But Sunday's Coming

Backyard barbecue, 1967. (The giant coffeepot was a must.)

by Anne White 

Our aim in Education is to give a Full Life...Thou hast set my feet in a large room; should be the glad cry of every intelligent soul. Life should be all living, and not merely a tedious passing of time; not all doing or all feeling or all thinking––the strain would be too great––but, all living; that is to say, we should be in touch wherever we go, whatever we hear, whatever we see, with some manner of vital interest. (School Education, p. 170)

About two years ago, Malcolm Guite did a video in which he introduced viewers to the philosopher-critic-professor George Steiner, and read a passage from Steiner's 1991 book Real Presences. For the sake of brevity, I'm going to paraphrase it. "People of many beliefs understand something about both Good Friday and  Resurrection Sunday. The horror of the Crucifixion mirrors the deepest pain of their own lives. The hope of the Resurrection, no small thing even for non-believers, is symbolic of their own 'liberation from inhumanity and servitude,' no matter where they might be looking for that liberation. Friday is so terribly dark that 'even the greatest art and poetry are almost helpless.' And Sunday is so blissfully happy that such things will 'no longer have logic or necessity.' However, it is Saturday, stretching between Friday's 'suffering, aloneness, unutterable waste,' and Sunday's 'dream of liberation, of rebirth,' with which we need to concern ourselves here." In Steiner's own words:

The apprehensions and figurations in the play of metaphysical imagining, in the poem and the music, which tell of pain and of hope, of the flesh which is said to taste of Ash and of the spirit which is said to have the savor of fire, are always Sabbatarian. They have risen out of an immensity of waiting which is that of man. Without them, how could we be patient?

Did you get that? Even for Christians, who celebrate the joy of Sunday and feel the grief of Friday, this human life is made up largely of 

one

LOOOONNNNNNNNNG

Saturday.

And that's okay.

It's exactly because of Saturday that human beings need story, poetry, art, and music. These things arise out of our "immensity of waiting." They represent something we're longing for, hoping for, searching for. At their best, they combine the memory of Friday's suffering with the hope of Sunday's happy ending. 

And when Lucy was tired of eating the Faun began to talk. He had wonderful tales to tell of life in the forest...about feasting and treasure-seeking with the wild Red Dwarfs in deep mines and caverns far beneath the forest floor; and then about summer when the woods were green...Then to cheer himself up he took out from its case on the dresser a strange little flute that looked as if it were made of straw and began to play. And the tune he played made Lucy want to cry and laugh and dance and go to sleep all at the same time." (The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, by C. S. Lewis)

But don't scoff  at our need for this kind of play and poetry, for the wildness of imagining, for our Beethoven's Sixth Symphony ability to enjoy a picnic on the banks of the river but follow it up with a thunderstorm. The life of "born persons" anticipates the full-on light of Sunday (though seen only in glimpses), and includes the half-remembered darkness of Friday (though we must not succumb to it).

"It was about a cup and a sword and a tree and a green hill, I know that much. But I can't remember and what shall I do?" And she never could remember; and ever since that day what Lucy means by a good story is a story which reminds her of the forgotten story in the Magician's Book. (The Voyage of the Dawn Treader, by C. S. Lewis) 

As Steiner said, without this sense of longing, how could we learn patience? (And without understanding that same sense in others, how could we learn empathy?) It is that same longing that makes us attempt to recreate the forgotten story, or to reproduce that beauty we have seen in glimpses.

No, we are not decadent on the whole, and our uneasiness is perhaps caused by growing pains. We may be poor things, but we are ready to break forth into singing should the chance open to us of a full life of passionate devotion. (Philosophy of Education, p. 336) 

(Me with my great-grandmother.)

Are you feeling liminal?

(Photo taken at Woolwich Dam and Reservoir, September 2024)

by Anne White

In the bleakness of January 2021 (when it felt like Christmas had taken a Narnia-like pass and the winter would go on imprisoning us forever), Amber Sparks wrote a piece for ElectricLiterature.com, called "I Just Want to Hang Out in the Wardrobe." 

Well, who wouldn't? But Sparks (chafing in that pandemic limbo) says her craving isn't for full-on Narnia; she writes, "I’ve been wishing instead to stop at the threshold, to open the door of the spare room and crawl into that wardrobe and not come out again." She goes on to talk about the particular attraction of "liminal spaces" in literature--the thresholds, vestibules, hallways, or phantom tollbooths that lead us to--well, somewhere else. That cinematic moment when Dorothy pauses with her hand on the doorknob; or, in The Secret Garden, Mary finding the locked door in the wall. Sparks doesn't specifically mention C. S. Lewis's "Wood Between the Worlds," but that would also fall into the "liminal" category: not a world in itself, but a place containing the doorways to all the other worlds. 

She warns that those of us over a certain age may never be able to return fully to the fantasy worlds that not only enriched our childhoods, but that, often, helped us survive them. As a child, she dreamed of finding "a place where a kind of low, slow magic still exists, where gym class doesn’t, where underdogs are issued powerful weapons and magical powers"; and books became those magical spaces for her. And for a time so long that we think it won't end, we keep returning, until one day, like Alice in Wonderland, we find we can no longer fit through the doorway.

"At 42, let’s be real, I can’t imagine a talking animal giving me a magic talisman without snickering a little. The first time I thought about how the Pevensie children’s mother must have broken her heart with worry when she sent them to the country, I think I wept a little to be so grown up at last."

But there is still a memory of that enchantment that we allow ourselves, or perhaps there is a new one that (as Sparks says) we don't fully experience until we have slowed down enough to appreciate those thresholds for themselves. 

"Waiting is, in fact, a repellent concept for most children, eager to be in action, eager for answers."

It might be similar to discovering a peculiar enjoyment of airports and train stations; or even of the journey itself, rattling down tracks past the backsides of towns, or suspended in that unlike-anything-else time of flight, before we get to our real destination. T. S. Eliot wrote about exactly that sense in "The Dry Salvages" (part of the Four Quartets):

When the train starts, and the passengers are settled
To fruit, periodicals and business letters
(And those who saw them off have left the platform)
Their faces relax from grief into relief,
To the sleepy rhythm of a hundred hours.
Fare forward, travellers! not escaping from the past
Into different lives, or into any future;
You are not the same people who left that station
Or who will arrive at any terminus...

Some of you reading this may still be able to fit yourselves fully through the doorways of enchantment; to get off the train and know you have arrived. Others, like the camel in Nick Butterworth's The Little Gate, may find they have to kneel down or unload a few things first. And then there are those of us whose knees are getting a bit stiff to go through fairy doorways. What then shall we do? Just wait outside?

Sparks finds that writing itself "is a kind of liminal space, with all the possibilities of wonder and none of the risk. We can’t get back to Neverland once we are grown, but we can write a path through the midnight sky." In other words, there is a sense that our creativity can open those worlds for others. And perhaps those of us who don't write (or paint or compose or sculpt or weave), but do read, and particularly those of us who read to others (older or younger), can do the same. This also applies to those who teach Sunday school, lead nature walks, or explore mathematics joyfully. 

And for ourselves? Even if we cannot force our way in, Sparks says, we may still find that "liminal spaces have a regenerative power of their own...Perhaps we liminal adults can feel we, too, belong, that the world is almost a good place for us, too, if we can remake it in these spaces." These outside places, these doorsteps and waiting spaces, also have things to teach us.

As Sparks says, liminal spaces can still offer wonder, without the risk. Maybe there is a new kind of adventure for us right there in the woods, even when the magic rings are lost. 

That Sense of Hairbreadth Escape

The "Mariposa Special" steam train, Orillia, Ontario, 1967

by Anne White 

"Chaos is dull; because in chaos the train might indeed go anywhere, to Baker Street or to Bagdad. But man is a magician, and his whole magic is in this, that he does say Victoria, and lo! it is Victoria. No, take your books of mere poetry and prose; let me read a time table, with tears of pride...You say contemptuously that when one has left Sloane Square one must come to Victoria. I say that one might do a thousand things instead, and that whenever I really come there I have the sense of hairbreadth escape. And when I hear the guard shout out the word ‘Victoria,’ it is not an unmeaning word. It is to me the cry of a herald announcing conquest. It is to me indeed ‘Victoria’; it is the victory of Adam.” (G. K. Chesterton, The Man Who Was Thursday)

Certainly the question why one thing follows another must still be answered in Eliot as in Donne, though the answer be more implicit in one than in the other. Neither an emotional nor a musical effect, if it is really such, can be founded on incoherence. This study assumes that poetry as meaning is neither plain sense nor nonsense, but a form of imaginative sense.  (George S. Williamson, A Reader's Guide to T.S. Eliot)

Now, one thing following another is necessary and good, as both of the quotes above point out. But by itself, that is not enough. Quite awhile back, my husband and I watched a T.V. miniseries about shipboard adventures in the early 1800's, very colourful and exciting. Still, it seemed to me  that something was a bit off. At the end, the main character searches for some sort of deep meaning in the voyage, but he is told by another character that it "was not an odyssey...It is, or rather it was, what it was. A series of events." Which raised the question of why we had wasted all that time watching it. 

It turned out that the miniseries was based on a trilogy of novels written in the 1980's, which explained a lot. Some critics have said that the author intended an opposite meaning, that of course the story was more than just a "series of events"; but I believe the speech had its intended effect, bursting any romantic balloons we might have held about the meaning of life or the importance of story. 

A lesson which had laid such literature beside the advertisement and really discriminated the good from the bad would have been a lesson worth teaching. There would have been some blood and sap in it — the trees of knowledge and of life growing together. (C. S. Lewis, The Abolition of Man)

Maybe Chesterton was right, and we should celebrate the fact that timetables and train tracks help keep the world moving smoothly. But also the equally important truth that story, poetry, art and music, in their best forms, are neither inconsequential nor incoherent, and woe to those debunkers who try to make them so, who drain them of their blood and sap. 

Because in their own way, they also cry "Victoria." 

As Many Begin the School Year

by Anne White

If you are familiar with the priest/poet Malcolm Guite, you may also have followed his You-tube study visits over the past few years. In one of the most recent, he read from the chapter “The Three Sleepers” from The Voyage of the Dawn Treader. Guite titled the video “At Aslan’s Table,” referring to the way that the scene and certain objects described in it mirror those of older legends and even Scripture. In this passage, a group of  travellers land on an island and are invited to feast from a well-spread table.

But on the table itself there was set out such a banquet as had never been seen, not even when Peter the High King kept his court at Cair Paravel. There were turkeys and geese and peacocks, there were boars’ heads and sides of venison, there were pies shaped like ships under full sail…there were nuts and grapes, pineapples and peaches, pomegranates and melons and tomatoes. There were flagons of gold and silver and curiously-wrought glass; and the smell of the fruit and the wine blew towards them like a promise of all happiness.

However, wary from previous experiences with Turkish Delight and other nasty enchanted things, they hold back. It is the chivalrous and swashbuckling mouse Reepicheep who takes the leap of faith.

…the Mouse, standing on the table, held up a golden cup between its tiny paws and said, “Lady, I pledge you.” Then it fell to on cold peacock, and in a short while everyone else followed its example. All were very hungry and the meal, if not quite what you wanted for a very early breakfast, was excellent as a very late supper.

Lucy (we all know Lucy, don’t we?) asks their hostess (whose name we don’t yet know) why the place is called “Aslan’s table.” “It is set here by his bidding,” said the girl, “for those who come so far.”

Sometimes food, even in Narnia, is just good food.

We may approach the educational table with some of that same nervousness. Are we even supposed to be here? The food looks good, though not what we’re used to; but, on the other hand, those three hairy men sleeping around the table might throw up some red flags. (Later it turns out that their enchanted state had nothing to do with the food.) The sane, sensible, cautious adults may hang back, wondering what they’ve gotten themselves and their children into. We are invited, our children are invited, and yet we hesitate.  This does not look like food from the children’s menu. The peaches and grapes should be okay, but cold peacock?

I cannot possibly describe my bewildered, fascinated disbelief when the first batch of books arrived. Of them all, 'Plutarch's Lives' hit me hardest. Those long, measured periods in difficult language! Alison, at eleven, would not understand a word! How on earth was Robin going to assimilate 'Mankind in the Making' and 'The Spangled Heavens'? What was Charles going to make of 'Pilgrim's Progress'? ("To Prosper in Good Life and Good Literature" by Joyce McGechan, in The Parents’ Review, January 1967)

Even those who have been here before may feel a bit of hesitation, an uncertainty over these new-again pomegranates and pies shaped like ships. But we nevertheless light the candles, bake the back-to-school cookies, and raise our cups of tea.

We bashed--and that is the only verb that describes our progress in those early days--through the text-books, got the gist of them by determined attention, and miraculously found ourselves enjoying every minute. Narrations were wobbly affairs, half inarticulate, half incorporating remembered phrases from the reading. Parsing and Analysis they found absorbing and rewarding. French and Latin were fun. After all, languages were words, weren't they? A sudden word-hunger seemed to grip them all; and a new world had opened up. When, at morning prayers, they sang: 'Praise for the singing! Praise for the morning! / Praise for them springing / Fresh from the Word!' their eyes shone. They were not thanking God as a dutiful routine, but joyfully. (Joyce McGechan, same)

We come by invitation, "for those who come so far." Languages are words, and food is food. We eat and drink by God’s provision, and under his protection. And we pray that this small leap of faith will bring others to the table as well.

We Need More Gargoyles

by Anne White 

Reflecting on the way the brave new world was going in the 1940’s, scholar and critic Russell Kirk wrote, “The men of the Enlightenment had cold hearts and smug heads; now their successors were in the process of imposing a dreary conformity upon the world, with Efficiency and Progress and Equality for their watchwords--abstractions preferred to all those fascinating and lovable peculiarities of human nature and human society which are products of prescription and tradition.” Referring to his admiration of Gothic architecture, he added, “I would have given any number of neo-classical pediments for one poor battered gargoyle.”

In an article written years later, Kirk added, “What we have lacked more than anything else since the Second World War, I suspect, is poetic imagination in the minds of public men.”

John Ruskin, also a huge fan of all things Gothic, predated Kirk’s words about “fascinating and lovable peculiarities” in The Stones of Venice:

For the very first requirement of Gothic architecture being that it shall admit the aid, and appeal to the admiration, of the rudest as well as the most refined minds, the richness of the work is . . . a part of its humility [which is] shown not only in the imperfection, but in the accumulation, of ornament… if the co-operation of every hand, and the sympathy of every heart, are to be received, we must be content to allow the redundance which disguises the failure of the feeble, and wins the regard of the inattentive.

For Russell Kirk, keeping the “poetic imagination” alive meant sidestepping abstractions and going straight to the gargoyles.

For C. S. Lewis, I think, it meant including a bear as part of the household in That Hideous Strength. Without a great deal of explanation as to why.

With that she opened the bathroom door. Inside, sitting up on its hunkers beside the bath and occupying most of the room was a great, snuffly, wheezy, beady-eyed, loose-skinned, gor-bellied brown bear…”Why don’t you go out and take some exercise that lovely afternoon, you great lazy thing?” said Mrs. Maggs. “You ought to be ashamed of yourself, sitting there getting in everyone’s way.”

What might poetic imagination mean for us, in a time when dreary conformity has indeed knocked many gargoyles on the head? What might it require of us?

Possibly more humility, with minds that can celebrate the richness of imperfection.

Sometimes more redundance. And certainly less efficiency. It’s harder to take a bath when you have to push the bear out first.

But also…co-operation, sympathy, and “the regard of the inattentive.” Poetic imagination allows grace which is sufficient to “disguise the failure of the feeble.” Efficiency clears out anything or anyone that cannot be conformed or categorized; but imagination finds a place for such things; even, if necessary, turning them into water-spouting gargoyles.

This is our “human nature and human society,” in all its “prescription and tradition.”

Now we must deal with a child of man, who has a natural desire to know the history of his race and of his nation, what men thought in the past and are thinking now; the best thoughts of the best minds taking form as literature, and at its highest as poetry, or, as poetry rendered in the plastic forms of art: as a child of God, whose supreme desire and glory it is to know about and to know his almighty Father: as a person of many parts and passions who must know how to use, care for, and discipline himself, body, mind and soul: as a person of many relationships,––to family, city, church, state, neighbouring states, the world at large: as the inhabitant of a world full of beauty and interest, the features of which he must recognise and know how to name, and a world too, and a universe, whose every function of every part is ordered by laws which he must begin to know. (Charlotte Mason, Philosophy of Education, p. 157)

(“Kirk out.”)

Babble On

by Anne White

Near the end of C. S. Lewis’s novel That Hideous Strength, the speeches being given at a college banquet turn into word salad (“Tidies and fugleman—I sheel foor that we all—er—most steeply rebut the defensible, though, I trust, lavatory…”). If you haven’t read the book, the explanation is both complicated and simple: the wizard Merlin, resurrected for the occasion, has been interfering. This is what happens next:

[Merlin] had left the dining room as soon as the curse of Babel was well fixed upon the enemies. No one had seen him go. Wither had once heard his voice calling loud and intolerably glad above the riot of nonsense, "Qui Verbum Dei contempserunt, eis auferetur etiam verbum hominis."

The translation of the Latin is given in a footnote: "They that have despised the word of God, from them shall the word of man also be taken away."

We can turn that around, and say that to love and revere the Word of God, we must also revere the “word of man.” That does not mean “the wisdom of this world [which] is foolishness with God” (1 Cor. 3:19), but rather something sacred and profound: God’s gift of language. The curse of Babel was that people lost their ability to communicate with each other; so its reverse is to be able to speak, to understand, to share meaning and metaphor, to instruct, to exhort, to tell stories, to make jokes. Think of the talking animals in Narnia. Think of what happens to Ginger the Cat in Lewis’s The Last Battle, when he loses that privilege.

“Look, look!” said the voice of the Bear. “It can’t talk. It has forgotten how to talk!...” And then the greatest terror of all fell upon those Narnians. For every one of them had been taught—when it was only a chick or a puppy or a cub—how Aslan at the beginning of the world had turned the beasts of Narnia into Talking Beasts and warned them that if they weren’t good they might one day be turned back again…”And now it is coming upon us,” they moaned.

How do we keep this gift and not lose it? And how do we teach the children under our care to cherish and not to despise it?

We talk to them. We sing to them. We read to them, repeat, repeat. Most of us reading this, know this. It is good  to read books full of strong and deep language; but (as in our music and art studies), we may also need to provide specific work on technique. And, in a time when the “curse of Babel” threatens civilization, we may need to go even further not only to protect our own walls, but to venture out in the spirit of those who go out carrying  tools to rebuild storm-flattened houses. Educator Marva Collins, always a proponent of word study in the classroom, wrote about a vocabulary “weapon” that she found; and tells us, as she told her students, why it really mattered.

That fall I discovered a secret weapon for building vocabulary, a book called Vocabulary for the College-Bound Student [by Harold Levine]. I ordered copies for all the students in Westside Prep. 

“Words are ideas. They make up thoughts. If our words are limited, our thoughts are limited,” I said, holding up the book and pointing to its title. “You see what this says? It says for the college-bound student, not the failure-bound student. To succeed in life, you must be a thinker, and to be a thinker, you must have vocabulary.” (Marva Collins’ Way, p. 170)

The introduction to Vocabulary for the College-Bound Student (available online) echoes the military, “secret weapon” analogy:

Though reading is the basic means of vocabulary growth, it is a relatively slow means. For the college-bound student who has not achieved a superior vocabulary, reading needs to be supplemented by a direct attack that will yield comparatively rapid growth—and that is the purpose of this book.

We may not require Harold Levine’s help in building our own vocabulary, but we could do worse than spread some of that curiosity and delight in words, and, in consequence, the ability to use them to think, to write, and to share dreams. Weapons or tools, whichever idea works better for us—the important thing is to develop skill in their use, and also care and respect for them, so that we will never be forced to rebut the defensible, though, I trust, lavatory.

[Aslan] said, “Rise up, Sir Peter Wolf’s-Bane. And,  whatever happens, never forget to wipe your sword.” (C. S. Lewis, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe)

The modern place for older books

by Wendi Capehart

Why do we use old books?  We live in the 21st century after all!

In general, well written older books use richer vocabulary, more  complex sentence structure, and contain more ideas per page than  modern books. Recently written books, by contrast, use watered down language, weaker, less complex, sentence structures and if they have any meaningful ideas, they either sandwich them  between pages and pages of fluff, or they club the reader over the head with the message.

C. S. Lewis, in his introduction to Athanasius, advised that moderns needed to read more old books and fewer new books.  He explained:

Every age has its own outlook. It is specially good at seeing certain truths and specially liable to make certain mistakes. We all, therefore, need the books that will correct the characteristic mistakes of our own period. And that means the old books. All contemporary writers share to some extent the contemporary outlook—even those, like myself, who seem most opposed to it. … To be sure, the books of the future would be just as good a corrective as the books of the past, but unfortunately we cannot get at them.

We can see the blind spots of previous generations, but it is harder to know our own.  Older books that we use have stood the test of time. They have  been read for generations and will be read for generations more.  It's too early to tell which of our currently published, modern crops of books will  still be communicating to readers outside of the culture and time  that produced them a hundred years from now.  Those who are contemporaries of the authors are the worst judges of that timeless quality, because we cannot step outside our own time, culture, and assumptions to see which are merely passing whims and which are timeless, not with any certainty, anyway.

The marginalizing of old books as though truth and beauty have expiration dates reflects modernity's disconnect with the past, something David McCullough addressed, pointing out:

Learning about history is an antidote to the hubris of the present, the idea that everything in our lives is the ultimate.Former President Harry S. Truman once remarked that the history we don’t know is the only new thing in the world. Picking up on a related theme, the late Daniel Boorstin, an eminent historian, Librarian of Congress, and friend of mine, wrote that planning for the future without a sense of the past is similar to planting cut flowers and hoping for the best. Today, the new generation of young Americans are like a field of cut flowers, by-and-large historically illiterate. This does not bode well for our future.

A sense of the past is not just a matter of knowing dates and events and being able to put them in order.  It's about coming into contact with some of the best minds of the previous centuries, not mere decades. It's about reading their ideas and stories in their words, getting a feel for   Truth, justice, mercy, faith, friendship, charity, loyalty, courage, these are ideas and traits that are timeless. 

While Mason did use some books which were newly published in her day, she relied more heavily on great books of the past.  In volume VI, she explains that the children read literature which was published in the same historical time period they are studying.  She mentions Milton, Pope, Sir Walter Scott, Goldsmith- and of course, they were not 'modern' in her day, either.

She explains:

 The object of children's literary studies is not to give them precise information as to who wrote what in the reign of whom?––but to give them a sense of the spaciousness of the days, not only of great Elizabeth, but of all those times of which poets, historians and the makers of tales, have left us living pictures. In such ways the children secure, not the sort of information which is of little cultural value, but wide spaces wherein imagination may take those holiday excursions deprived of which life is dreary; judgment, too, will turn over these folios of the mind and arrive at fairly just decisions about a given strike, the question of Poland, Indian Unrest. Every man is called upon to be a statesman seeing that every man and woman, too, has a share in the government of the country; but statesmanship requires imaginative conceptions, formed upon pretty wide reading and some familiarity with historical precedents.

It is not that her students never read modern books for literature, it's just that Mason did not see a need to emphasize them.  She wrote that sometimes the oldest students' studies touched on:

current literature in the occasional use of modern books; but young people who have been brought up on this sort of work may, we find, be trusted to keep themselves au fait with the best that is being produced in their own days.

It is also true that we at AO appreciate about older books is that they are in the public domain.  Now, many, many public domain books are still twaddle, so that alone won't qualify a book for AO.  But once we've found a really well written book we love it when it's also public domain.  This means they are available on line as etexts,  *and will remain available.* I can't tell you how frustrating, how  much gnashing of teeth it causes the Advisory when a book goes out  of print. When we put together the curriculum (and when we revise it), it was and is the result of truly, thousands of Mama-hours (these are worth  more than man-hours, right? Just Joking!) researching books. 

We  amazed our librarians with the number of books we checked out from the  library and put on interlibrary loan. When all else fails, we  actually, gulp, spend money on a book if we can't find it to review  it any other way. We scan excerpts of different books into our  computers and pass them on to each other to compare and contrast.  We look at the wording, the breadth and scope of coverage, the  illustrations (if any), topics covered (and just as important,  topics not covered), and then, after devoting months of our lives to  this project, we finally pick the best book of all those available  and proudly and gleefully share it with the world.  Then it goes out  of print and we all have to go on anti-depressants and receive hours  of pastoral counseling. Okay, that last part was an exaggeration.  We don't go on medication.  Seriously, though, the newer, in-print  books have a Very High turnover rate. They very quickly become  newer but now hard to find and out of print books, and thus, of no  use to us. 

Individual homeschoolers can use and benefit from those books, of  course. Some of them may actually be better than any given book we  have listed. But a book that may be perfect for your family (or  mine) is not perfect for AmblesideOnline if it's out of print but not online.

Here's are some reasons why out of print but not yet in public domain books are not  very useful to us:
 We want to share our vision of what a Charlotte  Mason education might look like put into practice, and at the same  time, we want to make that vision available to as many people as  possible who might want to benefit from it.

We specifically want to consider the unique situations and needs of  missionaries, military, and other expat families overseas, as well as parents and educators around the world who love their kids; single  parents; families without access to a decent library, a good  bookstore, or inexpensive shipping; families who travel often and so  cannot cart thousands of pounds of books around; and fellow  homeschoolers all over the world. We want to recreate a solid, sound, and beautiful rendition of  what a CM curriculum might look like today, and we want that version to also  work for all those different families I mentioned. The best way for  us to do that is to rely strongly on public domain works that can be  used as etexts, whenever we find etexts of excellent quality..

This is not the only way to implement Charlotte Mason's ideas and  principles. These are not the only books worth using. But these  are the books that best fit the criteria we set for ourselves at the  start of this project. We want to offer a model of what a real living book looks like.  We want to share a curriculum based on excellently written books, packed with informing ideas rather than twaddle and  barren facts, in living language that engages the mind (often with some effort required, which is also an important part of a CM education),   and so we have chosen what we believe to  be the cream of the crop from those books that are online or still  in print, and in some cases, worked hard to get that oop book available online, or convinced a publisher to republish. 

We share this freely, and we try to keep costs down because we believe in Miss Mason's vision of 'Education for all.'

Charlotte Mason is powerful (Part I)

by Anne White

Karen Glass, along with other CM and classical educators, has pointed out that our aim in studying the classical tradition is asking "why" rather than "how." What was the ultimate goal of a Charlotte Mason education?

We might list things like "not filling a bucket but lighting a fire"; educating the conscience to make well-reasoned choices (but not to depend wholly on reason); exercising magnanimity and other values such as honour and justice; understanding "I am, I can, I ought, I will"; using the "mind's eye" to recall what has been observed. If education is a science of relations, then to be educated means having proper relationships with the universe, the earth, people, and God. Education allows a generous space and time for minds to meet (also known as the "large room," or leisure). 

Andrew Kern of the Circe Institute wrote, "There is no education without leisure for the simple reason that education is a leisure activity. It requires all of the other values: controls, freedom, money, and honor. But its only true end is virtue for the simple reason that only virtue is big enough to rightly order the other goods. The wise man...is not driven by [his desires] as by an unruly mob. Instead he governs them." ("Leisure, Plato’s Republic, and American Education"). Lynn Bruce defined leisure as “ceasing from anxiety and merely utilitarian preoccupations so that one can contemplate higher things, those pursuits without which we cannot be fully human.”

One of the worst things C.S. Lewis had to say about the character Eustace Clarence Scrubb is that he "hadn't read the right books." It implied that Eustace, although stuffed full of utilitarian facts, was completely lacking in imagination and understanding. When Eustace was drawn into a Narnian adventure, he could only squawk about personal discomforts; when he was kidnapped by slave traders, they misheard his name as "Useless" and couldn't wait to be rid of him.

So we have our "why." We are looking for something "big enough" (Kern), "higher" (Bruce), wide, large, generous, and "beyond ourselves." To put it very shortly, we want children to be educated for virtue. And we don't want them to grow up useless.

We have our "what": "we train him upon physical exercises, nature lore, handicrafts, science and art, and upon many living books."

How did Charlotte Mason's lessons integrate those two to make a "how?" The desire to teach with Mason's principles is admirable, but its application can be frustratingly vague. Some people using Mason's methods see quick and almost magical success, even (or particularly) with "difficult" students. Others of us have continued, years along, to wonder if we're doing it right, or if we're missing some crucial point, particularly after taking a student through a round of examinations and getting one-sentence responses, or, worse, "I don't remember that at all." 

The early teachers coming from the House of Education, and even the parents following PNEU programmes, expected better results (I use that word carefully), and, if we can judge by the printed examples, they got them. Although Charlotte Mason insisted that there was no education but self-education, and that each student had to perform his or her own act of learning, she also emphasized the need for working with, not against, human nature and the makeup of the mind. She believed that most children could "love to learn" if they were given the right mind-food in the right way. But what is the right way? Or at least, what is the way that Mason meant? 

To know what PNEU students were expected to learn...really learn and retain long-term...it's valuable to look at their examination questions, especially those in the subject areas most concerned with character. If students were expected to have certain stories in their memories, why those ones? How would the questions raised about them, and their responses, change their lives? How would this knowledge give them courage, honour, and a sense of something beyond themselves? This could very well be the highest power of living books.

I have taken a selection of Plutarch exam questions from Forms II through IV, leaving out the lowest and the highest grades (partly because they did not include the study of Plutarch's Lives).

From the youngest, pre-Plutarch group of Form II's (reading Mrs. Beesly's Stories of Rome):

"We will pardon Horatius  because he has done such great things." What great things had he done, and why was he pardoned?

Why did Fabius refuse to wear a laurel wreath and come home in triumph? Tell the whole story.

Write an account of the dictatorship of Cincinnatus.

The older Form II's who were beginning Plutarch:

How did Aemilius conduct the war against the Ligurians at the time of an eclipse of the moon?

Why did Cæsar honour and esteem Brutus ?

Give an account of the meeting of Brutus and Cassius at Sardis, or at Smyrna.

How did Caius Marcius win another term?

Why did Marcius go disguised to the house of Tullus?

How did Caesar inspire his soldiers with valour? Give two instances.

Describe the crossing of the Rhine by Caesar.

Why did Timoleon first save his brother's life and then consent to his death? Tell the whole story.

Give a short account of Timoleon's expedition against the Carthagenians.

From the Form III Plutarch examinations:

Describe the triumph of Æmilius after his victory over Perseus.

Give an account of the way in which Brutus and Cassius prepared for the battle of the Philippian Fields. How did Lucilius save the life of Brutus?

(a), "Veni, vidi, vici," (b), "To cross the Rubicon." What events in Julius Caesar's life gave rise to these popular sayings? Describe Caesar's great victory at Alesia.

Describe the conquest of Syracuse. How did Timoleon treat the city?

From the Form IV Plutarch exams:

How and why did Agis set about the reformation of the City of Sparta?

Compare and contrast the characters of Cassius and Brutus, giving illustrations.

How did Cassius comfort Brutus after the latter had seen a spirit?

 "He did excel all the young men of his time." Who was he? Show how he excelled, and describe the meeting with the Numantines.

Describe the progress of Æmilius through Greece.

Give the substance of the speech of Æmilius on the death of his two sons.

Describe the battle of the river of Crimesus, and show that "in the wars of Timoleon, besides equity and justice, there is also great ease and quietness."

What do we draw from the questions as a group? Many of them, like Bible or history questions, ask simply for a narrative. How did someone comfort another person, how did he reform something, how did he prepare for a battle or conduct a war, what happened when he crossed the river? But a narrative account often gives the students something to think about as well. Why might someone refuse special honour? Why did Timoleon not allow family ties to come before his civic duty? How did Caesar "inspire others with valour?" Should people who do great things be excused from minor offenses? 

Finally, there are questions that move beyond knowledge and comprehension into analysis (comparing and contrasting), synthesis, and evaluation (showing how someone excelled). The last question given in Form IV quotes from North's translation of the Life of Timoleon, and the passage goes on to say that one who studies Timoleon's victories "shall find...that they have not been fortune's doings simply, but that they came of a most noble and fortunate courage."

On a practical ("don't be useless") end, each Form had other Citizenship questions, drawing from other books such as Ourselves ("Everyday Morals") and civics materials.

Form II (both levels) answered questions such as these:

Why ought everyone to save (money)? How can it always be done?

Give a short account of the government of a town.

What is the work of the Home Office, the Colonial Office, the Foreign Office, a County Council?

Mention four of the great rules observed in English Courts of Justice. What is the work of the lawyers, of the jury and of the judge?

Draw the Union Jack and explain its meaning.

What do you understand by rates and taxes?

What is meant by being a good citizen?

Form III Citizenship questions:

"Truth is not violent." How does Botticelli portray this? What may we learn from this picture?

What do you know about the Government of Mansoul? How do Hunger and Thirst behave? Show that they may change in character.

What is our duty towards foreign countries?

"India is a continent and not a country." Explain this, and say what you know about the peoples and religions of India.

Show that we are all paid labourers. What do you understand by Integrity? In what various ways should integrity be shown?

Show that increase in price means decrease in demand. What are the dangers of Trade Unionists?

Form IV had more difficult questions:

Show fully by what courts and what judges Law is administered.

"He is a boy of good principles." What do you understand by principles?

Explain fully what is meant by the electorate. Show that the parliamentary vote is a right and a duty.

What have you to say about drifters and dawdlers, small thefts, bargains, borrowed property? Discuss "we are all born equal."

What are the powers and what the limitations of the House of Commons? What qualities should we look for in a Member?

"To think fairly requires knowledge and consideration." Illustrate by an example, and mention three subjects upon which the nation has to think fairly today.

What is to be said for and against military services as the duty of a citizen?

Write an essay on loyalty.

Looking at the body of questions, it's fairly obvious that "useful" citizens were to be not only aware of how the government worked, including the court system, basic economics, and the tax system, but they were to consider what would make up a good representative, what a citizen's responsibility was to the military, and  the difference between "drifters and dawdlers" and those who would get things done.

They were to be aware of current national issues, and to realize that solving these problems would require "knowledge and consideration." They were also to think globally, asking what their country's responsibility was to others. (An interesting question, considering it was being asked during the last years of the British Empire.)

Did history and Bible questions follow the same general pattern? Here is a selection of questions given for each Form.

Questions for Form II:

What question did St. John (in prison) send messengers to ask our Lord, and what answer did he get? Tell the whole story.

 (a), "What lack I yet?" (b), "Lo, we have left all." What answers did our Lord give to (a), the young ruler, (b), St. Peter, and what lessons may we learn?

Tell the story of the Battle of Beth-horon. Explain, as far as you can, "Sun, stand thou still."

What was the parable of the Marriage of the King's Son? What was its lesson (a), for the Jews, (b), for us?

What do you know of Sir Robert Peel, Lord Shaftesbury, John Bright, Wilberforce?

What great discoveries have been made in the 19th Century? Describe one of them.

"Therefore I am making you love literature as your mother," said a Scribe. Give some account of these Egyptian Scribes.

How did St. Swithin educate King Alfred? What did Alfred do for England besides fight her battles?

Describe the signing of Magna Charta, and mention some of the great things it secures for Englishmen.

What do you know of the education of St. Louis? Describe his character.

Observations: Again for Form II, the students are asked for description and narratives: great discoveries, the text of a parable, the story of a battle.  There are civics questions (what was the significance of the Magna Charta?), and questions of personal contribution: what King Alfred did for England, the achievements of people like St. Louis, William Wilberforce (evangelical reformer and abolitionist) and John Bright (founder of the Anti-Corn Law League), even the potential impact of ancient Egyptian literature-lovers (with a quote from Albert Malet's The Ancient World). There are considerations of faith: what does it mean to leave all? What would it mean to answer God's call to the marriage feast? What did Jesus' answer to John mean? Do we want to be like those who responded to a need, or like the young ruler and those who missed out on the banquet?

Questions for Form III:

What do you know of the prophet Malachi and the shortcomings of the priests?

What remarks have you to make about "certain of the synagogue"? What do you know of the synagogue of Cyrene, of Alexandria and of Silicia?

"As long as he liveth he shall be lent to the Lord." Describe the occasion when these words were used, and quote from Hannah's thanksgiving.

"He loved him as he loved his own soul." Give an account of this friendship.

"Suffer me to speak unto the people." Write what you can of St. Paul's address on this occasion.

 What do you know of (a), the foreign policy of King Edward VII (b), the Union of South Africa?

Write a short account of Polar exploration. What do you know of the most recent expedition?

What do you know of the Fourth Crusade to Jerusalem?

Give an account of the war with Flanders in 1298. What was the end of it? What do "Flanders Poppies" stand for?

 What reminders have we in the British Museum of Nabopolassar and of Darius?

What do you know about the Vedas and their writers?

Observations: The questions for Form III are a little more open-ended, a little more "What do you know of...," implying that they could be answered in greater depth. There is personal inspiration to honour, bravery, and friendship: the love of Jonathan for David; Paul's speech in Jerusalem (Acts 22); the exploration of far corners of the earth; the faith of Hannah and of the prophet Malachi (compared to the priests, who were "lighting useless fires"), not to mention Stephen (from the question "certain of the synagogue"). There are questions stretching to more global awareness: the Vedas, Chaldean history, British foreign policy, South African issues.

One point I notice (relating to the Stephen question) is that often there is a key phrase that the students are expected to recognize. I am familiar with the chapter of Acts concerning Stephen, but I did not immediately connect those four words with that story. I agree that in some cases, students should be able to connect a phrase or line with a character or story; I'm not sure how important it is in a case like this.

Questions for Form IV:

Write a short account of the period between the Old and New Testaments.

What Messianic prophecies have we in Malachi and Daniel? What do you know of the prophets Obadiah and Joel?

Write an essay on, --"If any thirst, come unto Me and drink."

Why did Jeroboam set up two calves of gold? Describe the denunciation that followed at Bethel.

Comment on (a), "Before Abraham was I am," (b), "Did this man sin?" (c), "What is truth?"

What was the Royal Proclamation of 1858? In what ways has England made this proclamation good? What do you know of recent events in this connection?

Give some account of German world policy.

Describe the condition of Germany when Charles V. became Emperor.

Give a sketch of Luther's career and of the Diet at Worms.

Show that "the Nile is a vast historical volume."

Name a dozen famous men of the days of "Great Elizabeth." Give an account of three of them.

Observations: In Form IV, again we have the accounts of "famous men," but there is even more choice allowed: name a dozen, give details of three. Again there is more focus on the larger world: German history and politics, the Government of India Act (a.k.a the Royal Proclamation), Egyptian history, the "intertestamental period" of Jewish history. There are deeper reflections on the sayings of Christ, and the story of "the king who made Israel to sin." 

In all this long list of questions (and these are just samples), have you seen opportunities to light fires? To educate the conscience? To show magnanimity? To say "I ought...I will?" 

Is there space here for minds to meet? 

Is there preparation for adventure?

I think there is.

(Part II will examine the "why" of PNEU lesson plans.)