NONSENSE The Power of Not Knowing by Jamie Holmes Prologue IN 1996, LONDON''S City and Islington College organized a crash course in French for novices and below-average students. Paula, an earnest teenager wearing wire-rim glasses, had never spoken a word of the language before. Darminder, goateed and earringed, was not only new to French, but had also failed his Spanish General Certificate of Secondary Education (GCSE). Abdul had failed his German GCSE. Satvinder and Maria had each flunked their French GCSEs, and Emily''s French teacher was so unimpressed that she advised her to give up on the language entirely. Instead of abandoning all hope, however, the students had signed up for a unique opportunity. For five full days, they''d submit to the eccentric methodology of a linguist named Michel Thomas. Gray-haired and wearing a blue blazer, Thomas radiated poise and grace.
"I''m very pleased to meet you," he told his new students, "and I''m looking forward to teaching you today, but under better physical conditions, because I don''t think that where you''re sitting is very comfortable. I would like you to feel comfortable, so we''re going to rearrange everything." In a truck outside, Thomas had stashed some unexpected replacements for the standard classroom furniture: armchairs, pillows, coffee tables, plants, a rug, a fan, and even wicker folding screens. With a little effort, the students completely transformed the room. Plush high-backed armchairs formed a half oval, the blue curtains had been drawn, the lights dimmed, and the wicker screens enclosed the armchairs and lent the space an even cozier and more intimate feel. There would be no desks, blackboards, paper, pens, or pencils. Thomas didn''t want the students to read or write anything. He didn''t want them to try to remember anything they studied either, or even review it at the end of the day.
If, during class, they couldn''t remember something, he advised, it wasn''t their problem. It was his. Emily looked incredulous. Darminder and Abdul couldn''t contain their impish smiles. But none of the students could hide their genuine curiosity about the old man in front of them. Was he serious? Never try to remember anything taught in class? "I want you to relax." This scene, Thomas''s methods, and the results of those five days appeared in a BBC documentary titled The Language Master. Margaret Thompson, head of the French department at the school, was tasked with evaluating Thomas''s results.
At the end of the week, she watched as the students--many of whom had never uttered a word of French before--translated full sentences using advanced grammatical forms. Emily managed to interpret a phrase that would normally take years to tackle: "I would like to know if you want to go see it with me tonight." Paula praised Thomas''s strong emphasis on calm and patience. The students felt, they said, as though they''d learned five years'' worth of French in only five days. Rather stunned by the outcome, Thompson bashfully deferred to their self-appraisal. Michel Thomas knew how intimidating it can be to explore a new language. Students face new pronunciations for familiar letters, words with novel meanings, missing parts of speech, and odd grammatical structures. That''s why the City and Islington students, despite the relaxed atmosphere, still exhibited the signs of confusion: nervous laughter, embarrassed smiles, muttered apologies, stutters, hesitations, and perplexed glances.
Learning a foreign language requires you to journey into unfamiliar terrain. Thomas referred to a new language as the "most alien thing" one can learn. To fend off these "alien" intrusions, the mind instinctively erects barricades, and the teacher''s first and often most difficult challenge is to help students pull these walls down. Thomas was able to transform the atmosphere in that City and Islington classroom from one of stressful apprehension to one of calm curiosity. He somehow instilled a greater open-mindedness in the students. Pupils who had habitually dismissed what they didn''t yet grasp suddenly became more likely to venture out into the unknown. At the time of the BBC documentary, which aired in 1997, Thomas was already legendary. He''d learned eleven languages, opened tutoring centers in Los Angeles and New York, and built something of a cult following thanks to a client list that included Grace Kelly, Bob Dylan, Alfred Hitchcock, Coca-Cola, Procter & Gamble, and American Express.
Nigel Levy, who studied with Thomas before producing the BBC piece, characterized the lessons as "astonishing." Emma Thompson described her time with him as "the most extraordinary learning experience of my life." Israel''s former ambassador to the United Nations called him "a miracle worker." And Herbert Morris, a former dean of humanities at UCLA, confided that he''d learned a year''s worth of Spanish in just a few days with Thomas and remembered it nine months later. "The most important thing," Thomas said, was to "eliminate all kinds of tension and anxiety" that are associated with learning. His attention to mood was peculiar, even downright radical. He''d often begin teaching French, for example, by telling his students that French and English share thousands of words. It''s only that they sound a little different.
"English is French, badly pronounced," he once joked. Words ending in -ible, like possible, and -able, like table, all originate from French words, he''d explain. Recasting the unknown as familiar, Thomas provided students, from the outset, with sturdy building blocks. His pupils grafted new knowledge onto existing knowledge, bit by bit, expressing their own thoughts and never reiterating rote phrases. Thomas taught for autonomy and rarely corrected his students directly. By 2004, Thomas''s French, German, Italian, and Spanish instructional CDs and tapes--recordings of Thomas teaching each subject to two students--were the top-selling language courses in the United Kingdom. But Michel Thomas wasn''t merely a linguist. He was also a war hero.
That same year, he was honored at the World War II Memorial in Washington, DC, where he received the Silver Star. He died in 2005 in New York City, as an American citizen, but he was born in the industrial city of lódz´, Poland, as Moniek Kroskof. He''d survived concentration camps, led troops, and worked as a spy and interrogator for the Allies, netting more than two thousand Nazi war criminals after the war. "Michel Thomas" was his fifth false identity and nom de guerre. Thomas''s firsthand experience with totalitarian propaganda and his postwar undercover career are no mere biographical curiosities. His insights into the way our minds snap shut or unlock in the face of ambiguity--the central concern of this book--grew from his experiences in Germany. He had witnessed up close how Nazism had fostered a dismissive, even disdainful approach to uncertainty and moral complexity among its most fervent adherents. And he then spent decades developing methods to nurture a diametrically opposed attitude among language learners.
Fifty years before the BBC documentary, in fact, Thomas tested his early ideas in an episode that eerily inverts his pedagogical demonstration at City and Islington. ************* IN 1946, RUDOLF Schelkmann--formerly a major in the intelligence service of Hitler''s SS--was hiding in Ulm, Germany, coordinating a loose network of loyalists hell-bent on reestablishing Nazi rule. That November, Schelkmann and three other former SS officers had been baited into meeting the purported commander of a more powerful and centralized underground neo-Nazi resistance. In reality, they were about to meet Moniek Kroskof, aka Michel Thomas, a Polish-born Jew and undercover agent of the US Army''s Counter Intelligence Corps (CIC). Tasked with bringing war criminals to justice, Thomas was on a mission to identify and eventually dismantle Schelkmann''s network. Another CIC agent who went by the name of Hans Meyer had been carefully building a rapport with members of the network, but Schelkmann remained reticent. The former SS man had agreed to share contacts and operational details, but only after meeting face-to-face with Meyer''s commander. Thomas had to keep Schelkmann and his men from smelling a rat.
Toward that end, he had meticulously arranged for the SS conspirators to be run through a tortuous routine in the hours leading up to the big meeting. Earlier that night, the SS men had been waiting, on Meyer''s orders, in a "safe house" southwest of Ulm. Without warning, motorbikes arrived to pick them up. Thomas had deliberately waited for stormy weather; as the conspirators sat on the backs of the bikes, sharp winds pressed at the men''s rain-soaked clothes. Dropped off on a deserted road, the conspirators were blindfolded and hustled into two cars. In the darkness, they heard passwords exchanged as they navigated a series of staged security checks. They were pulled from the cars, marched blindly down a muddy path, and led through deep, icy puddles. They were kept waiting in an unheated corridor and were forbidden to speak.
Still blindfolded, they listened to terse commands, scurrying footsteps, and doors opening and closing hurriedly. By the time Schelkmann and his men were finally led into a lodge hall and were allowed to see, it was past midnight. Thomas--or Frundsberg to the SS men--greeted the conspirators from behind a large desk. Wearing civilian clothes except for a brown, military-style shirt, he''d been described to.