Anyway, the debate ended in a stalemate and we went on with the day. Later I realized the problem: rather than saying ‘people don’t learn’, I should have said, what usually passes for learning is actually mimicry. As is often the case, words got in the way of communication… ha!

I then made a short list of correlations to show Luke the point I was trying to make earlier. He studied it for a moment, nodded and said like “Ah yes, that makes sense”. The point I was trying to make earlier, and in vain, became obvious through correlations. Of course, that comes with its own downside cost;  clear and perfect communication eliminates the fun… the tug of war give and take. Here is the set I showed Luke⁽¹⁾. See if it makes any sense to you:

⁽¹⁾ A correlation’s view of issues may work better within our family because I introduced the correlation process to my sons when they were knee high to a grasshopper. They are familiar with this process of boiling issues down to fundamental parameters. While it never offers a final answer, it does point towards one, in a fuzzy kind of way.

Never-the-less, cultures place great importance on the teacher, so what makes for a good teacher? Usually the answer centers on how capable the teacher is, and their command of the material. However, after home schooling my kids, I discovered the more important, yet under-recognized, side of teaching lay deeper.

Home schooling turned out well for my children. This was obviously not due to my command of the material. Sure, in some areas I have sufficiently knowledge, in others just minimal. Either way, I never really ‘taught’ them much of anything, at least overtly. The key to my ‘teaching’ success was simply not getting in their way! That allowed them to follow their curiosity. However, that doesn’t mean total laze fare. I was ‘right there’, but in a shadowy presence kind of way.

For example, Luke was learning computer programming, and whenever he ran into ‘insurmountable’ difficulty he would come to me. I know next to nothing factual on the subject; I would just be a sounding board, occasionally asking questions, or offering observations, based upon my overall life experience. It is amazing how well this approach actually works. The only true requirement was being patient and connected (i.e., generally curious and interested).

In fact, I reckon my sons have learned what they know more through what I didn’t say than anything I said. Does this have anything to do with the teaching that uses no words? I suppose, though even calling it that can become misleading.

Knowing when not to say something (teach) is most important, by far. That allows one to stumble as a child, which is how we all learn to walk and talk! Just imagine if your parents had hovered over you correcting every misstep as you learned to walk or to talk? Not fun! Not helpful! Not efficient! Doing it ‘wrong’ is essential part of finding how to do it ‘right’. Robbing them of that opportunity, while it might have felt helpful, I knew would actually hinder them.

I only set the overall tone of the environment, and refrained from micromanaging anything. This, allowed them to take on as much responsibility as they wished, no more and no less. This let them fulfill whatever innate potential they had. As our good book says, do not constrict their living space; do not press down on their means of livelihood. It is because you do not press down on them that they will not weary of the burden.

All things considered, I reckon that the social component accounts for 99% in teaching, while the teacher’s command of the material just 1%. This makes sense if you accept the proposition that one can only understand what one already knows intuitively. Granted, that is an impossible pill to swallow in a culture, like ours, that sees students as empty vessels into which knowledge can somehow be poured. Rather than pour knowledge in, the trick is to have conducive social circumstances which draw on a student’s thirst and intuitive knowing. Objective understanding and know-how come in due course naturally.

Finally let’s go back to the question of thirst, and whether a person truly wants to learn, or is thirsty for something else. They say it is better to teach a man to fish than give him a fish. But, what if he rather be given a fish than be taught? The former, being given a fish, is perhaps far more common, 99% to 1% more common in fact. Giving and receiving fish is a far more socially achievable relationship than giving and receiving a teaching. Furthermore, our deepest need (thirst), bar none, is for social connection, not for knowledge per se. Yet knowledge is held in the highest esteem; knowledge is power! All that is needed to bypass this kink in the way is sufficient cultural hoodwinking to make receiving of fish appear like receiving of teaching. Yep, a lot of hoodwinking goes on in human social interactions.

Back in the late 70’s I began teaching yoga. I soon noticed how many of my students began to see me as their guru. I was trying to teach them the yoga equivalent of teach a man to fish. Most weren’t thirsty for that; they wanted the yoga equivalent of being given a fish, and seeing me a their guru was one way to get that. I’m not saying this was intentional on their part. Far from it; it was simply innate social (tribal) dynamics. Personally, I couldn’t oblige them, and couldn’t help but do what I could to discourage it. Alas, I wasn’t thirsty for that type of teacher/student relationship⁽¹⁾. I suppose I am drawn to neither ‘a leader or a follower be’; ‘neither a hood-winker or hood-winkee be’. Perhaps…

I alone am foolish and uncouth.
I alone am different from others
And value being fed by the mother.

⁽¹⁾ That changed some with my own family and kids though. As a father, I naturally fell into the role of leader and teacher, albeit in a shadowy presence kind of way. I imagine that civilization is just too ‘mega’ for me to feel connected. A small hunter gather group around 20,000 b.c. would have been more my speed.

Background
Memories become dimmer as the years fly by. Many are even too misty to write down without filling in the voids with poetic license (fiction). Still, I’ve set out to fetch what memories remain before they fade any further. See: The Further One Goes for background on this ‘Times of Yore’ series.

'Dead men's words'

What is the difference between understand and know? Chapter 70 alludes to it perhaps when it states, ‘My words are very easy to understand and very easy to put into practice, yet no one in the world can understand them or put them into practice‘. Our cleverness at understanding is not matched by a comparable ability to know. The first, understanding, is theoretical. The later, knowing, is visceral. For example:

What do people and dogs have in common? They know what they know, and act accordingly. Dogs smell good food and eat; we smell good food and eat. Dogs see something they want and chase after it; we see something we want and chase after it. Dogs see something fearful and avoid it; we see something fearful and avoid it. This is visceral knowing, a teaching that uses no words.

The difference between dog and people is that dogs don’t understand. Only people understand which, absent deeper knowing, often leads to unfortunate consequences, e.g., Irag, Wall Street , obesity, etc. In a curious way, words and names permit understanding and this enables us to think that we know. You could even say that understanding is a form of ‘pseudo knowing’.

Or to put it another way:  We can only truly understand what we already know. If such knowing is absent, the understanding is only ‘pseudo understanding’. If that sounds radical and crazy, apply this observation to your own examples and ponder carefully. Chuang Tzu’s wheelwright story (below) illustrates this nicely. Here now are a few personal examples of differences I’ve noticed between the understanding and knowing:

Wall Street

In 1980’s I studied the stock market until I understood it, theoretically at least. I didn’t actually buy and sell stocks. Now, 30 years later came the opportunity to put understanding to work. I understood the importance of ‘buy low sell high’, patience, diversification, being bold when others were fearful (and visa versa). Most of these come under the heading ‘in action it is timeliness that matters‘. So, six months ago I began to act. Not surprisingly, it has taken being involved over these months to begin to actually know what I previously only understood. Also, not surprising, are the inevitable bruises and scares I incur as I descend down into the belly of knowing.

Gardening

While living in Japan I studied agricultural books. My ex-wife and I were planning to settle down on a 100 acres or so, either back here in the USA or in Australia. Divorce spared us that experience. I say spared because I’ve spent the last 30+ years gardening a few thousand square feet, not 4,000,000 (i.e., 40,000 sq.ft. = 1 acre).

By now I’ve forgotten much of that agricultural knowledge I understood. And yet I know much more what I’m doing. The understanding was word based; the knowing is experience based. Actually, I reckon that it would be impossible to write down what I know. There is a wonderful little story, ” Duke Huan and the wheelwright” by Chuang Tzu, which speaks to this essential difference between understanding (knowledge) and knowing.

Duke Huan and the wheelwright (excerpted from Chuang Tzu: Basic Writings)

Duke Huan was in his hall reading a book. The wheelwright P’ien, who was in the yard below chiseling a wheel, laid down his mallet and chisel, stepped up into the hall, and said to Duke Huan, “This book Your Grace is reading-may I venture to ask whose words are in it?”

“The words of the sages,” said the duke.

“Are the sages still alive?”

“Dead long ago,” said the duke.

“In that case, what you are reading there is nothing but the chaff and dregs of the men of old!”

“Since when does a wheelwright have permission to comment on the books I read?” said Duke Huan. “If you have some explanation, well and good. If not it’s your life!”

Wheelwright P’ien said, “I look at it from the point of view of my own work. When I chisel a wheel, if the blows of the mallet are too gentle, the chisel slides and won’t take hold. But if they’re too hard, it bites in and won’t budge. Not too gentle, not too hard-you can get it in your hand and feel it in your mind. You can’t put it into words, and yet there’s a knack to it somehow. I can’t teach it to my son, and he can’t learn it from me. So I’ve gone along for seventy years and at my age I’m still chiseling wheels. When the men of old died, they took with them the things that couldn’t be handed down. So what you are reading there must be nothing but the chaff and dregs of the men of old.”