Topics for discussion: They say that repetition is the mother of learning. Do you agree?

The ancient proverb, “repetition is the mother of learning,” echoes through classrooms, sports fields, and music halls. At its core, it suggests that consistent, repeated practice is the fundamental pathway to acquiring and retaining knowledge or skill. While modern pedagogy emphasizes creativity, critical thinking, and experiential learning, I firmly agree that repetition remains an indispensable, though not solitary, engine of true learning. It is the foundational process that transforms fragile information into durable understanding and hesitant action into instinctive mastery.

The primary power of repetition lies in its ability to forge and strengthen neural pathways in the brain. When we first encounter a new concept—a foreign vocabulary word, a mathematical formula, or a piano scale—the connection in our mind is faint and ephemeral, like a path through tall grass. Each deliberate repetition acts as a journey down that same path, trampling the grass, solidifying the track, and eventually paving a neural road. This process, known as consolidation, moves knowledge from the short-term memory, which is fleeting and limited, into the long-term memory, where it becomes more permanently accessible. Without this reinforcement, the initial path vanishes, and the learning is lost. One cannot learn to conjugate verbs, recite a poem, or execute a tennis serve by understanding it theoretically just once; it is the dozens or hundreds of mindful repetitions that create the automaticity required for fluency.

Furthermore, repetition facilitates a deeper, more nuanced understanding that often eludes initial comprehension. The first encounter with a complex idea, be it a philosophical argument or a piece of classical literature, often yields only a surface-level grasp. It is through revisiting the material—rereading a chapter, reworking a problem, or re-discussing a theme—that new layers of meaning reveal themselves. Each repetition is not a mere photocopy of the first experience; it is a revisitation with a slightly more informed perspective. A musician playing a piece for the tenth time is no longer focused on the individual notes but on the phrasing, dynamics, and emotion. This evolution from mechanical execution to expressive mastery is solely born of disciplined repetition.

Critics might argue that an over-reliance on repetition promotes rote memorization at the expense of genuine comprehension and creativity. This is a valid concern if repetition is applied unthinkingly. Rote learning of facts without context is indeed a hollow exercise. However, this is not a failure of repetition itself, but of its application. Effective, or "deliberate," practice—a concept highlighted by psychologists like Anders Ericsson—involves repetition with focused attention, immediate feedback, and a constant push beyond one's comfort zone. It is the repetition of targeted challenges, not mindless drills. A student solving progressively harder calculus problems is using repetition; a writer revising successive drafts of an essay is engaging in repetition. In these contexts, repetition is the crucible in which creativity is refined, not stifled. True creative freedom in jazz improvisation, for example, is only possible after thousands of repetitions of scales and patterns have been internalized.

In conclusion, while learning certainly benefits from inspiration, explanation, and discovery, these elements alone are insufficient for durable acquisition. Repetition provides the essential scaffolding. It is the tireless mechanic of memory, the drill that builds cognitive muscle, and the iterative process that deepens insight. To discard repetition in favour of purely exploratory methods would be to expect a tree to grow without watering it regularly. Therefore, I wholeheartedly agree with the proverb. Repetition is not the only mother of learning, but it is undoubtedly a fundamental and irreplaceable one, providing the rhythmic practice through which raw information is nurtured into true skill and wisdom.

1. Why is it necessary to dedicate a lot of time to language mastering? 

Mastering a language demands significant time because true proficiency goes beyond basic grammar and vocabulary. It involves internalizing complex structures, developing an intuitive sense for nuances, and building the muscle memory for clear pronunciation. This depth of understanding, which allows for fluent, spontaneous conversation and the comprehension of cultural subtleties, cannot be rushed. It requires consistent exposure and practice to rewire cognitive patterns. Essentially, time is the essential ingredient that transforms theoretical knowledge into an automatic, practical skill, enabling genuine connection and communication rather than just simple translation.

2. Do you suppose that drilling is efficient? 

Drilling, or repetitive practice, is a highly efficient method for achieving specific learning goals, particularly for mastering foundational skills. Its efficiency lies in creating automaticity—the ability to perform tasks like verb conjugation, vocabulary recall, or mathematical operations quickly and without conscious thought. This frees up mental capacity for more complex tasks, such as holding a conversation or solving advanced problems. However, its efficiency is limited if used in isolation. Without contextual understanding or creative application, drilling can lead to robotic fluency rather than true comprehension. Therefore, it is most effective as a foundational tool within a broader, more engaging learning strategy.

3. Do you prefer written or oral tasks? 

While both written and oral tasks are essential, I generally prefer written assignments. They afford me the invaluable luxury of time—time to research, carefully structure my thoughts, and refine my language without immediate pressure. This process allows for deeper analysis and precision, which suits my reflective nature. In contrast, oral tasks, though vital for developing spontaneity and communication skills, often trigger a degree of performance anxiety that can hinder my fluency. Ultimately, writing feels like a deliberate conversation with the material, whereas speaking is a performance, and I find the former more conducive to thorough expression.