The test of concept. Using Canvas to develop full article in English about entertainment, school, struggle and boredom
For many years, I regarded schools as institutions fundamentally hostile to creativity—a view widely shared among educators and thought leaders. Influenced by Ken Robinson and numerous scholarly works, I saw the rigid frameworks of contemporary education as antithetical to the creative spirit. My conviction was that schools needed a radical transformation, and while I still believe that to be true, I have come to realize that I misunderstood what students themselves actually expect from education. The answer, more troubling than I had imagined, lies in their profound misalignment between expectation and purpose.
Students often come to school not with an intrinsic love for learning, but in search of entertainment. When they do not find this entertainment, they grow disengaged, labeling school as “boring.” This disaffection is easy to attribute to systemic failures, but a deeper issue persists: the absence of a collective understanding of what education truly aims to achieve. Education is not a venue for leisure; it is, inherently, an endeavor of effort, struggle, and transformation. Growth, by its very nature, involves discomfort. It demands perseverance, discipline, and resilience—qualities that do not align with the modern expectation of effortless amusement.
The disjunction between students’ expectations and the demands of education creates a striking paradox. Students arrive anticipating ease and entertainment, while the educational process—rightfully so—is designed to provoke, challenge, and stretch their capabilities. This fundamental conflict results in disengagement, defiance, and a growing disenchantment with the educational experience.
The problem is multi-faceted. One critical dimension involves understanding what captivates students’ attention. Today’s youth are captivated by endless social media feeds, YouTube videos, and TikTok trends, which serve as modern-day coliseums—glitzy, dazzling spectacles demanding only passive consumption. This is symptomatic of a consumer culture that many refer to as “consumer-cool.” Such content places no demands on the viewer beyond passive attention, conditioning young minds to expect gratification without effort.
A second, more pernicious issue is the erosion of innate curiosity—the very curiosity that once drove human endeavors to discover new worlds, unravel mysteries, and achieve breakthroughs. The culture of instant gratification has supplanted the patience and sustained effort necessary for profound learning. The dopamine-driven cravings for likes, shares, and instant affirmation have weakened students’ ability to endure the kind of prolonged intellectual labor that true scholarship demands. Instead, they prefer to consume more while contributing less, leading to a life lived vicariously through the digital avatars of others—a life marked by superficial encounters rather than the deeply challenging and rewarding experiences of reality.
Few individuals manage to break free from this cycle. For many, life becomes a series of passive episodes, akin to watching an obscure train station pass by on a journey with an undefined destination. Their approach to education mirrors this passivity: “What new thing do you have to offer that I haven’t already seen?” The challenge for educators is formidable. How do we teach students that education is not a spectacle designed for their entertainment but an arduous, albeit transformative, process meant to prepare them for life’s complexities?
The truth is that schools are not inherently boring. Rather, it is our collective pursuit of constant entertainment that renders them so. Schools are designed to cultivate growth, and growth, by its very nature, is neither comfortable nor glamorous. The discomfort inherent in growth is valuable because it challenges individuals to stretch beyond their current capabilities, leading to genuine transformation. Educational psychology emphasizes concepts like ‘productive struggle’—where the difficulty faced during learning processes fosters deeper understanding and long-term retention. For instance, the experience of mastering a complex skill, though initially fraught with frustration, ultimately leads to a sense of accomplishment and intellectual fulfillment. Personally, I recall moments when grappling with unfamiliar ideas or daunting projects in my own education was uncomfortable, yet it was precisely these moments that prompted the most significant growth. Until we come to appreciate the value of struggle and resilience, schools will continue to be misunderstood as uninspiring institutions, mere placeholders between fleeting moments of entertainment—places to be endured rather than appreciated for their capacity to foster transformation.
Sheltered from the World, Timid of Himself, and at a Loss When Life Confronts Him
Screens have become the twenty-first-century equivalent of Alice’s Wonderland—portals through which we escape into a realm of boundless entertainment. This escapism is particularly harmful to educational development because it diverts attention away from activities that require sustained effort and cognitive engagement. Excessive screen time erodes students’ abilities to focus, impairs executive function, and diminishes opportunities for meaningful social interaction, which are all crucial for cognitive and emotional growth. The passive consumption of digital content fosters a superficial approach to learning, where the pursuit of instant gratification replaces the deep intellectual struggle that is necessary for true educational progress. This refuge is alluring, and we crave it. Both children and adults, in their preference to remain insulated from the real world, avoid life’s inherent turbulence, wishing to remain untouched and undisturbed. However, when real-life challenges inevitably arise, many find themselves utterly unprepared, at a loss for how to respond.
This phenomenon is evident in children’s behavior when they arrive late to class. Their reflex is to say, “Sorry for being late, may I come in?” often peppering their speech with filler words like “like,” “you know,” or “типа.” These hesitations are not just linguistic tics; they are markers of discomfort, signals that the student feels out of their depth when confronted directly, even if the confrontation is trivial. To me, tardiness is not a serious infraction, but to the student, my position of authority compels them to seek permission.
Arriving on time would allow them to remain unnoticed, blending into the background. But arriving late draws the “Sauron’s eye” of my attention upon them, making them feel acutely uncomfortable. The desire to dissociate from the immediacy of the classroom environment, from the demands placed upon them, is both pervasive and persistent among students—especially those attending school reluctantly.
“Sorry for being late, Rustam Telmanovich, you know… there was traffic.” No, I do not know; I was not there. Yet, I understand that some students travel considerable distances, and early September traffic can indeed be unforgiving. However, by arriving late, they subject themselves to a sequence of uncomfortable experiences: being tardy, making excuses, and justifying themselves. This simple interaction becomes, for them, an encounter with reality—a confrontation they instinctively fear. To avoid such discomfort, they prefer the simulated reality of screens over genuine, often challenging, real-life experiences.
The paradox of education lies in its ability to cultivate a mindset that embraces life’s complexities and its inherent uncertainties. Education is not merely the transmission of pre-packaged knowledge; it is the cultivation of a way of thinking that prepares “students of life” to grapple with the unknown—to recognize that they do not know what they do not know, a concept I refer to as “unidentified ignorance.”
Unidentified ignorance is a source of many of the paradoxes and dilemmas we face. Learning often introduces us to the discomfort of not knowing, but our minds resist such paradoxes. Humans, as the universe’s most advanced prediction machines, are wired to seek resolution, to detest uncertainty, and to ignore or resolve discrepancies. This inclination aligns with psychological theories such as cognitive dissonance, which describes the discomfort experienced when holding conflicting beliefs, and predictive coding, which posits that the brain constantly makes predictions to minimize surprises. Both theories help explain why we instinctively seek to resolve inconsistencies and avoid ambiguity. This inclination, while useful, can also be a hindrance in an educational setting, where embracing the unresolved is often crucial to deep understanding.
Reentering the classroom means confronting the paradox of having shielded oneself from learning. Many students avoid questioning their values, the status quo, or their personal beliefs. When faced with such challenges, they revert to the familiar path of consumption rather than participation. To pull them out of this state of inertia requires substantial effort on the part of educators.
For many students, education has been reduced to mere spectatorship, not the dynamic Socratic dialogue it ought to be—a rigorous discussion about what constitutes a meaningful life and how one might strive to become a better person. In their perception, the classroom is not a space for learning but a stage on which a performance unfolds—especially if that performance has been commodified by tuition payments.
Desire to Be Entertained Fosters Two-Dimensional People
The Coliseum exists not to educate, but to amuse. Those who crave nothing but entertainment are, in fact, deprived in ways they may not fully comprehend. For instance, entertainment-oriented individuals might miss opportunities for personal growth or self-discovery because they avoid the discomfort associated with challenging experiences. By consistently seeking amusement over meaningful struggle, they forfeit the chance to develop resilience, creativity, and a deeper understanding of themselves. This avoidance ultimately stunts both intellectual and emotional growth, leaving them ill-equipped to handle the complexities of real life. In the pursuit of happiness and ease, they forfeit the challenges that grant life depth and fulfillment. True gratification arises from overcoming meaningful challenges—like the feeling Alexandra Botez experienced when she triumphed over Magnus Carlsen in chess.
Without competition, without struggle, and without exposure to real-world hardships, individuals risk becoming two-dimensional—a byproduct of a consumer culture that prizes passive indulgence. These individuals prioritize comfort and pleasure, succumbing to base instincts—to eat, sleep, consume, and watch—without creating, innovating, or cultivating a deeper sense of self. Their aspirations are confined to either endless replication or an escape from suffering, whether through cryogenic preservation or other means, to dissolve into an undifferentiated existence.
To me, such an existence is worse than death: to not create, to not teach, to not live fully by engaging in meaningful actions—whether that means sparring in martial arts, walking, writing, or engaging in conversation. I have abandoned social networks almost entirely, retaining a minimal online presence solely to manage my channel. My priority is now the creation of lessons, courses, or videos. To challenge others and, in turn, to be challenged.
Two-dimensional individuals often convince themselves that the comfort, prosperity, and ceaseless entertainment they pursue equates to happiness. They hold onto the status quo, preoccupied with wealth above all else.
I recall the questions I faced about my departure from Gazpromneft. Students would invariably ask, “How much did you earn?” and if it was substantial, “Why would you leave that for teaching?” They could not comprehend that life encompasses more than material wealth. Even adults, often wearied by life, overlook the deeper meaning of money. To me, the obsession with wealth signifies a two-dimensional existence. While money is necessary, I believe most people require far less than they think. The true barrier is their inability to think critically.
These same individuals perceive God as an insurance policy. They turn to churches or mosques when misfortune strikes. Their faith is not intrinsic but rather reactive to external crises. Despite being Muslim, I frequently visit churches—particularly one in Istra—because of the solace it offers. It is a place where I have found peace, and I continue to do so. Though I cannot fully explain why, the atmosphere there calms me more profoundly than a mosque.
Two-dimensional people are rarely genuinely surprised; they feel they have seen it all. The absence of surprise or wonder is particularly detrimental to personal growth and intellectual development, as it undermines curiosity—the driving force behind exploration and learning. According to educational theories on curiosity, such as those posited by Berlyne, surprise acts as a stimulus for curiosity, which in turn motivates individuals to seek new knowledge and experiences. When individuals lose their sense of wonder, they lose the impetus to ask questions, challenge assumptions, and engage deeply with the world around them. This stagnation prevents them from achieving the kind of cognitive and emotional development that true learning requires. This is not the omniscience of my father, who, as a product of the television era, believes he has learned all there is to know. Instead, the generation shaped by YouTube lacks wonder because they assume everything has already been presented to them. This worldview extinguishes curiosity, as they expect anything noteworthy will simply be curated and displayed on their screens.
They also believe themselves to be content—except during those inevitable moments when despair about life’s futility takes hold. Often, I think that the distractions they consume—whether rock stars’ lifestyles, influencer travels, or the lives of royals—serve merely to suppress the realization that life must be lived actively, in the tangible world, rather than through a screen. Their constant desire for entertainment is an attempt to evade life’s inevitable challenges, which will confront them regardless of how much they try to escape. The illusion of the “good life” they receive through their screens is just that—an illusion, one that promotes the belief that they can live however they wish.
This illusion is not reality. There is a means to shake them from their stupor, and I believe that lies in the educator’s capacity to create productive tension—an unexpected intervention that compels re-evaluation.
The Essence of Education is to Struggle, and a Teacher in the Classroom is the Master
The core role of an educator is not simply to instruct but to transform individuals fundamentally. While teachers are charged with imparting knowledge, their more profound goal is to elevate students from superficial, two-dimensional existences to ones capable of intellectual depth and growth. True education is not a matter of memorizing multiplication tables or verb conjugations; it is about understanding what nurtures one’s intellectual capacities and what stifles them.
The genuinely educated individual is one who discerns which forms of entertainment hinder intellectual growth, who recognizes which distractions diminish cognitive function, and who is prepared to avoid these pitfalls.
Humanities educators, in particular, hold the potential to effectuate profound change. I recall Naira’s assertion that true innovation emerges only at the intersection of technology and the humanities. She argued that even technological advancements are impossible without insights from philosophy and sociology. Now, I see her point. The so-called “soft sciences”—disciplines such as sociology, philosophy, and literature—are integral to the cultivation of creativity and innovation.
The primary challenge for contemporary humanities teachers, including myself as an English teacher, is the struggle to draw students away from screens, from their two-dimensional understanding of reality, and guide them toward engagement with the tangible world. As an educator, my role is to demonstrate that “the spoon doesn’t exist”—to offer content that enriches the mind and encourages intellectual expansion.
To achieve this, educators must offer specific guidance, such as well-structured assignments, alongside unique conditions that promote intellectual growth. These factors are essential to steer students away from popular culture, which often stifles curiosity and impedes personal development.
A fundamental dichotomy exists between intellectually enriching content, which demands focused attention, and superficial entertainment, which serves merely to distract. Personally, I am drawn to social media, and despite my efforts to limit its use, I find that even restricted exposure depletes my focus. I contemplate abandoning it altogether, though I have not yet determined how best to insulate myself from these distractions. Perhaps adopting a strict regimen, such as the one Lex Fridman advocates, could be a solution I incorporate into my life.
Returning to the role of the educator, Andrew Delbanco once observed, “Man craves awakening.” The power of a teacher lies in believing that transformation is possible, and indeed, people can change. The role of the teacher is to ignite or catalyze this transformation.
The essence of education is struggle and challenge. Although this may sound melodramatic, it holds an essential truth. Educational theorists such as Vygotsky and Piaget have long emphasized that meaningful learning arises from grappling with challenges. Vygotsky’s concept of the Zone of Proximal Development highlights the importance of struggle in reaching higher levels of understanding, while Piaget’s stages of cognitive development illustrate that true intellectual growth often involves navigating periods of disequilibrium and resolving cognitive conflict. Intellectual labor is, at its heart, a confrontation—between author and reader, teacher and student, the known and the unknown, entertainment and intellect. Education, then, is a form of martial art—a rigorous dojo of intellectual and personal growth. As with martial arts, it must be demanding, often painful, and sometimes bruising. But those who endure emerge with the ability to discover joy within education.
This transformation is what I experienced with my own projects—note-taking, teaching, course design. My success did not stem from an innate superiority but from discovering effective tools that education, particularly self-education, provided.
The struggle with the author, the teacher, and even oneself ceases to be distressing once the process itself becomes rewarding. In self-education, one loses more often than one wins, but the goal is not always victory; it is about savoring the process. This endeavor can be metaphorically likened to intimacy—savor the experience, observe, reflect, and evolve.
The capacity to observe and reflect depends on the willingness to ask and answer difficult questions. The task of the teacher, therefore, is to guide students on how to engage meaningfully—whether with an author, a teacher, new knowledge, or themselves—rather than simply evaluate or remain passive observers.
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