The Art of Thinking: The Jar

The teacher sat in front of his students. In front of him was a large glass jar, translucent and slightly greenish with the thickness of the glass. Kind of like the ones some people put plants in.

The professor looked at his students briefly before bending down beneath his desk and picking up two fist-sized rocks, placing them gently in the glass jar. He placed two more, and then another, and another and another, until no more rocks could fit in.

"Tell me," he addressed his students, "is the jar full?"

There was a murmur of consensus, with some nodding: the jar was now full.

The professor said nothing, reached beneath his desk again and took a handful of pebbles. He poured them into the jar, as the class watched them fall between the gaps between the larger rocks. After another handful, no more pebbles would fit in, so the professor turned to the group.

"Tell me, is the jar now full?"

There was another mumbled sense of agreement. It certainly seemed like the jar was full now.

Again the teacher, without saying a word, reached beneath his desk. Taking a handful of dry, coarse sand and poured it into the jar. The minuscule grains scattered in between the pebbles, in between the rocks. It took two handfuls before no more sand could be poured into the jar.

"Tell me," he asked again, "is the jar now full?"

Some smiles were raised, and maybe a slight chortle, but largely the room was quiet.

The teacher took a jug of water that was on his desk and slowly poured it into the jar, allowing it to flow between the sand, between the pebbles, between the rocks until it reached the brim of the glass container.

He turned, once more, to the group, "Now tell me, is the jar now full?"

There was a deep silence now. The hear-a-pin-drop kind of silence. Eyes were slightly squinted and brows furrowed, as the floodgates of thinking opened up in the cerebrums of each student.

The professor reached into his pocket and pulled our a small sachet of salt, like the ones you get in fast-food restaurants. He tore an opening and poured the salt gently into the water. The salt granules, you could be sure, sunk in through the water between the sand, between the pebbles, between the rocks before slowly dissolving.

Once again, the professor turned to his students. "Tell me, is the jar now full?"

A student at the front spoke, "No sir, it's not full."

"Ah!" exclaimed the professor raising his finger in the air, "but now it is full."

The teacher then invited the group to consider the meaning of his demonstration. What did it mean? How did they interpret it? Why had the professor done it? And after some moments, the professor listened to their reflections.

There were as many interpretations as there were people in the room.

When he professor had heard from each of the students, he congratulated them, saying that it was hardly surprising there were so many interpretations. After all, everybody is a unique individual, with unique experiences, unlike those of anybody else. Their interpretations simply reflected their unique perspective through which they understand the world.

And in that sense, there was no interpretation that was any better, or any worse, than any other.

Then he wondered, if the group was curious to know his own interpretation? Which, of course, was no better or worse than theirs. It was simply his interpretation.

Which, of course, they were.

"Well," he said, "my interpretation is simply this,"

"Whatever you do in life, whatever the context, just make sure you get your rocks in first."