Thomas Lackey, an independent scholar, is introduced. He shares his excitement that another speaker, Dr. G.R., will be teaching at Holy Family, a school his own children attend. This leads to a reflection on children's education and the value of early exposure to classic literature.

One speaker notes how his children are going to be significantly more advanced than he was at their age. He is currently reading Dante's Inferno with his 10-year-old daughter. For her, engaging with these great books is a normal experience. He contrasts this with his own path, where he did not discover these foundational texts until graduate school. He intentionally presents this advanced curriculum as the standard for his children, with the goal of raising them to be more intelligent than he is.

Thomas Lackey, who teaches American government and the history of political philosophy, explains his academic interests. His courses cover a range of thinkers from Plato to Nietzsche. His specific scholarly focus is on philosophical conservatism and the central question of what conservatism is meant to conserve.

He critiques the mainstream academic version, which he calls a form of "skeptical conservatism" that denies the existence of a universal moral order. Thomas finds this version of conservatism to be insipid. He advocates for a conservatism that seeks to conserve a universal moral order, a tradition he connects directly to Plato.

The discussion is framed by the podcast's own study of Plato, having already covered seven dialogues: First Alcibiades, Euthyphro, Apology, Crito, Phaedo, Meno, and the Gorgias. The panel is then asked to share their single biggest takeaway from this study.

One of the ongoing challenges is how to properly read Plato. A good starting point is to read his work dramatically, understanding that the narrative details are part of the pedagogy. Details like where characters go, whether they drink wine, or other seemingly minor elements are instructive. This approach avoids simply extracting a single principle, like "know thyself" from First Alcibiades, and discarding the rest of the dialogue as unimportant.

However, a different approach to Plato can lead to skepticism. This occurs when there is a hyper-focus on discovering Plato's exact authorial intent. This becomes a dangerous question because Plato never speaks in his own voice; he always speaks through his characters in a drama. This makes it very difficult to definitively claim what Plato himself intended to teach. As a result, any positive teaching, such as the cardinal virtues, the tripartite soul, or the theory of ideas, can collapse into broad skepticism.

This skeptical reading runs contrary to how the early church, particularly the Greek fathers, engaged with Plato. They did not adopt Platonic philosophy skeptically. Instead, they took many of his claims as philosophically valid observations of an intelligible reality. They incorporated concepts like the tripartite soul and the four cardinal virtues. St. Augustine even adapted Plato's ideas by giving them a new metaphysical location within the Logos, or the divine mind. While this isn't what Plato taught, it is considered a Platonic teaching.

This leads to a personal realization: it's possible to believe in Platonic concepts without being certain Plato himself held them. If a truth is found in a dialogue, especially one confirmed by Christian revelation, the question of Plato's original intent becomes less critical, as dwelling on it often leads to skepticism.

The discussion centers on how to interpret Plato's dialogues, addressing a skeptical approach that suggests his true beliefs are unknowable. Frank Grabowski cautions against two extreme interpretations. The first is dogmatism, which treats the dialogues as disguised treatises by stripping away the dramatic elements to find the core arguments. The second is the extreme skepticism mentioned by Dcn. Garlick, which posits we can never know what Plato himself believed because he never speaks directly.

Frank proposes a middle way. This approach acknowledges that Plato hides behind the masks of his characters but asserts that he is still fundamentally trying to communicate with the reader. This is similar to how one reads other great literary works by authors like Aeschylus or Dante. We don't assume we can't know their beliefs simply because they wrote narratives instead of treatises. Frank suggests Plato enjoys this game of encouraging readers to work out his actual positions. He believes Plato did hold fundamental beliefs in concepts like the cardinal virtues and the theory of forms.

Thomas Lackey adds that Plato's works are beautiful pieces of art, unlike Aristotle's more technical writing. This artistic quality shouldn't be mistaken for a lack of rigor. Thomas points out that the recurring presence of Socrates as the main, favorably portrayed character is a major hint. Since Socrates usually wins the arguments, it's likely his views align closely with Plato's.

Dcn. Garlick agrees, noting the inconsistency of applying a skeptical standard to Plato that isn't applied to other narrative texts. He highlights the importance of establishing a solid interpretive method, not only for reading Plato's Republic but also because similar interpretive challenges arise when reading Scripture, where skepticism can be destructive.

A key takeaway from Plato's philosophy is his robust defense of the idea that virtue brings happiness. This is a foundational premise of virtue ethics. He argues across various dialogues, such as the Gorgias and Phaedo, that if you want a happy life on earth and after death, virtue is the only way to achieve it. Even if a virtuous person suffers greatly, their life is still considered the happiest possible. The case of Socrates, who was executed, is a prime example; Plato would argue he lived a happy life. A central formula is that an unjust person cannot do any actual harm to a just person because of this deep connection between virtue and happiness.

The dramatic, dialogue-based form Plato uses adds significant power to his arguments. Instead of just stating a principle, he demonstrates it through the life of Socrates. Socrates becomes a living example of the virtuous life, suffering injustice yet remaining blessed and happy. This dramatic presentation gives the argument extra punch, especially since it was based on real events.

This perspective contrasts sharply with much of modern ethics, like social contract theory, which often views moral rules as restrictions one must accept for society to function. In that view, the happiest life would be one free from these constraints. Plato rejects this entirely, asserting that living according to the virtues is what constitutes a happy life.

Underpinning Plato's argument is a rich, top-down metaphysics that is often taken for granted. He starts with the idea that there is a defined nature of man and that the happiest way to live is to live as a man ought to live. This is built on the presuppositions that you can know what a man is, that all men share an essential nature and a common end, and that behavior should align with that end. This differs from a bottom-up approach that builds ethics from practical societal needs, like establishing trust to make society possible.

Dcn. Garlick suggests that the concept of happiness has been incorrectly abandoned in evangelization. Often, the focus is on redemption or self-sacrifice, concepts centered on the cross. This presupposes that people already know they are sinners and need a savior, an understanding which may be lacking in the modern world. He points to Christ's encounter with the woman at the well, where Jesus didn't lead with the cross but instead appealed to her restless heart by promising "living water" that would bring ultimate satisfaction, or happiness. To understand the need for a savior, one must first know oneself. Therefore, reconnecting evangelization with the promise of true happiness could be a more effective approach.

Frank Grabowski shifts the conversation to his takeaways from reading Plato, focusing on the character of Socrates. He draws a parallel between Socrates and the Homeric hero Odysseus. Frank notes that Socrates emerges as an almost mythological figure, known only through the writings of his students. He argues that Socrates is modeled on Odysseus, particularly in embodying the Greek concept of "Polutropos."

The one word that is used to describe, the one that sticks out most in the Odyssey, is Polutropos. This idea of being a man of many twists and turns... one can characterize Socrates as being Polutropos, as being a man of twists and turns. We see how he winds his way through Athens, asking these questions he encounters, just as Odysseus does in his travels, various friends, various enemies.

Frank believes that contrary to a literal reading of the Republic, Plato greatly admired Homer and was heavily inspired by him. Another speaker builds on this comparison, suggesting the primary link between the two figures is their pursuit of knowledge. He references Dante's Inferno, where Odysseus is characterized by a restless, insatiable desire for knowledge that pushes beyond human boundaries. This is contrasted with Socrates, who, particularly in the Apology, demonstrates a more settled pursuit of wisdom, confident that no true harm can befall a good person. This highlights two different models of a lover of knowledge: the restless wanderer and the steadfast philosopher.

There is a concern that the art of teaching has been almost completely lost. With the purpose of education unclear, the purpose of the teacher has also faded. The teacher's role seems to have been reduced to merely conveying knowledge or information, much like an "enfleshed AI."

I'm just trying to, you know, Google would probably do a better job than me, but I get paid to stand in front of you and babysit you.

Education is often seen as training for a specific economic function, turning students into cogs in a machine. It no longer focuses on holistic formation, what it means to be human, or how to live a good life by pursuing truth and beauty. This was highlighted by one speaker's experience in law school, where the curriculum focused on applying complex rules without ever exploring fundamental questions about the nature of justice or law itself.

I'm going to go through all of law school and we're never going to talk about what justice is.

Frank Grabowski suggests a root cause for this shift lies in differing views of happiness. Plato and the classical tradition believe in a universal standard of happiness that virtues can lead to. In contrast, modern thought, exemplified by Thomas Hobbes, posits that there is no universal supreme good. Good is simply what one desires, and since desires vary, so does happiness. This makes it difficult for a modern teacher to teach virtues. Furthermore, Plato viewed the intellect as the soul's highest faculty for discovering universal forms, like justice. Modern thought often reduces the intellect to a tool for satisfying desires. Another speaker added that for Plato, knowledge and love are inseparable. There is no such thing as a dispassionate pursuit of truth, because truth is also beauty and therefore insists on being loved. This implies that true teachers love their students and seek a loving relationship, which is a core part of genuine education.

There is a widespread hesitancy in modern education to make metaphysical claims. This means schools are reluctant to teach that concepts like happiness, truth, and goodness are universal for all people. The idea of sharing knowledge about someone's true good or ultimate end is often avoided because it is seen as too controversial.

Instead, education often retreats into teaching basic, neutral skills like writing or arithmetic, considering the job done once those are mastered. This isn't just a trend in public schools; it has become an almost universal principle across both public and private education. This approach separates education from deeper concepts like happiness and love, which are not typically part of the public conversation about schooling.

A related idea is that much of our logic is built upon our grammar. Consequently, many efforts in modern culture to change grammar are actually attempts to change how people think and reason.

The term Artificial Intelligence, or AI, is deeply problematic because it's an oxymoron that reflects a flat understanding of the human intellect. We have come to see intellect as simply a receptacle for information that can be regurgitated. This view allows a term like AI to exist, but it ignores a deeper understanding of the intellect as an appetite for truth, as seen in the works of Plato and St. Augustine. Calling something artificial intelligence makes a claim about how we view ourselves, and it's a warped, unfortunate view.

This leads to another issue: modern education is often terribly unerotic. The process of passing on information has become cold, detached from love or the pursuit of happiness. Every soul has an 'eros,' a natural longing for truth, but this is often robbed from children in the classroom. Even a fascinating subject can be made uninspiring. There needs to be a connection between our natural love for truth and the education we receive, with teachers inspiring that desire.

Plato's dialogue *First Alcibiades* serves as a master class in this kind of teaching. Socrates doesn't try to hook the ambitious young Alcibiades by asking if he wants to be a philosopher. Instead, he appeals to what Alcibiades already desires.

He doesn't say, 'Do you want to be a philosopher? Do you want to love what's true, good and beautiful?' What's he say to him? 'Hey, do you want to conquer the world? Do you want to have the most glory? Yes. Well, you need to listen to me.'

A great teacher sees the student's existing longings and uses them as a lure to draw them into a true, formative education. Education is not a one-way street where a teacher simply throws information at a student. The student must lovingly receive that wisdom and return that love. Unfortunately, modern education has largely evolved into the simple transfer of facts to be repeated on a test.

A distinction exists between symbolic logic and older forms, such as Socratic logic. Symbolic logic, which is used by computers, treats the truth claims of its propositions as immaterial. In this system, the connection to the real world doesn't matter. In contrast, Socratic logic is inherently tethered to the real world; it is not merely a propositional form.

This has implications for how we view artificial intelligence. If intelligence is reduced to symbolic logic, and this logic doesn't need to connect to the truth or falsity of the real world, then intelligence itself has no inherent connection to reality. This allows for the claim that artificial intelligence is much like human intelligence, but only because human intelligence has first been abstracted from reality entirely. The pushback is simple: don't make that abstraction. The day-to-day logic humans should use is the older, Socratic form found in sources like Plato.

Plato's dialogue Meno is also hauntingly relevant to education. It explores what it means to be a student and a teacher. For the spark of transmission to happen, an able and willing teacher must find an able and willing student. If there isn't alignment on both sides, it's not clear that learning will occur.

Modern symbolic logic, focused on manipulating variables like P's and Q's, can be compared to John Searle's Chinese Room argument. Students might learn the syntax of an argument but miss its semantics, or meaning. This raises the question of where rhetoric fits into modern education.

The power of Plato's dialogues, for example, comes not just from logic but also from rhetorical flourishes. A speaker notes that his high school students are blown away by speeches like Martin Luther King's "Letter from Birmingham Jail" and John F. Kennedy's inaugural address, as they have never heard anything like them. This suggests education has dropped the ball by focusing on the mechanics of logic over figures of speech and the classical appeals of ethos, pathos, and logos.

Thomas agrees, connecting rhetoric directly to beauty. He argues that rhetoric is the ability to communicate a beautiful idea beautifully. He compares it to mathematics, where a complex equation can suddenly reveal its elegance in an "aha" moment. This beauty, however, can be difficult to communicate.

When something is good and true, it doesn't have to be made dull and uninteresting in order to communicate it accurately. In fact, I think the better argument is to say no, to get the full resonance of the thing, you should see all these transcendentals sort of come forth.

According to Thomas, when an idea is good and true, it should be presented in a way that reveals its beauty. Rhetoric, when done well, combines the truth and goodness of an idea with the beauty of human interaction in its highest form.

There is a common misreading of Plato's Republic that suggests Plato is against the entire poetic tradition. This is nonsensical, as the dialogues themselves are full of narratives. Similarly, in the Gorgias, Socrates is not against all rhetoric. He critiques a rhetoric that is divorced from philosophy, meaning it's disconnected from the true, good, and beautiful. Socrates believes rhetoric should know the nature of things and their causes, which is typically the domain of philosophy. This suggests a subtle but beautiful lesson: rhetoric needs to be purified by philosophy.

A core thesis emerges from this understanding. Dcn. Garlick explains that when rhetoric is divorced from philosophy, it becomes tyrannical, aimed only at satisfying appetites. On the other hand, philosophy without rhetoric is impotent.

A philosophy that doesn't have good rhetoric is impotent, or maybe to put it in a different way, is unerotic. And so even if you have something good to share with your student, if you're so terribly dull that you can't actually express it, your words, if you're trying to express beauty, should be beautiful.

Socrates hooking Alcibiades at the beginning of First Alcibiades is a prime example. He uses a rhetorical flourish to save Alcibiades from a path of tyranny, inviting him to love what is true, good, and beautiful.

Frank Grabowski agrees, adding that philosophy divorced from rhetoric can also be tyrannical. He points to dystopian societies like in Brave New World, where technocratic, utilitarian governance becomes oppressive and sucks the life out of people. He sees the blend of logic and rhetoric as essential, like the body and the soul, where one cannot exist in completion without the other.

Thomas Lackey notes that in the Republic, Plato prescribes the first 18 years of education for philosopher-kings to be in literary and musical education, showing his appreciation for beauty. He contrasts this with modern philosophers like Nietzsche, Foucault, and Derrida, who largely drop the idea of universal truth. When truth is abandoned, speech becomes merely a means of gaining power over others. He also wonders if the issue is tied to a broader loss of appreciation for beauty in the modern world.

I wonder if a lot of this is tied to the loss of appreciation of beauty in the modern world. I mean, just think about the buildings we build. I teach at a two year college and classrooms are ugly... if you lose this appreciation for beauty, wouldn't that also apply to language too? If you don't care about beautiful painting, beautiful architecture, why should we care about beautiful speech?

This decline is evident in everything from hideous architecture to a banana duct-taped to a wall selling for millions. From Plato's perspective, where beauty is a transcendental, it should be cared for in architecture, poetry, and speech.

A significant danger of subjectivism and relativism is that concepts get relegated to a subjective category. When this happens to beauty, it becomes mere taste. This aligns with the old saying that there is no disputing taste. As a result, beauty loses its explanatory and attractive power.

It also becomes incommunicable. Once you accept the premise that beauty is purely subjective, you can no longer communicate the actual beauty of something to another person. All you can express is your personal preference for it.

I cannot say that anything is beautiful. All I can say is that I like it, and there's no way for me to communicate the actual beauty of the thing to you.

The best one can do is convey how much they like something, rather than what makes the thing itself beautiful.

A common pattern of thought is to return to the telos, or purpose, of things. This applies to the purpose of speech, beauty, and place. This focus on teleology is a simple yet powerful way to form the minds of the young, especially when so much of modern life has slipped into a state of meaninglessness. This meaninglessness is so ubiquitous that it often goes unnoticed.

For example, when constructing a building, questions arise about whether the aesthetics or the authenticity of materials truly matter. A powerful counterargument is found in the Catholic Charities campus in North Tulsa, a socioeconomically suppressed area. The former bishop insisted on building a gorgeous campus, believing that the poor also deserved beauty. The idea was that for many visitors, this campus might be the most beautiful place they see all month.

During the chapel's construction, a debate occurred over using real marble versus a less expensive faux finish. The decision was made to use real materials, driven by a specific rationale.

No, we want everything around here to be real. Like we're real, our love for the poor is real, the things around us are real, all of these things are real.

This decision tethered the purpose of beauty and place to the authenticity of the mission, communicating a powerful message through the very fabric of the building.

In Plato's First Alcibiades, the principle "Know thyself" is central. Dcn. Garlick suggests Socrates puts this forward for two main reasons. The first is as an invitation to a life of virtue. If education is viewed as mere training, virtue is excluded. However, in a classical or Platonic approach, where a teacher is a "lover of the soul," virtue is essential. A student must know themself to practice self-cultivation and improvement.

The second reason is what Dcn. Garlick calls a "beautiful deconstruction": you have to know what you don't know. He points to the dialogue where Socrates convinces Alcibiades not to speak about justice to the assembly because he doesn't actually understand it. After Socrates breaks down his assumptions, Alcibiades admits he has no idea what justice is. Instead of then defining it for him, Socrates moves on. The purpose was simply to show Alcibiades his own ignorance.

This process of deconstruction can make students defensive, as if their ideas are being attacked. But it's a necessary step to make room for what is real by clearing out what is unreal. You have to unlearn certain things. This leads to two critical questions: what is the role of virtue in education, and what is the role of knowing what we don't know?

The first step toward knowledge is recognizing one's own ignorance. This idea is shared by both Plato and Aristotle, who believed that all humans by nature desire to know. Any intellectual pursuit begins with wonder. Wonder is the recognition that something is peculiar, but it is also a self-awareness that one is lacking or ignorant. This feeling of being ignorant does not sit well with us, driving the desire to learn.

This leads to a crucial point about education: to educate, you must first understand what you are educating. Modern education often rests on a false understanding of human anthropology. It fails to grasp how humans are put together spiritually, how the soul is structured, and how the intellect works with the spirit and appetites. If students are viewed simply as blank slates on which to write symbols, the resulting education will leave them lacking an appreciation for the arts and a capacity for meaningful action.

Plato's dialogue *Alcibiades* offers a fascinating image related to the idea of knowing oneself. It depicts two people so close, face-to-face, that they can see their own reflection in the other's pupil. This profound intimacy is reminiscent of the relationship between Moses and God in Exodus, where they were in such close contact that their mouths were nearly touching.

One of the primary obstacles to knowing ourselves in the 21st century is a prevalent materialism. This clashes with the Platonic view that the soul is the person, not the body or a combination of both. Presenting this idea in modern education runs into metaphysical problems, as does the concept of any human faculty being divine or created in a creator's image.

Another challenge is the modern rejection of the universality of truth. If truth is not universal, a teacher cannot definitively tell a student they are ignorant. Reestablishing these metaphysical propositions is crucial for a holistic education of the soul.

This debate is not new. In his dialogue, The Sophist, Plato distinguishes between two groups: the "Friends of the forms," who acknowledge immaterial realities like souls, and the "earthbound giants," who reduce everything to material causes.

One group drags everything down to earth from the heavenly region of the invisible, actually clutching rocks and trees with their hands. When they take hold of these things, they insist that only what offers tangible contact is. Since they define being as the same thing, as body. And if any of the others say that something without a body is, they absolutely despise him and will not listen to him anymore.

This illustrates the ongoing tension. To understand Plato, one must engage with a network of metaphysical concepts. These concepts assert that material and efficient causes are not sufficient to explain everything; formal and final causes (telos) are also necessary. This also relates to questions of nominalism, suggesting there is a shared human nature that allows for a common teleological happiness. While Plato didn't always flesh out his ideas, he was consistent in rejecting reductionist materialism.

The themes of materialism and nihilism were present even in Plato's time. In his dialogues, the character Callicles attempts to live by a nihilistic philosophy but is refuted when Socrates demonstrates that Callicles does not actually live by what he preaches. Socrates even uses rhetoric to push Callicles into feeling shame, proving that he does believe some things are inherently shameful, despite his claims to the contrary.

The Socratic dictum "know thyself" is often misinterpreted in the modern world. It is not a solitary act of self-reflection or navel-gazing. Dcn. Garlick explains that in Plato's *Alcibiades*, the pursuit of wisdom and self-knowledge is fundamentally communal. It requires a partner, or a mirror, to truly see oneself.

To understand your body, you look in a physical mirror. To understand your soul, you need a "mirror of the soul." According to Socrates, this mirror is found in the eyes of someone who loves you. This is not just any love, but the love of a teacher who genuinely wants you to become better and to experience what is true, good, and beautiful. When Alcibiades needed to know himself, he was meant to look into the eyes of Socrates, who loved him for his own sake.

The mirror of the soul is the eyes of one who loves you... It's the eyes of the teacher that become a mirror of the student's soul.

This perspective presents a radical dichotomy between two models of education. One model sees the teacher as a mere trainer or a "flat passer of information." The other sees the teacher as a lover of the student's soul, whose eyes serve as a mirror. These two views are based on completely different understandings of life's purpose. In Plato's world, a teacher is not meant to create a good economic cog in the machine.

Dcn. Garlick shares a personal example of this dynamic with his young sons. When he pulls one aside, looks him in the eye, and affirms him, he can see the child's understanding of himself forming. He observes his son "drinking that in, he's coming to understand who he is through how I see him." The challenge is to bring this profound connection into the classroom, making it an inspiring place rather than an unengaging one.

In Plato's Alcibiades 1, there is a radical shift in the understanding of love. The relationship between a teacher and student moves from an erotic one to something closer to a pre-Christian concept of agape, a divine union. This suggests Plato was accessing Christian ideas hundreds of years before the Incarnation.

In this framework, the teacher is a lover of the student's soul, acting as a mirror to help it become beautiful. This is achieved by inviting the student into a relationship with beauty itself. The Greek church fathers, like Dionysius and Saint Maximus the Confessor, echoed this idea, stating that God is beauty and by pursuing God, our souls become beautiful and godlike. This highlights the importance of beauty as a transcendental in the classroom.

However, the teacher's eyes are only an intermediate mirror. Dcn. Garlick explains that education ultimately terminates in the divine. The teacher's role is to guide the student toward the greatest mirror of the soul, which is God. This leads to a profound insight central to both Plato and Christianity.

It's Plato and Christianity that make this claim that the more I draw towards God, the more myself I become. That's not a typical claim in religions. Usually you become less yourself, right? Or you even might lose your identity completely if you would, say, be absorbed into the divine. But here we come to be more of ourselves.

This concept is captured in St. Augustine's prayer, "Let me know thee, let me know me." Knowing God is the path to truly knowing who you are. The idea is that as saints become more like God, they also become radically more themselves, not less. Chesterton’s comparison of St. Thomas and St. Francis illustrates this; though vastly different, both were profoundly Christlike.

This pursuit of beauty has practical effects on the soul. Frank Grabowski notes that beautiful things like sacraments, churches, music, and art soothe the soul and orient it towards God. In contrast, ugly surroundings can make us feel miserable and dislocated. There is a dark side to this, seen in the architecture of tyrannical regimes, which is intentionally designed to dominate and oppress.

In Plato's dialogue, First Alcibiades, the character Alcibiades has an explicit and transformative experience after speaking with Socrates. Following this transformation, Socrates warns him that the city will be antithetical to this new path. The city, representing the crowd or the mob, will try to snuff out this philosophical life if he lets it. Historically, both Socrates and Alcibiades were ultimately undone by the city.

This warning resonates with how St. John uses the term "the world" in his Gospel. The world is presented as something that will come in and extinguish the divine life within a person, offering a different path than the one of Christ. The popular, broad path of the mob is seen as something that will make the soul ugly.

This theme of caution against listening to the multitude is common in Plato's work, appearing in dialogues like Gorgias and the Republic. Plato's view is that most people follow the easy path of serving their appetites. Education's purpose is to pull people away from this world of illusions and physical objects and direct them toward real things, like the forms of beauty and justice. This is a difficult path that most do not travel, which is why the many cannot be trusted.

If Plato were alive today, the modern equivalent of the multitude or the mob might be social media. It serves as a powerful force that people listen to, much like the crowds Socrates faced before he was condemned.

A potential danger in distinguishing between philosophers and the masses is descending into elitism. A philosopher must engage with the world and be part of the solution, not an isolated hermit. This creates a paradox: how can one enter the world without being negatively influenced by it?

Classical thinkers like Plato and Aristotle struggled to resolve this. Their hierarchical view suggested only a select few could become philosopher kings. Aristotle even suggested most people lack a rational soul. Christianity offers a different perspective through the idea of the *imago dei*, the belief that all humans are created in the divine image. This means everyone possesses a rational faculty and a will, which guards against the kind of elitism found in classical thought. From this viewpoint, an educator can see the divine image in every student and help properly form their rational abilities.

Hierarchy, however, is natural to humanity. Grace should perfect this natural order, not destroy it. Plato's dialogues illustrate two potential paths for talented individuals in relation to the masses: become a tyrant or a philosopher. Catholicism provides a framework that perfects this natural hierarchy. It invites everyone to participate in the faith according to their own capacities. This allows for both intellectual giants and simple souls to fully engage.

In which the Lamb can go out and wade, but then the elephant can go out and swim in the same pool.

This approach avoids a false equality that ignores natural differences. Instead, it creates a beneficial relationship between the one and the many. St. Thomas Aquinas's political philosophy clarifies this. A monarchy, for instance, is the rule of one supremely gifted person for the common good. That person's talents are a matter of justice to be used for all, not for private interest. Tyranny is the perversion of this, where a gifted ruler acts for self-interest. Catholicism places this natural hierarchy in service of the common good. Those who have been given much must also give much, as the higher always exists to perfect the lower.

The role of a teacher in a Catholic context differs significantly from that of ancient pagan philosophers. Philosophers like Aristotle would often select only an elite few to mentor, dismissing the rest as unfit for the 'good life'. In contrast, a Catholic teacher invites every student in the classroom to pursue this 'Good life'. However, this invitation is not about equalizing everyone. It's about encouraging students to participate according to their individual capacities.

Modern education often feels uncomfortable with hierarchy, leading to a temptation to teach to the lowest common denominator or to suppress highly capable students to fit them into a common mold. Instead of pushing a high-capacity student down, a teacher's role is to invite that soul towards their potential for greatness. The teacher's eyes can act as a mirror for the student's soul, helping them see God and inviting them to achieve something truly great.

This personalized approach presents a significant challenge in modern classrooms, where a teacher might have 12 to 25 students. Meeting each one where they are and providing a unique invitation is a real struggle, though it may be more achievable within a classical education framework.

Thomas discusses his family's recent decision to move their children from homeschooling to a classical school mid-year. He emphasizes that while parents are the primary educators, the role of a teacher is distinct and valuable. An inspired teacher who loves a subject can ignite a passion in a child in a unique way. For example, his daughter developed a great interest in poetry and his son in music after starting school, even though music is already a big part of their home life.

There is something mundane about being at home. And there is something about having your dad explain something to you that is different than having an engaged and excited teacher on that subject explain the same thing to you.

Thomas notes that mentor-student relationships, like Mr. Miyagi and Daniel in The Karate Kid, often form outside the family. A school environment also provides an "iron sharpens iron" dynamic, where children learn from and reinforce each other. This happens through collaborative efforts, like singing in a choir, and through dialogue. While acknowledging the benefits of homeschooling and the things they miss, he feels the school experience has been very good for his children. It gives them a chance to grow and spread their wings a bit, with some time apart from their parents and siblings.

Plato's dialogue, the Meno, can be viewed as a text on education, particularly concerning the relationship between the student and the teacher. While much focus is often on the teacher's movement toward the student, the Meno prompts a crucial question: what movement must occur from the student back to the teacher? The dialogue seems to question if virtue is teachable and critiques various approaches without offering a clear answer.

One interpretation suggests that if teaching were simply about explaining things correctly, then a teacher would always be guilty for a bad student. However, this reading is likely a setup for a deeper critique. History and literature provide counterexamples. Socrates had Alcibiades, a student who did not follow him correctly. Jesus had Judas. If the fault is always on the teacher, these situations become difficult to understand. This implies there must be reciprocity from the student. The student needs to be malleable and receptive to the teachings. A parent or teacher cannot force a child to be virtuous or to pursue a life of truth, goodness, and beauty.

Frank Grabowski adds that the Meno should be understood in its historical context as a critique of the Sophists. The Sophists would educate someone for money, and if the student later wronged them by not paying, they would complain. Plato's point is that if they had truly taught virtue, their students would act virtuously and pay them. Therefore, the Meno's claim that virtue can't be taught is a shot at the Sophists, not Plato's final word. To grasp Plato's complete theory of education, one must read his dialogues holistically. For instance, the Republic outlines a comprehensive 50-year educational process for philosopher kings, indicating Plato did believe virtue could be taught.

Brett Larson notes an unresolved tension in the Meno related to the will. Plato doesn't fully develop the concept of the will, particularly what to do if a student has a 'bad will.' The focus seems to be on sparking the will into action through enticement. This is seen in how Socrates engages Alcibiades, using Alcibiades's lower, but still good, desires as a hook to draw him toward higher ones.

Education can be viewed as an education in erotics, which is the training of what a person desires. It's about teaching what is beautiful and how the soul can properly find happiness in beauty. Following a Platonic model, the soul has different parts with distinct erotic longings. The intellect longs for truth, the spirited part longs for nobility and glory, and the appetitive part longs for pleasure. The role of a teacher is to provide a tutelage for these longings, guiding them to be satisfied properly. For instance, the appetites can be bridled but not broken through practices like fasting and feasting, which teach proper pleasure.

This framework highlights a key difference between teaching high school and college students. College students often seem unerotic, lacking a deep desire for knowledge. The challenge is to spark or re-spark their passion. As one speaker noted, his college students made him question Aristotle's statement that all humans by nature desire to know.

But when I walked into the high school, it's wonderful, but it's dangerous too, because they have so much energy. And so the challenge isn't to inflame their passions because they're already a raging inferno, but it's to direct that passion towards the true, the good and the beautiful.

With high school students, the challenge is not to create passion but to contain and direct it. Their spiritedness needs to be guided to work in conjunction with their intellect, a task that presents a whole new and invigorating challenge for an educator.

As the discussion concludes, the speakers share final thoughts on the teacher as a lover of the soul. Dcn. Garlick encourages listeners to reread Homer's Odyssey and keep Odysseus in mind when reading Plato's dialogues. He notes there are interesting parallels, as Plato wrote with the great shadow of Homer looming above him.

Brett observes that this model of education resembles the relationship Christ had with his disciples. They lived with him, which is a stark contrast to modern education where a teacher might only have students for a few hours a week. Frank agrees, highlighting the difference between his high school and college classes. He sees his high school students daily, which allows for stronger relationships to develop more quickly than with his college students, especially those online whom he never meets in person.

This underscores a Platonic principle: there are no shortcuts to education. It is a long process, exemplified by the 50-year journey of the philosopher-kings. Thomas adds to this by referencing Eve Simone, who said one of the most important decisions a student can make is to find the right teacher. This was true for Plato himself, who made the fateful decision to become Socrates's disciple. The responsibility also extends to parents, who are obligated to find teachers who truly love their children and want them to become beautiful. The conversation concludes with the idea that classical education is vital for community and may be the best hope for the republic, as it creates students who carry truth and beauty into every part of society.