Wisdom and Eloquence

If there is a more important book on Christian education than Robert Littlejohn and

Charles T. Evans’ Wisdom and Eloquence written within the last 20 years, I have yet to discover it. In Wisdom and Eloquence, Littlejohn and Evans lay out a “Christian paradigm for learning,” based in large part upon the experiences of Littlejohn’s Trinity Academy in North Carolina.

The book, which has been nominated for several awards, is a clear, succinct, and compelling case for a Christian classical education. Arguing that “wisdom and eloquence” are the purpose of education (based on Augustine’s writings), Littlejohn and Evans lay out the historical importance of a Christian liberal arts education, pointing out the failings of John Dewey’s progressivism on the public school system, and making the case for a form of education that has endured for nearly 2500 years.

Spanning the philosophical and the practical, Wisdom and Eloquence brings at least three weighty contributions to the conversation on education. First, it outlines the liberal arts curriculum, including the planning processes, the curricular priorities, and the teacher requirements necessary within the Christian classical school. Covering the Trivium (Grammar, Dialectic, and Rhetoric), the Quadrivium “Expanded” (Arithmetic, Geometry, Natural Sciences, and Music), and the True Sciences (Theology and Philosophy), Littlejohn gives readers a practical outline for a classical education. Tested by millenia of experience, and adapted to our modern situation, the liberal arts curriculum outlined in Wisdom and Eloquence is being imitated by the best classical Christian schools in the country.

Second, because Wisdom and Eloquence is written by a deeply experienced leader, it is devoid of the “heavenly musings” of most involved strictly in the humanities. Instead, it gives practical principles to everything from student behavior and co-curricular activities to admissions and the central importance of strategic planning for the effective operation of any school. In sum, after reading this book, one knows “what to do.”

Finally, it firmly establishes the classical Christian school as an intellectual and educational force within the world of 21st century education. Although there are elements that need to be addressed later (i.e. Is this education only for the wealthy “free man,” or is it truly for all?), Christians of all stripes should pay close attention to this movement. If modern public education is really built on the three-fold foundation of skepticism (not faith), evolutionary psychology (not redemption of sinners), and subjective values (not eternal truth), Christians need a response.

To my knowledge, this book is as good a response as a contemporary American Christian has produced to date.

Education Reform

David Brooks recently wrote an interesting Op-Ed for the New York Times entitled Smells Like School Spirit. He criticizes Diane Ravitch, one of “the nation’s leading educational historians,” who once was a great proponent of the charter schools, accountability, and testing of the educational reform movement. She now is one of it’s most vehement critics, arguing, according to Brooks, “There is no education crisis. Poverty is the real issue, not bad schools. We don’t need fundamental reform; we mainly need to give teachers more money and job security.”

Even though she makes some good points about the “humane” and relational nature of teaching, Brooks believes she goes too far in throwing positive change movements under the bus. Even though many of these schools are high on accountability (testing) he cites Whitney Tilson who “ has pointed out, the schools that best represent the reform movement, like the KIPP academies or the Harlem Success schools, put tremendous emphasis on testing. But these schools are also the places where students are most likely to participate in chess and dance. They are the places where they are most likely to read Shakespeare and argue about philosophy and physics.”

Brooks also points out that cities like New Orleans have multiplied their number of charter schools and “choice” (vouchers for private schools) since Katrina “Since 2007, the New Orleans schools have doubled the percentage of students scoring at basic competence levels or above. Schools in New Orleans are improving faster than schools in any other district in the state.”

The point of the article? “The real answer is to keep the tests and the accountability but make sure every school has a clear sense of mission, an outstanding principal and an invigorating moral culture that hits you when you walk in the door.”

For the Christian, we must ask two things. Within the Christian School world, is there proper accountability to ensure that schools excel? Unfortunately, the independence of far too many Christian schools has led to lower standards. Second, however, we must ask “From where does an ‘invigorating moral culture’ derive?” Brooks says that the best schools have, “a willingness to infuse the school with spiritual fervor.” I’m not sure where that spiritual fervor would come from for a secular person. For the Christian, however, that “fervor” forms the bedrock of a holistic education, founded in Christ, focused on students, and directed toward service.

The Lost Tools of Learning

Dorothy Sayers once wrote an essay that would spark a movement in the United States. Even though she confessed, “It is in the highest degree improbable that the reforms I propose will ever be carried into effect,” history proved her wrong – and her scribblings have launched a renewed educational interest in what have been called “Christian classical schools.”  The entire purpose of the essay was to recover what she believed had been lost in modern education: the tools of learning.

After pointing out some of the trivialities and contradictions within the popular culture of her day (which we are now so used to that we hardly notice them), Sayers zeros in on a single question: “Is it not the great defect of our education today that although we often succeed in teaching our pupils ‘subjects,’ we fail lamentably on the who in teaching them how to think?”  That is, although our students can suck in and spit out an impressive array of facts for a test, do they have the proper mental hardware to encounter new problems and new subjects?  Or are they inoculated to quality thinking and a love of learning by the confusing array of facts they learn, most of which they will forget anyway?

Sayers proposal is that we look several hundred years into the past for the answer. She suggests we look to the medieval syllabus outlined primarily by the Trivium.  The Trivium consists of three phases: grammar, dialectic, and rhetoric.  In grammar students learn primarily language and the raw facts they need to understand the world. In dialectic (logic), students learn the relationship between facts. And in rhetoric (persuasion), students learn to take facts and clear thinking and combine them to become persuasive individuals. These are the three phases of a medieval education.

Sayers imagines a school, then, in which these three phases overlap with three phases of child psychological development, what she calls the Poll-parrot, the Pert, and the Poetic.  The grammar phase overlaps with a child's “parroting” of others, in which kids naturally enjoy imitation, repetition, and games.  This is elementary school. The dialectic phase comes as the “Pert” in each child escapes around middle school, and naturally becomes argumentative in the early teenage years. Use this questioning of authority, says Sayers, for good educational ends, and teach them to think logically about questions and answers. Finally as high school emerges, students are ready to begin the art of persuasion as they become young adults and prepare themselves for either the work world or specific university studies.

Sayers little essay has caused small revolution in education. With Doug Wilson’s Recovering the Lost Tools of Learning, a movement was born to recover an system of education that was developed and perfected for over a thousand years, and only recently lost with the rise of progressivism and secular, humanistic public schools which spread in the early and mid 20^th century.  Today the Association of Christian and Classical Schools has endeavored to recover these “tools of learning” for young people today.

Though I am clearly no expert in child psychology, Sayers’ proposal seems to resonate with my own experience and what I see in the school I’m currently serving.  And the focus on giving students a tool for understanding the world and new subjects seems far more valuable than measuring success by how many AP classes you take (and quickly forget nearly all the information). Sayers declares, “For the sole end of education is simply this: to teach men how to learn for themselves; and whatever instruction fails to do this is effort spent in vain.”  Here’s my question: do we produce eager learners who go into college ready for new challenges, or data-filled kids burnt out on subjects (or worse, data-empty kids burnt out on facebook)?

As I’ve previously stated in this blog, the end of education must be service (in disagreement with Sayers, who would suggest that it is only more learning).  But, as Sayers points out, have we lost a methodology that produces clear thinkers and eager problem solvers, something our modern, globalized world desperately needs?  Regarding the subject of teaching methodology, as a general outline, one would be hard pressed to find a worthy competitor to the classical Trivium. Though I have yet to be sold on much of actual subjects of classical Christian education (Latin, Greek mythology, etc), I certainly side with the historic church on  how we must teach our students. The Trivium towers over its late-coming competitors.

Colegio Juan Wesley - Guatemala

As visitors approach Colegio Juan Wesley, an elementary and secondary school in San Cristobal Totonicapan, Guatemala, they behold colorful letters across the siding of the second floor: “A Dios sea la Gloria,” (To God be the glory).  Over 300 children, from preschool to básico (high school), attend this school—and dozens of work teams  throughout the year as well.  This past week, 7 students from Front Range Christian School, 1 other chaperon and myself served Colegio Juan Wesley by helping in the construction of a new vocational school.  Our eyes were also opened to the challenges of education in the developing world.

Timoteo Chocoy, the Director of Juan Wesley, hosted our team for the week. We stayed at the Wick House (a house for former missionaries), and were fed each day by Mari Lu, Timoteo’s hospitable wife.  We spent the week singing (to 3 different groups), preaching (this was just me), doing a Sunday school lesson, and hauling rock. Our hands were put to good use as we carried rock and sand for 2 1/2 days to the second floor of the new vocational school, which was to be used for the cement mixture.  Aching backs were the norm, but after Timoteo gave us the tour of the current school, much of which was built by short term teams, it became apparent that this work was worth the effort.

The vision for the school was born out of deep love and desperate need.  Originally a mission of the Primitive Methodist Church in San Cristobal, the school quickly grew out of the church building and needed a new building.  The vision for a school on the campus of Camp Shalom, near the Quiche Bible Institute, was born. Phase 1 would be the primary and secondary school. Phase 2 (which we were working on), would be the vocational school, a training institute which would give students the opportunity learn a trade – mechanic, carpenter, accountant, etc—and gain the skills for employment in Guatemalan society. Phase 3 would be an extension site of a Christian university.

Why the school?  First, the quality of public education in Guatemala could be described as poor at best.  Absent teachers, ignorant of curriculum, teaching in classes of 40+ is the norm. The average years in school for a Guatemalan citizen, even if they do stay in school, is less than five.  A quality, Christian environment, with well trained teachers was in such demand, the only barrier to doubling their size overnight was tuition costs. Second, the school was launched for the sake of mission.  For Timoteo, the school is a field of evangelism to the hundreds of students, over half of whom are non-Christians. Third, education is often the only way out of poverty.  The economic pressure for a child to stop school after elementary school and begin working is tremendous. Not only can families not afford the modest tuition ($15/month), but children are often expected to begin working in the fields or in the family business at a very young age—thus permanently limiting their social and economic possibilities.

Here’s my question: how do we make schools, like Colegio Juan Wesley, work for more students?  This is inherently a complex question. Quality teachers, competent administrators, and educational facilities are all central. But most issues come back to funding.  Tuition only covers about half of what it costs to educate a student, not including new projects.  What is needed is creative solutions for funding schools.  We need more donors who will provide scholarships to students (only $350 / year).  We also need creative solutions for funding schools. What about building businesses in the community which could give half of their profits to the school? Or what about using the vocational school to produce ready-made products for market, thus providing a measure of operational funding (this idea is already in the work)? Or could high school students work one day a week for Christian-owned companies and businesses, giving the student valuable work experience and the school their wage as a compensation for tuition (check out the Cristo Rey model)? 

“No margin, no mission,” a recent head of school said at a marketing seminar.  This negative margin, to which most schools can identify, really needs to return to the forefront of educational conversations, especially among leadership. The developing world, including the children at Colegio Juan Wesley,  are waiting for creative solutions.

Race to Nowhere

A movement is afoot in the United States questioning America’s achievement culture in education.

Today the Denver Post did a special article on AP exams.  The author did several interviews with students at Boulder’s Peak to Peak Charter School, Colorado’s “most saturated public Advanced Placement environment.” Apparently 96% of its students take AP courses, which has made Peak to Peak #37 on the list of top high schools in America.  They even do pre-AP courses for students too young to take regular AP courses.  The author cites another case of a principal in Pueblo who instituted a host of reforms based almost entirely on increasing the number of AP courses offered at his school.

But significant push back against an “AP is everything” culture is growing.  Several college officials have seen high school students with an impressive portfolio of AP courses enter college, as one enrollment official at Colorado College has put it, “devoid of the more elusive qualities of passion for learning, freshness of mind, curiosity.” 

Many high school students try to smash as many AP courses into their schedule their junior year in order to secure the college selection of their choice, and then “coast” through their senior year.   Regarding this attitude, the director of admissions at UC Boulder commented, "I completely disagree with that philosophy," he says. "The best students are good students and good citizens across multiple areas. I worry when there's so much pressure on students to take more AP that they start to cut some meaningful activity from a balanced life."

Thoughtful people across the country have been questioning the sanity of the AP system.  A new educational documentary entitled Race to Nowhere (of which my school is hosting a screening next week), questions many facets of “America’s achievement culture.”  After a young girl in her community committed suicide after performing poorly on a math test, director Vicki Abeles went on a crusade to uncover the distortions of the American educational system.  Unveiling student testimonies about stress, burn-out, cheating and pressured performance, Abeles has taken issue with a culture that sees success as 7 hours of school, 4 hours of extra-curricular activities, and 3 hours of homework per night. 

The film doesn’t make the case that AP exams are inherently bad or pressure-filled, but it certainly does make us all ask the really fundamental question, “To what end do we educate?”

And this culture introduces other problems. Many high achieving students graduate with a sense of entitlement, and an expectation that they’ll succeed anywhere they go.  But, as the film points out, when many young graduates are given a situation in which there is no clear problem and no clear solution (ie, no syllabus), they are paralyzed with confusion.  Skills like abstract thinking, creativity, and problem solving (the types of activities done by people who lay on the grass and stare into the clouds) are few and far between.

Christians also must critically evaluate their own academic pursuits as well.  Do we want to achieve (and have our children achieve) so that we can get into the best school, to get the best job, to get the best house, and to be “happy.”  Is happiness, by any measure of the term, really determined by your GPA or your college degree?

Are we educating young people to be whole individuals, to succeed in family life and civic life as well as their careers? Or are we producing top notch achievers who are used to pushing ahead of the pack, but very seldom think about going to the back of the pack to lift others up?

Race to Nowhere is a film that ought to be seen by anybody interested in education. And the long-term validity of AP exams should be questioned by every student and administrator who believe they are the silver bullet to educational success.  The people of God must really ask themselves, once again, “Why?”  We need a redefinition of success in education based not on the throne of achievement, but on the cross of service.

Strategic Planning

There are some skills that are taught in school. Others you have to learn for yourself.

When I graduated from seminary, I was filled with idealism, as any young person should be.  Yet as I manned a desk at the adult education program where I worked, and served part-time as a pastor of a Hispanic congregation, I quickly realized that few were interested in my global aspirations.  And I myself realized quite quickly that vision alone could not change either myself or the people or institutions around me. I needed the means to do so.

At the same time, I was repeatedly exposed to those very means. During my last few months at the seminary, I dreamed up a program that I dubbed “The Presidential Intern Program.” A lofty name, for sure, but it was really just a cover to let me hang around the seminary’s executive team for 3 months. After months of interviews, and even a sneak peak at a confidential board meeting, I realized that all these leaders had a common language. They all had “strategic plans.” 

As the current VP of development explained, “Strategic simply means that your future plans are trying to accomplish a stated purpose.” Strategic was the opposite of random and reactive. Being strategic simply meant that we had a clear idea of where we wanted to go and how we were going to get there.

One of my favorite professors at Denver Seminary, Gary Hoag, now president of Generosity Monk, has been coaching me monthly on spiritual leadership and strategic planning. Under his tutelage, he’s shown me that strategic planning is far easier than I once thought. It’s basically composed of three parts all of which are trying to accomplish a vision or goal: (1) strategic initiatives, (2) objectives, and (3) tactics.  Step 1: Pick 3-7 major areas, strategic initiatives, that you need to accomplish your vision for the year. Step 2: Select objectives that you believe will accomplish those broad initiatives. And step 3: make for yourself measurable action steps, “tactics”, that you’ll use to chart future progress toward major goals.

This three step process may sound boring, but in my two years after graduation, I’ve had the chance to quietly observe a bevy of organizations. And I can honestly say that those (schools included) who have a strategic plan tend to be purposeful and successful over the long haul. Those that don’t tend to be ruled by the urgency of the moment and the latest, greatest idea, only to see it fizzle out after a couple of months.  Good, long term planning, often called “strategic planning” is, many times, the difference between high performing schools and the mediocre.

Strategic planning, as it is now practiced, is an invention of post WWII American business culture. Walter Kiechel III made this case in his book Lords of Strategy.  So, it’s safe to safe that the idea is not necessarily Christian. It is a temporary tool to get things done. 

Having said that, we should not forget that Jesus’ life and ministry was laden with clear purpose.  Many times he told his disciples, “The Son of Man will be betrayed by the Pharisees and teachers of law. He will be killed and raised again on the third day.” Jesus’ eyes were resolutely fixed in Jerusalem.  He knew what he had to do.  And as has breathed his last breath, he triumphantly declared, “It is finished.” Mission accomplished.  I am in the darkness, they are in the light.  I am punished, they are rewarded. I am dying, they will live forever.   Salvation has been won.

Christianity is a worldview that sees God on a mission. His purposes to redeem humanity from the moment of the Fall never faltered. From Ur to Patmos, God is moving history to its redemptive ends. He is focused on the goal: the redemption of all things in the New Jerusalem.

Strategic planning is not a necessity for all ministries. But leaders in God’s mission had better have a clear idea of where they’re going. God does.

The Purpose of Education

To what end do we educate? 

This really is the fundamental question in all of education. How we answer this question determines everything we teach, and ultimately, what our young people become. 

There are many competing visions of the ends of education. One of the most common today is to produce “responsible citizens.” Most public K-12 schools have a version of this goal of citizenship in their purpose statement. What ends does this type of education serve?  The ultimate end of citizenship is participation in a democracy.  Productive, relatively moral, well-informed voters is the goal here.  This worldview sees the state and the propagation of the democratic process as ultimate.

Another common end of K-12 schools is college.  A swath of “competitive” high schools call themselves “college preparatory.”  This means that the end of secondary education is, well, more education.  This seems like an abundantly silly answer to the ends of education. How can more education be the reason for which we are educating young people now?  This circular reasoning is obvious.

Buried underneath the surface of this answer to the end of education—college—may, however, be the answer of opportunity.  Those who go to college have more choice in future careers than those who do not.  But in this vision of the end of education seems to find its underpinning in the ultimate end of individual choice.  The individual with the most amount of choice—that is, the lack of restriction—has “won,” in a sense.  But how can this really be the end of education?  What happens when you go to college and can choose from a multiplicity of careers?  Which should you choose? And why?  Again, this view leaves us in the fog. Choice is good, but it is not a light in dark places. An arrow pointing everywhere points nowhere.

Perhaps, however, the most common view of the purpose of education is to give students the knowledge and skills they need to get a good job. We should not underestimate the obvious importance of this answer.  Education, especially in the two-thirds world, is a fundamental necessity for people to move out of poverty and into an income-producing job, whether it be agriculture, small business, medicine, or law.  This is surely a temporary good. But it cannot be the ultimate purpose of education. After all, is any job just as good as the next, as long as you make money?  How much money is enough?  Is economic prosperity the goal to which we must naturally be striving? One of my favorite magazines, The Economist, seems to carry under its arms the idea that increased GDP is the reason for which all societies are organized. 

The ends of education must be married to the ends of man.  We must ask, What is the highest possibility of human life?  If one were to live the best possible life, what would it look like?  If we can find an answer to this question, we would have the reason for which we are to educate the young.

Christians around the world celebrated Good Friday and Easter Sunday this past weekend.  They paused to look at a man who answered the question of the best human life.  Jesus claimed not only to declare what the good life looked like, as did the Greeks, but to live it out among first century Jews.

For Jesus, the height of human achievement was not in wealth, power, knowledge, or prestige.  When he reached the climax of his human life, he was lifted up on a cross. Stripped naked, beaten, bruised, and bearing a crown of thorns, he died a substitutionary death on behalf of others.  As the Prophet writes, “Surely he took up our pain, and bore our suffering…he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him, and by his wounds we are healed...For he bore the sin of many, and made intercession for the transgressors,” (Isaiah 53:4-5,12). 

By all human measure, a Jewish rabbi who lives as a teacher for three years, arouses opposition among the ruling authorities, and gets himself killed would be seen as a failure.  He wrote no books, he had no army, built no cities, had no wife or children, and died in utter poverty, with even the clothes on his back being gambled for by Roman guards. 

But this man’s death, the culmination of his life, was to bring peace, healing, purpose, joy, and salvation to millions. And this act of self-giving, core to the person of Christ, was meant as a model for all people.  Peter writes: “To this you were called, because Christ suffered for you, leaving you an example, that you should follow in his steps,” (1 Peter 2:21).

So what is the purpose of education?  It must be service.  If “Greater love has no one that this: that a man lay down his life for his friends,” this must be the end to which we teach young people.  From literature and calculus to history and foreign language, the common thread of these disciplines must be the service of others. Contributing to the good of others through Christ must trump visions of education that end in economic prosperity, individual freedom, or the perpetuation of democracy. 

Milton said, “The end then of learning is to repair the ruins of our first parents by regaining to know God aright.” God is revealed in Christ, and in the Suffering Servant we see the way in which we are to repair the ruins of the Fall: sacrificial love.