If I were to wager, among the most universally enjoyed moments of a teacher’s day (perhaps week, month, year, career…) is the moment when we get to watch the thing we have been working to teach “click” with one (or more) of our students in real time. The “Ohh…I get it now!!” moment is, without parallel, among the cornucopia of rewards we reap. 

So, it is natural that as teachers we both come to seek after these moments and often come to use their frequency (both within an individual student’s progress, but also within the whole of a class) as a measure of our own success as a teacher. “Look, my students are getting it!” we think to ourselves as we look across the room after having explained this, that, and the other (queue all the warm fuzzies and internal fist pumps here). 

Students notice this, of course, and unconsciously come to use it as a gauge of their own standing in relation to the subject matter (in addition to the more conscious tracking of their grades, of course). 

There is just one problem with this. 

Learning—true learning, that is—rarely happens on schedule. That is, neither teacher nor student can make it happen on demand. 

I was reminded of this fact this past week while teaching logic at Saint Constantine College. 

Now, while reasoning well is in one sense one of the most natural things we can do as human beings—I’m firmly convinced that this is, in part, what is meant by the imago Dei—the formalization and study of the rules of such reasoning is nevertheless difficult (as my logic students are learning for themselves right now). 

In my experience, even if a student quickly grasps, for example, the meaning of the various truth-functional connectives we study and the rules for their introduction to and elimination from a proof, the coming to have a working knowledge of these matters such as to be able to complete the assigned homework is often another matter altogether. And it is here that things get tricky. 

I want my students to get it. I want them to see their way through a proof like I do. I know both that they are capable of it, and just how rewarding it will be for both of us when it finally “clicks” for them. 

Unfortunately, once I have passed along the tools necessary, the acquisition of this kind of working knowledge is wholly outside of my control and requires that the student take the responsibility to sit down and do the hard work of learning to see their way through a proof for themselves. 

But this is hard. And can take so…much…time. 

These thoughts brought back to mind a point made by a former professor of mine. He was discussing his experience studying a medieval philosopher during his grad school days and recounted the hours he spent with one of his professors pouring over the same passage again and again and again. In his case, he was not only wrestling with trying to capture an accurate translation of the passage out of the original language, but also with trying to “get” the subtle metaphysical and theological points being made. 

At some point he asked his professor about the challenge the text posed and his frustration with the slow going of his work. “Shouldn’t this be coming more quickly?” he asked. 

“No,” was the response.  

Now, none of my logic students have as forthrightly asked this question (at least as of yet). Nevertheless, the question has been evident on their faces as they have wrestled with the material in class over the last few weeks.  

But my answer to their implicit question is the same as the answer my former professor received. 

No. It shouldn’t. 

Some texts are just hard. Some ideas are just difficult to grasp. These texts, these ideas, this kind of learning requires time. Requires diligence. Requires the willingness to be ok with nearly indiscernible progress for lengthy periods of time.  

Perhaps the “Ah ha!” moment will come today, perhaps tomorrow. Perhaps it’ll come next week or next month. Perhaps it’ll come many years from now. 

Or maybe they won’t come. But that’s ok. 

Real learning is formative, and formation takes time. 

As worthwhile as these moments are, as rewarding as they are for both teacher and student alike, when we prize them and seek after them, we must be careful to not lose sight of the fact that real learning need not include them. 

So, to my students, I’m in this for the long haul: Go ahead, take your time, I’ll wait.