contemplate our consciousness and existence in the world. We can take the information we receive and fit it into larger conceptual frameworks. We are able to consider a personal future and imagine how our present actions contribute to the future. By contrast, a squirrel can identify a nut, bury it for later use, and remember where he left it. That’s pretty complex as it is. But we can take our need for nuts and formulate a plan to cultivate nuts on a grand scale for the benefit of society. We can envision what it would take to deny ourselves the immediate nut for our future wellbeing. We can also take that nut and exchange it with others for goods or services. We might also reflect on what it means to be the kind of person who eats nuts. This example really only scratches the surface of our intellectual capacity. The point is that God validates the depth of our learning capacity in his act of communication to us.

Making the Incomprehensible Known

Second, God fits his divine knowledge to our capacity. In theology, this concept is called accommodation. Even though God is infinite and incomprehensible, he has chosen to express himself to us in language that meets us according to our natures as finite beings. We can comprehend God because he has communicated to us in ways we can understand. John Calvin expresses it this way:

“Thus such forms of speaking do not so much express clearly what God is like as accommodate the knowledge of him to our slight capacity. To do this he must descend far beneath his loftiness.”

John Calvin, Institutes of the Christian Religion, ed. J. T. McNeill, trans. F. L. Battles (Philadelphia: Westminster, 1960), 1.13.1.

This idea of bringing divine knowledge down to our level is fundamentally an educational enterprise. This is similar to a mother cooing and using baby talk with her toddler. We are able to comprehend true things about God and about his plans because, to put it colloquially, God has put the cookies on the bottom shelf for us. God places in our hands that which he wants us to know about him, about ourselves, and about the nature of life. Much that we need to know can be understood at a very early age. Jesus tells his disciples to “let the little children come unto me.” From our earliest days, God sees in us such tremendous value as persons.

Teaching Salvation

Third, God has given us sufficient knowledge to understand him and his salvation plan. All nature reveals truth about God, such as his power, goodness, beauty or justice. Theologians refer to this as general revelation, in that it reveals truth in very general terms. The act of creation, therefore, can be deemed an educational enterprise. There are lessons all around us, whether looking to the stars or following a trail of ants. A different theological concept – special revelation – gets at the highly specific, direct revelation God provides to humanity. Salvation is only possible through this second kind of revelation. Through verbal communication and the incarnation, God specifies our bondage to sin, the impending judgement of our sins, the gift of eternal life, the atoning sacrifice of Christ Jesus, the appropriation of God’s saving grace through faith, and the sanctifying power of the indwelling Holy Spirit. God teaches us so that our lives can become reordered to conform to his gracious plan. There is much that we don’t know and will never know. Yet he has given us enough to comprehend all his work on our behalf. As an educator, God teaches us what we need to know in order to truly live, a point that leads to my next thought.

The Transformational Power of Truth

Fourth, God has educated in order for people to be transformed. His school is a formative environment. He teaches us not so that we remain the same, but that we are changed into the image of his Son. There is a forward-moving drive to God’s teaching. We are not just learning fun facts or jumping through institutional hoops. I suppose there is a standardized test inasmuch as all have fallen short of the glory of God. God as a teacher is deeply concerned about our life-long welfare. This means there are moments of brutal honesty that must pierce through our thick skulls and our hardened hearts so that we might know the truth, and it might set us free. You and I are the resistant kid in the back of the classroom. Yet God seeks us out because he fundamentally believes that all people are capable of being transformed, even though not all will ultimately receive the gift of salvific transformation.

The Delight of God’s Truth

Finally, God, having made us in his image, has made us teachers as well. We teach because he first taught us. There is this impulse we have to make known to one another what we have learned. Think of the three-year-old who runs to his mother to share his discovery of a bird’s nest. He wants to share what he has learned. We educators have merely formalized this impulse. In creating any educational system, the danger is always present of robbing truth of its transformative power. It is therefore important to maintain this connection to God as educator to vivify our own teaching. When our teaching is seasoned with wonder and awe, our students get drawn into the transcendent nature of truth, and then truth can have its transformative effect in their lives. I like how Charlotte Mason differentiates the stale lesson from something that becomes a sure foundation for the child:

“Therefore, let the minds of young children be well stored with the beautiful narratives of the Old Testament and of the gospels; but, in order that these stories may be always fresh and delightful to them, care must be taken lest Bible teaching stale upon their minds. Children are more capable of being bored than even we ourselves and many a revolt has been brought about by the undue rubbing-in of the Bible, in season and out of season, even in nursery days. But we are considering, not the religious life of children, but their education by lessons; and their Bible lessons should help them to realise in early days that the knowledge of God is the principal knowledge, and, therefore, that their Bible lessons are their chief lessons.”

Charlotte Mason, Home Education, 251.

Our charge as teachers is to present truth to the minds of our young charges so that they may delight in the truth and be transformed. This begins to get at what it means to teach with a prophetic voice.

The prophetic voice is first and foremost about speaking the truth. Truth spoken can correct error and it can redirect our paths. It can meet an individual in a moment of need, and it can alter the course of human events. As we delve deeper into the concept of the prophetic voice in this series, we’ll see how we as teachers can cultivate the prophetic voice in our students. We’ll see some biblical examples of how the prophets exemplified the prophetic voice. We will especially need to overcome a misunderstanding of prophecy as merely predicting the future. We will understand how we as teachers can view our task as something prophetic. And we will ultimately gain a perspective on how our students can become truth tellers to a world in desperate need.

Before we can develop any of these further thoughts, we must see how God himself is prophetic. God speaks the truth, and never speaks anything but the truth. God has spoken truth into the world, whether it was the initial creative logos that made all things or the divine utterances that have guided us. God’s prophetic voice is the theological bedrock from which the rest of this series builds. I conclude by quoting the Psalmist:

“Teach me your way, O Lord, that I may walk in your truth;

unite my heart to fear your name.”

Psalm 86:11, ESV

Other articles in this series, Training the Prophetic Voice:

Part 2: Speaking Truth to Power

Part 3: The Schools of the Prophets

Part 4: Jesus as Prophetic Trainer

Part 5: Internalizing the Prophetic Message

Part 6: Classical Rhetoric for the Modern World

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Of course, Polonius interprets this as a depressive comment on the meaninglessness of reading, with a unique philosophical twist. But perhaps it can represent for us an important claim regarding the purpose of education in language and the humanities: words are meant to be played with, not merely learned.

In the previous installment of my “Flow of Thought” series, we took a stroll down the liberal arts lane, stopping for a moment to contemplate grammar among the Trivium arts of language, before hopping over to the Quadrivium arts of science and math, especially under the modern lens of STEM. Our goal was to counter the utilitarian focus of the educational establishment. The theme was the joy of thought and invention, and not merely its utility, as we develop arguments for classical education from an unlikely source, the famous positive psychologist Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi.

Hamlet’s witty banter, in spite of his seemingly depressive state, seems to serve as a good example of the flow of thought uniquely attainable through the “play of words.” Hamlet’s one-liners and verbal antics are some of the funniest and most enjoyable moments of the play. Perhaps they are even what keeps Hamlet relatively sane as long as possible, even if they are a part of his excuse to stall and wait for certainty.

Our psychologist issues a clarion call for the value of such witty repartee in his book Flow: The Psychology of Optimal Experience:

“Utilitarian ideologies in the past two centuries or so have convinced us that the main purpose of talking is to convey useful information. Thus we now value terse communication that conveys practical knowledge, and consider anything else a frivolous waste of time. As a result, people have become almost unable to talk to each other outside of narrow topics of immediate interest and specialization.” (129)

Such a comment could equally be a tribute to the glories of an Oscar Wilde play or the narrator of a Jane Austen novel, which turns even the drab and dull dialogue of the most boorish characters into a source of endless amusement… But not just amusement, also of manners, in the broader sense of human morality and conduct… And apparently of learning something human and crucial enough that we would put Jane Austen novels in the curriculum.

There’s something about the play of words that is liberating, enriching and deepening, even if it is also enjoyable and exciting. And so, in this article we will discuss another lost art or tool of learning: what our psychologist calls “the lost art of conversation” (129). He quotes Caliph Ali Ben Ali, saying, “A subtle conversation, that is the Garden of Eden” (129). If so, then let’s try and map out the territory of Eden a bit.

The Play of Words as Dialectic

First to note is its connection with the liberal art of dialectic. Socrates’ method of “teaching” (if we should call it that, since by his own admission, he knew nothing…) was really all about having a conversation. True, he would often announce some problem to be solved near the beginning, and he would chase down various possible solutions through elaborate trains of reasoning and question-and-answer with his dialogue partner or partners. But it was fundamentally a conversation nonetheless.

He could be very persistent in his questioning, but he also seems not to have been afraid of talking too much, if that seemed the best way to advance the discussion. Dialectic, as opposed to rhetoric, was Socrates’ proposed method of discourse, because the back and forth of conversation was to him more real and genuine, than the prolonged persuasion of one speaker (see Plato’s dialogues of Gorgias or The Apology).

Skilled orators could spin a speech of impressive length and strategy. But if you pinned them down and questioned them about each of the points in turn, much of it came up wanting, in Socrates’ experience. Dialectic allows for the discussion of different words, the distinctions between them and the careful parsing out of what is actually meant by them. This requires a certain playfulness in looking at the words themselves, trying them on for size and seeing if they fit the whole body of reality.

St. Augustine’s De Dialectica, for instance, begins with a discussion of types of words, both simple and complex, in a way that we would be inclined to classify as grammar, rather than simply logic. But grammar was first about the skill of reading and interpreting. Parts of speech, however, are as distinguishable in “speech,” as in writing, if you have mastered the art of a subtle conversation. In fact, we might even say that it is more natural to think out distinctions in speech.

But the fact that Socrates was almost annoyingly focused on discovering the truth—or at least displaying the ignorance of his conversation partner—didn’t prevent Socrates and his students from having a time of it. Plato’s dialogues, at least, are full of witty banter and the play of words. You get the impression that Socrates was enjoying himself. The flow of conversation gathered quite a following among the youth because Socrates’ dialectical method was fun, unlike some types of logic textbooks and exercises today.

Small Talk and the Play of Words

But so much of the experience of normal conversation consists in small talk and pleasantries. High-minded people are inclined to despise these small beginnings. At least, I can recall comments of my own in disparagement of the endless chatter about the weather or sports at parties. But the art of face-to-face small talk may be something our children are missing out on, with all their mediated communication through texting and social media. And we should reckon on the necessity of a prelude into the profundities of an extended conversation.

Because of his expertise our psychologist is able to note some of the overlooked value of small beginnings in the dialectical art from a psychological perspective:

“When I say to an acquaintance whom I meet in the morning, ‘Nice day,’ I do not convey primarily meteorological information—which would be redundant anyway, since he has the same data as I do—but achieve a great variety of other unvoiced goals. For instance, by addressing him I recognize his existence, and express my willingness to be friendly. Second, I reaffirm one of the basic rules for interaction in our culture, which holds that talking about the weather is a safe way to establish contact between people. Finally, by emphasizing that the weather is ‘nice’ I imply the shared value that ‘niceness’ is a desirable attribute.” (129-130)

Modern communication theorists have called this phatic communication and connected it with the exordium of classical rhetoric. In the opening of a dialogue or a speech there needs to be a connection of persons, a development of trust or ethos, and this is established through following some simple social rules for interactions.

Such reflections raise legitimate questions over whether, in abandoning training in politeness and the proprieties of social interaction for our children, we are crippling them from stepping into the longer walks of conversation. After all, a conversation or connection must begin somewhere, and why not with a few clichés?

Philologists, those pedantic lovers of words (like myself), may object, but they would do better to laugh and continue playing the game themselves. This reminds me of the opening scene from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Hobbit, where Gandalf humorously nitpicks Bilbo Baggins’ pleasantries:

“Good morning!” said Bilbo, and he meant it. The sun was shining, and the grass was very green. But Gandalf looked at him from under long bushy eyebrows that stuck out further than the brim of his shady hat.

“What do you mean?” he said. “Do you wish me a good morning, or mean that it is a good morning whether I want it or not; or that you feel good this morning; or that it is a morning to be good on?”

“All of them at once,” said Bilbo. “And a very fine morning for a pipe of tobacco out of doors, into the bargain. If you have a pipe about you, sit down and have a fill of mine! There’s no hurry, we have all the day before us!” Then Bilbo sat down on a seat by his door, crossed his legs, and blew out a beautiful grey ring of smoke that sailed up into the air without breaking and floated away over The Hill.

It’s not that we should view Gandalf’s playful questioning of the convention as out of bounds. In fact, it’s part and parcel of a Socratic dialectic. But we could all use more of Bilbo’s cheery openness to conversation. He is here the paragon of hospitality, and it is his very politeness that opens him up to adventure. The first step out your door and into the adventure of a true conversation can be the most important.

Journeying on in the Play of Words

The art of conversation must begin somewhere and mastering the basics of cultural conventions is a suitable training for even the very young. But that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a danger represented by hiding under the conventions of politeness. As our psychologist states,

“The pity is that so many conversations end right there. Yet when words are well chosen, well arranged, they generate gratifying experiences for the listener. It is not for utilitarian reasons alone that breadth of vocabulary and verbal fluency are among the most important qualifications for success as a business executive. Talking well enriches every interaction, and it is a skill that can be learned by everyone.” (130)

The move of turning conversation into a learnable skill puts it back in the realm of education, where it ought to have stayed. Of course, it is useful in preparing the future “business executive,” but it also simply enriches life to be able to carry on a deep conversation with a few friends. In fact, even if it had no utility in the workplace, such a skill would be invaluable to the one who attained it, a veritable Garden of Eden.

As a matter of course, though, conversations with other people are an endless source of learning throughout life. The British educator Charlotte Mason tells the story of how Sir Walter Scott found himself sitting on the coach with a man, whom he could not get talking for anything. After “a score of openings” that were unsuccessful, he finally hit upon “bent leather,” and “then the talk went merrily for the man was a saddler” (vol. 6 Toward a Philosophy of Education p. 261). Everyone has something interesting and useful to share, if you know how to ask the right questions.

Each conversation can be an adventure, when we view it as a quest in search of what the other has to share. If we are open and hospitable like Bilbo, we never know where the road of conversation will lead.

But how do we train our children in the dialectical art of conversation?

Training Children in the Play of Words

Conversation skills don’t often appear on the lists of educational standards. At least, I’ve never seen it there. And it must be admitted that it’s hard to test objectively whether a student has sufficiently mastered a verbal sense of humor to pass grade level.

But classical educators and home educators can embrace such qualitative goals, even without penalizing students who are naturally more obtuse. It’s worth asking whether, just because an educational goal is not easily testable, and may be nearly impossible for some students to ‘master’, it should be abandoned as a legitimate pursuit. The play of words is one of those legitimate pursuits of the humanities that deserves a place on our radar screens, if not our standards lists.

The first way to train students in the play of words is the class discussion. Home educators will probably have to play Socrates a little more. But teachers can simply open up discussion between students and give them lots of practice discussing in a variety of subjects and contexts. How this will differ from the conventional class discussion can be left to the imagination and skillfulness of both teacher and students. The main shift is in viewing the goal as not simply the “mastery of content” but the development of sub-skills in the subtle art of conversation. Listening well to others, interacting with previous comments, disagreeing confidently yet respectfully, and covering over it all with a playfulness in language and thought that makes the conversation sparkle—these are all ideals that can be sown and sub-skills that can be practiced.

The second way is more akin to the teacher playing the role of Socrates, or Gandalf, if you prefer. Having practiced this one religiously since my youth, and not only in my teaching, I was tickled to see Csikszentmihalyi endorse it publicly in his book. For some years I have called it deliberate misunderstanding. Here is how he describes it:

“One way to teach children the potential of words is by starting to expose them to wordplay quite early. Puns and double meanings may be the lowest form of humor for sophisticated adults, but they provide children with a good training ground in the control of language. All one has to do is pay attention during a conversation with a child, and as soon as the opportunity presents itself—that is, whenever an innocent word or expression can be interpreted in an alternative way—one switches frames, and pretends to understand the word in that different sense.” (130)

One of the assumptions I must contend with in the paragraph above is the assumption that “puns and double meanings” are “the lowest form of humor for sophisticated adults.” My high school English and Latin teacher taught me quite the opposite, that puns were the very finest form of humor. And if one thinks for a moment of the other types of humor that are common in conversation, my high school teacher has a leg up on our psychologist or whomever he got such disparagement from. But we digress….

The pretense of misunderstanding creates the shock factor for the listener that alerts them to the possibilities and ambiguities of their words and expressions. There is no easier or more natural way to “teach” the play of words, than to play with a child’s own words in her very presence. Its power lies in shocking them out of the complacency of conventional communication:

“In fact, breaking the ordered expectations about the meaning of words can be mildly traumatic at first, but in no time at all children catch on and give as good as they are getting, learning to twist conversation into pretzels. By dong so they learn how to enjoy controlling words; as adults, they might help revive the lost art of conversation.” (130)

This need not wait until some supposed “logic phase”; young children love a good pun, riddle or dad joke. But it does reach new levels of sophistication with witty older students. Some of my most enjoyable teaching experiences are in the witty banter of a group of high school students, discussing a great book, at least ostensibly, but also playing with words and the thoughts and ideas that they represent. What students are really doing with some (at least) of their side comments and rabbit trails is connecting the experiences of the difficult texts we are reading with their own thoughts and experiences as budding young adults.

At least that is what I tell myself when we take a trip down digression lane….

One of the ways we have institutionalized the art of conversation or skill of dialectic at the school where I work is through a monthly practice we have called a colloquium (from the Latin word for a conversation or discussion). Our whole high school gathers together for an entire humanities class focused on a single conversation around a perennial question, like “What is truth?” or “Why is there so much pain and suffering in the world?” or “What is the best form of government?”

Like Socrates’ dialogues, there is no set text or “curriculum”; the discussion is the curriculum, and the leader’s goal is the make sure the inquiry is genuine through putting up road blocks, countering sloppy thinking and in every way making things as hard as possible for the students. There are ground rules, but the colloquium includes much witty banter alongside the genuine inquiry. Sustaining an hour and a half to two hour long discussion on a single topic is an educational experience in itself. It’s also a highlight for many of our students.

Previous articles in this series, The Flow of Thought:

Part 1: Training the Attention for Happiness’ Sake; Part 2: The Joy of Memory; Part 3: Narration as Flow; Part 4: The Seven Liberal Arts as Mental Games

Future installments: Part 6: Becoming Amateur Historians; Part 7: Rediscovering Science as the Love of Wisdom; Part 8, Restoring the School of Philosophers, Part 9, The Lifelong Love of Learning.

What other ideas do you have for cultivating the lost art of conversation in our students? Share them in the comments!

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