March 9, 2022—There is a wildness in nature. There is a wildness in teachers, learners and classrooms. Wildness is resisted, feared and controlled by systems of domination, using norms, standards and accountability frameworks. When classrooms are structured around power over rather than power with, wildness is absent or perceived as an unwelcome distraction. The wildness of imagination and the unexpected are curtailed. What can educators who seek to cultivate wildness as a space open to the organic emergence of learning do?
Let me state that wildness is not the same as undisciplined and unstructured. Wild places, in nature and classrooms, have recognizable and trustworthy patterns that foster learning. In the natural world a person can rely on the migration of animals, the turning of the seasons, the weathering of mountains, or the predictability of plants emerging in fields and forests. But the fine details and pacing of these structures is variable and intimately tied to the immediate context. Spring, for instance, will always follow winter, but the exact date of flowers emerging from the soil varies from year to year. When I travel in the wilds of nature, I never quite know what I will encounter. Awe and wonder are as possible as injury or perhaps death if I’m unlucky or unprepared. It is this combination of structure and freedom that brings my full body and heart into the experience.
The same pattern of disciplined spontaneity is present in classrooms that are genuinely wild. If I have faithfully created the conditions for wilding, the classroom has an underlying structure nurtured by readings, norms, lesson plans and assessments. And if I’m patient and open to the possible I never know what will emerge or develop from this order. In nature’s wildness I never know which animals or plants I will see. In the wildness of my classroom I know that learning will occur, but it will be true to the interests of my students, not my overlay of preprogramed learning outcomes. An important part of wild places is the cycle of death and rebirth. In the classroom this means students and teachers must allow old beliefs, ideas and approaches to understanding to pass away, to transform into new ways of knowing and being. My prejudices, my biases, and my intellectual inadequacies, as in nature, are captive to the cycle of dying, renewal and rebirth. This is a truth that can be anticipated but not structured through standards and prescriptive norms.
For wilding in the classroom to occur, I must make several assumptions about human nature and the essence of learning. The first is that every student and educator has a soul or heart, a central core of identity and being that is unique and particular to that person. The meaning of soul is often narrowly bound by the language and meaning making of religion. But it can also be used in secular educational spaces to describe what is being called out, or invited into the learning space, by the construction of the classroom by an educator. This sense of soul is consistent with the root meaning of education, which is to call out the wisdom, knowing and wonder of the learner. To approach education as if the soul or heart is absent from the leaner is to invite the image of student as an empty vessel to be filled with predetermined chunks of knowledge. Such a model, which is form of taming, divorces the student from agency, empowerment and the development of independent forms of knowing.
I believe the soul of a leaner is an individual and unique phenomenon that enlivens the deep sense of self. But the soul, as the embodiment of unique gifts, is not intended for personal gain or ego flourishing. Rather, a strong and robust soul offers its power and insights in service of others. Community and collaboration is of higher value than individualism and radical self-fulfillment.
Within classrooms an important feature of the soul emerges from the heart-centered work of Parker Palmer. He argues that the behavior of the learner and the teacher soul is analogous to the actions of a wild animal. Both are shy, quiet and easily chased into hiding. As in nature, if the light is too harsh, if there is too much noise or the observer lacks patience and attentiveness, the soul of the learner will retreat. It will seek out the bushes, rocks and hidden places that feel safe. Thus, to fully invite the soul into the active process of learning requires the creation of a wild space in the classroom, a condition where the soul can feel welcome and appreciated for its gifts and perspectives. In such spaces, students are alive and engaged because the fullness of self, heart, mind and soul is brought to task of learning.
What are the conditions and characteristics of a classroom where wilding is occurring? A space where the soul is invited to the bring its unique wisdom to the conversation? In my classrooms, I strive for the integration of freedom and structure. I speak about the nature of my teacher soul and invite students to consider the existence and unique qualities of their heart. I use academic texts, poetry and class activities that foster imagination and cut through the dross and over-burden of social norms that seek to control the wildness of the soul. A wilding classroom requires community, an ecology of knowers seeking deeper connection with a common known. To achieve this form of communal exploration entails the formation of classmates who know how to listen to each other in ways that invite the speaker’s soul to the surface. This contrasts with the more common critical language of academia which tends to drive the heart into hiding with its harsh and divisive form of discourse.
The final feature of teaching for wilding is silence, an extended and spiritually informed version of instructional wait time. A time to rest the mind, to open the heart, and hear the quiet voice of inner wisdom and knowing. It is often the last student to speak, the person who attends to the silence, who offers a comment or thought that pulls the conversation forward in unexpected and generative ways.
As I consider the value of wilding the classroom, I see students who are wilder now in their learning than day one of class. They are more fully themselves, released from the cages of role, punitive structures of assessment, and self-imposed isolation from their spirit. When I take the time. When I’m patient. When I suspend initial perceptions. I am blessed to witness change as students return to a deeper, more soul-full version of self. And in this moreness, as a wild thing, they are unpredictable in ways that brings light and energetic possibility to the classroom. And in this setting, I am also more alive as I wait for a brief glimpse of wild heart of a student to emerge and shine in its brilliance.
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