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The Necessity of the Classics

From The Necessity of the Classics by Louise Cowan:

Our need for the classics is intense. Yet any defense of them in our time must come from a sense of their absolute necessity not from a desire to inculcate cultural literacy, or to keep alive a pastime for an elite, but to preserve the full range of human sensibility. What is needed is to recapture their spirit of high nobility and magnanimity, of order and excellence, but to recapture that spirit in a framework of democracy engendered by a Biblical culture of radical openness. The things worth preserving, the things we ought to be passing down, far transcend any single heritage: they partake of the fundamental structures of being itself. Melville called them “the heartless, joyous, ever-juvenile eternities.” And if our children do not encounter these realities in their studies, they are not likely to encounter them at all. As Kagemusha makes clear, greatness of soul is an aspect of human being as such, but it is not a quality that comes naturally. It must be taught. The classics have become classics because they elicit greatness of soul. Far from being a particular province of the specialist, they are the essential foundation of our educational process and the impulsion toward that forward movement of the human spirit for which schools exist. In an unpoetic age, we have to learn all over again what and how to teach our own children. We need to re-read the Greeks.

Loving Humanity

It is easier to be enthusiastic about Humanity with a capital ‘H’ than it is to love individual men and women, especially those who are uninteresting, exasperating, depraved, or otherwise unattractive. Loving everybody in general may be an excuse for loving nobody in particular.
– C.S. Lewis

Quoth Vanier

We do not need to live our entire life angry
with our past or with our weakness.
We do not have to be resentful towards our parents, our society, or our church because they have hurt us. We are called to discover that no pain is ever useless. It is more like manure spread on the ground. It smells horrid and seems only to be waste, but in fact it enriches and nourishes the earth, allowing it to bring forth new life. Nothing is lost. Jesus welcomes everything that is broken. If we give him our weakness he will transform it into a source of life. –Jean Vanier

Purpose for Leisure, Art, & Contemplation

Music, the fine arts, poetry - anything that festively raises up human existence and thereby constitutes it true riches - all derive their life from a hidden root, and this root is a contemplation which is turned toward God and the world so as to affirm them.

We see still another form of such activity [contemplation] in the creation of the artist, who does not so much aim at presenting copies of reality as rather making visible and tangible in speech, sound, color, and stone, the archetypical essences of all things as he was privileged to perceive them. But those, too, who experience the spark of poetry while listening to a poem, who behold a sculpture and perceive the artist’s intention - yes, those who only listen and observe, as long as the conditions are right, can also touch, in contemplation, the core of all reality, the domain of the eternal archetypes.

Wherever the arts are nourished through the festive contemplation of universal realities and their sustaining reasons, there in truth something like a liberation occurs: the stepping-out into the open under an endless sky, not only for the creative artist himself but for the beholder as well, even the most humble. Such liberation, such foreshadowing of the ultimate and perfect fulfillment, is necessary for man, almost more necessary than his daily bread, which is indeed indispensable and yet insufficient.

Josef Pieper

A Psalm Of Life

by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

WHAT THE HEART OF THE YOUNG MAN SAID TO THE PSALMIST

TELL me not, in mournful numbers,
    Life is but an empty dream !
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
    And things are not what they seem.

Life is real !   Life is earnest!
    And the grave is not its goal ;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
    Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
    Is our destined end or way ;
But to act, that each to-morrow
    Find us farther than to-day.

Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
    And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
    Funeral marches to the grave.

In the world's broad field of battle,
    In the bivouac of Life,
Be not like dumb, driven cattle !
    Be a hero in the strife !

Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant !
    Let the dead Past bury its dead !
Act,— act in the living Present !
    Heart within, and God o'erhead !

Lives of great men all remind us
    We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
    Footprints on the sands of time ;

Footprints, that perhaps another,
    Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
    Seeing, shall take heart again.

Let us, then, be up and doing,
    With a heart for any fate ;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
    Learn to labor and to wait.