The Perpetual Martyrdom of the Classical Educator
by Jeremiah Mavrogeorge
Saint Cassian of Imola, the 4th century teacher who was slaughtered by his students, who stabbed him to death with their styli.
The educator is a lightning rod for praise and criticism. On the one hand, you are praised for your love and dedication to the students. Parents email you tirelessly about how grateful they are that you have become entrenched in their school community. Administrators love your contributions, and faculty members praise you for the bolt of energy you bring to the team. Yet, you are also criticized by parents, peers, and supervisors. You are reprimanded for meddling in a child’s moral development. It is not your place to “judge” a child’s “mistakes.” Your strictness for deadlines gets you labeled as ungracious and unnecessarily cruel. Administrators comment on your lack of flexibility when it comes to integrating the latest trendy methodology from the most recent conference they attended. You find that you are loved by some and hated by others. There is no middle ground: you are a hero or a villain, a teacher or a verbal punching bag. The people you are supposed to partner with are the same people you must contend with to validate your existence.
Teaching is not for the sensitive nor the weak-willed. It is a hardened battle between your convictions and the world outside of your classroom. Those who take the mantle of educator in the liberal arts tradition believe they are called to form children’s souls towards heaven. Our mission is that of the Church: to save their very souls by orienting them towards the Good, True, and Beautiful. We take seriously the words of Christ when He says, “If any of you put a stumbling block before one of these little ones who believe in me, it would be better for you if a great millstone were fastened around your neck and you were drowned in the depth of the sea” (Matt. 18:6 NRSVCE). Our conviction requires us to stand with the vast tradition of Western Civilization.
The problem is not with teachers who have strong personal convictions but with those who would rather us keep our convictions private. In our modern culture, it is commonplace to say that your belief is fine so long as it is your own and not imposed. This extends into the school. “Yes, yes,” they say, “we are deeply committed towards their formation holistically. But we do need to get enrollment numbers up, and this inflammatory talk of virtue and heaven may turn some away.” Others would say, “Of course! I love your conviction for Classical education! But this assignment does not align with the state standards, so it must go.” Ultimately, the standard of a Classical classroom is, and always will be, the moral and intellectual formation of the students. Classical education cares for the soul of the student as well as the mind, looking towards eternity rather than the test. Being committed to Classical education means that parents, administrators, and networks will inevitably have qualms about your methodology. You’re either too soft on the kids or too hard on them. You’re either focusing too much on rigorous academics or flippant about a child who did their best getting a C in your class. It’s a lose-lose gig to be a committed teacher.
Yet, we are called to imitate Christ Himself when He carried the Cross. Classical educators must embrace the penance that comes with their vocation. You will never escape criticism, derision, calumny, or the ire of those whom you are called to serve. As Christ is mocked on his way to Calvary, we too must embrace our suffering as a pathway to our salvation. Yes, you will be imperfect; you will raise your voice at a child who didn’t deserve it or will lack compassion when you should have shown it. Yet, oftentimes, you will need to embrace criticism that is unwarranted, unnecessary, or downright hurtful. Your feelings will get hurt, and you may well find yourself crying in your car or screaming as you vent to a friend. The invitation to all of us, though, is to embrace our suffering for a higher purpose. To survive as an educator in the liberal arts tradition, you’ve got to be okay with being made into an enemy of someone you serve. Having conviction in a convictionless world means that you will always be someone’s villain, someone’s scapegoat. And so we must be content knowing that what we do goes beyond the classroom. The Classical educator offers up their very lives for the service of others, which leads both the teacher and their students toward our eternal reward.