When we say, “Education is education of limits,” we mean that by imposing limits, we grant freedom; by setting boundaries, we teach liberation. Should the learner, then, limit themselves? No, they should set boundaries that will liberate them. This paradox is only one side of the coin—merely liberating would be an illusion. For just as the meaning of a word depends on unsignifying others, a person’s freedom is parallel to the boundaries they set for themselves.
It’s like the cell membrane or skin.
Individuals come to life without knowing the rules. Through trial and error, mistakes, and corrections, they initially learn limits from their parents, then from society. In this process, they must avoid being overly restricted or left without boundaries. Just as a cell membrane defines the cell’s existence, and skin draws a line between us and the external world, limits define us. Yet, permeability is essential for survival. How, then, does an individual, within systems that seek control over life, learn to limit and free themselves from the institutions and figures—teachers, parents, citizens—that enforce these limits?
The weak will become strong through their weaknesses.
The most vulnerable subject regarding power and limits is the learner—the one who seeks knowledge. This learner’s weakness in strength is paired with an ignorance that, paradoxically, makes their future brighter. Thus, they can be reassured in their weakness and limitation, finding solace in future strength and wisdom. We should note that, in a sense, humanity persists because of this readiness for education. The weak, ineffectual child grows stronger, better adapted to conditions than the previous generation. Just as death advances life in subsequent generations, a weaker position in previous generations becomes a renewal opportunity for children.
In a written civilization, arrows can be drawn backward.
Individuals are born with potential for learning and growth; this flexibility is inherent. Unless held back by family or society, childhood is inherently about relearning. Yet, as an arrow drawn backward on paper, some forces aim to educate people in the opposite direction. This behavior, contrary to nature, is like a byproduct of humanity’s educational history. How, then, can individuals resist being directed counter to nature?
Humans are not inclined to rebel against their parents or their culture. From childhood, we are trained by dictates and imitate those around us. How can we resist an education contrary to life’s natural course, as found in regressive communities? First, we must observe our defense mechanisms. Once we begin to make excuses, we can justify and believe anything. Valid reasons, even the acceptance of an entire society, do not make something true. Instead, we must focus on practical results, evaluating whether our education brings us peace and prosperity.
The individual must assess their education.
If we focus on what problem education solves, we find both motivation and validity. For instance, an education in blacksmithing enables us to work with iron; a medical education enables us to save lives. These are indisputably valid fields. When we consider modern formal education, however, it’s hard to pinpoint a specific outcome—perhaps it’s “citizenship education.” But does it foster good citizens, or merely create hostility?
What remains after education?
After twelve years of basic education, what remains? We may gain communication, social, and some research and self-regulation outcomes, but the most critical outcome—thinking—is often neglected, even undermined. For example, we struggle to move beyond problem-solving to perceive, think, and question correctly. Socrates’ fundamental philosophy of education is worth recalling: “Everyone wants to live a good life, but without learning to distinguish between good and bad, one cannot live well; we must question to make distinctions, and an unexamined life is not worth living.” Our education system, however, suppresses questioning, treating us as if we were clay tablets from the 19th century. Despite the abundance of accessible information, we’re still tasked with transcribing textbook knowledge into exam papers.
Education, like all social institutions, is a rigid structure that takes a long time to change. Especially with the power of the state, it’s challenging to foster development by highlighting its deficiencies. Typically, systems change only when they lose out to other states or natural forces.
An individual can take precautions by learning to confront reality.
As difficult as it may be for our ego, we must question and be skeptical of comfort. We should be wary of simple answers and certainties. Our brains aim to conserve energy and ensure survival at any cost. Our bodies avoid fatigue, and our minds and ideas will drift if left unchallenged. Just as our concepts shift with the changing world, education must be continually updated. The world does not remain still, nor should we—the world turns, the sun itself rotates, and even the galaxy and universe are not static.
We must foster motivation, self-regulation, and vision.
If a person does not lose hope, they can live well. They should not live as if they are isolated in their journey. The future can change. Motivation, or the purpose behind learning and questioning, comes first. Then comes self-regulation, the ability to act without instruction. Lastly, a plan or vision is needed. Once they determine what they want to achieve, they should face life’s challenges and continue forward.
In education—the encoding of the individual—the most rarely given outcome is the most crucial: thinking. To foster this outcome, individuals must avoid making excuses and be prepared for constant questioning. The most effective approach is learning to question.
