In 2004, I spent a week at the Fetzer Institute in Kalamazoo, Michigan, thanks to the generosity of the Sisters of Chariry (RSC). While there, I caught up with a dear friend made new friends who I soon recognised as kindred spirits. On different levels the time was rich and rewarding.
In one of our last sessions, Joel Elkers, a retired professor Johns Hopkins spoke briefly. He spoke of losing his family in the holocaust while he was overseas, studying to be a doctor. He said that he had learned that “If the darkness is coming, we will all need to learn how to garden in the dark”. These words were so obviously profound that they were met with silence and reverence.
Over the years, I have randomly recalled these words and pondered their meaning, always thinking that I was missing something. Covid19 and the unraveling that accompanied it has been like “darkness descending“ for much of the world. In recent weeks I have become aware that many people I know, have taken to gardening with the opportunity this uncluttered time has given them. This in turn, has pointed me to reflect further.
In the richly blessed land of Australia, forewarning, shutdown and isolation meant that we “dodged a bullet” and did not suffer Covid19 like Italy, Spain, New York and many other places. The current challenge is to recognise this with ongoing gratitude. They danger is that we think that it wasn’t a big deal after all.
It is awesome to think of the enormity of what could have so easily happened and appreciate that it did not happen. To be honest, I remain “in the dark” regarding the true immensity of this.
My grandson is right, “we Never stop learning”. At this point the question pressing us is how do we put our new learnings, and perspectives, to good use? The greater good has been waiting for us and the right moment. What is being revealed needs us to be present and to participate. We cannot, must not, underestimate this.
My grandson, who will turn four in a couple of months, impressed me with something he had learned to do. I expressed my delight and he told me, quite seriously, “Papa did you know that you NEVER stop learning?” “Yes, I know that. I am still learning new things all the time”, I replied.
Pondering this, a memory surfaced from 1998 and my sabbatical in Turkey. It was just before three in the afternoon. I was wandering the streets, looking, smelling aromas, marvelling at ancient buildings and streets of the Sultan Ahmet district in Istanbul. It was relatively quiet. I was becoming quite adept at avoiding carpet sellers, but I looked up at a man standing in a doorway.
“You are a teacher”, he said more as a statement than as a question. “I beg your pardon?”, I responded. “You are a teacher”, he said again. “How did you know?”, I asked.
He answered that “Many people come for souvenirs or to take photos. Some people come to see things. But teachers are always learning something”. He continued, “I watched you walk up the street and I could see that you are learning, trying to understand”. I hadn’t realised this until he spoke. I was so absorbed in the wonder of these ancient streets and I was lost in curiosity. In fact, I was so distracted by my curiosity that I really didn’t know exactly where I was.
We spoke for about twenty minutes or so. We drank tea and I asked him how to get back to my motel because I wasn’t sure exactly where I was. He laughed and said, “Only a good teacher isn’t afraid of getting lost when learning something”. He pointed me home and we parted. In the years since, I have delighted in watching my students lose themselves when absorbed by ideas. The carper seller taught me that my role was not to provide the answer, but make it safe for them to get lost in the wonder of learning.
As the Buddha taught, when the student is ready, the teacher will appear. This thought is fascinating when held with my grandson’s assertion that we never stop learning. Whether it’s a carpet seller in a far off land, a good book, an interaction, or three months of COVID isolation, the teacher appears. We just may have learned something worth learning in the process.
I have long been fascinated with the writings of the first century Middle Eastern tent maker, Paul of Tarsus. I find much of his writing thought provoking, regardless of how often I have pondered it. It contains sage advice and gives me inspiration when working with others. One passage I have been pondering recently keeps me thinking,
“… whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things.” (Philippians 4:8)
Formation is the ongoing process of reflecting on our life, our work and the context in which we find ourselves. This is necessary in order to appreciate the dignity of our work, and to encourage us to appreciate the gift and value of that which is ours to do. In the process, we are nourished and sustained.
When engaging in formation with others, leading them to reflect on their work in the world, I always finish by reminding them that using their gifts and talents faithfully, is noble and honourable.
It’s easy to be cynical, and negativity is insidiously seductive in uncertain and ambiguous times. Intentionally focusing on what is true, noble, right, pure, lovely and admirable is a healthier alternative. Paul was on to something.
One of the key features of Martin Seligman’ brilliant work in Positive Psychology centres around the questions of how and why, when something bad happens it causes, some people to be desolated and other people to flourish. He sought to explore what exactly it was in the response of those who flourished, that caused them to flourish. Seligman wondered about the possibility that anyone could learn from those who flourish, and practice what is learnt to enhance their resilience and quality of life.
There is a refreshing logic to this. It echoes back to the ancient philosopher, Epictetus. He thought that it was not our problems that were our problem. He insisted that our problem was in how we thought about, and responded to, our problems. I found the best evidence for this in the writings of Victor Frankl who emerged from a Nazi concentration camp at the end of Word War 2 as something much more than a survivor. (I first read Frankl’s, “Man’s Search for Meaning” in my final year of high school and I continue to find it insightful, profound, enlightening and encouraging).
How we respond matters. It shapes us. In turn, we shape our future.
It has been refreshing to see the generosity of spirit emerge is so many people in recent weeks. There have been other responses that disappoint and embarrass but the responses of compassion, thoughtfulness and looking out for others – especially the vulnerable, matter most.
What I have learnt from my Formation work is that Seligman’s intuition was correct. Everyone can respond to adversity and flourish. For some it comes naturally. For most of us it requires intentionality and effort. We begin by making a choice.
Ever suffered from jet-lag? I have. It leaves me depleted, disoriented and out of synch. The older I get, the longer it seems to take to get over it. My late friend and correspondent, Fr Ed Hays once wrote that we moved so constantly and fast that we suffered “Soul-Lag”. He was right. As a result I have made an effort, only sometimes successfully, to simply slow down and be still when I could.
Likewise, Nietzsche wrote in “Schopenhauer as Educator” (1873) that “it is something to be able to raise our heads but for a moment and see the stream in which we are sunk so deep. We cannot gain even this transitory moment of awakening by our own strength; we must be lifted up”.
These ideas of “Soul-Lag” and “raising our heads for a moment to see” lie at the heart of my formation work with so many good people who go about doing a very good job planting seeds and shaping the future. These perspectives also explain the phenomenon of the moment we find ourselves in.
Raising our heads, we see some things that we have become, we don’t like. We also see acts of kindness, generosity, self-giving and humour.
As the wave that is moving across the world is giving us time and space to slow down and be still, it offers us the chance for the soul to catch up with us and shed its light on what we see and what we can be.
I’m backing kindness, generosity, self-giving, humour and community.
I love to daily walk my neighbourhood with my youngest grandson in his stroller.
I live on a mountaintop and as I walk, I pass the entrance to a rain-forest and then look down the slopes to the coast and out to sea. One of the reasons I like to walk this walk is that I can’t help but be grateful. I have much to be grateful for: a safe and beautiful place in which to live, the closeness of my family, and the wealth of free time just to be with my grandchildren. These things are the most obvious to me, but there is much more that flows when I “count my blessings”.
From this vantage point I notice things and I am intrigued by them. For example, Nietzsche in “Schopenhauer as Educator” (1873) wrote:
“…if the future gave us no hope for anything--our own existence now must encourage us most strongly to live according to our own laws and standards: it is an inexplicable fact that we live precisely today, and had an infinite time to develop--nevertheless, we possess only a short-lived today to show why and to what end we evolved”
Crises and dysfunction in the environment, politics and a fragmented world easily deceive us into thinking that there is no hope – but there is hope. It comes down to us. That is why Nietzsche encourages us to “most strongly” live by our best lights. After all, we only ever have a “short-lived today”.
There is hope for the future. It is us. Our thoughts, words and actions - how “we live precisely today”, is all the evidence our children and grandchildren need.
“For every complex problem, there’s a simple solution, and it’s always wrong”.
While it’s been a long time since the columnist H. L. Mencken made this observation, it rings true today, particularly when it comes to the endeavour of education.
The recent PISA results regarding student achievement have provoked some comment and debate but nothing much will come of it all. There are two reasons for this. Firstly, it’s late in the year and attention is shifting to Christmas, holidays and the New Year, not to mention bushfires and matters of economy. By the new year, something else will surface for immediate attention. Secondly, education is complex.
In response to the PISA results some rightly point to the place, status, pay and expertise of teachers. Others have commented on the curriculum, NAPLAN testing, technology and Gonski. These are all matters of importance. They need to be addressed but ultimately they miss the point.
The solution to unlocking and encouraging good education is relationship. In fact the ecology of relationships needs to be understood. Otherwise any reform will only continue to do damage.
In the classroom the relationship between teacher, student and subject is what matters. It determines the outcomes. Understanding this and what affects it is crucial.
Too many people who think they know what should be taught, and how it should be taught, have undue influence on the curriculum. Whether they be politicians, business people, commentators or academics, if they aren’t teachers, they need to listen and hesitate to speak. Only the professionals in the classroom have real understanding of student learning. I can’t remember any educational reform being driven by teachers, let alone teachers being seriously listened to.
Educational bureaucracy can too easily undermine teachers work before they enter the classroom. Bureaucrats need to be in the service of education. To be in the service of facilitating learning, enabling, supporting, encouraging and recognising good teaching would be a wonderful thing. Too much bureaucracy is in the service of bureaucracy and bureaucrats.
Teachers are they key to good education. They need to be better compensated. This is not simply about pay scales. Too many teachers are too overloaded too much of the time. Teachers work needs to be de-intensified, uncluttered and unencumbered. Teaching is demanding. Most teachers love their work and care for their students. Preparation, planning, marking, reporting and co-curricula activities are only the top of the iceberg for teachers. While these things are out of sight, their effect on teachers needs to be front of mind when reforming teaching.
Too many important decision makers and influencers either have no real understanding of the classroom or they are refugees from the classroom.
Teaching is a calling. Most people don’t become teachers because they are not cut out for it. Teachers have gifts that fit their calling to teach. Teaching is not a just job, it affects students lives for a lifetime. The work is good, noble and honourable as are most of the teachers I have worked with across the country and all over the world.
“The plain fact is that the planet does not need more successful people. But it does desperately need more peacemakers, healers, restorers, storytellers, and lovers of every kind. It needs people who live well in their places. It needs people of moral courage willing to join the fight to make the world habitable and humane. And these qualities have little to do with success as we have defined it.”
― David W. Orr, Ecological Literacy: Educating Our Children for a Sustainable World
re to edit.
About 10 years ago a friend showed me the brainpickings website (www.brainpickings.org) . I must admit that I don’t always get time to read the weekly offerings, but whenever I do I am rewarded. Sometimes I learn something new. Often I am made to think and regularly, I stand back and ponder the awesomeness of an insight.
Today I read the most wonderful quote from Henry Miller, who when writing of the wonder and mystery of the universe wrote, “that we can know so much, recognize so much, dissect, do everything, and we can’t grasp it.”
The website’s author, Maria Popova went on to say, “Paradoxically enough, the fragment of the universe we seem least equipped to grasp is the truth of who we ourselves are. Who are we, really, when we silence the ego’s shrill commands about who we should be, and simply listen to the song of life as it sings itself through us?”
”Listening to the song of life as it sings itself through us” is what Formation is all about. ,
I have aspired to good work. I realised early on that in doing so, I was at my happiest. I need my work to have value, meaning, purpose and some sense of accomplishment. When this happens, I feel at my best. It affirms my talents and competence, and my creativity flows. At times, I have had work that lacked these things and I have found myself below par, restless and generally unhappy.
Whenever I have had conversations about this, anywhere in the world, I have found that this is something that resonates profoundly with others.
This human phenomenon seems simple enough, but it is not. The connection we make between work and happiness can be complex and confusing. Anyone who has striven for, and abstained, “the dream job” knows how quickly the “shine” can fade when the daily reality sets in.
Regardless of which job I had, wrestling with this has been the real “work of my life”. Along the way, I have come to appreciate two key questions. I first remember these being my mother’s constant refrain in my childhood and adolescence. At the time, I had no understanding of their deep and lasting philosophical significance. These questions are touchstones to which I keep returning. They are crucial to wrestling with the mystery of work, happiness, meaning, purpose, identity and more.
I hear these questions as clearly within, as clearly as a child I heard my mother’s voice:
Making time to reflect and wrestle with these questions has resulted in finding work that I have loved. For the last twenty years, I have been lucky to share this quest with others across Australia, New Zealand, Singapore, the USA and the UK.
I think I am on to something.
My viewpoint is simply my view from a point. As I look back from this point, I notice something. It’s a recurring pattern of Toms.
My first influential teacher was named Tom. He was an Irish priest and he was tough. However, when he spoke, I was sure he was speaking directly to me. There was something about his gaze as he spoke to the class. I felt seen and known by his words, and his silence. Back then, class sizes were between fifty and sixty. Looking back, I am impressed. He taught me for at least one class in each of my high school years.
When I finished school, I got a job a thousand miles away from home. Not long after starting my new life, I was told that Tom was no longer teaching but working in a parish in my new town. I went to see him and we became friends. We kept in touch, on and off, and I was glad to introduce him to my own children. At the time I wasn’t conscious how important it was for me to have him see that I was a good husband and father.
Now that I am no longer daily working as a teacher, it has dawned on me how significant it was for me, as a teacher, to let each student, in each and every one of my classes, know that they were seen and known by me.
In 1971, I was sixteen and lost in uncertainty and ambiguity. Tom sensed something in my adolescent angst and gave me a book, “No Man is an Island” by Thomas Merton. I wasn’t much of a reader, but I couldn’t put the book down and I have come back to it many times since. This Tom (Merton) has been a touchstone to which I have returned constantly in the almost fifty years since our first encounter. On each occasion, I am often struck by how timely and appropriate his wisdom is in my own particular time, place and circumstance. I used to marvel at the wonder of this. These days I simply appreciate the gift.
About twenty years ago another Tom entered my life. A friend gave be the recording of a talk he had given at a conference and thought I would appreciate it. I did. I had previously read something by Tom Zanzig, so I was aware of him and his writing. At a time when the internet and email was just becoming a ‘thing’, I decided to email his publisher and ask for his contact details in case he was interested in a conversation around some of my many questions. As it turned out he was the Senior Editor at that publishing company and he emailed me back the following morning keen to dialogue. (He thought I was someone else, but that is another story).
We quickly discovered that we had many things in common. We became friends and I felt I had found a brother. As well as dialogue about meaning and purpose, we spent a lot of time sharing our amazingly similar struggles with parenting. We have spent many hours in conversation pondering “matters of great importance” over the years, and my life is much richer for his generosity, wisdom and friendship.
It’s almost a year since the fourth influential Tom has entered my life. He is my youngest grandson. I am fortunate to live close by and see him daily. I love his daily reminders that “awe and wonder” are everywhere. I am lucky to have a constant prodding to be curious about everything. Most of all I love the way that his first response to everything is to smile. I want to be more like that!
Four Toms, a coincidence? Or a recurring thread indicating the significance, and the blessing, of having a mentor, an inspiration, a friend, a companion and a reminder to smile. These are the good ingredients for lifelong learning.