Education Without Romance – The Responsibility of Education

What we learn when learning isn’t attractive

Most learning strategies deal with deliberate practice: pushing ourselves in order to store new information or improve a skill. This learning is explicit, measurable, and challenging. It’s contrasted with the type of implicit, inconspicuous lessons we’re constantly learning, particularly from those with whom we identify, or from firsthand experience in meaningful activities.

Both types of learning are indispensable. Some knowledge can’t be acquired without disciplined study, and some things we can’t help but passively absorb from the influential people and environments in our lives. Schools are almost wholly concerned with explicit study, but this doesn’t stop the implicit teaching and learning that goes on there. Through years of academic work, we assimilate enduring messages about our identity, ability, and potential. We also absorb unconscious ideas about what education is and ought to be—its purpose, its place in our lives and society, and our responsibility for it.

Even as a form of explicit learning, deliberate practice is but one phase in the educational process. Alfred North Whitehead called this “the rhythmic stages of education,” consisting of romance (attraction), precision (deliberate practice), and generalization (application).

The stage of romance is when students acquire the interest that will sustain them through the challenging work to come. This stage answers the “Why?” question of studying. It’s the preparation for learning that makes knowledge personal, meaningful, and durable. It’s the essence of the kind of maturing activities that prepare a young person to profit more fully from their studies. These activities often include “independent browsing amid firsthand experiences, involving adventures of thought and of action.”

In other words, the stage of romance is that of intrinsic motivation, whether instilled by an inspiring teacher, or through autonomous discovery. In school settings this stage is also the least practiced of the three. It’s easily dispensed with in lieu of coercion or extrinsic incentives. You needn’t even pose the question of “Why?” when all parties operate automatically under the inevitable answer: “… because I have to.”

We’ve been “getting away” with this for a long time, so one might presume the stage of romance is dispensable. But we pay a considerable price for its omission.

This is most evident in the undue difficulty of and resistance to education’s second stage, that of precision—a difficulty that many assume is unavoidable (perhaps due to deficiencies in the student) and unrelated to the absence of the foundational first stage.

As Whitehead put it, “[I]f the stage of romance has been properly managed, the discipline of the second stage is much less apparent, … [students] know how to go about their work, want to make a good job of it, and can be safely trusted with the details.”

In other words, young people who are properly attracted to a thing require less coaxing and imposed discipline from adults.

Or to paraphrase John Holt, when you rely on coercion or extrinsic incentives you end up diverting significant energy away from inspired teaching and learning in order to combat apathy, evasive tactics, and behavioral problems.

[5][5]It’s not only the content itself that determines attractiveness, but the qualities of the person offering it:

Being-authority is grounded not only in the individual’s competence to fulfill certain social functions, but equally so in the very essence of a personality that has achieved a high degree of growth and integration. Such persons radiate authority and do not have to give orders, threaten, bribe. They are highly developed individuals who demonstrate by what they are—and not mainly by what they do or say—what human beings can be. The great Masters of Living were such authorities, and to a lesser degree of perfection, such individuals may be found on all educational levels and in the most diverse cultures. (The problem of education hinges on this point. If parents were more developed themselves and rested in their own center, the opposition between authoritarian and laissez-faire education would hardly exist. Needing this being-authority, the child reacts to it with great eagerness; on the other hand, the child rebels against pressure or neglect or “overfeeding” by people who show by their own behavior that they themselves have not made the effort they expect from the growing child.) [Erich Fromm, To Have or To Be?, 1976, Bloomsbury Academic, 2013, p. 33]

Deliberate practice without intrinsic motivation also makes for inert knowledge—Whitehead’s bane of education.

The first and third phases of learning are intertwined, as the practical use of a thing is a large part of what makes it attractive. But in many cases no real application can be foreseen, so little initiative is awoken, and knowledge becomes inert the moment a student hands in the final exam.

[7][7]

In training a child to activity of thought, above all things we must beware of what I will call “inert ideas”—that is to say, ideas that are merely received into the mind without being utilized, or tested, or thrown into fresh combinations. …

[T]heoretical ideas should always find important applications within the pupil’s curriculum. This is not an easy doctrine to apply, but a very hard one. It contains within itself the problem of keeping knowledge alive, of preventing it from becoming inert, which is the central problem of all education. …

I appeal to you, as practical teachers. With good discipline, it is always possible to pump into the minds of a class a certain quantity of inert knowledge. You take a textbook and make them learn it. So far, so good. The child then knows how to solve a quadratic equation. But what is the point of teaching a child to solve a quadratic equation? There is a traditional answer to this question. It runs thus: The mind is an instrument, you first sharpen it, and then use it; the acquisition of the power of solving a quadratic equation is part of the process of sharpening the mind. Now there is just enough truth in this answer to have made it live through the ages. But for all its half-truth, it embodies a radical error which bids fair to stifle the genius of the modern world. …

[W]hatever its weight of authority, whatever the high approval which it can quote, I have no hesitation in denouncing it as one of the most fatal, erroneous, and dangerous conceptions ever introduced into the theory of education. The mind is never passive; it is a perpetual activity, delicate, receptive, responsive to stimulus. You cannot postpone its life until you have sharpened it. Whatever interest attaches to your subject-matter must be evoked here and now; whatever powers you are strengthening in the pupil, must be exercised here and now; whatever possibilities of mental life your teaching should impart, must be exhibited here and now. That is the golden rule of education, and a very difficult rule to follow. [Alfred North Whitehead, The Aims of Education and Other Essays, Williams and Norgate, 1955, pp. 1-9]

Now, there is something to be said for coming to terms with necessary but unattractive work.

But we ought to ask why a dull task is necessary. Is it inherently useful, essential to our long term goals; or is it necessary because we’re under the threat of punishment, forbidden alternatives, compelled by unnatural forces? Does the task follow logically from our freely chosen aims, or is it contrived from aims imposed on us against our will? Clearly, the tasks of education should fall under the former category, especially if that education is to prepare us for authentic, fulfilling careers (and lives), and teach us that effortful learning—even when tedious—is worthwhile enough to continue on our own throughout adulthood.

[8][8]

Perhaps the most valuable result of all education is the ability to make yourself do the thing you have to do, when it ought to be done, whether you like it or not; it is the first lesson that ought to be learned, and however early a man’s training begins, it is probably the last lesson that he learns thoroughly. [Thomas Huxley] quoted in [Barnes & Noble Book of Quotations, edited by Robert I. Fitzhenry, HarperCollins, 1987, pp. 110-114]

When all has been said in the way of caution, there is such a thing as pushing on, of getting to know the fundamental details … and of acquiring an easy mastery of technique. There is no getting away from the fact that things have been found out, and that to be effective in the modern world you must have a store of definite acquirement of the best practice. …

During the stage of precision, romance is the background. The stage is dominated by the inescapable fact that there are right ways and wrong ways, and definite truths to be known. But romance is not dead, and it is the art of teaching to foster it amidst definite application to appointed task. … But yet—so many are the delicate points to be considered in education—it is necessary in life to have acquired the habit of cheerfully undertaking imposed tasks. The conditions can be satisfied if the tasks correspond to the natural cravings of the pupil at his stage of progress, if they keep his powers at full stretch, and if they attain an obviously sensible result, and if reasonable freedom is allowed in the mode of execution. [Alfred North Whitehead, The Aims of Education and Other Essays, Williams and Norgate, 1955, pp. 52-55]

Here we must return to the importance of implicit learning. What do we glean from our years of deliberate study without interest or application? How does this unnatural, truncated educational process shape our conception of “school things”: reading, writing, and intellectual work in general? There are many of these hidden lessons, but foremost among them is the acquired distaste for intellectual pursuits. We learn that education is “boring, difficult, and irrelevant to our lives”

—useful only for its signaling value. We associate learning with the control and judgments of school, and we flee from it at the first whiff of freedom. In short, we learn the lessons that are least likely to prepare us to assume the responsibility of education as adults.

Not only do we learn that education is unattractive, we learn to disregard what attractive qualities there might be. We take monumental works of literature, inspiring scientific discoveries, etc. and we force them on students in high-stakes, risk-averse environments where extrinsic incentives all but eclipse any intrinsic value. There is certainly potential for romance in much of the content schools offer, but the medium renders it inert. And it takes a talented, rebellious teacher or a self-assured, undaunted student to salvage the value that may exist.

Why does our medium of education leave so little room for romance? Simply put, we’ve replaced the force of attraction with compulsion.

[Before I go on to discuss freedom in education I must add a qualifier that ought to go without saying: The freedom of which I speak does not mean isolation, neglect, or permissiveness,

it means freedom in association with wise, caring adults—adults who offer young people quality resources to improve their autonomous choices, adults who exemplify autonomous learning, who can help young people define and pursue personal learning goals.

Most of us haven’t experienced this, so we assume there are only two ways of interacting with young people: making decisions for them or leaving them alone, without guidance.

But there is another way. It’s more difficult and nuanced, but it’s the best way to help young people achieve autonomy and make the transition to responsible adult learning.]

When students have no choice, education doesn’t need to be attractive, and it likely won’t be. Without this freedom, it’s hard for a student to truly bring themselves to the act of learning. Without it, adults can get by with inferior content and illegitimate authority. Unfortunately, in most learning environments, this freedom doesn’t exist. For freedom in education (as in all cases) comes with some risk.

A free student may not be attracted to what is offered. (A problem, perhaps, with the offering, not the student.) But with proper guidance a free student may not only choose what adults want them to and learn more effectively, they may, through their negotiations and appeals to reason, learn the critical standards (and personal affinities) that allow them to direct themselves when adult guidance is absent.

It is improving this skill of making wise choices for oneself (i.e. self-governance) that is a central justification for offering freedom—and for honoring the role of attraction—in education.

This skill is so important that it justifies the acceptance of some discomfort on the part of adults, as young people practice autonomous decision making, find their way, and grow at their own pace. It justifies a degree of trust and faith in young people that they can govern themselves (in age-appropriate undertakings); an initial trust that is likely to fulfill itself if given, just as our mistrust is likely to fulfill itself. And it demands a degree of trust in ourselves as adults—trust in the genuine benefit of our offerings, and in our ability to advocate for them, both explicitly and implicitly.

Freedom in education not only allows for practice in self-governance, it also encourages self-definition. When we learn freely, we tend to be attracted to what is personally useful, interesting, or stimulating of our talents—things for which hard work comes more easily, things that earn a lasting place in our memory. It is this authentic learning that is truly additive, and forms a solid foundation of competence and identity.

How can we bring romance back to education? Perhaps the simplest way

to make learning more attractive is to make the “Why?”

question central to the educational encounter. “Why is this particular assignment valuable—even inspiring? Why is it the best use of our time? Why is knowledge of this broader subject useful?” And sometimes it’s just as important to take a step back and remind students of a larger purpose: “Why are we even here? What are the larger goals of education we’re pursuing?”

[14][14]Though discussing the value of an assignment may reveal some attractive qualities to students, the ideal would be to alter the curriculum such that the question of “Why?” goes without saying. Assignments that have proven to be implicitly attractive are real-world projects that make meaningful contributions to the community—tasks that serve a deeper purpose, and fulfill a young person’s needs for competence, self-regard, and prestige. This kind of educational model is championed by Expeditionary Learning Schools, where learning is made attractive by offering purposeful, significant work. These projects communicate to young people: “Your skills, your energy, your talents, your contributions are all essential. They matter.” [David Yeager, 10 to 25: The Science of Motivating Young People, Avid Reader Press / Simon & Schuster, 2024, p. 212]

It’s not about interest, it’s about meaning,” [Ron] Berger [one of the architects of Expeditionary Learning] told me. He thinks curriculum designers are far too reliant on short-term interest, and long-term delay of gratification as ways to motivate kids. Neither is quite right, in Berger’s view. “As a society we often say, ‘Study now, get a good job later.’ We’re telling fifty million kids in the U.S. every year to wait for the second marshmallow.” Berger thinks that it’s far more effective to give young people meaning and purpose right now by asking them to learn skills to achieve something that has a direct impact on the community and on their social reputations. …

Berger explains: “If you tell kids to study World War II history because it’s important to their lives someday, or because it’s on a test, the kids who are people pleasers will do it, but the kids who don’t care will say, No way. However, if you tell the kids that they’re going to interview a WWII veteran in three weeks, and this person has never been interviewed before, and you’ll be able to honor them by being the first to uncover their stories, then there is an incredible pressure to learn—and the threat of an awful shame if you fail to honor the veteran because you were unprepared. That’s powerful. Kids will read and read, they’ll ask for feedback, they’ll work in groups, they’ll do the grueling work, not because it’s interesting, but because it’s meaningful. It’s immediate gratification, but for a sense of self-respect and accomplishment, not candy or points.” [David Yeager, 10 to 25: The Science of Motivating Young People, Avid Reader Press / Simon & Schuster, 2024, pp. 210-211]

Ron Berger’s insistence on meaningful skills and purpose right now, and on the direct impact of lessons, mirrors Whitehead’s insistence on keeping knowledge fresh and his “golden rule of education,” as referenced in the above footnote [7].

[15][15]

In essence, motivation consists of pointing to the concretes in reality that the child will be dealing with and showing him how he can deal with them better if he learns what you are teaching. That is the only way you can anchor a whole subject from the outset. You make every subject part of the skill of dealing with reality, as against “I just learned this stuff because someone told me to.” Learning the latter way is a guarantee of having the subject float in the child’s mind, however well it is taught, and however many eloquent examples the teacher gives, because the whole subject, if unmotivated, is disconnected from his life in reality. …

The principle of motivation is this: show them that the skills they themselves want to have or might want to have depend on mastering this subject. The “might want” is critical. There are many things they do not necessarily want now but they might want some day. …

I want to stress that motivation is not simply something you provide at the first class or the opening discussion. It must be continuous. You have to persistently refer back to your motivation throughout the entire subject matter.” [Leonard Peikoff, Teaching Johnny to Think: A Philosophy of Education Based on the Principles of Ayn Rand’s Objectivism, edited by Marlene Trollope, Ayn Rand Institute, 2014, pp. 17, 20]

In other words, treat young people as purposeful beings, in need of not just information, but useful

information, and sensible reasons

why. Even in coercive environments, interactions can be made more voluntary if arguments for intrinsic value can be made convincingly: if teachers teach what they love, if they convey the virtues of their material, if they embed it in the context of meaningful narratives

—if they demonstrate through these efforts a respect for the growing autonomy and rationality of students.

Teachers have a responsibility (even more so if they presume to compel attendance) to ensure their material serves students’ needs. And as students mature, they have a need to play a larger role in the establishment of learning objectives.

They have a need to discuss and understand what makes worthy educational pursuits so they can learn to be attracted to the right things, both during and after their formal schooling.

[16][16]There will almost always be valid arguments for the “usefulness” of any knowledge. What should concern us is the actual, foreseeable usefulness for a particular individual, relative to all the other knowledge that is likely to be useful to them.

Knowledge that’s useful to one student may not be useful to another. As students mature and differentiate themselves they’ll choose directions that render some things more useful than others. If we want students to integrate the knowledge that’s most useful for their individual growth, they should be free to pursue the most relevant subjects, and to refuse knowledge that doesn’t serve them (and, of course, they should benefit from the guidance of adults when making these choices).

Some knowledge is genuinely useful to everyone. If so, a teacher should be able to present it in such a way that students take it on voluntarily. If knowledge is useful and attractive, and a student still refuses it, we shouldn’t assume they will never acquire it. (Similarly, we shouldn’t assume that if this knowledge is forced on a student it will be retained long after.) The strict, uniform pace of our education pressures us to force learning in a way that not only makes it less likely to stick, but makes it unattractive such that a student is less likely to come around to it in their own time. (Another one of our self-fulfilling prophecies.)

[17][17]

[T]o become a different person because of something you have learned—to appropriate an insight, a concept, a vision, so that your world is altered—that is a different matter. For that to happen, you need a reason. …

A reason, as I use the word here, is different from a motivation. Within the context of schooling, motivation refers to a temporary psychic event in which curiosity is aroused and attention is focused. I do not mean to disparage it. But it must not be confused with a reason for being in a classroom, for listening to a teacher, for taking an examination, for doing homework, for putting up with school even if you are not motivated. …

There was a time when educators became famous for providing reasons for learning; now they become famous for inventing a method. [Neil Postman, The End of Education: Redefining the Value of School, Vintage, 1995, pp. 3-4, 26-27]

[20][20]

[Johnmarshall] Reeve [a researcher studying educational psychology] suspected students’ motivation was directly related to whether their core needs were met, including the need for some autonomy and the ability to ask questions and assert their interest. …

Students [who received autonomy-supportive teaching] were more motivated and engaged. They were happier (increased positive self-concept and increased positive emotions and well-being). They were kinder (increased prosocial behavior and less problematic relationships). They achieved more (increased learning, skill development, and school achievement). [Reeve et al., “Enhancing Students’ Engagement by Increasing Teachers’ Autonomy Support.”] … Students knew that their teachers cared about their interests, that their opinions mattered, and that they had choice in how they learned. … They were not pawns in their learning but authors of it. …

Having some autonomy to make choices, students begin to ask themselves key questions like “What assignment do I want to do? “ And when a teachers asks, “What did you like about the assignment?” it’s a signal of respect but also an inquiry into interests.

The act of answering these questions builds decision-making abilities … The autonomy that allows the questions in the first place elicits motivation and energy. … Students can take ownership because there is a choice, can set goals because they have a say, and can seek and overcome a challenge because it’s worthwhile—it’s their goal, too. [Jenny Anderson and Rebecca Winthrop, The Disengaged Teen: Helping Kids Learn Better, Feel Better, and Live Better, Crown / Penguin Random House, 2025, pp. 116-119]

For more on the needs of young people for autonomy, competence, and relatedness, see this link for Self-Determination Theory in education.

For more on the methods of Autonomy-Supportive Teaching, see this paper by Johnmarshall Reeve and Sung Hyeon Cheon.

What do we learn when learning is attractive? We learn to consider the real value of educational material, based on our own aims and those championed by teachers who must earn our attendance. We learn to appreciate genuine authority, derived from mastery, an affection for meaningful content, and a respect for the reality of the educational encounter. When guiding adults trust us with self-governance, we learn to listen to the voice inside us that gives us direction, to subject that voice to increasingly rational debate, and to develop self-trust. We learn that the potential benefits of freedom are worth the risk, and we learn that authentic growth at a personal pace is more important than spurious, short-term signaling.

When we’re free to follow the force of attraction, we can experience real romance in education. We can experience “adventures of thought and action”, discoveries that are uniquely our own, and communion with the minds of others, unadulterated by extrinsic motives. When we’re free to follow the force of attraction, we’re able to realize that we are also free to not learn—that if we want to grow and achieve our ambitions we’ll have to take responsibility for our learning. And perhaps we’ll realize that no one else can simply give us the education that will fulfill our potential—we must bring ourselves to it.

Footnotes: