Dispatches from the Trenches
In Defense of Non-secular Schools
“I have no religion.”
I hear this assertion from time to time, most recently from a colleague who sees himself as progressive (and please note that I have not placed the word in quotation marks, since I genuinely respect his intellect). My objection to the claim is not that it offends me; it is simply that I don’t believe it.
If we take “religion” to be a system of beliefs held with ardor and faith, a particular conscientiousness, then any adult with a reasonably functioning brain certainly observes some sort of religion, even if its tenets include the steadfast denial of belief. For instance, a scientist who thinks that science will someday have answered all of the great questions about purpose and meaning is a profoundly religious person. Religion provides a framework of thought, in essence, and some things fall within that frame and other things do not.
Religion makes the world intelligible to us, and that is crucial to education. In my experience as a teacher of literature and of writing, I perceive recurring ideas, images, narratives, and so on that reveal recurring truths, and all of these bring intelligibility and meaning to the noise of human interaction. Any teacher who comes into the classroom hoping to get something done, to finish the day really feeling like something has happened, and who believes that his or her subject is far more than simply a collection of information to be dispensed, is by nature a religious being.
Of course, we know that when most people refer to a “religious” school, they mean an institution that is affiliated with a particular church, a parochial school. Typically such a school is meant to advance the tenets of the church, but it also provides instruction in math, science, and so on - secular subjects, one might say, but even those may be approached within the framework of belief (e.g., the study of life science is also the study of the created world). These ideas are not necessarily at odds; as Pope John Paul said in 1985, “Rightly comprehended, faith in creation or a correctly understood teaching of evolution does not create obstacles: evolution in fact presupposes creation…” (Symposium on Evolution).
No doubt some would argue that a Jewish girls school, for example, is an insular environment which breeds homogeneity, and in some ways that may be true; but those sorts of flaws are only connected to the specific culture of the school and the people who are there, and not to the universalist viewpoint the institution hopes to convey. The real school, the palace of ideas, wants to give the student a singular, cohesive method by which she can approach a corrupt world and somehow contribute to its healing, guided by the values which have been part of her education. A number of different writers - sociologists, philosophers theologians - have used the term “everythingism” to describe the condition in which one may be too intensely drawn to too many things - books, ideas, hobbies, belief systems, and so on - to understand any of them particularly well. The danger is that everythingism can lead to the mistaken belief that all things are equal in value, and in turn we wind up in a world without morals (since morals, after all, must be those principles that stand salient against the great jumble). Good nonsecular schools, by contrast, seem keenly interested in sussing out the greater or lesser worth in certain ideas.
Please bear in mind that I am not necessarily thinking of the 1960s-era Brothers school, for example, which a good friend of mine loves to look back on and loathe so passionately - and understandably so, since his memories are comprised mostly of corporal punishment and humiliation, a mental photo album of welts. Nor am I speaking of the small-town Baptist “academy” where another friend spent hours on his knees in the dean’s office, reading aloud from the book of Job. I mean fully accredited schools founded by men and women of both intellect and faith who believe that academic rigor and a spiritual life do not exclude one another.
Before entering the public school system, I taught for ten years in a private Episcopalian school. I now realize how freeing it was to hear accomplished and in some cases brilliant colleagues discussing their own beliefs and spiritual struggles with intelligent students, many of whom, though they may not have “bought in to the program” entirely, were at least openminded, academically ambitious, and from varying ethnic and socio-economic backgrounds. In fact, one of the main reasons I joined the church myself was that in those days, I hung around a lot with men and women whom I admired, who also happened to be Christians. I was fortunate to have come under their influence.
Certainly there are those who associate private education with elitism. My only response might be to note that in the nonsecular school where I worked, the admissions committee was quite fair in awarding financial aid to low-income parents who desired to have their kids in a focused academic environment; and generally, the kids themselves possessed the will to put in the effort and sacrifices required for any worthwhile journey. I would not say that the students I knew there were any more talented than their public-school counterparts, but they had a framework, a lens, if you like, that allowed them to see clearly what was really at stake for them. Not only that, they knew why they were there. I am sad to report that in public-school hallways, I see many students, every day, who appear to be lost; believe it or not, they do not know what their purpose is in this place. It is not simply that they hate school and wish to be someplace else; they truly do not know why their presence is required here.
I think the reason for this is simple: there is no joy in it for them. They view it as a building with a set of unreasonable rules (NO HATS! NO TALKING! SIT DOWN! STAND UP! GET IN LINE! WAIT FOR THE BELL!). Oh, we all have good intentions, and schools are fraught with teachers, coaches, counselors, and administrators who love kids, want the best for them, hope to inspire them…but the weight of the system inevitably descends upon them. For example, true creativity (a quality we ought to encourage) is often unbridled, particularly in a young person, and yet that impulse is frequently met with brute force and then summarily smothered. This has been true for some time. Even the affable populist Bruce Springsteen - now seventy, if you can swallow that one - has declared, “I hated school. That’s rock ’n’ roll 101.” For who should the pupils find in authority when they enter these institutional walls but a bunch of rule enforcement officials, many of whom seem as disillusioned, deflated, and miserable as themselves?
I am generalizing, obviously, but my point is that there is joy in realizing one has a purpose, after all, or at least in beginning to seek for it, and in being among others who are up to the same thing. It means that this day, this place, is just a piece of a road, a greater journey. A life of purpose means that the best days and places always lie ahead, but in order to get there we must also pay attention to what is happening now; it is a curiosity of the human brain that at some point, it becomes capable of holding both of these thoughts - of the moment and of the future - and that together they have significance and meaning. It is my opinion overall that private nonsecular schools are more apt to provide this essential framework.