Eckerson: To start, what can a 16th-century French nobleman possibly have to say that would be relevant to educational issues in 2009?
Montaigne: Let’s put it this way: Are you aware that the English word essay has roots in the French essayer — to try, to attempt? It’s funny, but in my essays I merely tried to portray accurately my own mind as it worked its way through particular issues.2 The irony is that, over the centuries, many people seem to connect with my various attempts to document that very personal process. Take Eric Hoffer, for example. Do you know him? He’s a fascinating guy — a self-educated, working-class intellectual who wrote a famous book on the psychology of mass movements called The True Believer.3 Listen to the story he tells about how he discovered my essays. Evidently, as a precaution against the boredom of being snowbound in the mountains during a mining expedition, Hoffer went looking for a long book. He writes:
I went into a secondhand-book store in San Francisco to buy… a thick book. I didn’t care what kind of book it was — it just had to be thick…. I found just what I was looking for… by an author I’d never even heard of. It was Montaigne’s Essays… and, of course, I did get snowbound, and I read the book through three times. How I loved Montaigne’s language…. When I came down from the mountains that time, I went to pick cotton in the San Joaquin Valley, and I was carrying my Montaigne around with me and quoting him all the time. It got so that when the workers wanted to know the answer to something they’d ask me, ‘What does Montaigne say about it?’…[H]ere was this sixteenth-century aristocrat, Sieur Michel de Montaigne, and I found out that he was talking about nothing but Eric Hoffer! That’s how I learned about human brotherhood.4As far as what I have to offer the educational community, I’ll have to leave that up to you and your readers.
Eckerson: OK. But why do you suppose that your essays have this sort of appeal? I mean, what would you say is the source of your insights? What makes them hold up so well over time?
Montaigne: I owe much to the unusual “cure” that doubt can render.
Eckerson: Doubt?
Montaigne: I am talking about the particular use of doubt proposed by the Classical Skeptics.
Eckerson: Skeptics doubt everything, right?
Montaigne: Not the Classical Skeptics. They don’t doubt everything! But they do doubt the power of abstract ideas to convey knowledge and wisdom. The best way to understand their approach is to use the analogy they employed; they compared doubt to a laxative.
Eckerson: A laxative? Care to explain?
Montaigne: A laxative helps flush out the digestive system. Ultimately, however, in the process, the laxative also expels itself. The result is a cleared channel through which digestion can function properly. In a similar manner, doubt calls into question abstract ideas that impede the thought process. In the course of breaking down and driving out these otherwise difficult-to-dislodge abstractions, the doubt, like a laxative, expels itself. The result is a mind that can both see the world around it more clearly and think more effectively.5
Eckerson: Ultimately, then, what you seem to take from the Classical Skeptics is that you ought to…
Montaigne: … “Order a purge for your brain; it will be better employed there than on your stomach.”6
Eckerson: That reminds me of what jazz bassist Charles Mingus said: “Making the simple complicated is commonplace; making the complicated simple, awesomely simple, that’s creativity.”7 Mingus seems to seek the same sort of clarity that the Classical Skeptics sought.
Montaigne: Exactly! It is just this combination of clarity and creativity that represents the genius behind great teaching. It’s also why the same qualities that make one a great scholar are not necessarily the same ones that make one a great teacher!
Eckerson: What, then, is the difference between a scholar and a teacher? Or, perhaps a better question might be, what makes for a good teacher?
Montaigne: Columbia professor Gilbert Highet, another modern thinker I’ve come to admire, said it best: “Scholarship must be accurate whether it is interesting or not. But teaching must be interesting, even if it is not one hundred percent accurate.”8 That’s why analogies are such powerful teaching tools. Analogies are not necessarily precise representations of the concepts under examination. Rather, they are like little stories. And stories arrange details in such a way that meaning emerges.9 As one of my favorite philosophers, Philip Hallie from Wesleyan University, put it: “You can only see [as] far [into] a general, abstract word as the details take you….”10 And so, whatever teaching actually is, it must not involve either promenading one’s advanced intellect in front of a captive audience of those less sophisticated or flaunting an abstract, specialized jargon.
Eckerson: Given these conditions, where would you place yourself on the scholarship-teaching spectrum; what type of teacher would you be?
Montaigne: Well, I doubt my own ability to undertake the complicated task of teaching. My tendencies are more scholarly than those of the ideal educator. “[I]t is the achievement of a lofty and very strong soul to know how to come down to a childish gait and guide it. I walk more firmly and surely uphill than down.”11
Eckerson: To examine further “the complicated task of teaching,” I wanted to ask you about another reference you make to the digestive process.
Montaigne: You’re referring to what could be called the stomach analogy, right? Well, consider this: “What good does it do us to have our belly full of meat if it is not digested, if it is not transformed into us, if it does not make us bigger and stronger?”12 I think the analogy makes it clear that each student must take what is taught and make it his or her own.
Eckerson: But, isn’t this a faulty analogy? After all, what happens during digestion occurs, for the most part, instinctively — not consciously. According to this logic, a teacher would merely need to fill the empty mind with information and then get out of the way. Nothing could be easier. But, that’s not what I hear you saying. That’s not teaching!
Montaigne: No, that’s not teaching. Teaching involves much, much more. A teacher must somehow motivate young people to become actively engaged with the material. And, while students do regularly bring to the table either an affinity or an aptitude for the subject at hand, I think it is safe to say that with regard to the majority of individuals in the majority of courses, the enthusiasm necessary for deep learning does not arise unaided. Rather, it needs to be nurtured carefully by someone else — someone who possesses a very special sort of genius.
Eckerson: This brings to mind your “well-known tennis metaphor.”13
Montaigne: Yes, the tennis metaphor! When it comes to education, the dynamic give-and-take of a tennis match should be the norm. However, many classrooms resemble a contest in which a tennis player has been coached to stand in one place when trying to return an opponent’s shot. As such, the vast majority of balls go whizzing by untouched. On the other hand, a well-taught student, like a well-coached tennis player, is ever alert and active — “the receiver moves and makes ready according to the motion of the striker and the nature of the stroke.”14
Eckerson: Yes, but isn’t this connection to tennis even more complicated than it may seem because the teacher often must act as tennis coach and as opponent and as doubles partner and as line judge, etc.?15
Montaigne: I suppose you’re right. Education is a complicated matter. But, ultimately, when you get right down to it, teachers must avoid methods that render the students passive.
Eckerson: And doesn’t such a commitment, in turn, require that a teacher possess the type of flexibility that can attend to the various needs of each individual student?
Montaigne: Yes, setting goals that are lofty peaks and then asking each student to scale the summit by the same path and at the same rate yields some real success stories. Often, students are capable of being pushed to do more than they thought possible at first glance. But, frequently, that approach also produces failures by those who could succeed and even flourish under different conditions.
Eckerson: Your sentiment here presupposes both today’s emphasis on “learning styles” and the problems associated with “high-stakes testing.”
Montaigne: Call my sentiments by what labels you like. To me, it’s just common sense.
Eckerson: Speaking of common sense, let’s take a look at your own early “schooling.” Wouldn’t you be willing to concede that the initial education your father virtually handcrafted for you represents a very uncommon common sense? Ultimately, your own education sounds like the dream of many with Progressive inclinations.
Montaigne: Progressive! There you go with those labels and abstractions again. But, yes, it’s true. For instance, my father came to the conclusion that I should be immersed in the Latin language. Consequently, I was exposed to virtually nothing but Latin by those who cared for me during the first years of my life. While this innovative approach served as one important component of my early education, the crucial element was the principle that I should be taught “in all gentleness and freedom, without rigor and constraint… [in order that I learn] to enjoy knowledge and duty by my own free will and desire.”16
Eckerson: Didn’t your father take this principle to the extreme, though? For instance, he became convinced that to awaken a young child abruptly would have harmful effects and, therefore, he went so far as to engage someone to wake you with gentle music each day.
Montaigne: Yes, that is correct. But, remember, my father did eventually send me off, at age six, for a more conventional education.17 I was not completely indulged.
Eckerson: Perhaps not. Nevertheless, this combination of formal and informal instruction did successfully give you both the credentials you needed to make your way in the world and the freedom that allowed you to develop your own unique perspective. However, one obvious sticking point seems necessary to mention. You received the education reserved for French nobility. In addition, you benefitted from the attentions of a uniquely generous, committed, and concerned parent. Wouldn’t you have to concede that the confluence of these factors made for an experience that would be extremely difficult to duplicate even on the smallest of scales?
Montaigne: Indeed, I was privileged and, certainly, particular parts of my education would be extremely difficult to reproduce. But not all parts! And therein lies the challenge.
Eckerson: Actually, that reminds me of an important article that Benjamin Bloom wrote entitled, “The Search for Methods of Group Instruction as Effective as One-to-One Tutoring.”18 Furthermore, the good news is that today a knowledge base of effective teaching practices does seem to be emerging. I’m thinking particularly of a book by Saphier, Haley-Speca, and Gower entitled The Skillful Teacher.19
Montaigne: And I myself have become very fond of a book by Donald L. Finkel entitled Teaching With Your Mouth Shut.20 What a great title. Not that I could teach with my mouth shut, mind you. Nevertheless, there’s a text that’s full of creative and thoughtful ways to engage students in a meaningful manner.
Eckerson: As long as we are talking about things creative and thoughtful, let’s talk about your essays. T.S. Eliot said that attempting to logically refute your arguments would be tantamount to trying to “dissipate a fog by flinging hand grenades into it.”21
Montaigne: Is that meant as a compliment or a criticism?
Eckerson: Yeah, well, I have to admit that reading your essays brings to mind the question: “What’s worse, knocking your head against an open door or knocking your head against a closed door?” Quite frankly, your essays make me feel like I’m knocking my head against an open door. It’s often extremely difficult to determine exactly where you stand on any issue! What’s more, your celebrated maxim, “What do I know?”22 seems to lurk behind everything you write, calling into question any and all assertions you make.
Montaigne: Perhaps. At any rate, the world is definitely a complicated place and that’s precisely why students must learn to pay careful attention to their own thinking. In fact that’s one of the reasons I admire Eric Hoffer so much!
Eckerson: Eric Hoffer again? What do you mean?
Montaigne: Well, evidently, Hoffer never attended any school. And, to the degree that this is true, Hoffer must have literally been forced to observe and honor his own thoughts. In turn, such self-reliance probably afforded him some version of the clarity that the Classical Skeptics sought. As Hoffer himself says: “I’m not a professional philosopher…. I don’t deal with the abstract. My train of thought grew out of my life just the way a leaf or a branch grows out of a tree.”23
Eckerson: Surely you are not suggesting that students should teach themselves?
Montaigne: No, not really. But, on the other hand, yes. Hmmm. Ultimately, I guess it is accurate to say that both my view of education and my writing style do push teachers of all disciplines and levels to face an important paradox. Obviously, without guidance, students could completely misinterpret or misunderstand important fundamental lessons. But, if teachers guide in an overbearing manner, they run the risk of diminishing the joy possible in the act of learning. Without this joy, it’s quite possible that many students will miss the whole point!
Eckerson: So that’s your final word? Teachers must “guide” and “not- guide” at the same time? Talk about knocking your head against an open door.
Montaigne: Well, after all, “what do I know?” But, let me respond with one last analogy: “The bees plunder the flowers here and there, but afterward they make of them honey, which is all theirs; it is no longer thyme or marjoram. Even so with the pieces borrowed from others; he will transform and blend them to make a work that is all his own, to wit, his judgment. His education, work, and study aim only at forming this.”24
Notes
1. Michel de Montaigne, The Complete Essays of Montaigne. Trans. Donald Frame. (Stanford, California: Stanford University Press, 1958, 1965).
2. Philip Hallie, The Scar of Montaigne: An Essay in Personal Philosophy. (Middletown, Connecticut: Wesleyan University Press, 1966), p. ix.
3. Eric Hoffer, The True Believer: Thoughts on the Nature of Mass Movements. (New York: Harper and Row, 1951.)
4. Calvin Tompkins, Eric Hoffer: An American Odyssey. (London: Michael Joseph, 1969.), p. 19.
5. Hallie, The Scar of Montaigne, pp. 26–27.
6. Montaigne, “Of the Resemblance of Children to Fathers,” p. 582.
ThinkExist.com or BrainyQuote.com)
7. Gilbert Highet, The Art of Teaching. (New York: Vintage Books, 1989.), p. 194.
8. Philip Hallie, “My Life in Ethics,” (transcribed lecture) in Todd Eckerson, Philip Hallie and the Power of Stories (Atlanta, Georgia: Council for Spiritual and Ethical Education, 2003), p. 80.
9. Ibid.
10. Montaigne, “Of the Education of Children,” p. 110.
11. Montaigne, “Of Pedantry,” p. 101.
12. Cathleen Bauschatz, “A Reader-Oriented Approach to Teaching Montaigne,” Approaches to Teaching Montaigne’s Essays. Ed. Patrick Henry. (New York: Modern Language Association, 1994), p. 109.
13. Montaigne, “Of Experience,” p. 834.
14. Bauschatz, p. 109.
15. Montaigne, “Of the Education of Children,” p. 129.
16. Ibid.
17. Benjamin S. Bloom. “The Search for Methods of Group Instruction as Effective as One-to-One Tutoring,” Educational Leadership. (May, 1984.), pp. 4–17.
18. Jon Saphier, Mary Ann Haley-Speca, Robert Gower, The Skillful Teacher, 6th Edition. (Acton, MA: Research for Better Teaching, 2008.)
19. Donald L. Finkel, Teaching With Your Mouth Shut. (Portsmouth, New Hampshire: Boynton/Cook Heinemann, 2000.)
20. T.S. Eliot, “Introduction,” in Blaise Pascal, Pascal’s Penseesées. Trans. W. F. Trotter. (New York: Dutton, 1958.), p. xiii.
21. Montaigne, “Apology for Raymond Sebond,” p. 393.
22. Tomkins, p. 3.
23. Montaigne, “Of the Education of Children,” p. 111.