The Two Students: Bedtime Story

Welcome to today's story. The Two Students is inspired by the teachings of Thomas Aquinas. When humility is shown to be the greatest and wisest of teachers.
Enjoy dear ones.
Music generously provided by Sakartvelo.

Transcript

Hello dear ones, And welcome to today's story. A collection of stories I wrote, Inspired by mystic teachings. Today's story is called The Two Students. So just arriving now in the space, As we begin our story time together. Two students arrived at the great school on the same grey autumn morning, Setting their bags down in the courtyard within an hour of each other, Neither yet aware of the other's existence. The first, Whose name was Aurelio, Came from a wealthy family in the south, And had studied since the age of five under the best tutors his father could hire. He could debate any question placed before him, And find the weakness in almost any argument. He had been told repeatedly, By people whose opinion he respected, That he was exceptionally gifted. He arrived at the school certain that he had come to sharpen what was already a fine blade. He expected to distinguish himself quickly. The second student, Whose name was Luca, Came from a small village, Where books were scarce, And teachers scarcer. He had read everything he could get his hands on, Which was not very much. And he arrived knowing, With a discomfort he tried not to show, How wide and numerous the gaps in his knowledge were. He sat at the back of the first lecture. He asked questions that were sometimes obvious, Sometimes confused, Occasionally so basic that a few of the other students exchanged small smiles. Aurelio was not unkind. He did not participate in the smiling. But he noticed, Privately, The difference between himself and this village boy, And filed it away as evidence of something he already believed about himself. The master of the school was a quiet, Enormous man, Physically large and slow-moving, With the kind of deep stillness that tended to make people lower their voices instinctively in his presence, As though entering a library or a place of prayer. He had written books that filled shelves. He carried this lightly. He watched both students for a full week, Before saying anything particular to either of them. At the end of the week, He called them both to walk with him in the garden after supper. The evening was calm, And the garden smelled of late flowering herbs. They walked in silence for a few minutes. Then the master said to Aurelio, Tell me what you think is the purpose of learning. Aurelio gave a precise, Well-constructed answer. He spoke of the cultivation of truth, The training of the intellect toward its proper end, The service of God through right understanding, The ordering of knowledge in accordance with reason and revelation. It was a genuinely good answer. The master listened, Nodded. He then asked the same question of Luca. Luca thought for a moment. To find out how much I don't know, He said at last, And to love the questions anyway, Even when they don't have answers yet. The master walked in silence for a little while. The gravel of the path shifted under their feet. An owl called once, Far off. Every wall of knowledge you build, The master said finally to both of them, Has two sides. One faces outward, Toward what you now understand, What you can articulate and defend. The other faces inward, Toward everything that remains in darkness, Everything your understanding has not yet reached, Everything you do not know yet, And everything you do not yet know that you do not know. He paused. That second wall is always larger. Always. No matter how much you learn. He stopped walking then and looked at them both. The student who remembers this will keep learning for the rest of their life. The student who forgets it, However brilliant, However diligent, Will slowly stop learning without noticing. They will get better and better at defending the territory they already hold. He turned and continued walking. That is not learning. That is occupation. Aurelio was quiet for the rest of the walk. He made appropriate conversation at supper. Then he went to his room and sat at his desk for a long time without lighting his lamp. He thought about his walls. He thought about which side of them he had been living on. It was, He would say, Many years later, Long after he had become a fine scholar and a genuinely humble man. The most useful evening of his entire education. Not a single thing he had been taught in it. But something taken away.