I am not Siddhartha

…one can learn nothing.  There is, so I believe, in the essence of everything, something that we cannot call learning.  There is, my friend, only a knowledge – that is everywhere, that is Atman, that is in me and you and in every creature, and I am beginning to believe that this knowledge has no worse enemy than the man of knowledge, than learning. Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse

I am re-reading Siddhartha; it’s been about 20 years since I’ve read it.  It’s an entirely different book, now.  It’s hard to believe I’ve read it before.

The quote is something which has been rattling around in my brain for over a week, now.  When I read it, my reaction was such that I’m surprised I have a brain left.

Learning is the enemy of knowledge?  Really? What god-forsaken person would even contemplate writing that?

I put the book down for a couple of hours, did some Reality Level 13 things (shopping, dishes, cleaned a litter box or two), then sat down with a pen and paper for a little Reality Level 1.  What came out of the R.1 time was this: I am not Siddhartha;  Siddhartha was not human;  Hermann Hesse had guts.

I guess I now know where I am in my reincarnation cycle….  Huh.

Okay, so this is where I am.  I acknowledge there is a Knowledge which I will not attain in this lifetime.  I acknowledge there are people who have a better understanding of this Knowledge than I do.  I acknowledge… ah, to hell with it.  Forget Hesse and Siddhartha: learning is breathing.  All Atman really wants is a book, and to listen to people talk.  Trust me.

Salaam, Walaikum, and Bob

It’s triplets!

Salaam and Walaikum have been joined by “Bob”, who is in Walaikum’s class.  He arrived last week, and happily greeted the other two with a non-commital grunt (but it seems unkind to address him as “urgh”).   Having all three in the same class is working out beautifully; they each have different strengths, and they seem to realise this.  When they stopped working on the essays and asking questions, and started discussing the literature, I just sat back and watched.  When they looked like they were getting stuck, I threw in a thought or a question, and they started right up again.

I was particularly proud of Salaam, who is nowhere near as articulate as Walaikum or Bob, yet held his own in the discussion.  (There may be something to say for having same age/same sex classrooms, in that the weaker ones may feel more comfortable and therefore learn more through participating… may the deities of alternative education forgive me.)

What fascinated me about the last discussion was when they were trying to decide which characters from which texts they would compare in their essays.  They’ve been given Lord of the Flies, Macbeth, and Death of a Salesman, and must discuss the personal demons of the characters.  Walaikum went first, deciding on Jack, Macbeth and Willy Loman, and how their personal demons are their undoing.  After a moment silence, Bob noted he probably wouldn’t do that, because Jack doesn’t have any personal demons left unconquered, and he doesn’t come undone.  Salaam agreed, citing Jack’s stereotypical character towards the end of the novel.  Walaikum blushed; he didn’t defend his position, nor did he admit a change of mind.  Instead, he blustered something about being wrong once again, and “okay, are you guys happy now?”

Ode magazine published an article called In Praise of Failure in their October issue; it articulated my general thoughts about failure.  Don’t get me wrong: I’m not fond of making mistakes, but there is something truly absurd in assuming one should never make an error, particularly with something so whimsical as English literature.  If you recall,  Walaikum has an entirely acceptable average (he’s up to a 93% in English).  I’m toying with the idea of giving him a copy of the essay, despite what it may do to his ego.

I wait impatiently for the triplets’ time slot, now.

The End

My family recycles magazines: it saves us from having several people buy the same subscription and filling the dumps with things which are theoretically recycled.  I like it when Macleans comes ’round, because I like to read most of the articles but am glad I didn’t pay for Scott Feschuk.

The first thing I read in Macleans is The End.  The column’s titles amuses me, of course, but I like reading about normal people.  I’ve never been able to wrap my mind around celebrity magazines and TV shows about the thinnest and best-dressed people in North America; people-watching on Yonge Street is much more educational.  I would rather the fattest and the who-cares-how-they’re-dressed were given the journalists’ time and attention.  I expect normal people are generally more interesting than celebrities, anyway.

I also like The End because, I confess, death interests me as much as life does.  I don’t see my interest in death as something bizarre, nor do I see it as a sign I’ve been spending too much time with teenagers.  It is, after all, an inevitable part of life.

I like to think about how my life might be explained if I were a subject of The End.  On the other hand, perhaps I don’t want to know.

They have too much funding

I’ve been a little lax at keeping up with the unnecessaries, lately:  I just got around to reading this post on Guys Lit Wire this morning.  Once I recovered from the image of Sarah Palin, I was trying to think about how I felt about the idea of “blaming” someone for a child not reading.

Um, I cannot wrap my mind around blaming the mothers for reading to their children.

I cannot wrap my mind around blaming the fathers for teaching their sons the “manly arts”.

Were women not banned from advanced education for thousands of years?  Were men not responsible for writing and printing books?  Were the universities only opened to women about 150 years ago?

Wouldn’t one think there were perhaps a few more factors involved in defining the causes of a dislike of reading?

Doing religion, not listening to religion

I love listening.  I’d rather listen than talk; I’d rather listen than do just about anything other than read (an active form of listening).  I’m not too hot on active learning for myself.  Let me absorb for a while, and then I’ll try it out.

We’re preparing the Christmas Pageant with the church school.  Children who have not been seen since last summer’s party have shown up, because they want to take part.  Children who have not been seen since the fundraiser have shown up.  Children who have not been seen since the play performed last Easter have shown up.

Christ tried to point out the faults of passive religion; we’re trying to beat passive religion into our children.  Something is going wrong here.

Listening to stories and lectures may have some benefit.  I like the stories.  I like sermons.  The kids don’t like the sermons; they tolerate the stories.  Perhaps they’re not ready.  Perhaps religion needs to be practiced first, then explained, just like breathing, eating, sleeping.

Whole language

I’ve always taught English as a whole language, even before I knew the term.  It strikes me as utterly odd for anyone to even consider teaching a language from any other perspective.  No, not “strikes”, “pummels”.

I can see, perhaps, some people becoming interested in the linguistic aspects of a language after they have become fluent, but there is no logic in beginning a language that way.

Language is communication.  Language has nuances which cannot be put into a worksheet.  Language is entirely social: we don’t need language if there are no other people around.

Language does not make any sense in parts.  If one were to look at the process of walking, and break it down into a thousand muscle movements, and learn each of those muscle movements separately, how long would it take to learn to walk?  Would you ever learn to walk effectively, especially if you suddenly had to change one of those muscle movements just because you moved to a country where they turned their foot slightly out rather than in?

If you want a language which works well in parts try mathematics.

They want their kids to know it all…but not everything

One of the benefits to teaching over the Internet to China is I get to experience Chinese culture, even though I can’t travel.  Like any culture, there are good parts and bad.

As an alternative educator, it’s rough listening to the kids talk about being at school for 12 hours, coming home for dinner and my English class, and then doing another three hours of homework.  There are no elective courses in Chinese schools.  If you don’t get extremely good marks, you’re just ignored.  If you, god forbid, have a learning disability, then just forget about getting anywhere.

I’ve noticed the Chinese school system is also very limited in what is taught to the students.  Despite the insistence all children learn English so they can leave China, geography and history are only taught in the upper grades, and focus almost entirely on China (and they, oddly enough, leave out some 40 years of Chinese history).  Maths and physical sciences are pushed very hard, but natural sciences and the arts are not considered worthwhile.

What is getting to me this week is the selective learning the Chinese still practice.  One of my classes has six 10-12 year olds, all of whom are at least a high level 2.  As they’re now able to ask fluent questions, we are getting into topics the average North American child would be interested in at that age.  This week, we were discussing body art.  The kids were happy, and talking constantly about piercings, tattoos, make up, etc.; this is a subject which opens their little mouths.  However, by Tuesday, the parents were involved.  They didn’t want their children learning about this, because it didn’t have anything to do with English class.  And I wasn’t, even in passing, to refer to Chinese foot binding.  And, may I be struck dead by a large thunderbolt, what was I doing showing them Zits comics with that Pierce character in it?

I have this problem in North America, too, where a child is interested in something, so I teach it, and the parents expend their last breath telling me there was no need to enlighten their child on that subject.  In Canada, though, I feel justified in maintaining my stance: local historical ghost stories, for instance, are not something the average teenager will have problems with, especially if said teenager is the one who took the book out of the school library. In China, I’m not quite so sure where I stand.

In homeschooling my own children, I decided nothing was taboo.  If vampires are the interest, we study vampires.  If war is what is selling, we study war.  There are always ways of broaching a subject which keeps everyone in a comfortable place, yet allows the student to investigate something which is of interest.   Sex, for instance,  can start with a historical research project on which cultures wore underpants and corsets, and head into advertising.

It strikes me as counterproductive, this extensive list of things children aren’t supposed to learn.  If we make a big deal of it, the student will just become more intrigued.  If it’s an interest, use it to teach another skill; read about all the prostitutes and sparkly vampires you like; tell me what you think of people with 30 facial piercings; write a script for a kung-fu film.

As Roshan Seth’s character in My Beautiful Laundrette said, “We all must have knowledge if we’re to understand what is being done to whom in this country”.

A+ for effort

It’s that time of year where my students either sink or swim.  On average, they swim… with a floatie, of course.

Yesterday, one of my grade 12 students sat down in his chair and gave me the Cheshire Cat grin of the century.  He’s discovered how to make English interesting: he compared Abigail Williams to a condom, because she appears to be protective but she’s actually pretty unreliable; his I.S.U. explores prostitution in literature; his journal entry is a story about a couple attempting to conceive a child.  The other students were highly intrigued.  We may see a trend starting here….

A grade 9 student, who has never voluntarily read a book (and never actually read an entire book for school, either) has read 129 pages of Twilight in three days.  Cute, sparkly vampires promote literacy.

Sinking is merely a matter of perspective; Walaikum was moved, almost to tears, when he showed me the ridiculous, pathetic mark of 95% he received on his last essay.  Salaam snorted.