Angelica Kajiwara

Just as a gardener tills the soil and adds nutrients before planting seeds, the beginning of education must prepare the groundwork for life.

As spring flowers emerge from the fertile soil and students impatiently await the arrival of summer break, educators are reminded of their students’ ever-present desire to finish school and escape to the freedom of hot summer days. Today, most children wait not for wonder but for dismissal, for the bell, the break, and the finish line.

However, John of Salisbury offers a countercultural vision of education. He proposes that the human mind is much like a spring garden. It must be planted, cultivated, and harvested through diligent, lifelong study. Learning requires patience, attention, and devoted time. The Metalogicon examines John of Salisbury’s vision for education, in which he advocates a slow and steady approach that yields the fruits of wisdom and virtue.

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Preparing the Soil: Time and Formation

If the minds God gave us are like gardens, then ideas are the seeds. But seeds do not grow without careful preparation, care, and, most importantly, time. Nowadays, time is at a premium. As a culture, we are always rushing toward the highest test score or the next significant achievement.

John writes, “All things read or written are useless except so far as they have a good influence on one’s manner of life.” (p. 6) And we cannot expect the way we live our lives to change overnight. The pursuit of a righteous and virtuous life is a lifelong journey toward wisdom steeped in the fear of the Lord. An education that strives to influence our students for good must prepare the soil of their lives to bear the fruit of virtue.

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Till the Soil with Grace and Habits

Just as a gardener tills the soil and adds nutrients before planting seeds, the beginning of education must prepare the groundwork for life. Laying moral and spiritual foundations must be central in the mind of every educator.

John affirms the role of divine grace: “It is grace alone which makes a man good” (p. 65). Still, he adds, “grammar…implants, as it were, the seed [of virtue] in nature’s furrow after grace has readied the ground.” (p. 65)

As difficult as it sometimes seems, the teacher’s role is to sow the seeds of education wisely and trust the process of a liberal arts education. “The arts…should be taken up and cultivated” (p. 33), not imposed as instant answers on a standardized test or random facts to be memorized.

And while true education is a lifelong process, early habits matter. John says, “Sometimes the most strenuous efforts of teachers cannot extricate one from habits imbibed at a tender age.” (p. 25)

The early years and all the years to follow should be filled with beauty, truth, and goodness so that the pursuit of wisdom and virtue becomes second nature. Even when a child’s nature is sluggish, “diligence is not futile as though it were wasted.” (p. 30)

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Rooted Before Blooming: The Rhythm of Slow Learning

What forms the root system of a person’s soul? John writes, “The chief aids to philosophical inquiry and the practice of virtue are reading, learning, meditation, and assiduous application.” (p. 64) These slow tools of learning serve as sunlight, water, and nourishment for the soul.

Just as a plant grows gradually and blossoms into what it was meant to be, so does the child. John warns against information overload: “To cram our memory with passages that are useless…is inappropriate and ill-advised.” (p. 92)

Instead, learning should be balanced with a life defined by both the pursuit of wisdom and joyful rest. “Study should be moderated by recreation…natural ability waxes strong with the former, refreshed by the latter.” (p. 35–36)

Two essential practices in slow learning stand out: narration and discernment. John explains that students should narrate the ideas they heard the day before so those ideas can take root and grow. “Each succeeding day thus became the disciple of its predecessor.” (p. 68)

Even more crucially, students must rely on the Holy Spirit’s guidance to practice discernment. “One must learn to discriminate between what is said literally, what is said figuratively, and what is said incorrectly.” (p. 55) This kind of wisdom grows only with time, reflection, and spiritual formation.

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The Fruit of Formation: Wisdom and Virtue

The goal of all this slow and careful cultivation is not knowledge for its own sake but wisdom, deep understanding of divine reality through both spiritual and secular learning. John writes, “Of all things the most desirable is wisdom, whose fruit consists in the love of what is good and the practice of virtue.” (p. 74)

When wisdom is the fruit of slow learning, “One…does not merely parrot the arguments of others, but develops his own.” (p. 103) In a world that rewards mimicry, true wisdom is rare and deeply protective. A student rooted in truth will not waver when falsehoods arise. And once that truth has taken root, eloquence becomes a tool for sharing it with charity and clarity. “We must avoid whatever may appear absurd to a learned listener.” (p. 45)

Ultimately, “one who cannot endure the hardship of inquiry cannot expect to harvest the fruit of knowledge.” (p. 104)

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Why Read The Metalogicon?

The Metalogicon is not a manual for fast learning or test prep. John of Salisbury casts a vision of education as a lifetime of slow, thoughtful, soul-deep learning. The seeds of knowledge must be planted in grace-filled ground, cultivated with care, and harvested through narration and discernment.

An authentic liberal arts education cannot be rushed. It demands reverence. It calls us to trust that growth is happening even when we cannot see it. In the end, the fruit is not grades or accolades but “the love of what is good and the practice of virtue.” (p. 74)

This ancient vision of education as the quiet tending of the soul is more needed now than ever. In a noisy world obsessed with outcomes, may we remember: the most lasting harvest grows in the hidden places.