On Conversation

Michel de Montaigne: first blogger

Michel de Montaigne was the first great essayist in the French language. In a sense his writings are much like a “blog” from the 16th century. He muses on a wide range of subjects, doing his best to unravel with erudite wit everything from conversation to cannibalism.

What makes him relevant is his insistence on using his own intellect as the lens through which he sees the world. In this way, he is essentially “modern” since, while he references the ancient poets. he doesn’t rely on any dogma to reach his conclusions. He confesses his lack of judgment at times, but uses his ignorance to pose worthwhile questions. He is, essentially, a thoughtful man who tries to discover the truth through dialogue.

The tower where Montaigne wrote

Montaigne raises more questions than he answers. As a younger man I was obsessed with having the right answers. Having “realized” the truth, I preached those truths relentlessly, berating all those ignorant enough to disagree with me.

His writing maintains a nice harmony between anecdote and observation, between erudition and wit. Like Shakespeare’s Hamlet, Montaigne thought too much. Since I belong to the “overthinking” school of thought, I recently went through Montaigne’s “Essay on Conversation,” my favorite of his essays.

Montaigne says, “The most fruitful and natural exercise for our minds is, in my opinion, conversation.”

As a preacher I was intolerant of the opinions of others and did my best to dominate through debate, argument, and fact-quoting. I took pains to defeat others and show them how wrong and illogical their argument was. But as I left preaching and shifted about for another worthy occupation, I found myself in a teaching position.

Teaching and preaching are quite distinct, while they do share many things in common. Many teachers preach, and their work is considered acceptable, and they continue for years in their position with honors. But a good teacher must have empathy for his students, and must tolerate a great many of their faults. Tolerance and empathy are such virtues in teaching that they make up for much of a professor’s ignorance of his subject matter.

Students are by definition fools: we have series of books written for fools: “Windows 10 for Dummies,” “Macintosh for Complete Idiots,” etc. Learning would be impossible unless we confess our own ignorance of a subject and seek out a teacher.

Preaching vs Teaching

A competent fool becomes a teacher; his ignorance is less than that of his students. The object of teaching is not dominance but empowerment. A good teacher does not seek to humiliate the student, but to bring him up to a higher level. A good teacher is always happy to see himself surpassed by his student. As Swiss cognifitive psychologist Jean Piaget (1896-1980) once put it, “The principal goal of education is to create men who are capable of doing new things, not simply of repeating what other generations have done.”

Jean Piaget

As a teacher, I have found myself challenged by all kinds of situations: from classrooms with dirt floors and adobe walls and children with no books, to angry adolescents blossoming with hormones who hate the idea of another hour of school, to guns and knives in the classroom, discipline problems, budget problems, no money, no materials, no more pencils, no more books.

But the over-riding problem for any sincere teacher is: “How to empower my students?”

I should mention that I teach English as a Foreign Language to Mexican students of all ages, from 4 to 94. My teaching goals vary. They range from enabling basic communication in English to training film students in how to interpret Joseph Campbell’s views on the hero’s journey, or creative writing and the novel. In 25 years of teaching from kindergarten to University levels, I’ve worked on a lot of projects. But empathy and tolerance are essential tools in any teacher’s classroom. Without them, learning is doomed.

Preaching works from time to time, when your students know that your words are grounded in compassion. When the doctor has been kind, when he has treated me like a human being, I can take it when he scolds me for eating badly. But teaching is different from preaching. It involves bringing the student’s attention to bear on the subject, stimulating his curiosity, engaging him with the problem at hand, getting him to find the practical application, helping them to personalize the new information, showing them how to incorporate the new realization in a repertoire of valuable skills. It involves the courage to make mistakes in public, the ability to confess one’s own ignorance, and the flexibility to course correct without losing sight of the goal.

Don't lose the goal

When successful, the dialogue between teacher and student is one of the most rewarding in the human experience. Some of my students have mastered the language to the extent that they have become English teachers themselves. I am not envious of them when they compete for my job. Rather it makes me happy to see them succeed.

One of the most difficult things to teach in language is conversation.

During my early life as a preacher, I used many conversations as a vehicle for driving home my points. I did not suffer fools easily; rather I waited for them to shut up, so that I could try to convince them. Someone later told me that the man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still. I began to see the wisdom of this point. I’m not sure if it is a characteristic of Americans in particular, but I’ve seen people engage in conversation as if it were mortal combat. If one ventures a guess about the weather, another will enter into a meteorological discussion quoting satellite evidence. Now that we have google, these “debates” are more painful than ever.

It’s enough to put me off conversation altogether. Still, since it’s my job to teach conversation, I’ve had to enter into a deeper understanding of the nature of this curious dynamic.

Montaigne says, “The most fruitful and natural exercise for our minds is, in my opinion, conversation. I find the use of it more sweet than of any other action of my life; and for that reason it is that, if I were now forced to choose, I would sooner lose my sight than my hearing and speech.”

“The study of books is a languishing and feeble motion that heats not, whereas conversation teaches and exercises at once.”

Montaigne argues that conversation fortifies the mind; we learn through the dynamic of confessing our hearts, learning the hearts of others, and trying to make ourselves understood while understanding others. The corruption that burns us when discoursing with bitter, angry, men does not soil us in the same way that the purification we receive when conversing with realized souls redeems and exalts us. But conversation, on the other hand, must be sincere in order for it to be successful. As long as we engage with another person with a motive to convince, we cannot sincerely hear their voice.

Montaigne takes himself to task for his inability to suffer fools. I had originally considered this a virtue: why tolerate ignorance? We must obliterate ignorance. Knowledge is power! Power to the people! Why would it be a vice to chafe at ignorance?

And yet...

Tolerance is also a virtue. And by tolerating someone who is anathema to us, by having enough empathy to see their inner life, we open ourselves to learn from their human experience. Empathy and tolerance bring us closer to the human soul, and in so doing bring us closer to God.

So, is it a virtue to tolerate ignorance, or is it mere folly to be wise where ignorance is bliss? Fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Bhaktisiddhānta Sāraswati Ṭhākura

My guru’s teacher was Bhaktisiddhānta Sāraswati Ṭhākura. He lived and taught in India in the early part of the 20th Century and passed away in 1937.

Bhaktisiddhānta Sāraswati did not suffer fools lightly. He was highly critical of the decadence he saw around him. At that time, many practitioners of the cult of Krishna and Chaitanya in Bengal and other parts of India were in involved in unscrupulous and scandalous behavior. Sāraswati Ṭhākura spoke against them. With a reformists temper, he challenged the caste brahmanas who exploited their place in society, formalists without substance, materialists, atheists, and even Bengali folk heroes like Ram Krishna and Vivekananda. He skewered the corrupt orthodoxy of his day in his speeches and writings and railed against hypocrisy. He debunked phoney gurus, and bogus religious sects whose only purpose was cheating their followers. In establishing the principles of Chaitnaya-bhakti, he was such a ferocious preacher that he became known throughout India as simha-guru, “Lion-guru.”

Bhaktivedanta Swami

Bhaktisiddhānta’s foremost disciple, was my guru, Bhaktivedānta Swāmi, known as Prabhupāda. Prabhupāda often called those with opposing points of view, “fools and rascals,”astonishing those who had bought into the stereotype of Indian guru as a sweet, smiling old man holding a flower ala Maharishi and the Beatles. A search of Prabhupada’s lectures in the BBT archives shows that he used the expression “rascal” over 4,000 times. He commonly called atheists and materialists, “fools, rascals, dogs, hogs, camels, and asses.” And yet, Prabhupāda was a man of great compassion who had dedicated the final years of his life to establishing a religious mission based on spiritual deliverance. In his 70s, alone, abandoned by friends, family, and government, he set out from India on a steamship tossed by the storms of the Atlantic armed only with a trunk of books and a pair of hand cymbals. He went on to establish a world-wide mission, the Hare Krishna Movement, with thousands of followers and hundreds of temples. The fools and rascals he criticized were the scientists who invented the atomic bomb and the politicians who promoted war, along with their propagandist and other atheistic materialists.

Bhaktisiddhānta did not suffer fools. Prabhupāda did not suffer fools.

"The Little Rascals"

And yet...

We’re talking about highly advanced souls with clearly defined goals.

On the one hand, I’m not on such a high level that I can talk to people like that. On the other, I’m not so sure that it would be productive to talk to people like that.

The oratorical style that may have served in Bengal 100 years ago is not necessarily the appropriate manner for our media-savvy world.

Maybe it’s time for a new perspective. A new narrative. Not that we leave the teachings behind, but often the teachings are confused with the man, the vani with the vapu, but let’s not throw out the baby with the bath-water.

Vani: the guru's written teachings.

Vapu: the guru's persona

Montaigne, in his essay on conversation, congratulates himself for his new-found ability to listen to stupid people saying stupid things without getting angry. Maybe it’s time to take a page from his book and leave the self-righteous indignation behind.

Recently, on a preaching trip to Russia, I exhorted the devotees to preach the chanting of the holy name of Krishna in every town and village and double the number of members. After my lecture I was taken aside by a more experienced devotee, a practical-minded gentleman who complemented me on my talk.

“Very 1970s.” he said. “Very retro. I haven’t heard a talk like that in a long time.”

I’m from Hollywood. I know what it means to be “damned by faint praise” such as “You certainly have a future. I’m just not sure in what.” Or, “For what you do, you’re the most unique.” It seemed to me my friend was trying to correct me for my own good.

“Very 70s? Is that good?” I asked.

Very Seventies? Is that good?

“Well,” he said, “Nowadays we don't push so much. We tell people, ‘we have something really cool. If you like what we do, if you think it’s cool, you’re welcome to hang out with us.’”

I liked his advice. I felt it was congruent with a direction I’ve been taking.

There’s a saying: You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make him drink. A good horseman knows that his horse has to drink before a long ride. He takes him to the trough and says, “Drink.” But if the horse isn’t thirsty there’s nothing you can do to make him drink. The man convinced against his will is of the same opinion still. It may be fun to imitate Prabhupada or Bhaktisiddhānta and scream fools and rascals to the wind in an Indian accent. But is it useful? Is this the best pedagogy? Or might it not be more worthwhile to demonstrate the joy of spiritual life and invite others to join in the dance?

As Montaigne wrote many of his essays with a view toward stimulating his own thought process, I leave the reader with the question. Perhaps in future we shall have an interesting conversation.