Some time ago on my way back from a trip to Visakhapatnam, a fortuitous event occurred: we were comfortably in time for the train back to Hyderabad and I had the luxury of going to a bookstall at the railway station and browse through the collection. Now, browsing books at a railway station is a very different experience from browsing books, say, at an Oxford Bookstore or a Landmark… the ambience at a station has its own charm which is impossible to replicate. There’s a sense of urgency in choosing a book that would be a befitting accompaniment to the relaxed ride home, along with an old-world charm which carries with it a sense of nostalgia from childhood days.

Apart from the ambience, another unique thing about looking at books at railway stations is that one comes across indigenous publications which one cannot hope to find at the more elite and fancy bookstores. And one such publication I came across was a copy of Thoughts on Education by Vinoba Bhave, translated by Marjorie Sykes, and published by the Sarva Seva Sangh Prakashan, Varanasi. This happened to be my pick for the ride, and as it turns out, was a most enlightening read…

My first comment on Vinoba’s Thoughts would be on their contemporary relevance. The book is a compilation of lectures delivered by the thinker largely between 1949 and 1957; however none of the issues seems dated. This can mean two things: first, that the common cliché holds true – India has not achieved much in the years post-independence and the problems that plagued the country then, and occupied social thinkers and activists then, are still relevant and unresolved; and/or two, that the questions that Vinoba raises are philosophical in nature, and subsequently do not have answers (read easy, practicable solutions), or that the solutions he suggests are of such an ideal/idyllic nature that one cannot find too many instances of those in life. Either of the two possibilities is true, but neither would deter one from realizing the intrinsic value of his thoughts. I would thus attempt to present a small overview of some of his notions and the relevance they hold for life in a globalized, fast-changing India.

There are several ideas that this small book throws up, I would however be discussing one of the most pertinent ones here. Vinoba talks about the great divide in a human being’s life in the present day, which is the product of the educational system – (for those who are ‘lucky’ enough to get a formal education!) – That between life at/during one’s educational career, and post it. The artificial system of marks is a reality that one confronts only while at school and never again. Unless one translates ‘marks’ into ‘remuneration figures’ later in life, which again is problematic, since various studies and commonsense have shown that it is not necessary for the aboveaverage student to inevitably do well for herself in life and that it is often the under-achievers rather than the over-achievers who ‘do well for themselves’ (speaking in a conventional sense) in their careers.

Coming back to Vinoba, and to quote him:
“A person spends the whole of his first fifteen
or twenty years in getting an education
and the ordinary cares of life are kept at
a distance; after that he throws away his
education with his school-bag and the rest of
his days are given entirely to living!”

He goes on to talk about young men harboring great ambitions and dreams – of wanting to become ‘a poet like Valmiki’ or ‘a scientist like Newton’, only to later in life ‘stoop to problems of housekeeping, of getting his daily bread.’ Now, what Vinoba is saying may be regarded by many as commonplace. This dichotomy is the reality of the vast majority – the binary of ‘getting an education’ and ‘living’ are hard to reconcile. And the term given to this reconciliation is ‘maturity’! So when someone gives up on what ‘sensible’ folk would regard ‘fanciful’ he is applauded and said to have gained in ‘maturity’! But the causes which foster this divide have not been addressed and that too for years. Instead, the education systems in India and elsewhere have become even more entrenched.

This is something that either we ourselves have experience of, or are witness to around us. I for one still go through bouts of nostalgia when I think of school and marks as an easier alternative to ‘life’. That is not to say my school days were the happiest or that I was a ‘good’ student! But the life I led then was different and did little to prepare me for the life that I now lead…

Parents who themselves perhaps had to struggle in their lives to reach a certain economic standing believe that they should not let any shadow of trouble fall upon their children (a common theme seen in Hindi movies as well). To this sentiment, Vinoba says, “We think of it (life) in terms of conflict and struggle. But if this were true, if life were a terrible, weary struggle, we should neither introduce children to it nor continue to live it ourselves…” Historically contextualizing Vinoba would help us see that he was pointing towards the Nai Taleem – an educational scheme that Gandhi had come up with, which was loosely based on Tagore’s notions of education and the place of vocational training in education. The Nai Taleem was never successfully implemented and perhaps in a way for the better, however that does not take away from the arguments put forth by Vinoba in the favour of the significance of vocational training in education today.

Taking Vinoba’s ideas on education seriously would entail a major overhaul of the current mainstream education system. But until that happens, perhaps parents and teachers in an individual capacity need to take up the responsibility of making children feel that they are a part of the world – of the grown-up world of responsibilities and work. For adults to understand that ‘responsibility’ is not a bad word – and that if it is so in childhood, those same children cannot be expected to grow up and start looking at the same thing differently. To quote Vinoba again:
“If this is done [i.e. the artificial division
between ‘school-life’ and ‘life’ be done
away with], life will no longer consist of two
broken fragments. The difficulties which
arise from being thrust unprepared into
responsible living will be avoided. There will
be a constant, unconscious accumulation
of knowledge, but men will not fall into the
illusion of “education”, and will be helped
to attain that detachment of spirit in which a
man labours, but does not lust after the fruits
of his labour.”

The author is a Lead-Trainer with the Naandi Foundation, Mumbai and a student of Education (Elementary) at TISS, Mumbai. She can be reached at simranluthra@gmail.com.

The word ‘education’ conjures up many images – of children earnestly working in school, poring over their books, preparing for the future. The current notion of education as preparation for the future is relatively recent, a product of modern western society. Preparation for the future implies more productivity, more expertise, more leisure, so that the future is more secure. In earlier times, however, education had different emphases – learning, mainly religious in nature; the mastering of various skills, often passed on from one generation to the next in order to fulfill a role in society. Religious learning laid a foundation for the student to become a better human being – for example, the Buddhist ideal of striving towards becoming a bodhisatva, who released all sentient beings from suffering, the Muslim notion of piety, and obedience to God and the prophet, the Hindu notion of Brahman, a state of transcendence of the material world.

One of the earliest Indian religious thinkers of the 20^th century who recognised the need for a shift in consciousness towards higher ideals was Aurobindo. His vision for education was based on that of the ancient Indian sages – that behind the apparent separation of objects and phenomena in the world, there is an underlying unity which may be called the Self of all things, or, the Reality of a Being of all things. It is possible for anyone to “remove (the) veil of separative consciousness and become aware of the true Self, the Divinity within us and all.” (Aurobindo to himself, Vol.26, p.35). Aurobindo also wrote of the principles of ‘supramental Yoga’, that is, a practice of transcending the ordinary workings of the mind, which is based on instincts such as greed, passion, desire and attachment; leading to a constant pursuit of greater beauty, harmony, power and knowledge.

These principles are at the core of Aurobindo’s religious teachings. He perceived a renaissance of India based on the application of these principles, and the healing, through the education of young people, of what he called a ‘national wound’ inflicted by colonialism. The brutal and sometimes inane principles of the then British educational system were (and still are) being carried out in India even after independence – capital punishment, cramming for examinations, the rigid authoritarianism of teachers. He saw these as deeply destructive of curiosity and learning and felt the need for a complete change in the way education was approached – a freeing of the minds of Indians into an appreciation of their own rich cultural past.

Often, Aurobindo rewrote received principles of education. If his principles were to be applied in schools today, much would have to be changed. The teacher, rather than being authoritarian, has to play the unobtrusive role of guiding the pupil gently and easily without the rigid imposition of structures such as constant testing and evaluation. A school is usually regarded as a place a child goes to in order to learn from the teacher and from books. Specially talented children are usually recognised by teachers through competitions. However, Aurobindo saw that every child has a combination of a variety of talents: an instinct for words, a dramatic faculty, an interest in and an imagination for history. Besides, children love interesting narratives, and “Every child is an enquirer, investigator, analyser and merciless anatomist…. Every child has an insatiable intellectual curiosity and turn for metaphysical enquiry” (Aurobindo and the Mother, p.34, p.35).

Slowly, by stimulating these talents and faculties, a child may be drawn into understanding herself and the world. A child’s talents cannot be nurtured or cultivated unless there is leisure and space for exploration. The emphasis on slowness is compelling. Slowness is usually considered an index of a lazy mind, which is incapable of grasping concepts completely. However, a child who shows no evidence of grasping a concept immediately after it has been taught may, in fact, be assimilating it in her own unique way, playing with the concepts and images in her mind, turning them over and over so as to find it meaningful.

Even if teachers are not able to make too many radical changes in the classroom, they could make some changes in their perspectives. Teaching and learning need not be experienced as rigid processes that are not a source of pleasure, or as a road leading to a future which never seems to arrive (the ideal of endless progress). Aurobindo’s teachings and work in education show us that modern education need not exclude what it means to strive towards the higher ideals of being human. This, after all, is what education has meant through the ages.

Deepa Onkar has been a teacher at CFL, Bangalore, and is an editor based in Chennai. She can be reached at donks71@yahoo.co.uk .

Dr. Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, through his studies of classical Indian philosophy and thought, explored how modern Indian education could be shaped. This article, on the occasion of Teachers’ Day, September 5, traces the evolution of his vision of education. It does not raise questions on his thought from a sociological point of view, but examines, instead, through biographical detail, his contributions to early modern Indian education.

Radhakrishnan was born and raised in the town of Tiruttani, on the border of Tamil Nadu and Andhra Pradesh (Sarvepalli is a town in Andhra Pradesh, from which his ancestors hailed, about 200 miles north of Tiruttani). The town of Tiruttani is one of many temple towns sprinkled over the landscape of this region. Over the centuries, these temple towns have been associated with myths, legends and stories about gods and goddesses and interlinked deeply with the landscape of ancient Tamilnadu. Oceans, rivers, hills, waterfalls, trees, flowers, birds and animals are part of the mythology associated with the temples, and goddesses and gods often had a myth or legend that was linked with any of these natural elements.¹ It was in such a sacralised landscape that Radhakrishnan spent the early years of his childhood. Perhaps a childhood memory of such an intensely religious atmosphere is sparked off as he recalls in later years: “ From the time I knew myself, I have had firm faith in the reality of the unseen world behind the flux of phenomena, a world which we apprehend not with the senses but with the mind, and even when I was faced with grave difficulties, this faith has remained unshaken.”²

All the schools that Radhakrishnan attended in Tiruttani and Tirupati (a neighboring town) were run by Christian missionaries. The same pattern of education continued through college, at Voorhees College established by the Reformed (Dutch) Church of America. It was here that Radhakrishnan had his first exposure to Western philosophy in the religious milieu of Christian Evangelism.³ The rigorous approach to Western philosophy introduced to Radhakrishnan at this time in his life, perhaps, gave him an idea as to how he could develop his studies of his own religion, Hinduism (of which he had undergone no formal training). He was, as an interpreter of his own religion and equipped with what may be called a ‘western education’, placed in a peculiar position of familiarity with the two different approaches to philosophy.

With his knowledge of Sanskrit (which he learnt as part of his Master’s degree from Presidency College, Madras) and of the ethos of Hinduism, he began to ‘interpret’ his culture and religion to an alien, western audience. His work could never have been under the influence of what Borges called ‘illusory closeness’ to his culture and language: believing himself to be closer to his tradition and language than one actually is. He also could not have faced difficulty of temporal distance, i.e., the problem of a translator who deals with very old texts, particularly in an ancient language, which is analogous to that of a translator who deals with a foreign language.⁴ Sanskrit, however, unlike other ancient languages of the world like Greek or Latin, never went completely out of written and oral use and was accessible to students in most universities.

A notable step in his career as a translator of texts such as the Upanishads, the Gita, and so on, was an invitation to deliver the Upton lectures at the University of Oxford, published as The Hindu View of Life. He also delivered the Hibbert Lectures, which were later published as The Idealist View of Life, which is often seen as his mature work. Perhaps the biggest award from a foreign country that was conferred on him was the knighthood from King George the fifth of Britain, in 1931. What followed was a flood of writing on a variety of subjects – religion, society, education, and philosophy. It was his passion for writing and translation that led to his varied and vibrant career – among the many roles he held were Chairman of the University Commission of India, (which rejected the teaching of religion of the sectarian kind) Vice- President of India, and eventually, President of India, in 1962.

It was at Calcutta University, early in his career as a translator, that Radhakrishnan began to take a serious interest in education. (It was at this time that Radhakrishnan found the time to work on the two volumes of Indian Philosophy, perhaps the best-known introduction to the subject.) It is not surprising that Radhakrishnan described the aims of education in traditional terminology. ‘Self-knowledge’ for the individual is a term used by many philosophers and educators; but each philosopher uses it in a sense peculiar to his own imagination and understanding. Radhakrishnan’s use of the term is derived from his reading and translation of the Upanishads and the Gita; in the sense of restraint of the emotions and the senses, the development of discrimination, and discipline. His ideas of ‘Truth’ and ‘compassion’ (from the Dhammapada) are also undeniably derived from his readings of these texts – the truth that is outside the pursuit of self-interest, and compassion for the powerless.⁵

Apart from such intellectual definitions, Radhakrishnan also explicitly gave guidelines to teachers and students. The student has to study with diligence, sincerity, and work extremely hard. Knowledge and skills are not just for personal acquisition, but have to be given back to society as service. A student should have humility, courage, and a cooperative spirit.

Radhakrishnan placed a great deal of importance on the role of the teacher. A good teacher, besides knowing his subject thoroughly, is committed to the role he plays in inspiring his students. Most importantly, he does not do things for fame or power. A good teacher is also open to correction. He should develop a sense of objectivity about his mentors and colleagues.

These kinds of definitions were perhaps based on an underlying idea that Radhakrishnan had of the university. Places of learning are often built upon closely cherished ideals of what society can be, and how people can be shaped. Radhakrishnan did not see the university as simply a place where learning or scholarship occurred; rather, as a place where a person also developed his or her ethical sensibilities. His definition of the university seems to suggest that it could be a place where learning and scholarship could be combined with a sense of national unity and communal harmony. When an educator’s thinking takes different directions, it is not easy to identify a single ‘core’ idea common to all his thinking. The sensibility that overrides his nationalistic aims for education, and which seems to have informed his literary, philosophical and educational output, however, can be found in his Religion and Society in which he writes about:

“…the renewal of the heart, the transformation of values, the surrender of the spirit to… the eternal. We all look up to the same stars, we dream beneath the same sky… and it does not matter if we endeavor to find the same truth along different roads. The riddle of existence is so great that there cannot be only one road leading to an answer.”⁶

Notes and References
1  For a detailed portrait of the living tradition of South Indian temple culture, see Wood, Michael. The Smile of Murugan: A South Indian Journey. (London, Penguin: 2000)

2  Radhakrishnan, S. excerpts from Religion in Transition “My Search for Truth” online article <www.uramamurthy.com/philosophy/html>

3  For all details of Dr. Radhakrishnan’s biography, I am indebted to Robert Minor’s biography. Minor, Robert N. Radhakrishnan: A Religious Biography. (New York, State U of NY: 1987)

4  Maria Herrera in an essay has summarized the problems of the interpretation of culture, and translation, as outlined by Jorge Louis Borges (among others). See Ed. Deutsch, Eliot. Culture and Modernity : East-West Perspectives. “On the Interpretation of Traditional Cultures” (Delhi, Motilal Banarsidass: 1991): 505-525.

5  The chapter on Education in Clarissa Rodrigues’ book succinctly summarizes Dr. Radhakrishanan’s views on the different aspects of education. Rodrigues, Clarissa. The Social and political Thought of Dr. S. Radhakrishnan. “Education“ (New Delhi, Sterling Publishers, 1992): 117-160.

6  Radhakrishnan S. Religion and Society. (London, George Allen and Unwin: 1966): 227.

There is the belief that education means scientific, technological or industrial training. But if the world of education is to experience a flowering in which a variety of sensibilities – artistic, scientific, and poetic – are to flourish, what Tagore called the dreary desert sand of dead habit, has to be crossed.

Almost all accounts that I have heard or read about Santiniketan by old students, contain anecdotes of some unique and intriguing aspect of the place. Old girls and boys reminisce knowingly of the closeness to nature they experienced as children, or the vivid colourfulness of the festivals of dance, drama, art and craft, or the benefits of outdoor classes that were so pleasant.¹ The thread that runs through all these narratives is the fact that long after they have left school, memories of Santiniketan remain with these individuals, continue to influence their ways of thinking, and has much to do with what they choose to do in life.

The uniqueness that the students ascribe to the place is perhaps to do with the way Santiniketan was started, and the course of events that led to its inception. Tagore, in his talks with students, says that when he was quite young, he ran away from school. The step, he says, saved him – ‘all that hung by a thread until then’ – the tenuous relationship with books; the chore of sitting still in the classroom, was now abandoned. Tagore had always had the ‘gift of poesy’; every morning, when he was a child, he would “…run out from his bed in a hurry to greet the first pink flush of the dawn through the trembling leaves of the coconut trees which stood in a line along garden boundary, while the grass glistened as the dewdrops caught the first tremor of the morning breeze… all my heart, my whole body in fact, used to drink in the overflowing light and peace of those silent hours.”²

The blue skies, the seasonal flowers, and a heightened ability to empathise became actualities that commanded him to do what he most cherished; write poetry.³ He says – “You may call me uneducated and uncultured, just a foolish poet; you may become great scholars and philosophers, yet I think I would still retain the right to laugh at pedantic scholarship.”⁴

These are telling words and actions. Boredom, a feeling of restriction within the walls of a classroom, the earth and the skies only glimpsed through the windows, and made contact with during intervals between classes, are the plight of millions of children across the country today. Poetry is laughed at in today’s educational programmes – why wouldn’t it be when the pursuit of competitive excellence in the sciences is given prime importance? Scientific excellence should definitely be striven for, if after careful consideration, the student thinks that it is indeed the subject she would like to specialise in. But a culture in which the exclusive pursuit of science and technical subjects is encouraged by schools and parents is pervasive in the country today. While there is a profusion of courses offering other options, scientific, numerical, analytical ability is still considered, by a large majority, to be an indication of worthiness, intelligence and success in life.

Tagore saw in the rationality of science an opportunity to free the minds of the majority of his countrymen from superstitiousness. He held conversations with Einstein on the importance of the observer in science, rather than an independent, absolute truth. Tagore’s view was that neither complete objectivity nor the perception of beauty was possible without an observer.⁵ Poetry, it wouldappear then, is not too far away from science. Taking a cue from conversations of this kind, it is interesting to ask if scientific study in our country (at the school level at least) could be accompanied by a study of the processes of science. Science at the senior secondary level at least, instead of becoming a series of formulae to be derived from principles, could be taught in such a way that the student gets a glimpse of the aims of science – the search for beauty and order through rigorous methods of observation and calculation; the involvement of the senses in scientific observation and experiment; and finally, of science itself as one among many ways of looking at the world.

When Tagore was 40, he started Santiniketan (in 1901). He did not set out to experiment with education, nor was it an attempt at bringing about a progressive school focused on innovative ways of teaching and learning. Over the years as he studied, wrote novels, plays and short stories, and composed songs and poetry, a school grew. Tagore’s artistic personality became the centre of all the activities of the school. As soon as a song for Gitanjali was composed, children would sing it. Seasonal festivals were arranged, and lyrical dramas composed for the season. Artists and singers were invited to live at the school, so that children could be inspired. Opportunities were created so that artistic talent could be expressed, and only when a strong inclination or love for a particular activity was shown, was formal training arranged for.⁶

Thus, if talent in a subject (other than science) is to flower, patient and consistent observation of a child’s inclinations should first be established. This may not be possible in most schools, as music and art are not given enough space and time – a period a week for each. The child whose learning patterns are artistic, musical or largely sensory is, then, by the age of five or six already in a position where shehas to spend the majority of her day with activities which she is not especially inclined towards–numerical activity, linguistic skills, elementary analytical ability and so on. Also, artistic talent is usually ‘spotted’ through festivals that are competitive in nature. These festivals could remove their competitive aspect, and all students (not only those chosen by teachers) present what they have worked on during their art and music classes. Teachers will not find it difficult to identify children whose learning patterns are predominantly musical, artistic, dramatic (which involves a number of skills and intelligences) and so on. ‘Parent’s day’ could become a day-long festival of drama, dance, art and music in which all children participate.

There is a mantra in the minds of students, parents and teachers in our country, and perhaps the world over–that education means scientific, technological or industrial training. But if the world of education is to experience a flowering in which a variety of sensibilities – artistic, scientific, and poetic – are to flourish, what Tagore called the dreary desert sand of dead habit, has to be crossed. Perhaps teachers, parents and students need to embrace Tagore’s attitude, expressed in what is perhaps the best-known poem from Gitanjali:⁷

Where the mind is without fear
and the head is held high;
Where knowledge is free;
Where the world has not been
broken up into fragments
by narrow domestic walls; …
Where the clear stream of reason
has not lost its way into the
dreary desert sand of dead habit; …
Into that heaven of freedom,
my Father, let my country awake

Notes and References
1 See Sen, Amartya. The Argumentative Indian: Writings on Indian History, Culture and Identity. ‘Tagore and his India’ (New York, Allen Lane Penguin:2005):115. The chapter on Tagore gives a comprehensive account of his views and attitudes on a variety of subjects – the West, Patriotism, his relationship with Gandhi, his views on education and so on.
2 Ed. Soares, Anthony. Lectures and Addresses by Rabindranath Tagore: Selected from the Speeches of the Poet. ‘My Life’ (London, Macmillan:1955):13.
3 Anna Akhmatova’s poem. ‘The Muse’ describes the poet’s awed attitude when she encounters her muse.
“All that I am hangs by a thread tonight
as I wait for her whom no one can command.
Whatever I cherish most – youth, freedom, glory –
Fades before her who bears the flute in her hand.”
Tagore’s inspiration is, however got from a source different from the personalised, mythological muse that Akhmatova describes – he found his in the natural beauty of his surroundings; his poetry too is filled with a sense of wonder and awe in the variety of forms, colours, sounds and fragrances in nature.
Ed. Paine, Jeffery. The Poetry of our World: An International Anthology of Contemporary Poetry. “The Muse” Anna Akhmatova (New York, Perneial Harper Collins: 2000):224.
4 Ed. Chakravarty, Amiya. A Tagore Reader. “From Talks to Students in China” (Boston, Macmilllan:1961):207.
5 Sen, 2005:104.
6 See Soares, 1955, the chapter entitled ‘My School’:37-39.
7 Tagore, Rabindranath. Gitanjali. Online Publication <<http.extext.lib.virginia.edu>>

Education was a major concern of J. Krishnamurti, a radical thinker and educator. For him, the development of the total individual was important, rather than only knowledge and skills.

J Krishnamurti is now considered to be one of the most radical thinkers and educators of recent times. Travelling the world over for a period of more than six decades, he pointed out the urgent need for a transformation of the psyche, without which the survival of humanity would be threatened. This transformation included a deep inquiry into the nature of the self.

Education, a central concern of his, is an integral part of such an inquiry. He held wide-ranging talks and discussions with thinkers, teachers and students on the significance of right education. In a world in which true morality seemed to be fast disappearing, it was of vital importance to him that educators and young minds engage with questions that were fundamental to the human psyche – the nature of fear, prejudice and violence. Educators and teachers were challenged to respond to these questions not just intellectually, but with the whole of their attention.

Educators everywhere would probably agree that one of the aims of education is to bring about an intelligent mind. However, the term ‘intelligence’ is usually synonymous with competence or excellence in a particular field – be it science, medicine, engineering or mathematics. Students in educational institutes, both school and university, are trained for extended periods of time to achieve competence or excellence in a particular field. The term ‘intelligence’ is hardly if ever applied to dealing with life, with the problems of society, or the problems of the individual. Krishnamurti made a distinction between intelligence, and the cultivation of knowledge and skills. The development of knowledge and skills helps an individual function in society. However, the development of the total individual – who thinks sanely, objectively, who is sensitive to the problems of life – the emotional, intellectual and psychological problems, has not been a central concern of education. (Life Ahead; p.10; Krishnamurti on Education, p.29)

The total development of the individual student is possible only if she can be helped to know her own deep capacities. Comparing one student with another does not bring about knowledge of the deeper capacities of the child. Comparison and competition have generally been seen as stimuli to learning, but they only breed envy, insecurity and fear. As most parents would like their children to have successful careers, this method has been used without the need to find out what the student’s deeper interests are.

“The child’s natural curiosity, the urge to learn exists from the very beginning, and surely this should be intelligently encouraged continually, so that it remains vital and without distortion, and this will gradually lead him to the study of a variety of subjects. If this eagerness to learn is encouraged in the child at all times, then his study of mathematics, geography, history, science or any other subject will not be a problem to the child or the educator. Learning is facilitated when there is an atmosphere of happy affection and thoughtful care.” (Life Ahead, p.12)

How should the teacher help a student be very sensitive? In his talks and writings to students, Krishnamurti often drew their attention to listening, looking and observation, especially while in themidst of natural surroundings. Listening very attentively to the song of the bird, looking at its shape and colour, completely, without the intrusion of thoughts and feelings; looking at the flow of the river without wanting to do anything about it, brings about freedom of observation. Consider a classroom situation, in which children are instructed to learn from books. Traditionally, a child is instructed to concentrate on her lesson; otherwise, there is no learning. However, if the child’s gaze moves to a lizard on the wall, her gaze could be allowed to rest there as she perhaps watches the shape, colour and movements of the lizard with an intensity of interest that the book cannot evoke.

Freedom, however, does not mean doing what one likes. “If you say ‘I will do what I like. I will turn up for my meals when I like; I will come to the class when I like…’ – you create disorder.” (K on Education, p.38) Taking others into consideration, being polite, and concerned about other people, is all part of order, which brings about freedom.

While this order is relatively easy for an alert young mind to grasp, Krishnamurti was concerned that the older child was increasingly drawn into a world very similar to that of the adult. This, he said, is primarily because of the process of image making that the young mind begins to get caught up in. He saw this as destructive of the child and his creativity. The child has images about himself, which grow increasingly stronger, and there is a preoccupation with oneself – what others think, what one is capable of, and so on. The image is thus a source of enriching oneself, or on comparison with others, proves to be frustrating. These images create conflict, and therefore dull the mind. (K on Education)

These questions are a small sample of the vast number of talks, dialogues and discussions that Krishnamurti held with educators, teachers and students. While he never denied the need for developing a sharp, clear and critical mind, he saw the central concern of education as the development of the whole human being, capable of looking at his own problems, and that of society and the world, with clarity and sensitivity.

Deepa Onkar has been a teacher at CFL, Bangalore, and is an editor based in Chennai. She can be reached at donks71@yahoo.co.uk.

Recent inquiries into the state of education in India have been riddled with questions that seem to offer no easy solutions to educationists, philosophers and social theorists. Some of the questions raised in debate are: while privileged Indians go on to receive education in institutions of repute, millions of people do not receive even primary education.1 Philosophers of education also ask whether the whole human being can be educated, as there is an increasing trend towards specialisation in technological and intellectual fields. What are the means of developing sensitive and bright individuals? Is competition, for example, the best way to facilitate learning?2 Can peace be a central objective of education? The reason why such questions have become virtually unanswerable is perhaps contained in the second question; the view that education is to be concerned with the whole human being – social, intellectual, emotional and physical rather than with specialisations in specific fields.

For a few individuals in the history of the nation, these were not merely academic issues. Most literate Indians perhaps have at least a nodding acquaintance with the principles that Gandhi practiced – non- violence, non-co-operation, satyagraha, swaraj and so on. For Gandhi, these were creative principles that he sought to communicate to those he worked closely with, and to the public in general. Through the principles of non-violent resistance and self-reliance, Gandhi sought to create a culture where individuals engaged directly with the violence in their minds and hearts, and strove for the improvement of the society. Gandhi’s own creative impulse seems to have sprung from an intense involvement, and identification with the causes of oppressed people –first in South Africa, and later in India.

An interesting way of defining Gandhi’s creativity has been developed by the psychologist Howard Gardner.3 To Gardner, an influencer belongs to the category of creative individuals who create a new field of human activity, by engaging with the minds of large groups of people so as to influence them in ways in which they think about themselves and the world. The influencer has a specific set of gifts –chiefly linguistic and narrative, so as to be able to reach out to large numbers of people through language and story telling. Gandhi’s specific gift as a narrator lay in revealing to individual and collective national selves the reserves of nonviolence and self-reliance latent in them.

Gandhi’s vision of education is intrinsically linked with the idea of individual and national freedom. Nai Talim, or New Education, (proposed by Gandhi in 1937 as Basic National Education) had at its core the vision of freedom, but this also meant selfreliance and working for the benefit of society. He wanted to establish, after the exit of British rule, ‘a just, peaceful, non-acquisitive social order’.4 Nai Talim was conceived of as education for the whole of an individual’s life. A person’s latent capacities can be developed through the whole of life, and each individual ought to explore possibilities at different stages of life.

A thorough attempt was made to replace the system of competition with that of co-operation. Competition – ranking children as ‘first’ and ‘last’, only causes envy and dishonesty. Children will, on the other hand, work untiringly on subjects that interest them, without any need for an artificial stimulus. The co-operative instinct is inherent in children. While many school settings may not allow for large periods of time for collaborative work, it might be possible in some instances to set aside time in each class when children work together – either on a set of mathematics problems or a project in art class. They could then have a discussion or presentation on how they went about it. Making discussion a classroom activity encourages them to interact and co-operate with those they normally don’t. This spirit of co-operation slowly might bring about a culture of sharing, working together in a non-violent manner.

The stage known as Basic Education in the Nai Talim lasts from the seventh to the fourteenth year. The child is taught handicrafts, for this is crucial in the development of the senses and co-ordination. Schools could incorporate a craft (weaving, embroidery) or pottery element in their art curricula, rather than focusing only on the elements of western art – namely drawing, watercolour painting and so on.

The alphabet, especially the English alphabet, is not to be imposed on the young mind – the first medium of instruction should be in the mother tongue. As the child grows older, she is to be taught cleanliness of body and surroundings. However in most schools, burdened with the need to master academic skills, the young child very quickly loses connection with her surroundings, and with a sense of beauty and order. The child becomes isolated, and often sad and frightened without this sense of order and connection with her surroundings. If a child, after a Basic Education has acquired a range of mental and manual skills, then she is in a position to have an excellent career in any field of her choice.

All of Gandhi’s views on education were based mainly on moral principles. On reading about the life of Gandhi, one senses an intense personal involvement in everything he undertook or believed in. However, such a personal involvement was often aimed at a ‘higher truth’, derived from his interpretation of religious texts.5 It was perhaps from such reading that Gandhi derived his deep sense of morality and adherence to truth, which he sought to ‘influence’ students with. Thus, in his interactions with students, he spoke of values that he felt could not be ignored – respect for one’s parents, listening to one’s conscience, ‘to have compassion in one’s heart’ and in the context of the struggle for freedom from the rule of the Empire, fearlessness. Perhaps the trend in education will experience a shift in principles with attention to what Gandhi lived and taught, through personal experimentation and the example of his life.

References

Deepa Onkar has been a teacher at CFL, Bangalore, and is an editor based in Chennai. She can be reached at donks71@yahoo.co.uk