A Spelunking Expedition Into Today’s Educational Crisis
Fall: the time of year when two notable sectors of the population face a series of nauseating questions. Often wallowing in monumental debt, reeling from a slew of goodbyes to classmates, and stunned by the myriad of new decisions and pressures that characterize life “in the real world,” recent college graduates must produce an answer to the shattering question: what just happened? Or more formally, what did my college education do to me? What have I gained? What do I do with my education? On the other side of the college abyss, an energetic cohort of high school seniors survey their prospects for applying to college, eager to explore the various gimmicks that cover the pages of college recruiting brochures. What both these demographics must face, even subconsciously, is an issue that, subtly enough, concerns the very basic dynamics of human life: education. Political figureheads frequently bluster about their plans to rebuild the educational system, making it more widely available, more rigorous and advanced, or making it entirely costless. Vague opinions about how the educational system of America is “flawed” abound in every imaginable cultural camp. Yet if the average individual were asked to give a definition of “education,” an account of “what it means to educate a human person,” they would likely be baffled. We should be gravely unsettled by this apathetic inability to articulate the meaning of “school.” The definition we give to “education” ultimately comes from, and in turn shapes, our view of the human person and the meaning of life. What is education? How should a citizen be educated? Even though they are often ignored, these questions resonate within the sphere of psychological, spiritual, and emotional “meaning” that defines our lives. It is time we spend some serious effort articulating cohesive answers.
We must start with the basic entomology of the term “education,” which can be traced back to two Latin words: “ex” (out of) and “ducere” (to lead). To “educate” means to “ex-ducere”––“to lead out of, to draw out.” While I am no Latin scholar, this simplified etymology provides all we need for a deeper understanding of education. To the classically minded person, the very words “lead out” are difficult to separate from the subsequent words “…of the cave.” The Platonic Allegory of the Cave has become emblematic of Western “education.” Plato envisages a group of mundane characters trapped in the oblivion of a dark cave, helplessly mistaking the “shadows” on the wall as the true “stuff” of reality. The concept of “education” or enlightenment is depicted when one of these “cave-dwellers” is led (or perhaps dragged) out of the cave, often by one of his altruistic forebearers. Upon emerging from the dark, the student is blinded by the scintillating “realness” of the vista he encounters. He enters upon the realm of the pure forms––the “Ideas” that underlie all the mere “shadows” that we encounter in the everyday sphere. The student becomes “educated” when his intellectual vision adjusts itself to the light and he begins to see what is truly “real” in the world that he encounters. The cycle repeats itself when this new philosopher in turn re-enters the cave to fetch out another “student.”
With this timeless imagery in mind, the “leading out” that occurs in “education” begins to appear like a process of extraction from the murky realm of “appearances” into the light of truth. This idea, of course, is a fair place to start, and Plato certainly possesses powerful insight. The experience of being educated is, indeed, an experience of elevation and revelation. The educated person exists on a new plane, from which he enters into contact with the “Real.” For the teacher or “educator,” education is a process––often quite difficult––of “drawing out” something from the student. And while we might not agree with Plato that all learning is mere “recollection” from a past life, we can assent that “education” seems to spark something in man’s soul that was “already there,” that is truly natural to the kind of being that he is.
Plato’s allegory of the cave remains central to Western thought. And yet, there are two major pitfalls that follow upon Plato’s teaching––the first of which was confronted early in the development of Platonic thought, while the second has begun seeping into the educational world only after the chaotic “advancement” of modern times. The former comes simply from the fact that the cave allegory is embedded in the larger Platonic worldview, which dangerously holds that the sensible world––the world of the “everyday” that we encounter with our physical bodies––is nothing but a “shadow.” Here we encounter the Platonic duality of mind and matter. Plato taught that the physical world surrounding us was merely a flickering image of the true world of Ideas or Forms. The “philosopher,” the one who was “educated,” was one who departed from the earthly world and gained admittance into an intellectual sphere. Plato set up the classic strife between flesh and spirit, which––though containing strong echoes of reality––deviated from the essential truth of man’s cosmic situation. Platonic philosophy fostered the idea that the philosopher is one “set apart,” one who yearns to leave the earthly world of men and soar upward to the “Real.” The philosopher’s dalliance in the “everyday world” of the polis is occasioned only by a heroic sense of duty.
While it is unquestionable that the earthly realm harbors mysteries to the human intellect, and that it is far easier to wax eloquent about universal “man” than about the individual “men” who surround us, if we venture to claim that such universals are what is “real,” and not what is abstracted from the “real,” we fatally lose our way. We cease to see seek true insight into the things around us, for we have abandoned the notion of real “things” in the first place. While this is not an essay on the abstract shortcomings of Platonism, such reflections provide an important backdrop for the potential danger of Plato’s view on education. The idea that the philosopher or “educated one” is intrinsically separated from the rest of mankind––that he occupies a fundamentally different locale––has fostered the harmful strife between the contemplative and active lives. It has led to the common idea that the “intellectual stuff” is best left to some obscure group of academics, while the “every man” pays attention to his 9 to 5 and especially to his weekends. Painting the educated man as one “set apart,” as one who departs from the everyday sphere of humanity, inevitably limits the identity of “philosopher” to a small group, instead of offering intellectual depth to all intellectually-souled human beings. Education should not be the gift of the few. It must be something relevant to all who possess a human soul and who live human lives.
Plato’s flaw of cutting the “philosopher” off from the physical reality he inhabits and the corporeal beings that surround him is curiously embraced by many forces in the modern world of education. While surely unaware of their connection to Plato, countless voices in the educational system of today loudly tout their success in “realizing students’ full potential.” One can scarcely glance at any school website without being accosted by some flashy banner with a catchy tagline about “bringing out students’ untapped potential.” In other words, the “leading out” of education becomes a process of extracting as much of the “self” as possible into external manifestation. The “educated person,” in this framework, has been given the tools to offer “himself” to the outside world—almost always for the purpose of renumeration. Practically speaking, this means that educational curricula must focus on providing the skills and tricks necessary to ensure the student’s success in the utilitarian world. The modern teacher is implicitly charged with “drawing out” whatever potencies lurk in their students and bringing them to full expression in the secular market.
While there are many differences between this perspective and the Platonic system, there is a crucial commonality that links the two ideologies. Neither educational system is concerned with the reality immediately surrounding the student. The Platonic “education,” as aforementioned, is concerned with extracting the student from the deception of the earthly realm and transporting him to an elevated, and distant, existence. The modern secular education is concerned, ultimately, with bringing the “self” into a relation of dominance with the outside world––an existence of vacuous “creativity.” The ideal product of the modern educational system is the “self-actualized” student who can define his own reality. Neither of these educational models are truly concerned with getting students in touch with the reality that surrounds them, with the “real” that encounters them even in the mundane earthly sphere. Both educational models are not far from the vision of Milton’s Satan in Hell, trapped in the deceptively cramped prison of the “self.”
Dissatisfaction with these systems of education, and attempts at correcting them, can be found in both the ancient and modern worlds. Most prominent among the ancients, of course, is Aristotle, who deviated crucially from some of his teacher’s ideas about education. Instead of relying wholly on the cave analogy, Aristotle sought to find the more “human” philosopher, striving for an education that does not “lead one out” of the world he inhabits. Aristotle’s broader philosophy assisted him in this endeavor. Instead of viewing reality through Plato’s eyes, as a mere shadow of the true realm of “ideas,” Aristotle held fast to the conviction that the form of a thing, its inner being and the center of its existence, was intrinsic, not transcendent. In other words, the physical world that we encounter as we exist on earth is not an illusion or shadow; it is not deceptive or “fake.” It is instead a world of things that possess true “form” within themselves, even if such “form” is only partially revealed in their sensible aspect. To put this philosophy painfully briefly, the idea of “man” does not exist as a separate entity from individual men, even though each individual man does not reveal in himself the fullness of universal “man.” The individual instantiates a universal that does not “exist” outside of such instantiation except by the artificial intellectual act of abstraction. The import of this metaphysical quibbling is that Aristotle brought “realness” back down to earth, back down to the individual, concrete beings that we encounter in normal experience. Thus, the educated man, who is in touch with “the real,” is not a Platonic philosopher who departs from the physical. For Aristotle, particular beings—the “stuff” of everyday living—are not mere “shadows” that the philosopher must turn away from.
When Aristotle brings this philosophy explicitly to bear on the topic of education, he assumes an intriguingly political perspective. In the Nicomachean Ethics, he defines the purpose of education as the training of youth to “like and dislike” what is proper. An “educated” man is one whose passions, desires, and emotions are commensurate to the way things actually are. He responds to the external world properly. In slight contrast to Plato, and in major contrast to many forces in the modern world, Aristotle knew that “education” primarily refers to establishing a particular (and proper) relationship between the student and “reality”––between man and the beings and situations he will encounter as he journeys through life. The educated man, far from being extracted from this physical world or being able to arbitrarily dominate it, is enabled to maintain a fitting relationship towards it—a relation that will ultimately lead to the thriving of both himself and the beings who surround him (the polis).
True education is not about extending and distending the “self” into a bloated, yet empty, dominance. Nor is it about departure into an abysmal realm of ephemeral “ideas.” It is about establishing the human soul in its proper relation with external reality. The character of this “relation” is clarified diligently by the Scholastics, who formulated the “Transcendentals” as fundamental relations between the soul and Being. Man’s pursuit of “truth” is ultimately a pursuit of correspondence between his mental “concept” and external reality. His pursuit of the “good” is a quest for the alignment of his will to Being. Man experiences the “transcendentals”—which are the center of meaning in human life––by opening himself, in each aspect of his nature, to the experience of Being.
While this discussion has quickly become abstract, there is a major point that ultimately brings our discussion of “education” to fruition. A very special (and difficult to define) transcendental within the scholastic system, as it is described by the great scholastic interpreter Jacques Maritain, reveals the linchpin of any genuine education, and indeed of human life itself. Beauty. Scholastic explanations of this term often draw from the definitions of the “true” and the “good.” Man’s encounter with “beauty” somehow engages both his intellect and his will, his conceptual/perceptual faculty and his appetitive/emotional dynamism. Maritain eloquently articulates that this phenomenon arises because the word “beautiful” refers to a “proportionality” between reality and the human intellect, the experience of which causes spiritual delight. We experience “beauty” when we are confronted by “Being” under an aspect that is somehow immediately fitting to our intellectual vision. The “True” is experienced with a vibrancy and fluency that immediately sparks an experience of the “Good.”
This proportionality between the mind and reality, which occasions the experience of “beauty,” is precisely the proper aim of education. A proportion or ratio, of course, involves at least two entities: in this case, the human soul and Being. In terms of the latter, an educational system is meaningless unless it operates under the fundamental premise that the cosmos is created by the hands of a loving and intelligent Artist. It is only because of this founding idea that the experience of “beauty” carries any weight. There is a “beautiful” reality out there to pursue. Being is fundamentally open to “proportionality” with an intellectual creature because Being itself springs from a transcendent Intellect. Thus, education, in the true sense of the word, means the “drawing out” of man’s intellectual powers, not into a vacuum or into an other-worldly realm, but into the proportional relation with external reality, such that Being becomes immediately intelligible to the human soul. True education opens man’s eyes once again to the transcendent Beauty that ever surrounds him.