O Tempora, O Morons

“Growing old is mandatory; growing up is optional.”

~ Chili Davis

 

I was spending some time with a good friend in Chapters yesterday, browsing through the Kids’ Fiction section – the kind of stories written for children of nine to twelve years.  I discovered a couple of books from my youth that she had also read, and we stood there with Watership Down and Tuck Everlasting and began to reminisce about how profound these books were, and how they dealt with such powerful issues, introducing us to the ideas of tyranny and freedom, reason and blind emotion, the folly of seeking immortality, and so on.  Then we looked at a random selection of the latest in kids’ fiction and found them wanting, compilations of insubstantial fluff bound together and called a novel, that explored nothing of worth and catered only to the whimsical fancies of a new generation.

 

This led the conversation to a discussion of the maturity of our students (my friend is a children’s pastor).  We came to the conclusion that, far from growing up too fast, they aren’t taking the time to grow up at all; while they are exposed to mature themes in modern society – sex, drugs, violence, and so on – they are not developing the maturity to handle it.  The apparent truth of this conclusion came when we talked of decades past, when children were expected to follow in the trade of their parents, when they were educated with what they needed to know to make a decent living and struck out to make a life of their own by the age of fifteen (if not sooner).

 

Certainly, it was a harder life in those times – but a person of eighteen years in that era was an adult, fully independent and mature; a person of eighteen years now is still a child, barely possessing the wherewithal to make wise decisions, let alone build a life for themselves.  Despite the tongue-in-cheek title of this reflection, I don’t think it’s an issue of intelligence but one of preparedness.  Students today are simply not being prepared to become adults; they are coddled and pampered and given choices that they have not earned, and it is ruining their youth.  This is a time that ought to be spent building wisdom, discipline, honor, charity, and a host of other virtues – and instead it is squandered in the pursuit of frivolities that are, ultimately, meaningless.

 

Yes, I know, there are exceptions.  But they make these observations more poignant for the contrast.

 

So what does all this have to do with teaching science?  It is making me question the point of all that we teach in high school science.  The curriculum is content-driven, and while different methods can be used to make it interesting and engaging and fun, I question why we are teaching it at all.  Only a fraction of those who take science classes will remember what they have learned even a year after graduation; of those, another mere fraction will actually put what they have learned to use in further education and industry.  What is the point of making the science curriculum so content-driven when most of the content will be forgotten?

 

The quandary I have is this:  I love science.  I find it fascinating and I enjoy teaching the subject of my fascination to others.  But I would gladly abandon it in favor of teaching students that life doesn’t revolve around them; that they are a spoiled, selfish generation; that if society is ever to rise out of the murk and mire of our times, they just have to grow up.  That’s what they need to learn.  And I just don’t see how teaching science can get them there – it contains a great deal of information, but very little about life.

 

(I really miss teaching life skills to homeless ex-convicts right now.)

 

My only consolation at this point is that the teaching of science will inevitably lead to strong relationships with certain students as the years go by, built upon a shared love of the subject.  Through these relationships I hope to be able to influence and shape these individuals, to help them grow in maturity and wisdom, and to become the people that the world needs.  I have to hold on to the belief that even if there aren’t many good people in the universe, you only need a few.

 

Until I find a way to integrate science and the larger issues of life, science will always take second place to teaching that which is really important.

No Identity

Nan-in, a Japanese master during the Meiji era (1868-1912) received a university professor who came to inquire about Zen.  Nan-in served tea. H e poured his visitor’s cup full, and then kept on pouring. 

The professor watched the cup overflow until he could not longer restrain himself.  “It’s too full. No more will go in!” 

“Like this cup,” Nan-in replied, “you are too full.  Empty your cup!”

 

While discussing our identities as teachers in one of my seminars, I found myself answering many of the questions in a passive manner, almost non-answers.  I do not have a role model for a good classroom teacher, so that I can better find my own way to teach; I do not claim to know when I know something so that I am always open to correction; I do not have a picture of a good learner in my mind so that I don’t limit other students who do not fit my picture.  It seems a negative or contradictory way of dealing with these interesting questions and I feel the need to clarify.

 

The Japanese have a concept called Mu, which means “emptiness.”  It is used in Zen Buddhism to express ideas such as “no self,” “no ego,” “no permanence,” and so on.  At any rate, the concept behind Mu is to become empty of self, allowing you to actively take in whatever circumstances might come along without any concept of self-identity or ego to get in the way.

 

The thing about identity is that it inherently creates division; the more unique you try to be, the more differences you create between yourself and those around you.  It is only through division that one gains an individual identity.

 

I guess I’m on a journey to experience Mu, to transcend the dualistic distinctions between good and evil, gain and loss, self and other.  This may be largely a spiritual or mystical journey, but it also has practical value – if I seek to have “no self,” there will be nothing to stop me from accepting everyone without judgment; if I seek to have “no ego,” I will not attempt to impose my ideals on others.

 

As teachers, we are commanded to teach specific content to our students, and I intend to do so.  But first and foremost, my responsibility is not to teach content but to empower minds, showing students not what to think but how to think, to help them realize their own potential, to teach them how to inquire into and clarify themselves.  I do not shape my students; I empower them to take the shape they were meant to take.  And to do this, I cannot judge; I must allow them the freedom to become fully themselves, even if what they are destined to become is different from my concept of ideal.

 

I must have no identity so that my students can find theirs.

One Thing

“The one thing that matters is the effort.  It continues, whereas the end to be attained is but an illusion of the climber, as he fares on and on from crest to crest; and once the goal is reached it has no meaning.”

~ Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

High school curriculum, as dictated by the various programs of study – the government documents that define what must be taught and learned – is not as intimidating as I originally thought it would be.  With planning and imagination, it appears possible to achieve all of the requirements of the curriculum and still provide students with enough time for the process of true learning to take place, learning that will continue to serve the student long after they have graduated and are well into their adult lives.

 

Despite this, however, there seems to be a persistent idea among teachers that the Alberta Education vision statement is an unattainable ideal.  At seven pages, it is a lengthy document as far as vision statements go.  It talks of meeting students’ needs for physical, social, cultural, and psychological security; of engaging parents as well as students in purposeful and meaningful approaches to studies; of contributing to the quality of the school and the community; of preparing students to be productive members of society through careful attention to each individual student.  All this, of course, while teaching the substantial content necessary for students to pass their Grade 12 Diploma Exams. 

 

It is such a grand vision that many view it to be something that looks good on paper but is impossible in practice, a goal that cannot be achieved.  This idea could very well be true.  Meeting the lofty ideals of this vision might be impossible – and that, in my opinion, is a very good thing.  I believe that the best kind of goal is an unattainable one, precisely because it is impossible to attain what is being sought.

 

The problem with goals is that, once they are achieved, people tend to get complacent about them; what was sought has been attained and can now be comfortably forgotten. To have an unattainable goal changes this completely.  It eliminates those who do not have the fortitude to strive for the impossible, leaving only those with a passion for the work in and of itself.  It lessens division and promotes unity, as each individual realizes that there is no longer any need to compete with others on the same path; the self can be forgotten for the sake of harmony among peers.  It abolishes any limitations on expression, since there is no guaranteed way of reaching the goal and thus no guaranteed methods to achieve it, leaving each person free to walk the path in their own way.

 

Perhaps the best part is that any effort that a person puts into striving for the impossible goal is no longer the means to an end.  The end doesn’t really exist.  So the means – the effort itself – becomes everything.  And when the effort is everything, I can pour all of myself into it, purely for the sake of doing a good job.  With an unattainable goal, there is no sense of frustration if it doesn’t work and no sense of personal achievement or entitlement if it does.  There is only the effort itself – and in the end, that’s the one thing that really matters.

A New Direction

“The object of a new year is not that we should have a new year.  It is that we should have a new soul.

~ G. K. Chesterton

 

It’s been a long time since my last entry, and a great deal has changed since then.  I returned to University at the start of this year to get my Bachelor’s in Education with the goal of eventually becoming a high school science teacher, leaving my old job behind – a transition from teacher to student only to become a teacher again.  It’s a very exciting time.

 

My experiences involve both a practicum in a nearby high school and classroom work.  The latter includes the writing of weekly reflective journals that, having submitted four of them, I’ve realized are extensions of my entries here.  They are simply given a different focus – the application of my past understandings in the latest chapter of my life.

 

As I seek to apply what I believe to be true in this new field of experience, it will undoubtedly solidify some ideas while requiring the adaptation of others – an essential part of the search for purpose, perfection, and Truth.  To that end, my journals will provide the content for the entries that follow.