Our philosophy: part one

     The aim of education, like the aim of human life, is happiness.  Happiness is not a passing mood, a status, a good job, or what the world calls “success.”  Happiness is the result—we must hope—of living one’s life in conformity to the “Laws of Nature and of Nature’s God.”  Happiness is the reward of a life well-lived.  

     Living a fully human life, according to the laws of nature, requires understanding, right conduct, and a love of the good and beautiful things we have been given.  Human beings are thinking creatures.  We are endowed with reason.  We long to know the world: both the actions and motivations of other human beings and the operations of the physical and animate universe.  Our desire to understand the world compels us to undertake the twin inquiries that we now call the humanities and the sciences.  Human beings are also moral creatures.  We are endowed with conscience.  Thereby we judge ourselves and others by the standard of the good, provided our natural sense of the good has been cultivated in us since childhood and bolstered by precept, example, and habit.  Human beings are lovers of beautiful things.  We are endowed with an aesthetic sense.  Thus, we look upon nature not only for its use but for its beauty and its grandeur.  If the aim of human life is happiness, the aim of education is to teach young people how to achieve happiness by pursuing the true, doing the good, and loving the beautiful. 

     Human beings were not made to be alone.  We are endowed with speech.  We live in polities.  Therefore, our studies must guide us to answer the philosopher’s question, “What is justice?”  This is not an inquiry for a day or a week or even a course.  It is not the prize of mere attitude or “social consciousness.”  Understanding justice requires the whole mind and soul of a man or woman—and that for many years.  That understanding can only begin in school, but it must begin there, or it may never take root.

     To teach young people to know the world, to do the good, to love the beautiful, and to live justly, the school must marry the human capacities to the liberal arts and sciences.  This effort, called a liberal or classical education, requires the mastery of language since language is our guide to the world.  It revels in the reading and discussion of stories since stories delight the imagination and offer insights into human character.  It relishes the study of mathematics since numbers measure our ordered universe and train the mind to reason.  It recounts the struggles and triumphs of the human past since history tells us who we are by revealing what we have been and to what we aspire.  It rejoices in the arts since beauty opens our souls to the infinite and the blessed.  This education is a tall order.  Yet it is the only education that fully cultivates the whole man or woman and the true one for which young people’s minds and hearts are longing.  

     The story does not end there.  Human beings are makers and creators.  We work for a living but also for the satisfaction of bringing our own creations into the world and seeing the fruits of our labor.  Human beings have faith.  We praise and pray to our Lord and Savior.  Human beings have a physical nature.  We flourish when we cultivate our health and strength and fitness.  Nor to be overlooked is our love of mirth and simple pleasures.  After a hard day’s work, it is no sin to sit down to enjoy a ballgame, a song, a movie, or a lighthearted conversation.  

     It is the hope and the promise of a liberal education that the individual will employ the training of his or her mind in working for good ends in this confusing and often troubled world.  As such, it is the duty of every generation to pass on the collected wisdom and inspiration of the ages to its offspring, that they may have a reliable and comprehensive vision of human flourishing.  If we do not do our duty, how can our children do theirs?

Terrence O. Moore, Ph.D.

     Every organization, intentionally or not, pursues a particular philosophy.  But what is philosophy exactly?  Few stop to ask that question.  The word philosophy comes from two Greek words, philos and sophos, meaning loving and wisdom.  The formal definition of philosophy is the “love and pursuit of wisdom by intellectual means and moral self-discipline.”  That is precisely our mission.  Hence, our philosophy is philosophy itself.  We want to lead young people toward a love and pursuit of wisdom by cultivating their minds and hearts.  We do not mean this in an abstract, high-fallutin’ sense.  Rather, we want to teach young people to live and thrive in the world—a beautiful world full of possibility and hope but also a dangerous and tricky world—by teaching youth what human beings are and can be.

     The question becomes, where does such wisdom come from?  We believe the best source of wisdom comes from theclassics, meaning the highest rank or the best.  That is, we study and pursue the best that has been thought, said, done, and discovered by men and women forming our great moral and intellectual tradition.

     The classics are not only long discourses of abstract philosophy; nor do we find the best only in books.  The classics are great stories: from fairy tales written for children to fables originally meant for adults but understood by children; from epic tales of men at war to mostly lighthearted accounts of men and women trying to love; from comedies that have amused audiences for millennia or centuries to tragedies that have broken their hearts for just as long; from beautifully crafted poems that inspire to poignant maxims that capture life in a few words.  The classics are great deeds: true accounts of how men and women have worked, fought, survived, explored, discovered, created, believed, and defended—and how they have passed on their achievements, as well as their failures and tragedies, to us.  The classics are insights: great speeches that capture timeless truths of human flourishing and that call citizens into action; great experiments and observations that reveal the workings of the natural world; great conversations and speculations about our duties to ourselves and each other; and great sermons and parables that reveal man’s purpose on earth and his duties to God. 

     The classics are great works of art and music whose beauty speaks straight to the soul.  The classics are laws: those written by man to establish justice, those written into nature that govern the physical world.  The classics are confessions: for what we have done and what we have left undone.  The classics are promises: to ourselves and to those we love.

     In short, the classics teach us how to live: how to build on our strengths and make up for our limitations, how to be good, how to love, how to pursue happiness.  Anything less would not do justice to the young minds and souls in our care.

TM

     As important as are all the aforementioned elements of classical education, we cannot forget that we are human beings, mere human beings.  We are not perfect.  Moreover, we are working with children.  And children are not perfect.  If they were, they wouldn’t need us.  Not every lesson in every class is going to be perfect.  Not every poetry recital will come off flawlessly.  Not every child’s behavior is going to be angelic.  Not every child’s bank account of curiosity is going to be equally filled with wonder.

     One of the vices of classical education these days—yes, there are vices, too—is that in some schools and some settings the enterprise comes across as stuffy, inaccessible, aloof, pretentious, and far too self-satisfied, i.e. arrogant. Unfortunately, I have seen classical schools that foster this atmosphere, and they end up closing doors to a lot of students—and their parents—who would thrive in a setting with a little dose of humility mixed in—and one other important ingredient: humor.

     No doubt, a classical education teaches us the importance of gravitas—weightiness, seriousness, at times solemnity—when called for.  But our nature and our tradition give us more strengths, what are today called “coping mechanisms,” to deal with the manifold difficulties and raw deals of life.  To be classical, we need not be complete Stoics, at least not all the time.  Furthermore, joy—pure joy—has many faces and multiple personalities.  Surely, some of those must include laughter.  

     How does this idea of the importance of humor square with our tradition?  Well, did the Greeks not give us comedy as well as tragedy?  Ditto for Shakespeare.  In fact, some of the Bard’s jokes are so ribald that we may not try as hard to ensure students perfectly understand every line of the text.  How about Orwell?  Could that author have exposed communist tyranny as succinctly and clearly without having cast men as funny animals—a legacy he inherited from Aesop?

     Or how about politics and history?  That is serious business.  Yet any casual student of history should know to ask what might have happened—in elections and in times of great danger and stress—without the engaging humor of Benjamin Franklin, Abraham Lincoln, Winston Churchill, Ronald Reagan.

     Finally, if we may consult the beacon of light known as common sense, does it not make sense for something as serious and sovereign as the study of humanity to offer a little icebreaker, particularly when working with the littl’uns, or teenagers, or extremely nervous parents, or . . . well, just about everybody? 

     So, we advise parents, teachers, and classical school leaders to lighten up a little, to try not only a little kindness but also a little levity from time to time.  For certain, not every joke or one-liner will be a knee-slapper.  But you’ll get at least a B (and a little more good will) for the effort.

TM