Doxological Pedagogy (Part Two)

Education is a fundamental human experience. Therefore, in order to know what education is we have to know what man is. In order to know what education is for, we have to know what man is for. Anthropology matters, in other words, and is a necessary cornerstone to a cogent philosophy of education. When thinkers and educators disagree about the aims of education, at the heart of their argument are disparate views of humanity. Defining the nature of man differently leads each to define the goal or purpose of education differently as well. It is beyond the scope of this chapter to attempt a full survey of educational theories, so I will limit myself to two highly influential thinkers, one ancient, and one modern. Plato’s Republic has long been considered a foundation stone of Western thought, especially in light of his theories on man and education. But Rousseau’s Emile plays the iceberg to the Republic’s Titanic. Within a very short time, Rousseau has proven to be even more influential than Plato, simply in terms of how modern culture actually behaves. This all too brief analysis will provide a helpful backdrop to pursuing a rightly-ordered education in the chapters that follow.

Plato’s Republic

In The Republic, Socrates argues that the aim of education is to produce, in part, “sensible men” and “good natures” (423e-424a). But it is important to see how he got there. What does he mean by “sensible”? What is a “good nature”? Taking The Republic as a whole, Plato (arguably) answers these questions by equating the truly sensible and good natured man with the just and enlightened philosopher. He is the man who has turned away from shadows to see the objects themselves; away from “that which is coming into being” toward “that which is” (518c). He has been led out of the famous cave to behold reality as it is, and not as it is interpreted or projected by others to be (515c-e). He functions with a properly oriented eros, motivated by a focused love of the good and the beautiful. Furthermore, the sensible and good natured man is also just, able to mind his own business harmoniously with others, preserving those relationships through virtue (433b). For justice does not mean minding one’s own business to the neglect of others. Rather, the just man holds fast to the “conviction that they must do what on each occasion seems best for the city” (413c).

This just and enlightened man will naturally become a philosopher; for he who has turned toward what is, and away from the illusions, loves and pursues wisdom. He is “the one who is willing to tackle every kind of learning with gusto, and who approaches learning with delight, and is insatiable”; for as “a desirer of wisdom” he desires “all of it” (475b-e). This total focusing of the soul produces a unity, or wholeness, within that propels the just and enlightened philosopher to search after wisdom and truth at all costs. And, “[w]hen all of the soul follows the philosophic and is not factious, the result is that each part may, so far as other things are concerned, mind its own business and be just, and, in particular, enjoy its own pleasures, the best pleasures, and, to the greatest possible extent, the truest pleasures” (586e). This is the sensible, good natured man. This is the good and right product of education.

The obvious next question is this: how then is this education to be accomplished? Socrates explains: 

Education is not what the professions of certain men assert it to be. They presumably assert that they put into the soul knowledge that isn’t in it, as though they were putting sight into blind eyes… But the present argument, on the other hand…indicates that this power is in the soul of each, and that the instrument with which each learns — just as an eye is not able to turn toward the light from the dark without the whole body — must be turned around from that which is coming into being with the whole soul until it is able to endure looking at that which is and the brightest part of that which is. (518b-c)

Education, says Socrates, is not a putting in, but rather a leading out. If education is learning to see right, a turning toward what ought to be seen as opposed to that which distracts (what is versus what is coming into being), then it can be taken for granted that man has the ability to see. Education, therefore, is not giving a student sight itself, but rather the right orientation. It is leading (drawing) out of the student something that is already there. Plato assumes that mankind is the kind of creature that does not need new eyes, but rather a new direction. Man can already see, he already has the ability; what is lacking is guidance. 

However brief this assessment might be, it provides answers to the questions listed above. What is man? A creature with the ability to know what is real and true, but is born under illusion. And if this is what man is, it follows that what he is for is to know, to be a philosopher, a zealous and undaunted desirer of wisdom and truth, to turn from illusion to clarity. Therefore the aim of education is to rightly orient man toward what is, toward wisdom and truth, to align each part of his soul so as to work together in unity, each part minding its own business, fulfilling its own duty within a rightly ordered whole — which is the nature of justice. Education, according to Plato, is the process by which this is brought about; a turning from mere potentiality to an active pursuit and total embrace of what is. 

Rousseau’s Emile

Attempting a brief analysis of Rousseau’s Emile is fraught with peril, for his treatise on education is replete with hyperbolic and contradictory statements. This makes it all too easy to take certain statements out of context. Still, it is important to make the effort. As Rousseau’s ideal pupil, Emile’s education aims at establishing him as a truly independent man. He is to be swayed or persuaded by nothing but his own judgement. His whole educational program is based on this model: “Let the child do nothing on anybody’s word. Nothing is good for him unless he feels it to be so.” To do so is to risk “tak[ing] away from him man’s most universal instrument, which is good sense” (178).

But where does this “good sense” come from, and what does it mean? Rousseau’s anthropology suggests that man is born without corruption, and therefore his good sense is innate: “Everything is good as it leaves the hands of the Author of things; everything degenerates in the hands of man” (37); “There is no original perversity in the human heart. There is not a single vice to be found in it of which it cannot be said how and whence it entered” (92). This is expanded and clarified by the Savoyard Vicar in Book IV: 

To exist, for us, is to sense; our sensibility is incontestably anterior to our intelligence… Whatever the cause of our being, it has provided for our preservation by giving us sentiments suitable to our nature, and it could not be denied that these, at least, are innate…To know the good is not to love it; man does not have innate knowledge of it, but as soon as his reason makes him know it, his conscience leads him to love it. It is this sentiment which is innate. (290)

While man does not have an innate knowledge of the good, he has the resources within himself to love it. This basic predisposition to love what is good is fundamental and intuitive. It begins by being born with the ability to discern the environment, by means of the senses, and automatically seek or avoid those experiences according to what is pleasant or unpleasant, “according to the conformity or lack of it that we find between us and these objects, and finally according to the judgments we make about them on the basis of the idea of happiness or of perfection given us by reason” (39). This intuition is what man is born with, and is what the Savoyard vicar, as quoted above, calls “conscience”, that “divine instinct” each human being is endowed with by nature (290).

To what end is Emile’s “good sense” protected? Given that society corrupts, and that a strong and vigorous individualism is thus necessary, it might seem as if Rousseau would encourage his pupils to run off into the wild and live as hermits. But this is not so. He recognizes the need to live within society, even with all its ills. The purpose behind keeping Emile’s natural, innate good sense intact for as long as possible is to equip him to fight against the corrupting elements he will encounter upon entering society, not to abandon it wholesale. If Emile can stand against those winds, Rousseau’s education will have succeeded. 

He makes the point: “Forced to combat nature or the social institutions, one must choose between making a man or a citizen, for one cannot make both at the same time” (39). Further down he makes his own priorities and goals more clear: 

Prior to the calling of his parents is nature’s call to human life. Living is the job I want to teach him. On leaving my hands, he will, I admit, be neither magistrate nor soldier nor priest. He will, in the first place, be a man. All that a man should be, he will in case of need know how to be as well as anyone; and fortune may try as it may to make him change place, he will always be in his own place. Occupavi te fortuna atque cepi omnesque aditus tuos interclusi, ut ad me aspirare non posses. (41-42)

The quote from Cicero at the end is telling. Bloom translates it thus: I have caught you, Fortune, and blocked all your means of access, so that you could not get near me. In other words Emile’s education will prepare him as a human being to resist the unseen and unlooked for dangers and hardships of life. In short, Emile will learn to remain in control at all times — in control of his words, his thoughts, his actions, his attitudes. He will play the fool for no man, nor for society at large. In the moment of great disruption and chaos, Emile will be a rock, unaffected by circumstance or chance. This is the purpose behind his final lesson in Book V, where he must leave his betrothed, Sophie, for a season. He must learn to master his own passions, refusing to be their slave, even when they are in the service of a genuine good. Jean-Jaques asks Emile:

Do you want, then, to live happily and wisely? Attach your heart only to imperishable beauty. Let your condition limit your desires; let your duties come before your inclinations; extend the law of necessity to moral things. Learn to lose what can be taken from you; learn to abandon everything when virtue decrees it, to put yourself above events and to detach your heart lest it be lacerated by them; to be courageous in adversity, so as never to be miserable; to be firm in your duty, so as never to be criminal. Then you will be happy in spite of fortune and wise in spite of the passions. (446)

Courage, contentment, and independence are the ultimate lessons learned by Emile. This is what it means “to live”, to be a man first, before becoming a citizen, to grow in obedience to “nature’s call to human life”. 

How then are the questions above to be answered? What is man? Apart from the corrupting influence of society, he is free, born with sentiments rightly ordered toward the good. What is man for? Because man is a sensing being with an innate and intact conscience, Rousseau envisions the kind of independence of mind and spirit that is equipped to do anything, no matter what occupation Emile pursues. Man is primarily “to live”, and to be that kind of independent individual within society, within the context of families and states. That is what man is for. 

Putting these two things together, especially given the natural and innate orientation within man toward what is good, education for Rousseau becomes mainly a negative pursuit: “What must be done is to prevent anything from being done” (41). He is teaching self-sufficiency, self-reliance, and self-control by means of carefully curated experiences and discoveries rather than outright instruction. Rousseau’s education aims at the removal of those specific obstacles that would hamper nature’s work. Instead, Emile is led to the discovery of both self and the world, by the gentle, undetected guidance of the tutor-friend. In a sense, it is highly paradoxical what Rousseau is after: a carefully contrived circumstance and experience that allows what is instinctual to Emile to be developed naturally, and without Emile being aware of the tutor-friend’s extravagant work. Only in this way, according to Rousseau, will his natural sentiments, or feelings, be given opportunity to grow of their own accord, leading to the independent, self-reliant man that nature intended.

Side by Side

So how do these two different teleologies compare? At the center of the perfect man (and thus at the center of the perfect education), Plato sees rightly ordered knowledge, whereas Rousseau sees rightly ordered sentiment. Furthermore, The Republic centers on the formation of a just society, with the just individual, whose soul is rightly ordered toward truth, as its occupant. Emile centers on the formation of the self-reliant and intuitive individual, with society cautiously dealt with as a backdrop. Plato’s emphasis leans towards mankind; Rousseau’s toward the discrete man. Plato’s citizen is educated within and for the just society; Emile is educated at a distance from and in spite of a corrupt society.

Despite these significant differences, however, they hold one thing in common: the inherent goodness and capability of man. Within Plato’s world, man, though deceived and distracted by illusions, is, at the core, able to turn from those illusions and see truth for what it is. There is no inherent obstacle within man that prevents him from achieving this end. This of course does not mean that all turn and become philosophers; only that, at the very least, all are capable. Man, in himself, is capable of turning, seeing, and pursuing truth. The same is true of Emile. He has the natural ability to pursue what is right, to build on those innate feelings necessary for self-preservation and self-governance. It is a little unclear as to how representative Emile personally is supposed to be, as Rousseau goes to certain lengths to describe the unique kind of personality, temperament, and abilities inherent to his ideal pupil. Nevertheless, it is clear that Rousseau throughout is identifying those things he believes to be native to mankind in general, and to that extent, the principles undergirding Emile’s education are meant to be taken universally. 

In short, while Plato emphasizes knowledge, and Rousseau sentiment, or feelings, both hold that man is not fundamentally wicked. What needs to be overcome are the conditions external to man, conditions man is not initially or fundamentally responsible for. Therefore, though the aim of education is different in each author, the power of man’s efforts to achieve perfection through education is held by both.

A Christian Response to Plato and Rousseau

A central element of the Christian worldview is the doctrine of common grace. This asserts that even those who have not put their faith in Jesus Christ alone for their salvation, or submit to the authority of Scripture, enjoy the powers of God-given reason, insight, and deduction. Unbelievers are able to understand much of how the world works, how the human mind interacts with phenomena experienced by the senses, and the intangibles such as justice and courage. Indeed, the student of Plato will easily recognize his influence on Dante in the coming pages. However, inasmuch as they fail to know and trust the Triune God revealed in the Spirit-inspired Old and New Testaments, they fail to grasp the totality of what all this means. They have access to many of the puzzle pieces, but are missing both the edge-pieces (that which defines and gives boundaries to the whole), and those key portions that illuminate the central subject of the picture the puzzle was designed to reveal. Those edge pieces, as it were, are what Paul identifies in 1 Corinthians 2 as “spiritually discerned”, meaning only by the transforming and perfecting grace of the Holy Spirit can man’s ultimate purpose be discovered. Unbelievers, therefore, while able to posit many, many valuable and worthwhile insights (many of which can be found in both Plato and Rousseau), they cannot ultimately arrive at a truly accurate (i.e. Biblical, orthodox) philosophy of education. 

Two primary obstacles are worth mentioning here. First, until they are able to see man in terms of the doctrines of creatio ex nihilo and the Fall, then their understanding of man will be irrevocably flawed. It matters to the questions of every field of inquiry whether or not this world was created, and if so, by whom, and for what purpose. Likewise, it matters to every branch of philosophy whether or not man is essentially good. The questions posed by these two doctrines must be addressed if any progress is going to be made toward the nature of truth. 

The second obstacle is this: until wisdom is defined, as Solomon defines it (as the fear of the Lord), there will be eternal misunderstanding and confusion. Wisdom begins with honor, reverence, submission, and love all directed toward the Maker of Heaven and Earth. All systems of knowledge that neglect this primary posture end either in self-contradiction or vain futility. This does not mean they are entirely without merit or entirely false. But apart from grace, they simply do not have the capacity to cogently and consistently answer all of life’s questions.

Both of these anthropological truths — the corruption of created man’s will in Adam (original sin), and the true nature of wisdom (fear of the Lord) — have a radical impact on the nature of education, forcing the Christian philosopher down a different path of discovery. While Plato and Rousseau can act as helpful guides along certain parts of the road, neither have light enough for the whole. Again, only with a right view of who man is, and what man is for, can a right view of education and its aims be attained.

In the following post, we will consider a still more excellent way.

For those unfamiliar with what Roman Roads has to offer, we have an array of excellent texts and curricula, including

Old Western Culture: a fully integrated, 9-12th grade humanities course, touching on literature, philosophy, history, theology, and more, complete with a 16-volume set of original texts, spanning from Homer and Vergil to Jane Austen and CS Lewis;

Calculus for Everyone: a text that gets to the heart of why Calculus works… and why it is important;

Dante Curriculum: an in-depth, canto-by-canto consideration of one of Christendom’s greatest achievements, Dante’s Divine Comedy, from a solidly Christian perspective;

Fitting Words: a course in the classical art of formal rhetoric, training students to speak powerfully and elegantly;

Picta Dicta: A Latin curriculum in which students learn through all four language pathways (reading, writing, speaking, and hearing), making it both more enjoyable for them to learn and easier to retain. 

Furthermore, we have a growing collection of standalone works, such as Cicero’s On Duties, Dr. Gordon Wilson’s Darwin’s Sandcastle, Elizabeth Landis’ The Forgotten Realm: Civics for American Christians, and Christiana Hale’s Deeper Heaven: A Reader’s Guide to CS Lewis’s Ransom Trilogy, plus several more.