Regaining a Catholic vision of education in a secular age

It has been persuasively argued that American education is subject to an “Unholy Alliance.” One wing of this alliance comprises leftist radicals, heirs of the 1960s, who promote sexual experimentation; the other wing is made up of technocrats who see education in purely utilitarian terms, as a means of job training.

However much these two factions may conflict, both agree in rejecting traditional liberal arts education, which for years aimed at cultivating civic-minded elites who were capable of employing their leisure productively. For the left-wing radical, it is “fascist” and “racist” to give preference to the West, while the pragmatic technocrat scorns the study of the humanities as a mere hobby, having no bearing upon the things which really matter: material power, improved medicine, better bridges—and making heaps and heaps of money.

Whatever their differences, leftist radicals and “conservative” utilitarians agree that inherited wisdom should be discarded, and no relief at all will come to American culture until Catholic careerists recognize the error of their ways. Humanities means neither more nor less than the study of what it means to be human. So if we say that the humanities are not worthwhile, then we are either saying that we don’t care about what it means to be human or, at least, that there is no point in studying human-ness–for we already know what it means. Or perhaps the word “human” means whatever we feel it does?

While observant Catholics obviously have little sympathy for the radical left, many well-meaning Catholics collaborate with the “unholy alliance,” insofar as they exhibit and promote a contempt for the literature, poetry, and classical languages which define Western man. This fifth column may well be one of the greatest difficulties facing those who would rejuvenate Catholic education, as enormous pressure comes from within to make curricula, classrooms, and sports programs more like a “normal” school–with utterly predictable results.

As classical Christian schools become more “normal,” they lose precisely what made them distinctive and different. At a conference a couple years ago, I heard about a classical Christian school in Virginia which had accepted too many COVID refugees from Zoom-ridden public and private schools. By the force of numbers and presence, these newcomers swiftly transformed the school’s atmosphere such that it was unrecognizable, and most of the original administration, faculty, and families had to leave.

Another issue to wrestle with is the widespread assumption that liberal arts education is confined solely to the humanities. To the contrary, what are sometimes called the “hard” sciences have traditionally played a primary role in the liberal arts. The difference between classical and STEM approaches to science is not that the latter puts more value upon it, but that STEM treats science as if the point of it were to “ace” the Math section of the SAT in order to get a scholarship in order to make the biggest salary possible without breaking a sweat. As Andrew Seeley observes in “The Classical Liberal Arts Education,” his contribution to Renewing Catholic Schools:

The Quadrivium, as it was known, included arithmetic, geometry, astronomy, and music […] Math was much more concerned with demonstrating the properties of fascinating geometrical forms (such as the right-angled triangle and the ellipse) and numbers (such as cubes and primes) than with learning rules to solve real world problems. Mathematics were valued because in them, the young mind could discover amazing truths while learning to follow, critique, and present complicated irrefutable arguments. Math also promised to reveal the beautiful orders found in the movement of the heavenly bodies and of the music that moves the emotions of the soul.

This is not to say we need be indifferent to the applied sciences, anymore than it is to say educators should not care whether their students are able to make a living or support their families. It is a question of priorities: Even if knowledge confers power, love of knowledge must always come first. While engineering is an honorable and useful discipline, a generation of cold-blooded, unimaginative engineers who have neither an acquaintance with tragedy nor an appreciation for the harmony of the cosmos is just about the last thing we need in AD 2024.

Classical education may also be relevant to the crisis of patriotism, which has been highlighted in recent years by the vandalizing of public monuments and initiatives such as the 1619 Project. Once upon a time, Seeley notes, it was normal for schoolchildren like the young Winston Churchill to memorize some or even all of Thomas Macauley’s rousing poem, “Horatius at the Bridge,” which relates the story of Horatio, the hero of the Roman republic who fought against overwhelming odds to protect Rome from invasion. Narrative wise, the climax comes when the bridge Horatius has been defending finally collapses, and Horatius throws himself into the river to make his escape. The most celebrated and oft-quoted passage from the poem, however, consists in the lines wherein Horatius first volunteers for what seems like a suicide mission:

Then out spoke brave Horatius, the Captain of the Gate:
“To every man upon this earth death cometh soon or late;
And how can man die better than facing fearful odds,
For the ashes of his fathers, and the temples of his Gods?”

Far from being mere entertainment, such poetry marks the dividing line of 21st-century America’s culture war. Throughout history and across the world’s cultures, the preceding Horatian sentiment has been familiar and can stand as a quintessential example of manhood. For the typical product of a 21st-century middlebrow education, on the other hand, this sentiment is utterly alien and repulsive; it is backwards, irrational, and “racist” to emphasize your own fathers and your own religion ahead of anybody else’s. Just to be clear, Seeley nowhere suggests that “Horatius at the Bridge” is some magic bullet which will guarantee our children grow up bold, patriotic, and pious. Yet it is probably not a coincidence that works such as “Horatius” were dropped from curricula at approximately the same time as America’s youth began the turn toward atheism and Antifa.

Along similar lines, R. Jared Staudt reflects upon the role history plays in character formation:

Although history has been transferred largely to the social sciences, it has played a central role in education by forming identity and purpose. History plays a role in a musical education through the stories it provides that teach our origins, the great figures we should imitate, and our place in a larger narrative. Through this initiation into a cultural tradition, history also fosters piety toward one’s heritage, a “cultivation of faithfulness in relationships and commitment to one’s tradition as historically situated in place and time.” We are story-telling beings, and education teachers us to see our own story within broader ones. This helps us to know not only where we have come from, but also how to understand the present and to imagine the future.

Especially intriguing is Staudt’s observation that history has a sacramental dimension, insofar as the Catholic history teacher models his activity upon the priest who, when consecrating the Eucharist, is actually making a past event present. Staudt will surely get no arguments from this reviewer regarding the importance of “piety toward one’s heritage,” a virtue which has been under relentless attack in America generally and the cities and towns of the American South particularly. We can admit that our ancestors were fallible human beings while still honoring their noble qualities and expressing gratitude for what they have bequeathed us.

I would only add that piety toward one’s heritage requires delicacy and imagination in a continent-spanning regime with a highly heterogeneous population of several hundred millions. The stories of Virginia and Massachusetts are by no means the same, even if both are equally part of America’s foundations. And of course an increasing number of immigrant students have only a tenuous connection to any part of America at all.

Such considerations bring us to Michael van Hecke’s observation that “we need to think of schools less as institutions, and more as communities.” Van Hecke is quite right in noting that community is one of the most pressing issues of the 21st-century. The challenge here lies in the 21st-century idea that home is wherever you choose to hang your hat, which has taken traction with tradition-minded Catholics as much as everybody else. Yet a community simply cannot retain a meaningful identity unless a critical mass of its members have longstanding, even transgenerational ties to it—and with each other.

How can a neighborhood be fostered in a hypermobile world where no one takes seriously their roots, where everyone takes for granted the right to pull out and move away every time the tax code gets stricter, or a bad bishop is appointed? For that matter, how can the classical education revival be kept alive when so many who are indifferent to Western identity have jumped on the bandwagon, seeing in it a post-COVID alternative to failing public school systems? How much of America survives the current deluge will be determined by how well we engage such questions. As we try to come up with our own answers, we could do worse than seek counsel from the folks at the Institute for Catholic Education.

Renewing Catholic Schools: How to Regain a Catholic Vision for a Secular Age
Edited by R. Jared Staudt. Foreword by Most Reverend Samuel J. Aquila.
Institute for Catholic Liberal Education, 2020
Paperback, 152 pages