The Power of Mindful Learning (3 page)

In many of my classes students are quick to point out
examples of their own and others' mindlessness. The examples
often come from the texts and research under discussion.
When I'm the perpetrator of this mindlessness, I examine it closely. Why didn't I reconsider the old information when presenting it in a new context? Why did I trot out the received
wisdom on this particular topic? Such puzzles keep sending me
back to investigate the way I learned the information in the
first place.

Each year, in a course I teach on decision making and
perceived control, to bounce my students out of their habitual state of mind I ask them if one can prevent pregnancy
with a nasal spray. They laugh or at least grimace at this
obvious absurdity. Then I show them what by now is an old
newspaper article with the headline "Nasal spray as a new
means of birth control," and their interest picks up. Their
first response is not unusual. When faced with something
that hasn't been done before, people frequently express the
belief that it can't be done. All progress, of course, depends
on questioning that belief. Everything is the same until it is
not. If instead of asking, "Is it possible to prevent pregnancy
with a nasal spray?" we ask, "How could we use a nasal spray
as a method of birth control?" we set off on a different
search, in a different frame of mind. Instead of dismissing
the question as foolish, we start thinking about how to get
from the nose to the egg and sperm. Once we generate possible ways of doing something, even if they are low-probability
bets, the perception of a solution's being possible increases
enormously. (I may have to come up with a new puzzle next
semester, since recent research on pheromones and their
influence on hormone levels has made a nasal contraceptive
seem less incredible.)

Although with a range of ability and accomplishments, the
students I meet are among the brightest imaginable. Yet even
the very best can be mindless, insecure about what they know.
Ironically, many are unhappy with an educational experience
that has only rewarded them. Their dissatisfaction may result
from certain of these debilitating myths, such as that expressed
in "Study now, play later." Throughout their careers, these
gifted students have learned to delay gratification. Why is
study itself not gratifying? If not, how could it be? If rote memory is a tedious way to prepare for an exam, is there a more
effective and more gratifying way?

These students have all been tested, tried, and found to be
worthy of extreme praise. What does it mean when such an
intelligent person gives a wrong answer? Is the wrong answer a
lapse, an indication of stupidity? Or does the "wrong" answer
merit consideration? And if for these students, why not for all
students?

In trying to answer these questions I will not limit the
notion of learning to the classroom. In our so-called learning
society the mindsets that hobble us can be found all over: from
music lessons to investment analysis; from television viewing to
psychotherapy. As we will see, our attitudes toward aging and
advertising, our approach to decisions, and even our preferences
in art, sports, or entertainment all depend on the views we hold
about the nature of learning. As an example, a very intelligent
friend of mine, successful in business, was told, to her dismay,
that she had an attention problem. I was surprised. I burrowed
into the vast literature on attention deficit hyperactivity dis order (ADHD), read the symptoms of the disorder, and was
even more surprised to see that I have it as well. Or do I? What
exactly does it mean to pay attention? We have to answer this
question before we can sensibly talk about a deficit or disability.

From questions such as these I was drawn into a more
general investigation of education and how we learn. By
observation and experiment, I have come to see how seven
particular myths make it hard to learn and in the process,
make it hard to teach.

Wen he arrived on the planet he respectfully
saluted the lamplighter.

"Good morning. Why have you just put out
your lamp?"

"These are the replied the lamplighter. "Good morning."

"What are the instructions?"

"The instructions are that 1 put out my lamp.
Good evening."

And he lighted his lamp again.

"But why have you just lighted it again?"

"These are the instructions, " replied the lamplighter.

"I do not understand, "said the little prince.

"There is nothing to understand, "said the lamplighter. "Instructions are instructions. Good morning."

And he put out his lamp.

Then he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief decorated
with red squares.

7follow a terrible profession. In the old days it was reasonable.
I put the lamp out in the morning and in the evening I lighted it
again. I had the rest of the day for relaxation and the rest of the
night for sleep. "

Wnd the instructions have been changed since that time?"

"The instructions have not been changed, "said the lamplighter.
"That is the tragedy! From year to year the planet has turned more
rapidly and the orders have not been changed!"

The Little Prince

ANTOINE DE SAINT-EXUPERY1

Day after day the celestial lamplighter performed his wellpracticed task. For him by now it was second nature. The
planet, however, like the rest of the world, kept on changing.
The routine stayed fixed, while the context changed.

One of the most cherished myths in education or any kind
of training is that in order to learn a skill one must practice it to
the point of doing it without thinking. Whether I ask colleagues concerned with higher education, parents of young
children, or students themselves, everyone seems to agree on
this approach to what are called the basics. Whether it is learning how to play baseball, drive, or teach, the advice is the same:
practice the basics until they become second nature. I think this
is the wrong way to start.

Before explaining this last statement, let me give an example of
just one context for each of the skills I mentioned that might
lead one to question this faith in practicing the basics.

As a child in summer camp I was taught to practice holding a baseball bat a particular way. The idea was to do so
without thinking so that I could attend to other aspects of
the game, such as the particular pitch I was trying to hit.
Now, after years of lifting weights imperfectly, my right arm
is stronger than my left. Should I hold the bat the same way
in spite of this difference? Should everyone hold a bat the
same way?

Because my driving skills have been overlearned, I flip my
turn signal on automatically before making a turn. Now, suppose that I'm on an icy road about to make a turn, but the car is
somewhat out of control. Wouldn't turning on the signal in the
same old way misguide the car behind me by seeming to indicate that the situation is well in hand? Would use of the flashing light be more appropriate in this context? Recently I gave a
talk in New Mexico. I was driven from the airport to the hotel
across a desert, without a car in sight for miles and miles. At
each turn, the driver dutifully signaled.

Imagine overlearning the basics of driving in the United
States and then taking a vacation in London, where people
drive on the left side of the road. The car in front of you
swerves out of control and you must react quickly. Do you slip
back to old habits or avoid an accident by responding to what the current situation demands? It is interesting to consider that
emergencies may often be the result of actions taken in response to previous training rather than in response to present
considerations.

One of the "basic skills" of teachers, and all lecturers, is
the ability to take a large quantity of information and present
it in bite-size pieces to students. For those of us who teach,
reducing and organizing information becomes second nature.
How often do we, so practiced in how to prepare information
for a lecture, continue to present a prepared lesson without
noticing that the class is no longer paying attention? Presenting all the prepared content too often overtakes the goal of
teaching.

For students, note-taking skills can be overlearned, practiced as second nature. Many of us have had the experience of
turning to our notes and finding that we don't have the vaguest
idea what they mean.

Traveling makes us particularly aware of rigidities. In several Asian countries drivers drive on the left side of the road,
and pedestrians on the busy sidewalks follow the same pattern
as cars, staying to the right or left accordingly. The frequency
with which I came close to walking into people when traveling
in Asia made clear to me that even a simple exercise, such as
walking on the right, if originally learned mindlessly, may be
hard to change. Each time I traveled to a different country, the
rules changed, and my awkwardness increased.

In an art gallery in Hanoi, I encountered the results of basic
training in Western customs of politeness. The gallery owner offered me a seat from which to view the paintings. I politely
refused. She offered it to me three more times. It appeared that
her lesson did not include what to do if the customer preferred
to stand. She took her cues as to what to do from her lesson,
and not from the situation.