It was a typical Wednesday for me. 

I started the day by answering emails from the previous evening, and I had a tour scheduled in the morning. In the time of COVID, tours are a smaller affair, but they remain a favorite part of my job. On tours, we get to go into classrooms and observe teachers and students in their element. We walk around the hallways and see students interacting with each other and teachers greeting them between periods. 

Part of why I treasure tours so much is because, every once in a while, I get to observe something that is real magic. Whether it’s a joy-filled grammar class where they’re making up absurd sentences or a class full of kindergarten students discussing what it means to be a good friend, I walk away from those classes reminded of why I do what I do. I go into the rest of my day with a renewed understanding of why I chose, and continue to choose, a classical school. 

This particular day, the students were answering a gauntlet of questions from their teacher designed to push the way they think about virtue. He warned them that it’s meant to be hard, and the more questions they get right, the more the subsequent questions will increase in difficulty. 

After moving through a few questions, they arrived at a juicy one: What is it that draws us to beautiful things? What makes them beautiful? 

At first, there was silence. But then, slowly, a few hands rose, and the answers started coming. There were a few brave attempts. Some of the answers touched on aesthetic appeal. Some of them hinted at the sense of peace we feel in the presence of beauty.

Then, a student that I know well raised his hand, gestured at the famous painting of The Death of Socrates hanging on the wall and said: 

“Well, it makes me think of art. I look at that picture, and I know it’s beautiful - not just because of the way it looks but because it’s not something I can do yet. I’d love to be able to paint like that someday or to be as brave as Socrates.”

In the case of this picture, our 9th grade student was remarking on the nature of the death of Socrates as well as the skill of the painter in depicting it. Beauty is not just something that looks good or makes us feel good. Beauty, authentic beauty, pushes us to operate in our highest, most heroic capacities.

Pretty soon my tour was over. I walked the families back to the front lobby, answered their questions about the school, and made sure they had my contact information. 

But when I returned to my desk, I couldn’t help but wonder: what if every classroom was like this? What if every classroom took the time to have these kinds of conversations?

Maybe the students won’t remember that moment tomorrow, or a year from now. But I would be willing to bet that someday their understanding of beauty and the weight it holds in our world will be tested. 

When that happens, I hope they remember their 9th grade Rhetoric class and the valiant death of Socrates.