Charles Murray

I confess to having approached Mr. Charles Murray’s book with a little ambivalence. I imagined that I might be one of those educational romantics he described and wondered whether a certain kind of educational romanticism might provide, not an unkindly lie, but a noble spur to a better life for our nation’s young. But this book strikes me as both provocative and compelling in its description of the ills of, and cures for, our so-called educational system. I say “so-called,” because we do not have a single educational system in this country, though the threats and attempts to create one are certainly out there and are devoutly to be resisted. Mr. Murray and I agree on this.

I am neither a statistician nor a social scientist, and see little I can contribute to the findings Mr. Murray makes in his early chapters. I’m pretty much an amateur at diagnostics. But I am a citizen of this great country, and thought I might approach the question of education from a perspective I imagine to be important in all public policy discussions: What kind of education is necessary to preserve our liberal democracy? How should we educate our citizens to be fit for the freedom they ought to enjoy in our democratic republic?

Let me being by trying to describe what I mean by an education for freedom. Then I want to say a few words about how difficult this is to accomplish in a democratic republic, how important it is for us to succeed, and what might follow from this analysis.

I first want to distinguish freedom from license to do what we please, then to distinguish the by-products of our democratic freedom from the underlying cause. By “by-products” I mean what we called only a few weeks ago our relatively free-market economy and competitive strength in the global marketplace.

First, freedom and license: License is when we give ourselves permission to do whatever we like with whatever comes our way. It resembles anarchy more than self-government. When we exercise freedom without thought or purpose, we are most vulnerable to being captured or enslaved by the things we choose to experience. Most of us know what it means to become slaves to food or drink or narcotics, even slaves to popular opinion to the will of our friends and family. We become slaves to our prejudices, which are opinions held without reason. We usually subject ourselves willfully or thoughtlessly.

How do we avoid becoming slaves to all the things that press upon us day-in and day-out? How can we learn to take charge of the lives that ought to belong to us? We need an education in the arts of freedom, which we call the “liberal arts,” to enable us to choose from among the necessary and the extraneous, from among the good and the bad. We are not looking for freedom from discipline, but for discipline itself in order to form habits of thought that will help us distinguish ends from means and good ends from bad ones, habits that will help us choose the lives we ought to lead because they belong to us.

You have all heard the reports telling us how few liberal artists are graduating from our colleges today. Strictly speaking, this cannot be so. I believe I am paraphrasing Robert Maynard Hutchins in saying that all of us are liberal artists, whether or not we even attend college. This is because all human beings exercise their reason. The only question open to them is whether they will exercise their reason poorly or well—whether they will be poor liberal artists or good ones. Our project in the nation’s schools thus ought to be how best to help our students acquire the many arts or skills needed to exercise their reason well. I share Mr. Murray’s view that more of this should be done in the K-12 years, and that the opportunity should be open to all to pursue this through college.

Let me turn for a moment from the problem of slavery and license to a problem with the by-products of freedom. My wife and I have five children who have completed their undergraduate education; we have thus had some experience with the prospective student campus tour. The chairman of the business department of a small “liberal arts” college had this to say to one of our sons:

“My job is to make you into the best product that can be sold on the market. You are raw material and I am the producer and together we must make a product that we can go out and sell. I want to help you get the best price for your mind and body when you graduate from here, in competition with all the other products from all the other colleges.”

You’d think he was selling pork bellies, not education. We didn’t buy. Of course, if you want to be treated like a commodity, you can find schools that will do this to you. And if you think you’re buying a commodity when you’re paying tuition, you might want to consider spending your money on something else, because education is not a commodity and you are not a consumer. Learning is something entirely different from shopping and consuming. Learning actually requires a little effort on the student’s part. It cannot be bottled, sold, and swallowed. It demands far more from the would-be learner—something to make the learning one’s own.

But what is wrong with an education that is useful enough to ensure that you also get a job upon graduation so that you can become a “productive” member of society? In a certain sense, nothing. More people should have this. Almost all of us need to work in order to live. But life is more than earning a living. One ought also to be concerned with making a life worth living. So, the problem with this kind of education is that it is just not enough. A freeing education, a liberal education, is one in which the student does the work, not the teacher, in which the student isn’t reshaped by a teacher but does the reshaping himself or herself. Our best schools and liberal arts colleges work hard to provide students with the tools for their own learning and with opportunities to practice using those tools over and over. These are mostly the tools of inquiry and investigation, though some memorization and rote learning will be required to make the best use of these tools. A by-product of this education is the ability to make one’s way in the world, to earn a living and support a family.

The content of the curriculum matters, not just for the good it contains, but because great writing, wonderful original works, exciting experiments, all fuel the desire to learn. Without this desire, without a love of learning, very little learning will take place. Our schools need to have a conviction that some things are better, more fundamental, more worthy of study than others—and we ought to offer these things as a kind of banquet for our students to plunder and afterwards make something distinctive that belongs to that student. We often call this “the cultivation of the mind and the intellect”, but it is also the cultivation of independence.

I do not believe it is easy to cultivate such independence of mind in a democratic society. The United States, as an example, is built upon a respect for the individual and a trust that its citizens are capable of self-government. Surely then, the protection of the democracy and the freedom of its citizens require that those citizens have an education both in the traditions of the democratic republic and in the arts of freedom. Yet, the traditions of a nation, its customs, its idols, and even its laws, will frequently be at odds with the very things that encourage the autonomy of the individual citizen—those arts that allow us to think for ourselves and to question the city fathers, popular opinion, and social custom.

One might say that a democracy of any size can only work well if its citizens are capable of holding on to the tension between the needs of an ordered society and the needs of a free people. America may be the best hope of a home for a free individual. But in any well-ordered and relatively happy society, there will inevitably be a tendency for the people to fall asleep, to become comfortable in their prosperity, to follow without much reflection the will of the many or the lead of their elected officials, and to ignore, resent or repress the individual voices that would challenge custom, question the status quo, or shake the comfort of its citizens. This tendency to sleep is a form of decay or corruption in a democratic society, which can only be countered by the wakeful vigilance of its citizens and their persistent efforts to find ways of renewing the nation’s spirit, and recalling it to its purposes of cultivating a free citizenry. We need to be alert to signs of corruption and open to correction; we need to be able to think about what is right and wrong, not just what is comfortable or expedient—to think about building a better tomorrow, not just protecting our inheritance.

The liberally educated man or woman should be the spur to such vigilance, keeping us from the smug self-satisfaction that comes from sleeping through life without examining who we are and what we ought to become. We should be kept awake to the need for this self-examination even if we can’t resolve the questions that such examination requires us to ask. We should learn to ask questions that will reduce us to a state of perplexity so that we may wonder at our ignorance and search for a better understanding. These questions and this state of perplexity are the conditions for a liberal education; they are the groundwork for the humility of intellect that Mr. Murray would rightly have our nation’s leaders acquire.

To learn well and to make a lesson our own, we also need to have something at stake—that is, it must make a difference to us how we answer the questions we ask. In this country, we each have a stake in the survival and strength of our liberal democracy, a stake many believe is worth dying for, certainly a stake worth investing in by providing all of our citizens with the opportunity to undertake an education that will free them to become responsible, thinking adults.

What has been the point of this whole argument? I think it is that I want us all to appreciate how important it is to every American that a substantial portion of our population receive an education fit for the freedom we enjoy. We should do everything we can to encourage and expand the opportunities for more of our nation’s school children and college graduates alike to obtain the best form of such a liberal education according to the abilities of each. We should have more trust than we do in the power of the intellect of each child to acquire, to a greater or lesser degree, an education fit for freedom. Mr. Murray’s book gives us many examples of ways to improve upon the learning that is going on in our schools.

Of course ability varies and half the children are below average. Indeed, we should not set the college degree as our gold standard for success in life. We should teach people how to better make a living and to respect the work of the craftsmen and technicians among us. We should not stigmatize those Mr. Murray calls the “forgotten half.” But neither should we abandon our efforts to provide each of our citizens with an opportunity to have the education that is required to keep us all watchful, wakeful protectors of our personal and political freedoms. I’d love to see us doing more of that in all of our schools, elementary, secondary, and collegiate.for the gifted and for the rest of us. I don’t know how many students should go to college, but I would also hate to implement any model that would shut down learning opportunities of any kind at too early a time in life. I have too many stories to tell of young people who took a long time to find themselves, their vocations, and the things that they love to study and are happy to pursue. Whatever we do to encourage the pursuit of a large variety of interests in our schools, we should never forget that each of our students grows at different rates and takes different paths to find themselves along the way.

Mr. Murray has said that in an ideal world, everyone would have a liberal education. I cannot help but agree, whether this education is at work in K-12 or at the college level; believing this, I cannot simply abandon the effort to help us realize this ideal—even as I concur that we ought to respect those who find fulfillment and happiness in so many other worthy endeavors.

This is my version of educational romanticism, and I wonder whether it really differs very much from Mr. Murray’s vision.

CATO Institute Remarks by Christopher B. Nelson, President of St. John’s College, Annapolis, October 8, 2008. Published here by permission.
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The featured image is “Allegory of Teaching” by Juriaen Jacobsze (1624–circa 1685 ) and is in the public domain, courtesy of Wikimedia Commons. It has been brightened for clarity.

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