Monthly Archives: October 2013

The Tyranny of the Future

I teach at a K-8 school, which means that our 8th grade students are inevitably distracted by the pressing and significant reality of choosing a new school. A few years back one of my 8th graders said to me, “I feel like all anyone ever wants to talk about is ‘what’s next.'” He was living in that difficult tension between wanting to play a responsible role in his high school selection process and wanting to be a 13-year-old kid enjoying his last year at a school he had been a part of for 10 years.

Life moves on for this kid, and for all of us, but this tension just finds a new manifestation in a new season.

I really like the way C.S. Lewis addresses this issue of man’s regard for “the Future” in The Screwtape Letters. Once again we have the demon Screwtape writing to his protege Wormwood:

“It is far better to make [men] live in the Future. Biological necessity makes all their passions point in that direction already, so that thought about the Future inflames hope and fear. Also, it is unknown to them, so that in making them think about it we make them think of unrealities. In a word, the Future is, of all things, the thing least like eternity . . . To be sure, [God] wants men to think of the Future too – just so much as it is necessary for now planning the acts of justice or charity which will probably be their duty tomorrow. The duty of planning the morrow’s work is today’s duty; though its material is borrowed from the future, the duty, like all duties, is in the Present. This is now straw splitting. He does not want men to give the Future their hearts, to place their treasure in it. We [demons] do. [God’s] ideal is a man who, having worked all day for the good of posterity (if that is his vocation), washes his mind of the whole subject, commits the issue to Heaven, and returns at once to the patience or gratitude demanded by the moment that is passing over him.”

“The Future is, of all things, the thing least like eternity.” I just can’t get that line out of my head.

Recovering Wonder

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In my 8th grade Physical Science class we are currently exploring the history of the atomic model, which naturally leads to some thought-provoking discussions about the ever-evolving epistemology of the subatomic world as well as some mind-bending realizations of and wonder at the level of detail and order that exists at such a small, small scale. I just love teaching this unit. For many of these students, this is their first time every thinking about particles on a subatomic scale, where the rules of Newtonian physics fall apart and forces that are 100 undecillion (that’s 1 followed by 38 zeroes) times stronger than gravity exist. The rabbit trails are always plentiful and I will gladly entertain some of them for days at a time. It is during this particular unit of study that my class most closely resembles the format and atmosphere of a book discussion group versus a classroom lecture. And I think this atmosphere is born out of the fact that we are encountering some of the really Big Questions, some of the most fundamental ideas of creation – we are getting a sneak peek into the very mind of God.

I love watching the faces of the students when they learn that all matter in the universe, from a hunk of gold to a zebra, is made up of the same three basic particles: protons, neutrons, and electrons. The diversity of creation that comes from just those three particles is fascinating.

Today our particular topic centered around the nucleus of the atom, which contains both protons and neutrons. We learned that, much like a fingerprint is the unique identifier of a human being, the number of protons in the nucleus of an atom is the unique identifier for an element. Every atom in the universe that contains 79 protons in its nucleus is gold. Add one more proton to the nucleus and you get something completely different: mercury. (In fact, many historians believe that, due to many reports of his erratic and eccentric behavior in the years leading up to his death, Isaac Newton actually suffered from (and may have even died from) mercury poisoning. It was well known that he spent quite a bit of time behind closed doors practicing the “art” of alchemy, trying to turn mercury into gold). In the midst of this discussion, one student blurted out in disbelief, “Wait, are you telling me that the only thing that determines which of these elements (pointing to the Periodic Table) we have in our hand is the number of protons in the nucleus?!?” “Yes. That’s it.” And his face was filled with pure wonder.

And I was struck. The palpability of his amazement gave me pause. Suddenly I realized that over 25 years of holding these ideas in my head and 7 years of teaching them had sort of numbed me a bit to their wondrous beauty. I knew I had met with a moment that demanded contemplation. So I literally just paused and thought about the fact that adding one proton to the nucleus of an atom of carbon (a black, brittle solid) would instead give us nitrogen (an inert, colorless gas). And then it hit me.

“Students, do you find it fascinating that God used the extremely simply concept of quantity to differentiate all the elements of creation?!? By simply counting out a different number of protons he created a completely different element with completely different properties!!”

The more I thought about it the more excited I became. Sure, once you get to bigger things like molecules, the arrangement of atoms comes into play (like I discussed here), and sure, chemical bonding takes the complexity to a whole new level. But the fact that the fundamental building blocks of all creation – the elements – can be differentiated and uniquely identified by a simple count of protons . . . I don’t know, that is beautiful to me.

Eventually I could tell that my students were ready to move on (yes, Mr. F, that’s amazing, now let’s learn something else please), but I have to believe that it makes an impression on them when we, their teachers, are able to model wonder and amazement at God’s creation – especially as math and science teachers. I’m glad that one of my students caused me to pause and reflect so that I could retrieve that wonder that God’s creation and creativity demands. Oh that we could borrow the eyes of a child on days that we shrug at a sunset . . .

More on the wonder of a child in a future post – Alice has recently given me much to write about in this regard, not to mention my 6th grade science students (a discussion about the Aurora Borealis today evolved into 30 minutes of playing with magnets – by running a magnet through iron filings you would have thought I was juggling fire. “Whoa!! Do it again!”). Until then, recommended reading on recovering wonder in the classroom: Beauty for Truth’s Sake by Stratford Caldecott.

Storytelling

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My two-year-old daughter Alice sits at the kitchen bar table eating a snack. I am standing in front of her exhausted from a long day at school and 100% occupied by a jar of toasted almonds. My wife Anne (who is not only my better half but also the more conversational parent by far) has just left the room. The sounds of crunching and smacking are all that fill the room. Alice pauses from eating what appears to be just a mustard-soaked piece of bread from what used to be a turkey sandwich and looks up at me: “Hey Daddy? . . . ” “Yeah, baby, what’s up?” “Hey Daddy, will you talk to me?” “Sure sweetheart! What do you want to talk about?” “I want to talk about Daddy and Alice.” So I start with, “Well, Daddy loves Alice,” then proceed to recount some recent stories that involved her and me.

After this interaction with Alice I thought to myself, “This little conversation has nothing to do with this blog, but I just have to share it.” However, the more I thought about our snack time conversation and the setting in which it took place, the more I began to think that perhaps it has everything to do with this blog.

As Jamie Smith argues in Imagining the Kingdom, “We tell ourselves stories in order to live.” He goes on:

“Narrative is the scaffolding of our experience . . . Stories ‘mean’ on a register that is visceral and bodily, more aesthetic than analytic, ‘made sense of’ more by the imagination than the intellect. Stories are something we learn ‘by heart’ in the sense that they mean on a register that eludes articulation and analysis. A whole world(view) can be compressed in even the most minimal narrative because the story is ‘working’ aesthetically–it means in its cadence and rhythm, in what is said and what is left unsaid, in its tensions and resolutions. I ‘understand’ a story in ways I don’t know.”

Are we telling our children stories? What stories are we telling them? I thought it was so beautiful that Alice wanted me to talk about “Alice and Daddy.” Don’t we all want to hear stories about us and our Daddy? And don’t we all ultimately want to hear stories about us and our Heavenly Daddy? I do think it’s true that the Bible is best read as a love story written to us by our Heavenly Father. I think we all want to hear that Story, whether we know it or not.

But Smith goes on to argue that the most transforming stories are not those that are told discursively in a “once upon a time” manner, but those that are wrapped up in “all the mundane little micropractices” or “liturgies” that we engage in every day.*

So, what story was I telling Alice by the fact that she had to wake me out of my zombie-almond-eating state and request that I talk to her? “Will you talk to me?” is such a sweet, innocent request, but so loaded with meaning, is it not?

If we are too busy or too tired (or too hungry) to talk to our children, to tell them stories, we will still manage to tell them a story, but a much more significant, formative one.

Parents, what stories are we telling our children in those little, seemingly insignificant practices that we engage in (or don’t engage in) every day?

Teachers, what stories are we telling our students in those little, seemingly insignificant practices that are a part of our classroom culture and atmosphere?

The Gospel of Luke tells us “to be faithful in the little things.” Even (especially?) in the little things we are to reflect the Gospel. Are we paying attention to the little things? Are we telling good stories?

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

*Smith develops these arguments beautifully in both Desiring the Kingdom and Imagining the Kingdom, and the practical applications are countless for anyone hoping to cultivate Christian virtue and wisdom in themselves or those around them. I am thankful to my colleagues in classical education for recommending that I engage Smith’s work; I passionately recommend these two titles, especially to teachers who want to do more with their students than just pass on information.

On Truth and Freedom (or, Math as a Liberal Art)

Pi Alpha

ποίησις καί ἀνακαίνωσις | Cultivation and Renewal