“Industry” is one option, at least. To me, this designation evokes an image of assembly lines and the modernization of efficient large-scale production. In the early 20th century, we were able to incorporate new automation and machinery that churns out identical components in large volume; these in turn can be assembled into what becomes a reliable and affordable Ford Model T or Apple iPhone. That replication and conveyed collection of pieces makes for a great economy of scale.

Scale is great for lots of reasons. But there may be reasons not to do this in some contexts, education being one of them, in spite of an ecosystem with rushed bell schedules and standardized curriculums. Mass production, automation, impersonalization — these are all what I am against in educational models and products. Instead, I believe deeply that education is intrinsically for each individual, a personal venture with benefits for the broader community.

In that framing, learning is gritty and challenging because it is inherently about things a student doesn’t already understand. That’s the point; we take classes about things we do not yet know. Not only does this make it difficult, it’s unsettling — and I feel this as both a learner and a teacher. How do we engage in this leap into the unknown? And how do we start from so many different lived experiences and ideas that each student brings to a classroom? This is my life’s work.

There are lots of metaphors for schooling that are alternatives to industry models. Maybe we’re encouraging students to shape themselves like a sculpture, figuring out who they really are as they get better at the tools of learning and what they produce. Maybe they are trying on different pairs of shoes, getting a feel for the right tread and lacing so that they’ll have their own stride. Perhaps we are giving them a precious treasure chest of their own design with a collection of critical things to know and all the ways they can be known. There are many choices, though when I ask my pre-teachers to develop their own philosophy for education, I have yet to hear anyone use an assembly line image.

But I do read lots of teaching statements that advocate for students developing personally relevant education, founded on uniquely lived experiences — a fox crossing a path in an alpine basin, reading to children at the library, imagining coexisting dimensionalities of space — and what those could build into. What we each construct is the shaping of ourselves and our communities, our collective futures and identities. These can’t be a mass production of interchangeable parts. We grow our humanity, not inventory.

I think education is hard because it doesn’t have an analogy, not in business, industry or elsewhere. It’s not something with some obvious metaphor because we invented it. The good news is that we get to decide both what it’s for and how to enact it. The bad news (or fantastically exciting challenge for me and colleagues) is that we’re then responsible for pulling this off.

In my own ideal invention, our work is a craft movement. It’s an alternative to pipelines pumping widgets into a workforce or gears churning economic machinery. Instead, we provide the ground in which individuals cultivate their persons and curate experiences to shape who they become. In the non-business, anti-industry model, my role is to intervene, even disrupt, what might be seen as a presumed norm. In a moment where the robots and automation do so much and gut us of so much humanity already, let’s give education back to our slow, gooey, affected souls. Let’s immerse ourselves in experience, not just work experience in order to do more work, but educational opportunities immersed in life in order to better understand how we most want to live.

Adam Johnston is a professor of physics and director of the Center for Science and Mathematics Education at Weber State University, where he helps prepare future teachers and supports educators throughout Utah. This commentary is provided through a partnership with Weber State. The views expressed by the author do not necessarily represent the institutional values or positions of the university.