Kindling

To Kindle a Flame

By Paul Freedman

“Education is not the filling of a pail but the lighting of a fire.” –William Butler Yeats

This quote, commonly attributed to William Butler Yeats (e.g., Jones,1999, 61) has become an often-used, and perhaps over-used metaphor among progressive educators. It does, however, call our attention to the inadequacy of the “banking system of education” (Freire, 1972). The banking model, or what Yeats called pail-filling, pictures students as empty containers waiting for the teacher to fill them up with the required skills and knowledge. It is a cool and lifeless process, finite and controlled. Lighting a fire is far more dynamic, with much greater potential for growth and transformation; it has heat, passion, and strength. Jiddu Krishnamurti captured this sense of dynamism when he wrote about lighting his own fire, “I want to learn. I have spent my whole life learning and I want to learn. Here are a group of people from whom I can learn a great deal…and I want to learn from them and together create a flame of learning.” (Krishnamurti, 2001, 64-5)

Yet, I would argue that there is significantly more to the educational process even than the simple igniting of a flame. Ignition, while a powerful and necessary beginning point, is in many ways the easier part of the holistic educational mission. We must take the metaphor a bit further. It is the careful nurturing of the flame, the feeding it with fuel – just enough and at the right moment and in the right places–that is most critical and requires great artistry and care on the part of the teacher.

I recently came across a magnificent poem by Judy Brown, which speaks to this vision of education.

Fire

What makes a fire burn

is space between the logs,

a breathing space.

Too much of a good thing,

too many logs

packed in too tight

can douse the flames

almost as surely

as a pail of water would.

So building fires

requires attention

to the spaces in between,

as much as to the wood.

When we are able to build

open spaces

in the same way

we have learned

to pile on the logs,

then we can come to see how

it is fuel, and absence of the fuel

together, that make fire possible.

We only need to lay a log

lightly from time to time.

A fire

grows

simply because the space is there,

with openings

in which the flame

that knows just how it wants to burn

can find its way.

(Brown 2003, 89)

Opening Space

Sparking a student’s interest can be a magical moment. Such moments even keep many of us going in the teaching profession. But what happens afterward is just as important. Too often, the momentary sparks extinguish prematurely; they are smothered with overwhelming quantities of facts, deadening analysis, or teachers’ new expectations. We dutifully fill spaces with words and the detached atoms that define our standardized mission. Often, all that is needed is a single carefully laid twig — a question, a suggestion; the flame is fanned, the space is held open. We should be building structures to hold space open as much as building pyres of fuel.

Parker Palmer is one of many wise educators who have written about holding space open for learners. “I need to spend less time filling the space and more time opening a space where students can have a conversation with the subject and with each other.” (Palmer 1998, 120) He likens the proper role of the teacher to that of a sheepdog, circling the flock, allowing the learners to move freely, to graze and explore, while tirelessly keeping watch and looking out for anything, which might threaten this determined, patient exploration.

What is it that seems to relentlessly compel teachers to fill any and all available space, with our ideas, our “insights,” our facts and trivia? When we are able to back off a bit and simply hold space open, is when real growth and learning thrives.

To Kindle

Perhaps the first scholar to criticize the banking model was Plutarch, who in the first century A.D. Plutarch wrote, “The mind is not a vessel to be filled but a fire to be kindled.” (Plutarch, n.d., 6) Recently, I have begun to think that Plutarch chose precisely the right term—to kindle. To kindle is to ignite and then to tend; to set aflame and not allow to extinguish; to keep aglow, alight. This is what is required of the teacher. It is accomplished through passion and engagement, sensitivity and receptivity. The holistic teacher hunts tirelessly for opportunities to encourage the learners to find meaning and relevance in the learning process. Then we hold space, by promoting reflection, silence, contemplation, by offering choices – as many as possible, and facilitating inquiry-based learning, by encouraging active exploration of ever-greater depths in our classrooms, by refusing to fulfill the standardizing mission to singularly strive to “cover” all the required content. We must let go of our obsession with predetermined learning outcomes and allow students to find their own paths by holding space for them. We must fan the flames just a bit and then allow individual sparks spread to the whole learning community by stimulating thoughtful dialogue and by posing challenging questions. And we must be exceedingly careful not to smother the delicate and precious flickers through our arrogance, and authority.

Although I am no etymologist I smiled to myself when I looked up the word “kindle” in my American Heritage Dictionary. It immediately follows the two entry words “kindergarten” and “kindhearted.” Whether or not there is an etymological connection between these three words, this seemed a fitting placement. None other than Friedrich Froebel, the founder of kindergarten, spoke about education as the work of kind-hearted teachers who “set one’s soul on fire for a higher, nobler life” (1889, 143-144).

When I kindle a fire I must keep in mind certain basic principles. The wood must be seasoned and ready to burn, there must be the right fuel, and there must be spaces. There must be a draw of air. When I kindle a fire, I do not necessarily have a vision of the precise details of the finished form. Rather I respond to the living, changing shape. I notice how it is burning and I wait, looking for the right moment to add the needed piece of fuel. I follow the guiding principles but I remain open to what the fire asks of me. I am receptive. It is a dance, a give and take.

To kindle a flame is to attend to it and to tend it; to be present with it; and to care for it. This sense of caring is also critical to my conception of education. Educators must care, and inspire our students to care about their education (see Noddings, 1992) . To kindle the flame is to care for its existence and its potential, to nurse and nurture it into growth, to allow it to transform from fragility and dependence towards strength and autonomy.

Dousing the Flames

Quakers espouse a belief of “that of God within each person.” Sometimes this is referred to as “the light within.” Indeed in education our students come to school full of light. Every one of them brings his or her unique luminescence, some passions, capacities, intelligences, dreams, creative impulses, skills and idiosyncrasies. Tragically, all but a very few of these little sparks are ferreted out and explicitly doused by the bureaucratic factory-based system of mainstream contemporary education. Other flickers of light become expunged through simple neglect; they shine for a while but then fizzle. The sparks that remain, those that are desirable to the educational system, are all too often smothered inadvertently by over-exuberance. They are overwhelmed by too much fuel, too hastily applied, with no concern for building spaces. Let me give an example from my own teaching.

I teach a multi-age elementary school class in a small holistic independent school. In the fall, I noticed among some conversations with my fourteen, 5 – 9 year-old students a common interest in the wonderful books of Laura Ingalls Wilder and in the themes of pioneers, adventure and bravery in 19^th century America. Attempting to be receptive in my planning and hoping to capitalize on their existing interests, I began to envision a ten-week multi-disciplinary thematic unit built upon the adventures of Lewis and Clark and their Corps of Discovery. In this unit we would write in journals like the explorers did. We would craft shoulder bags out of deerskin, cook authentic historic recipes over campfires outside (much kindling here), and make maps. We would try our hand at both botanical drawing and landscapes. We would learn about traditional games and dances, and so much more. My hope was that through an exposure to a wide range of learning modalities we would tap into several different intelligences.

Early on in the Lewis and Clark narrative, the class learned of Thomas Jefferson and the Louisiana Purchase. (It is Jefferson who commissioned Merriwether Lewis to lead the expedition west.) The next day, Tristan, age 8, came to school full of excitement. He thrust a book into my hand. This was an old hard-cover biography of Thomas Jefferson which his father had given him long ago. He had read it through twice already and was infatuated with Thomas Jefferson. Great! While this was not an intended learning outcome, it was exactly the kind of spark for which I am always hunting. Together we made a plan by which Tristan would do some additional independent research on Jefferson and present his learning in the form of a poster.

Things were going beautifully. Tristan was pleased and felt validated. I was thrilled at my young scholar and the promise he showed. Now, to fan the flame: I introduced Tristan to a system of note-taking using color coded index cards. I taught him mini-lessons in paraphrasing, organization, and writing citations. After all, these were strategies that worked well for 8-year-old, Emma. But Tristan’s enthusiasm dampened, imperceptibly at first. Within three days, I checked in with him to see his progress. His note cards were half-hearted, lackluster, covered in scribbles and many were missing entirely. What happened? I felt my frustration rising. I unfairly chastised Tristan for his lack of focus, his carelessness with his work. His eyes dropped and he promised to “do better.” Later I came to realize my own unbelievable arrogance, ignorance and authoritarian bullying. I had not held space open I had smothered it -way too much fuel, no air. The next day I retracted some of my imposed rules and form for writing research papers (he’s only in second grade, what was I thinking?) and tried to recreate space to allow Tristan to make his learning his own. But I wonder if it was too late, if the subject of Thomas Jefferson, and that spark of passion will ever glow quite as brightly. Even worse, what have I communicated to Tristan about the process of learning itself? I hope and trust that his resiliency will allow for new sparks to reveal themselves. I resolve to be much more careful and receptive to future glimmers.

At my school, I also facilitate a study group for adult learners. It is particularly in my work with adults that I notice my own annoying tendency to abandon all the principles of holistic education, which I try to apply within the elementary classroom. Recently the adult study group engaged in a discussion about foundational principles and historical antecedents within holistic education. I had so much information I wanted to share and I quickly found myself filling space and lecturing these learners. Predictably, several people pushed back, and I entered into a heated debate, where each person was engaged in verbal sparring, looking for weaknesses, defending against attacks. There was little listening, and no real dialogue.

I spent the two weeks, between the group’s meetings, reflecting on my failure to facilitate any real learning, growth or transformative dialogue. Slowly, I began to see my error. Once again, I was not creating space. I was filling it. I was not kindling flame I was smothering it. The following week the group met again this time I posed a simple question: “can anyone share a personal or emotional experience from their own elementary school memories?” One person offered a moving vignette. And then the room was quickly flooded with stories. These were compelling narratives filled with wisdom and insight into common educational methods and their dramatic and powerful effects on learners. Sparks were clearly ignited as some people shared tearful remembrances, others hilarious anecdotes. People were speaking from their hearts and listening deeply to one another. The conversation was meaningful relevant and engaging. I simply held the space open for folks to share and reflect. I asked questions and suggested lenses through which we could view some of these narratives. The fire was carefully and continually rekindled; it didn’t take much. Participants left this meeting clearly filled up with new insights and new learning. They had connected deeply with their own past as well as one another. The contrast between this meeting and the previous one was striking.

Final Thoughts

Teaching is a humbling vocation. It has such tremendous potential, but also poses great dangers; we can easily misuse the awesome power and responsibilities with which we are entrusted. Students open their hearts to us, and reveal themselves with all their insecurities and vulnerabilities. I invite you all to join me in kindling flames in your classrooms, in your homes and throughout your lives. Find sparks. Ignite flames. Hold spaces and nurture life. Let us treat all our learners and each other with gentleness, care , and respect. Each flame is precious, and as Judy Brown (2003, 89) says in her poem, “each flame knows just how it wants to burn.”

References

Brown, J. (2003). Fire. In S. Intrator & M. Scribner (Eds.), Teaching with fire: Poetry that sustains the courage to teach. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass.

Freire, P. (1972) Pedagogy of the Oppressed, Harmondsworth: Penguin.

Froebel, F. (1889) Autobiography of Friedrich Froebel translated by Emille Michaelis and H. Keatly Moore, Syracuse, NY: C.W. Bardeen Publisher.

Jones, L.V. (1999). The assessment of student achievement: The hundred years war.Conference Paper: Annual Meeting of the American Educational Research Association. (ERICDigests No. ED430009)

Krishnamurti, J. (2001) A Flame of Learning: Krishnamurti with Teachers, Mirananda.

Noddings, N. (1992). The challenge to care in schools : An alternative approach to education. New York: Teachers College Press.

Palmer, P. J. (1983). To know as we are known : A spirituality of education (1st ed.). San Francisco: Harper & Row.

Plutarch (n.d.) On Listening to Lectures published in Plutarch: Moralia, Volume II, (1928.) Loeb Classical Library.

Palmer, P. J. (1998). The courage to teach: Exploring the inner landscape of a teacher’s life (1st ed.). San Francisco, Calif: Jossey-Bass.