When last we rode with “thoughtful” Telemachus, he and Peisistratos, Nestor's son, were on their way to the home of “glorious” Menelaus and Helen (she for whom his father was fighting when he went missing). As book four begins - and we come to the end of the portion of the Odyssey typically known as the Telemachy - Telemachus and Pesistratos are finally arrving at the King's palace. They are greeted with, of course, a grand feast.
The Cardinal Newman Society recently reported an encouraging trend among Catholic schools:
“Nationwide, classical schools, both diocesan and independent, are springing up and eliciting interest from other schools and groups. Efforts to revitalize classical Catholic education have garnered interest from parents, teachers, and many others who want to copy the model, according to the National Catholic Register.”
A response to an article about the "grit narrative" by an Independent School leader:
If I were to write a book about student motivation and teaching approaches, I would call it The Pharisee and the Prodigal. This is why.
I am deeply concerned, and have had this concern renewed while reading chapter 7 in Norms and Nobility for the Apprenticeship, with the need in our self-identified democracy that "the masses" - those despised and used children of the poor especially - need a classical education. Here's Hicks:
Personally, I am not a KJV-only-person, especially not out of some sectarian commitment. But in the midst of a myriad of publishers seeking to market the Scriptures and amid the theological concerns for accuracy and psychological concerns regarding ease, Christopher Hitchens offers insight especially helpful for our task as educators, especially those of the Rhetoric school.
Author of Simply Classical: A Beautiful Education for Any Child, Cheryl Swope is an advocate of classical Christian education for special-needs and struggling students. The love of history, music, literature, and Latin instilled in her own children has created in Cheryl the desire to share the message that classical education offers benefits to any child.
The mind rooted in faith operates differently from the mind rooted in doubt.* Doubt, interestingly, comes from the Latin "dubitas," which can as easily be translated "fear." In Elizabethan times, that correlary was not obscure, as you can see when you read, for example, Hamlet.
High school is that time when much of the natural child-like faith of childhood is laid aside, hopefully to be regained later, and a season of doubt and inquisition begins. If we learn nothing else from the rate of attrition in American church attendance over the twentieth century, especially among those in college, we should at least know and confess to have done a poor job responding to this doubt.
With the help of Wes Callihan and his Epics series my sons, Alex and Andrew, and I are reading The Iliad this term. I have read The Iliad before, honest injun, but for most of my children I have just assigned it as reading during their year in King’s Meadow Antiquities. I thought I would enjoy reading The Iliad out loud with these, my last two boys, and learning along with them this year. I fully expect it to inform each of us in different ways.
Seeing is believing. Or so the maxim goes. But the senses can fail you too, as anyone who’s ever dreamed dreams knows. He who doubts the creation cannot himself be a creator. This is why Descartes could never have been a poet. Even if he had been visited by the muse, most likely the results would've been poor; for one cannot pen verses in the dark. This is also why there will never be an unbelieving, atheistic Shakespeare. Nor can there ever be a godless Homer. Atheism is incapable of great art.
Towards the beginning of his book, Cooked: A Natural History of Transformation, Michael Pollan notes that Henry Fielding once referred to The Odyssey as “Homer's wonderful book about eating”. As a wannabe chef I love this; as a literature enthusiast and student I'm intrigued by it. And I think we get our first glimpse of this possiblity here in book three.