Is Classical Education the Cure to Mediocrity?

Probably not. But it’s certainly appealing.

Photo by Valentin B. Kremer on Unsplash

I enjoy reading biographies of the American Founding Fathers. I’m always struck by the happy accident of history in which a generation of such gifted men came together to chart a new course for humanity. John Adams, George Washington, Alexander Hamilton, Thomas Jefferson, James Madison—it’s hard to believe that all of them were born around the same time, and that they all knew each other. If you read Ron Chernow’s biography of Hamilton—upon which the musical is based—you will come away with an appreciation for how incredibly well-educated all of these men were.

A question that has stuck with me since reading some of these biographies is, how did they become so smart? What was so special about their system of education that gave rise to a generation of such widely-read and impressive men? And would it be possible to recreate that system today such that 21st-century students can become as impressive?

From what I’ve gathered by reading these biographies, most of these men were extremely wealthy and were educated in small groups with highly intelligent tutors. With the exception of Alexander Hamilton (and, later, Abraham Lincoln), the intellectual giants of the age—Jefferson, Hamilton, Patrick Henry—all came from old, monied families who aspired to an American aristocracy. To perpetuate that legacy, the families hired young teachers fresh out of places like Harvard and the College of William and Mary to educate their children. The tutors would work with students individually or in very small groups, and their charges would be able to move at their own pace. Plus, when you’re the only student, it’s harder to slack off or fly under the radar.

As such, the tutors would be able to ensure that their students knew the material through and through before moving on. This saved time down the road, when the students encountered new material that drew on the stuff they had learned before. A friend of mine used to tutor standardized tests, and he said that the issue he most often ran into was that his students often forgot what they had learned three or four years ago—or had never mastered it fully—so he had to re-teach that concept before moving on. This is difficult if not impossible to do if you’re a teacher with 25 students in your classroom, but it’s a no-brainer if you only have one.

Because teachers were able to move on much faster—and because they could ensure that their students knew the material completely before advancing—they could cover far more ground. Thus, students in the Founding era learned far more history, law, language, and other such subjects than today’s students could ever hope to get through. That’s why the men of the Founding era were so well-read on political theorists like Thomas Hobbes, the Baron de Montesquieu, and Machiavelli—a depth of knowledge surpassed only by their familiarity with Roman and Greek history. Perhaps because of their superb knowledge of history, the Founders were keenly aware of how and why experiments in democratic government could go off the wagon road (there were no rails at this point). Hence the beautiful simplicity of the American Constitution—which, we must never forget, was a radically new model of government at the time.

The Founders, then, were very well-educated on topics that today we call the humanities: in particular, history, philosophy, and literature. Their system of education—if you could really call it a system—consisted mostly of single tutors thoroughly educating one student at a time. And remember: Only wealthy families could afford to take out this expense for their children.

Fast forward to today. Every student in the U.S. is mandated by law to attend school. Teachers fresh out of state colleges teach (or attempt to teach) rooms full of boisterous students who have vastly different levels of competence. They learn a smattering of different topics, including English, history, and math, but also subjects like biology and social studies.

Given these differences, is it even remotely possible for American students to learn the way the Founding Fathers did? There’s a new(ish) movement afoot that is going to try. It’s called “classical education,” and while you’ve probably never heard of it, it’s something to keep your eye on.

The basic goal of classical education is to revive the curriculum of the Middle Ages. Based on the Latin concept of the trivium—a progression through the stages of grammar, logic, and rhetoric—classical educators are attempting to create, as the title of a recent National Affairs essay has it, an “aristocracy of anyone.”

Here’s the idea: Today’s students are poorly served by traditional public schools. Not only are the schools lacking a coherent disciplinary system, they are also woefully unprepared to teach students with any significant level of rigor. Instead of Dante’s Inferno and the Federalist Papers, today’s students are reading Percy Jackson and Diary of a Wimpy Kid. It’s not entirely the fault of the schools, though: Parents don’t do enough to ensure their children are doing their homework, let alone instilling an interest in the Great Books. And so, charter schools—and, in some cases, parents homeschooling their kids—are trying to re-introduce notions of intense rigor into schools so that their students are as well-educated as they could possibly be.

Students in the grammar stage learn the basics: obviously, grammar and spelling in English, but also multiplication tables in math and the elements in science. Once students get to the logic stage—around middle school—they build on their grammar knowledge and begin to read more deeply. Finally, in the high school years, students reach the rhetoric stage, in which they learn to write and speak for themselves. Throughout the process, students read classic literature, learn ancient history, and delve deeply into philosophy.

To me, classical education sounds extremely promising. The rigor of the texts that students in classical education schools reportedly engage, as well as the history they counter, appeals to me as someone who feels that he missed out on a deeply intense educational experience. But is the model sound? Will it “work”? What does it even mean to “work” in this context?

For instance, it’s unclear whether charter schools will successfully imbue students with a love of learning or deliver a well-rounded education. The teachers in charter schools are effectively the same as the ones in public schools, which is to say that they aren’t exactly experts in teaching students how to engage with difficult texts. Moreover, students in charter schools are in class with dozens of other students, so it’s not like teachers can personalize the pace of the curriculum like they could if it was one-on-one. Plus, since charter schools enroll children whose parents actively seek out alternative schooling options, higher test scores doesn’t necessarily mean that the model itself is better. Those children are a self-selecting bunch, and their parents are more likely to be on top of them than students in public schools. So if your answer to the question “what does it mean for a classical school to work?” is, “the school will deliver higher test scores,” then how do you counter the self-selection variable that charter schools have always dealt with?

I have never personally visited a classical charter school. I don’t know much about classical education outside of what I’ve read about it. It could be that classical education is the solution to our crisis of mediocrity; it could also be the case that it’s a red herring that won’t address anything of import. In fact, in all likelihood, we’ll never be able to recreate the education system of the Founding Fathers—and nor would we necessarily want to. Like I explained, only a few privileged families could access the heights of education to which John Adams and Thomas Jefferson climbed. Moreover, in a rapidly digitizing economy, it’s unclear that classical education will impart the skills students need to succeed after school is over. After all, in the Founding Era, only a few professions—law, clergy, and medicine—were open to these educated men, and they needed their deep background in literature, history, and philosophy in their careers.

But part of me will always love the idea of classical education. In a time of rapidly declining test scores, apathetic students, and disgruntled teachers, an injection of eternal ideas and high expectations into schools seems wise. I have no idea whether classical education is the solution that we’ve been waiting for, but regardless, it’s worth keeping an eye on.