I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious. ~Albert Einstein
I survived schooling with my curiosity intact probably because I found other things to think about most of the time. How do they get the lead inside of pencils? What is acoustic tile made of? The girl in the first row, second seat, I wonder what she is like? When a bird flies, does it feel like swimming? I was an expert daydreamer and took many mental field trips in school, and these sustained my interest despite the endless stream of unrelated and disconnected content that was junior and senior high school.
A handful of inspiring teachers punctuated my 16 years of formal and forgettable education from ages 5 to 21. Ms. Crabs taught me how to read Dr. Seuss in kindergarten. Mr. Mayer inspired an ordinary group of sixth graders to perform Shakespeare. Mr. Sogomonian converted our 8th grade social studies class every Friday into a simulation of the US court system complete with jury trials. Mr. Eberhart made us think about important things and love rigorous class discussions on life, love and literature. Each had an extraordinary impact on me for the relatively short amount of time I spent with them. And there were so few of them.
All shared a common gift: they somehow figured out how to leverage my curiosity and social proclivities — especially my competitiveness and need for approval — to get me to learn what they thought was important to teach. They turned a curriculum of answers into a curriculum of critically important questions that tapped into my curiosity and demanded answers.
To get through rest of my education (sadly, the vast majority of it), I learned the game of schooling, a largely social contest that I experienced as a competition for attention and approval. I wanted to win and be noticed. Mediocre teachers were smart enough to exploit those aspects of my personality to induce me to care about what they were teaching; and I did because I cared about what they thought about me (even if I didn’t care about the content) and I wanted the perks that came with being thought of as “a good student.” But that wasn’t really learning; I was being socialized to accept extrinsic rewards instead of intrinsic ones. I learned that curiosity and true inquiry was a thing that could only be pursued outside of the classroom.
Outside the classroom I was in charge, and there my curiosity blossomed. I educated myself for the most part, taking advantage of the people and places around me, limited as they might have been. In the late 50’s I learned how to catch halibut from the blind couple that fished every day on Southern California’s Balboa pier. In the early sixties I learned leadership and the value of hard work from my high school football coach. In the late sixties I volunteered as an English teacher in Hong Kong and learned how big the world is and how small I was in it. In the seventies I learned how to start and run a business when my pop band published a record. These types of experiences fueled my desire to learn and know.
Effective teachers seem to understand what is really important to each learner. They find what kindles a particular child’s curiosity and then leverage it to unleash and fan the flame of motivation in each individual. They concoct a unique brew of conditions that help each child discover who she is and what she wants to accomplish. However, the holy grail of teaching, I think, is to inspire, provoke and nurture the fire to learn in each child, and I keep wondering what good teachers could do if the learners were driving and the teachers had an entirely different context for learning. And that, of course, is the work that this blog is all about.
Again, in Einstein’s words: The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality.
Children are born curious. It is our job, all of us — the families and adults who are responsible for guiding children into adulthood — to ensure that the flame is not extinguished.
It is in fact nothing short of a miracle that the modern methods of instruction have not yet entirely strangled the holy curiosity of inquiry; for what this delicate little plant needs more than anything, besides stimulation, is freedom. It is a very grave mistake to think that the enjoyment of seeing and searching can be promoted by means of coercion and a sense of duty. ~ Albert Einstein
In my next essay, I’ll take up the costs of distrust and why freedom must be learned and practiced in education.
On curiosity (with help from Albert) February 2, 2008
Posted by sjubb in Commentary, Ideas and Reflections.add a comment
I have no special talents. I am only passionately curious. ~Albert Einstein
I survived schooling with my curiosity intact probably because I found other things to think about most of the time. How do they get the lead inside of pencils? What is acoustic tile made of? The girl in the first row, second seat, I wonder what she is like? When a bird flies, does it feel like swimming? I was an expert daydreamer and took many mental field trips in school, and these sustained my interest despite the endless stream of unrelated and disconnected content that was junior and senior high school.
A handful of inspiring teachers punctuated my 16 years of formal and forgettable education from ages 5 to 21. Ms. Crabs taught me how to read Dr. Seuss in kindergarten. Mr. Mayer inspired an ordinary group of sixth graders to perform Shakespeare. Mr. Sogomonian converted our 8th grade social studies class every Friday into a simulation of the US court system complete with jury trials. Mr. Eberhart made us think about important things and love rigorous class discussions on life, love and literature. Each had an extraordinary impact on me for the relatively short amount of time I spent with them. And there were so few of them.
All shared a common gift: they somehow figured out how to leverage my curiosity and social proclivities — especially my competitiveness and need for approval — to get me to learn what they thought was important to teach. They turned a curriculum of answers into a curriculum of critically important questions that tapped into my curiosity and demanded answers.
To get through rest of my education (sadly, the vast majority of it), I learned the game of schooling, a largely social contest that I experienced as a competition for attention and approval. I wanted to win and be noticed. Mediocre teachers were smart enough to exploit those aspects of my personality to induce me to care about what they were teaching; and I did because I cared about what they thought about me (even if I didn’t care about the content) and I wanted the perks that came with being thought of as “a good student.” But that wasn’t really learning; I was being socialized to accept extrinsic rewards instead of intrinsic ones. I learned that curiosity and true inquiry was a thing that could only be pursued outside of the classroom.
Outside the classroom I was in charge, and there my curiosity blossomed. I educated myself for the most part, taking advantage of the people and places around me, limited as they might have been. In the late 50’s I learned how to catch halibut from the blind couple that fished every day on Southern California’s Balboa pier. In the early sixties I learned leadership and the value of hard work from my high school football coach. In the late sixties I volunteered as an English teacher in Hong Kong and learned how big the world is and how small I was in it. In the seventies I learned how to start and run a business when my pop band published a record. These types of experiences fueled my desire to learn and know.
Effective teachers seem to understand what is really important to each learner. They find what kindles a particular child’s curiosity and then leverage it to unleash and fan the flame of motivation in each individual. They concoct a unique brew of conditions that help each child discover who she is and what she wants to accomplish. However, the holy grail of teaching, I think, is to inspire, provoke and nurture the fire to learn in each child, and I keep wondering what good teachers could do if the learners were driving and the teachers had an entirely different context for learning. And that, of course, is the work that this blog is all about.
Again, in Einstein’s words: The important thing is not to stop questioning. Curiosity has its own reason for existing. One cannot help but be in awe when he contemplates the mysteries of eternity, of life, of the marvelous structure of reality.
Children are born curious. It is our job, all of us — the families and adults who are responsible for guiding children into adulthood — to ensure that the flame is not extinguished.
It is in fact nothing short of a miracle that the modern methods of instruction have not yet entirely strangled the holy curiosity of inquiry; for what this delicate little plant needs more than anything, besides stimulation, is freedom. It is a very grave mistake to think that the enjoyment of seeing and searching can be promoted by means of coercion and a sense of duty. ~ Albert Einstein
In my next essay, I’ll take up the costs of distrust and why freedom must be learned and practiced in education.