A Tune We Have Not Yet Heard

Music in art: poster found at a flea market

by Anne White

In his address The Weight of Glory, C. S. Lewis said:

“The books or the music in which we thought the beauty was located will betray us if we trust to them; it was not in them, it only came through them, and what came through them was longing. These things—the beauty, the memory of our own past—are good images of what we really desire; but if they are mistaken for the thing itself they turn into dumb idols, breaking the hearts of their worshipers. For they are not the thing itself; they are only the scent of a flower we have not found, the echo of a tune we have not heard, news from a country we have never yet visited.” (emphasis his)

Yes, the pile of books can betray us.  A book can disappoint. It can have a terrible ending. It can make us angry. It can bore us. It can leave us in tears or give us nightmares.  The whole pile could (literally or metaphorically) fall on our heads and kill us.

The music we love can suddenly become insufficient. A few among us may remember the ratings-busting finale of M*A*S*H* (in 1983, further back now than the actual Korean War was when we were watching it).  Near the beginning of the episode, Dr. Charles Winchester discovers that five captured Chinese soldiers are musicians, and he begins teaching them to play a Mozart clarinet quintet, using their own instruments. Later, the prisoners are taken away as part of a prisoner exchange (playing Mozart as they go). But just as a ceasefire is being announced, they are killed in a last round of enemy attacks.  When Winchester hears this, he goes to his tent and tries to listen to the Mozart record, but ends up smashing it to pieces. It is not only the music that betrayed him, but everything else in which he put his trust and which it represented.

Charlotte Mason also warned us about seeking beauty too much for its own sake:

The Beauty Sense adds so much to the joy of life that it is not easy to see what danger attends it...[We may think that] that the joys of Beauty are so full and satisfying that nothing else is necessary to complete the happiness of life...The person who is given up to the intoxication of Beauty conceives that Beauty and Goodness are one and the same thing, and that Duty is no more than seeking one's own pleasure in the ways one best likes. People, too, become excluded. (Ourselves Book I, p. 54)

We are fully allowed to value poetry, visual art, music, plays, and the natural world (including its tastes and textures). But we can love the scent of the flower, the echo of the tune, the rhythm of the sonnet (as Mason says) without becoming intoxicated by them. When they show themselves (as the Greek philosophers said) as only shadows of the true and wonderful things yet to come, we can understand and not grieve for what they are not, knowing that it is what comes "through them" that really matters.

And as our friend Lynn used to say, that enables us to enjoy every sandwich.

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.)

"Something that concerns you and concerns many men."

Not asphodel, but definitely greeny.

by Anne White

Of asphodel, that greeny flower,

                        I come, my sweet,
                                                to sing to you!
My heart rouses
                        thinking to bring you news
                                                of something
that concerns you
                        and concerns many men.  Look at
                                                what passes for the new.
You will not find it there but in
                        despised poems.
                                                It is difficult
to get the news from poems
                        yet men die miserably every day
                                                for lack
of what is found there...

(Excerpt of "Asphodel, that greeny flower," by William Carlos Williams.)

Poems are not places to get today's news, according to William Carlos Williams; or facts, or dates, or phone numbers. Or, really, anything practical and useful.

And yet, he says, we die (not peacefully, but miserably!) "for lack of what is found there..."

In Can Poetry Matter: Essays on Poetry and American Culture, Dana Gioia refers to this poem in a slightly different context. He has been discussing the problem of poetry, in the twentieth century, having lost its wider audience, and having become sort of a niche thing that only other poets care about. Gioia says this:

Williams understood poetry's human value but had no illusions about the difficulties his contemporaries faced in trying to engage the audience that needed the art most desperately. To regain poetry's readership one must begin by meeting Williams's challenge to find what "concerns many men," not simply what concerns poets. (p. 17)

Now, all this is undoubtedly true of poetry, and requires much thought. But let's expand. Is Christianity just for Christians? Certainly not (although "Christian sub-culture" is a real issue). Is educational truth just for educators? Are homeschooling methods just good for homeschoolers? And here's a big one for us: is Charlotte Mason's philosophy only to be kept in a C.M. box, to be brought out at C.M.-branded events or in C.M.-labelled books? Consider this principle of education:

12. "Education is the Science of Relations"; that is, that a child has natural relations with a vast number of things and thoughts: so we train him upon physical exercises, nature lore, handicrafts, science and art, and upon many living books, for we know that our business is not to teach him all about anything, but to help him to make valid as many as may be of––  "Those first-born affinities / "That fit our new existence to existing things." 

If we are indeed born persons, living in a world in which we relate to several billion other born persons, we need to care that many of those same persons are dying (not peacefully) "for lack of what is found there..."  They are not finding it "in what passes for the new." And yet we tremble to offer our despised poetry, our good news (on whatever level). We are, as Charlotte says, "diffident," modest, shy (Preface to Ourselves). However, as she also says there, we are  urged to "encourage the others.". And not just the friendly "others," but the older ones, the younger ones, the better-educated ones, the bored and cynical ones. Not just those who sign up for conferences or buy books, but those who might throw our asphodel on the ground and stomp on it.

What is that mysterious, vital something found in poems (that isn't the news)?

The answer seems to be this: in discovering what it is "that concerns many men," or, in other words, the people around us. As Charlotte said, what is the spirit of our time? What questions are people asking about science and art, or (more worryingly) are they asking any questions at all? Can we offer handicrafts and living books? Can we help others to reclaim their first-born affinities?

Let's rouse our hearts, as Williams says, and take courage. Swap books. Start Sunday schools and math clubs. Care for communities. Share beauty and truth. And think of asphodel, that greeny flower.

Revisiting A Touch of the Infinite

 

by Anne White

In 2016, Megan Hoyt published a book especially for the C.M. community, titled A Touch of the Infinite: Studies in Music Appreciation with Charlotte Mason.  Mason’s own books recommend composer study, singing, ear training, and instrument lessons, but often in too-brief snippets. The original Parents’ Union School programmes refer to specific music books, or (later on) to detailed term notes published separately, but these have also been hard to access. Hoyt’s book fills in the gaps: it's a how-to, a what-to, but, even more importantly, a why-to.

A few years ago, I planned to use A Touch of the Infinite with a local study group, as a change from Mason’s own books. That particular study, unfortunately, was a bomb, for a couple of reasons: people had to buy copies of the book, which was a deterrent; our group was moving into a low period anyway; but the biggest one, I think, was that people assumed that a book About Teaching Music, even if it was About Charlotte Mason and Teaching Music, would have little to say about Everything Else. For many people, music seemed optional, something to think about once the math and reading were in hand (as we have been told so many times by so many homeschool experts). This was an unfortunate (and incorrect) assumption, as Hoyt points out:

There is beauty all around us and the possibility of experiencing great joy. But in our quest to fill our minds with tiny packets of news and sayings on social media, we have quickened the pace of thought and neglected to slow down long enough to examine meaning or notice the beauty that is so near. And if we are not noticing what our eyes can see, how will we notice what our ears should hear? (Chapter One: Our Reason For the Journey)

Recently I wondered, if I were bringing the book back to our group-study table, what might I do to bypass the objections? The everybody-has-to-buy-a-copy-of-the-book problem is one I can’t help with, unfortunately. But I think I would try to make it clearer that this is a book about Charlotte Mason, and the arts, and education, and life stuff, written by a longtime C.M. educator with a particular passion for music. 

I should not have been, but I was surprised (in a good way) to learn that each book Miss Mason chose for composer study and music education was littered with those same thoughts and principles she placed within her volumes: the importance of relationship, the value of ideas over dry facts, the use of story to engage a child’s mind with the subject at hand. (Introduction)

Talking about music, in a sense, is a doorway into the rest, just as a book about history, literature, or even mathematics could be, with the guidance of the right person.

God can use music in innumerable ways to get our attention. It inspires us, heals us, blinds us with its glory, tears at our despairing souls until we choose to seek Him, for nothing else will suffice. (Chapter One: Our Reason For the Journey)

On the practical side, A Touch of the Infinite is a handbook for the C.M. educator who wants to know more about ear training (it's important!), and composer study, and what sort of piano or violin lessons should be part of the curriculum. But it occurs to me that it would also be a very good follow-up to Anthony Esolen's Ten Ways to Destroy the Imagination of Your Child, which is the sort of teaching/parenting book that makes you want to open the world up a little more for your children, if only in a bit of rebellion: in time spent outdoors, in good books, in human relationships, and in things like art and music that used to be integrated into life.

This life is glorious, isn’t it? All of this—the entire universe of living ideas—belongs to every human being…The world is in desperate need of this universe of thoughts and things. We pine for them and fill our lives with busyness because they are missing. And most of us don’t even realize what it is we’re pining for. (Introduction to A Touch of the Infinite)

I don't know if or when our local group will get another chance to read Hoyt's book together. But in the meantime, I can at least recommend it for the bookshelves of those who want to look at Charlotte Mason's educational philosophy from the orchestra seats. 

Lovin', really livin'

Without it you ain't livin', boy

You're just gettin' up each day

And walkin' around

Your world is cryin' now, my friend

But give it love

And it will mend 

And teach you all the music

(Ian and Sylvia, "Lovin' Sound") 

Boxing Lessons

by Anne White

D. E. Stevenson’s Five Windows is a coming-of-age novel set in a Scottish village. The early chapters tell about a nine-year-old boy, David, and his friendship with Malcolm, a local shepherd. Malcolm is also a woodworker, and one day David goes to his shop and shows him a picture frame he has made at school, as a gift for his mother. “I was rather proud of it,” the older David remembers. Malcolm’s reaction is not what he was expecting. “Did they learn you to make that at school? It’s dreadful! And the wood is good, too. A good piece of wood doesn’t need to be cut about and ornamented with whirly-gigs and scrolls. A piece of wood has its own beauty which just needs to be brought out.” Malcolm realizes quickly that he has hurt David’s feelings, and apologizes for his abruptness; but David notices himself that, even against the plain polished wood of the worktable, his project looks “tawdry.”  And then the amazingly wise Malcolm says, “Well, lad, I tell you what we’ll do. We’ll choose a piece of wood and you’ll make a box for your mother. You’ll do it all yourself—every bit of it—and I’ll show you how.” And he does. It takes them from the Christmas holidays until sometime in March, but finally the box is finished.

It was a solid chest, made of beautifully grained wood, about three feet long and two and a half feet broad, perfectly plain, with no nonsense about it. The lid fitted as snugly as the lid of an air-tight container. It stood upon the bench shining like a chestnut and I it was beautiful. Malcolm ran his hand over it, and said, “You’ve made something worth-while, Davie. That box will still be a good, useful box long after you’ve gone…When you’re dead and gone—and perhaps forgotten—that box will be as good as ever. The work of your hands, Davie!” It was a new idea to me—rather a frightening idea, but interesting too. Somebody would own that box, he would open it and shut it and use it to keep things in…

Worrying a little that his makership might be forgotten, David carves his initials and the date on the bottom of the box.

A year later, Malcolm is killed, fighting in France. In his grief, David begins to write Malcolm’s story, telling what they had done together (including fishing and taking care of the sheep), and what Malcolm had taught him. “Then there would be no danger of forgetting him.” He shows the story to his mother, who loves it, and not just because her boy has written it (as she might have felt about the picture frame), but because it truly is a good story. (Those  who have read Jan Karon’s To Be Where You Are might see a resemblance to the story young Grace writes about her “adopted grandma” Louella.) David’s mother stores up everything that he writes in the wooden box, and, much later in the book, the adult David, now a novelist, comes back and re-examines his early work. Some of it he thinks not bad, some he discards. But the box itself matters just as much as the stories. “It was the same sort of thing,” the adult David writes; “Malcolm had had a hand in making me.”

This story is only a small part of Five Windows, but it can be unpacked in several important ways. First, for those who are concerned with Charlotte Mason’s philosophy of education, Malcolm’s gentle lesson in contrasts can be taken as both a general principle and a practical example. Even quality materials, as Malcolm points out, can lose their beauty if we insist on decorating them with “whirly-gigs and scrolls,” or if we praise that which is quickly completed but which holds no lasting value. We are content to have a slow but solid method of teaching.  David’s box took him weeks to make, and Malcolm told him that it would last for a hundred years. What are we giving our children that will be that solid, last that long? When someday they look back on their education, will they remember only the small projects, or will they have any recognition of the box itself?

Second, there is a spiritual sense in which we may spend years making things we consider beautiful and valuable, even quite big and important things in the world’s eyes, things of which we are “rather proud”; but when we lay them on God’s worktable, they are shown in their true light. As Robert Boyd Munger writes in his classic My Heart—Christ’s Home, God has come into our workroom and is not impressed by the few “little toys” we have managed to knock out. He does not scold or reject us for our lack of skill or taste, but He does ask us to let Him teach us his better way of box-making. And box-filling.

Third, we have the opportunity to make beautiful, lasting boxes. But even a clumsy handmade picture frame is, these days, still a step beyond something stamped out of a machine. Though we may have begun polishing our own boxes (in whatever sense), we are reminded to be gentle with those who need encouragement to enter the workshop and view the work of the master. We have all been there once.

And finally, we are reminded of the need to value the past, including its artists and craftspeople, those who had skills and knew things we have forgotten. We also need to appreciate the work of those  who are still with us. A thing that has been carved, or embroidered, or painted, or built with stones, or hammered out of iron, or baked, still carries something of its maker (as well as its Maker).  Our care, our ideas; our initials, our fingerprints.

Ma made the cornmeal and water into two thin loaves, each shaped in a half circle. She laid the loaves with their straight sides together in the bake-oven, and she pressed her hand flat on top of each loaf. Pa always said he did not ask any other sweetening, when Ma put the prints of her hands on the loaves. (Laura Ingalls Wilder, Little House on the Prairie)

The Value of The Perception of Beauty

Our FB Group has reached 10,000 members.  By way of celebration, we'd like to share another article from  volume 19 (1908) of the Parents' Review, which is not yet online.

The PR says this article is 'notes of a lecture by R. Catterson Smith.'  We are not told who took those notes, and the only author given is RCS himself.

R. Catterson Smith was a Victorian era artist who worked with William Morris and Burne-Jones on the Kelmscott Chaucer.  He also worked with Heywood Sumner and his group, and for a while was headmaster of Birmingham School of Arts and Crafts:

The History and Philosophy of Art Education, By Stuart Macdonald, page 292

You can read more of Sumner and his work here.

 Here is the article, or rather the 'notes' of his talk (where this talk was delivered, I do not know).  Keep in mind, because it is 'notes' of Catterson Smith' talks, the syntax and punctuation are irregular:

I SHALL say nothing new—I but echo what has been said by Ruskin and others. If new, it might be questioned. An ideal for our children—good, useful, beautiful. The Moral alone not sufficient. The Useful alone not sufficient. The Beautiful alone not sufficient. We want a full life. Do these three form an impossible ideal ? What could we substitute for them ?-— Respectable ? Rich ? Fashionable ? Do not fear high ideals—distrust the man who says “ Utopian ! ” Ruskin.

The brain, a highly sensitive receptacl - hundredth of a second photographic plate not so quick. The five senses are our means of contact with the world outside us. Small inlets, for light waves, sound waves, they are all touch in a way. Each of the senses supplies what the other four are deficient in. But by the combination of the five we get a broad idea of what things are. The eye supplies most of our information. Two of these have great arts dependent upon them—The ear art,  Music. The art of the eye—the resemblant arts, painting, sculpture, architecture, and all the lesser arts.

These arts have taken a prodigious time to evolve and are closely interwoven with human ideals, and must not be lightly thought of, as for amusement only. Each has played a great part in life. The art dependent on the eye, the greater part. I think music being a more abstract, less definite art, though, perhaps none the less potent, we must not forget the fable of the Trumpeter, who though he did not himself fight,  roused the fighting spirit in others by his music. We give a goal deal of the educational period of a child’s life to learning something of music. It is but a ghostly expression of the emotions-- a shadow of them. In teaching it we only teach accuracy of ear and vague feeling. We do not take children to the sea and draw their attention to the wave sounds, or into the woods to hear the Wind’s voice, and the chorus of birds in Spring.  Or make them listen to the modulations of the human voice from the musical point of view.

Though we know these are some of the sources of inspiration for the composer. We deal with the teaching of that art as if it were purely abstract. If it be purely abstract why have we Pastoral Symphonies Moonlight Sonatas, and Harmonious Blacksmiths ? Might we not gain if we studied the natural sounds definitely Composers teach us the unity of sounds embodying human emotions.

Music is not my subject however—I only introduce it to help in illustrating my subject. What I am anxious about is the training of the eye to see things truthfully. By learning first to see things truthfully we acquire the language which will help us to understand artists who will teach us to see things beautifully. Mediaeval artists painted with very limited eye vision. Turner with the very fullest.

Think of the abundance of beautiful things which nature has laid before us. I have often stood in the street to look at a fine sky, and felt inclined to cry out “ Look!” Can we see them without training? So far as the organ of sight goes, yes! But we do not see them consciously, so as get full pleasure from them. Compare the average person’s attempt to paint a leaf, with the trained person’s attempt. The average person is easily satisfied. Not so the trained person who sees more than he can give.

Considering not only what nature has given us to look at. but also the energy and money man spends in making things look nice, should we not spend a good deal of time in learning to appreciate them ?

If you take the general subjects in school you will see sight training is given a very poor place—reading, spelling, writing,  arithmetic, history, languages, geography, music, science- most of these are a burden of words to children. At the end may come drawing for one hour a week, and very often taught  by a teacher who does not know the value of it—-or who takes the value commonly set upon it, and who teaches it in quite the wrong way. Of course other subjects may be contributory to sight. Take Botany for instance. Drawing and painting are the best ways of getting the knowledge of a thing into the brain, We have done too much word-teaching, and should do more sight-teaching. Children usually like drawing and painting and it can be made a pleasant aid to teaching many subjects. Memory drawing is the best way of teaching children drawing. And it is the way they draw by nature. Know first, and draw after. The ordinary teacher who shows them how by doing, but instead should lead them on by exciting their observation. Aim at first hand observation. Show them how a little. Of course teachers should be able to do.

Children ought not to be encouraged in cleverness, so as to shine. Children are very fond of conventions, or clever tricks. These should be discouraged, as they hinder accurate observation. If a child is clever in a showy sense, that cleverness will not forsake it, should it later on become commercially valuable. But restraint is better than cleverness. Truth is what should be sought. It is the grownups who divert the child’s vision from the truth to untruth—or prejudiced vision. People like convention as a rule, often because they don’t know what truth is.

I have been speaking up to this of the getting of the knowledge of the appearance of things. While children are learning that, they may also be coming in contact with Art— i.e., learning to see things beautifully. But it should not be too advanced for them. What does learning to see things beautifully mean? The perception of unity and perfect types. The subject or story of a picture may not mean much—the unity or harmony of it is of greater value-Abraham and Isaac may teach unquestioning obedience to a higher power, but the value of such a picture by a great painter will depend on its unity more than upon its moral.

Looking at these unities continually. Unity enters into the habit of our thought, and we have the key to all the arts, and to the greatest of all arts, the art of life, the blending of all the complexities into one great unity. A hatred of muddle, a desire to have beautiful homes, and beautiful cities, a dislike to change and fashion, a liking for modest and beautiful clothing. The beautiful art of embroidery has been almost killed by the changes of fashion.

I SHALL say nothing new—I but echo what has been said by Ruskin and others. If new it might be questioned. An ideal for our children—good, useful, beautiful. The Moral alone not sufficient. The Useful alone not sufficient. The Beautiful alone not sufficient. We want a full life. Do these three form an impossible ideal ? What could we substitute for them ?-— Respectable ? Rich ? Fashionable ? Do not fear high ideals—distrust the man who says “ Utopian ! ” Ruskin.

The brain, a highly sensitive receptaclemhundredth of a second photographic plate not so quick. The five senses are our means of contact with the world outside us. Small inlets. for light waves, sound waves, they are all touch in a way. Each of the senses supplies what the other four are deficient in. But by the combination of the five we get a broad idea of uhaf things are. The eye supplies most of our information. Two of these have great arts dependent upon them—The ear art. Music. The art of the eye—the resemblant arts, painting, sculpture, architecture, and all the lesser arts.

These arts have taken a prodigious time to evolve. and are closely interwoven with human ideals, and must not be lightly thought of, as for amusement only. Each has played a great pait'in' life'.‘ The art dependent on the eye, the greater part. I think : music being a more abstract, less definite art, though, perhaps none the less potent, we must not forget the table of the Trumpeter, who though he did not himself tight. roused

the fighting spirit in others by his music. We give a goal deal of the educational period of a child’s life to learning something of music. It is but a ghostly expression of the emotions-- 3- Shadow of them. In teaching it we only teach accuracy of ear and vague feeling. We do not take children to the sea and

W -.. We- , WM draw their attention to the wave sounds, or into the woods?)

hear the Wind’s voice, and the chorus of birds in Spring, Or make them listen to the modulations of the human voice from the musical point of view. Though we know these are some 0, the sources of inspiration for the composer. We deal with the teaching of that art as if it were purely abstract. [i it be purely abstract why have we Pastoral Symphonies Moonlight Sonatas, and Harmonious Blacksmiths ? Might' We not gain if we studied the natural sounds definitely Composers teach us the unity of‘sounds embodying humgn emotions. A ,

Music is not my subject however—I only introduce it to help in illustrating my subject. What I am anxious aboutis the training of the eye to see things truthfully—~fully. By learning first to see things truthfully we acquire the language which will help us to understand artists who will teach us to see things beautifully. Mediaeval artists painted with very limited eye vision.» Turner with the very fullest.

Think of the abundance of beautiful things which nature has laid before 115,, I have often stood in the street to look at a fine sky, and felt inclined to cry out “ Look l.” Can we see them without training,p So far as the organ 'of sight goes, yes! But we do not see them consciously, so as get full pleasure from them. Compare the average person’s attempt to paint a leaf, with the trained person’s attempt. The average person is easily satisfied. Not so the trained person who sees more than he can give.

Considering not only what nature has given us to look at. but also the energy and money man spends in making things . look nice, should we not spend a good deal of time in learning * to appreciate them ?

If you take the general subjects in school you will see sight training is given a very poor place—reading, spelling, writing- arithmetic, history, languages, geography, music, sciencea most of these are a burden of‘words to children. At the end may come drawing for one hour a week, and very often taught I by a teacher who does not know the value of it—-or who takes the value commonly set upon it, and who teaches it in quite the wrong way. Of course other subjects may be contributory

to sight. Take Botany for instance. Drawing and painting

are the best ways of getting the knowledge of a thing into the brain, We have done too much word-teaching, and should do more sight-teaching. Children usually like drawing and painting and it can be made a pleasant aid to teaching many subjects. Memory drawing is the best way of teaching children drawing. And it is the way they draw by nature. Know first, and draw after. The ordinary teacher who shows them how by doing, but instead should lead them on by exciting their observation. Aim at first hand observation. Show them how a little. Of course teachers should be able to do.

Children ought not to be encouraged in cleverness, so as to shine. Children are very fond of conventions, or clever tricks. These should be discouraged, as they hinder accurate observa- tion. If a child is clever in a showy sense, that cleverness will not forsake it, should it later on become commercially valuable. But restraint is better than cleverness Truth is what should be sought. It is the grown’ups who divert the child’s vision from the truth to untruth—or prejudiced vision. People like convention as a rule, often because they don’t know what truth is.

I have been speaking up to this of the getting of the knowledge of the appearance of things. While children are learning that, they may also be coming in contact with Art— 110., learning to see things beautifully. But it should not be too advanced for them. What does learning to see things beautifully mean P The perception of unity and perfect types. The subject or story of a picture may not mean much—the unity or harmony of it is of_ greater value-Abraham and Isaac may teach unquestioning obedience to a higher power, but the value of such a picture by a great painter will depend on its unity more than upon its moral.

Looking at these unities continually. Unity enters into the habit of our thought, and we have the key to all the arts, and to the greatest of all arts, the art of life, the blending of all the complexities into one great unity. A hatred of muddle, a desire to have beautiful homes, and beautiful cities, 21 dislike to change and fashion, a liking for modest and beautiful clothing. The beautiful art of embroidery has been almost killed by the changes of fashion.

Without a love and understanding of art, ‘we shall never have beautiful life. Much effort as all know is now being made to improve the look of things, but it is not a general effort. Now to get this understanding time must be given, if you don’t insist upon it you will not get it, for science of some sort, or some other subject will be pushed in front of your children, with the idea of making them more practical citizens.

It may be thought science should hold a high place compared with art. But few of us can indulge in science. While every one of us have eyes and cannot help seeing. But we want instructed seeing.

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I find it delightful that Miss Mason included somebody's notes on a lecture, much as we have highlighted various blogs about our recent conference.  But I find it a bit maddening that she does not say whose notes. I'm inclined to think they are hers, but I am not sure that holds water.

I really appreciate his point at the end- not every child, not every human being is cut out for a career in the sciences, or to 'do science' day to day at home.  Art study is far more accessible to everybody, yet strangely, we tend to considerate it somewhat of an elite subject. Few studies could be less 'elite.'

Edited to add: I don't mean science isn't valuable or important for every child.  I just find it ironic that a subject available to every child who can make a mark on a surface, who can see, or can touch a tree, a stone, a carved bit of wood is considered 'elite.'  Likewise, art and music are deeply human practices.  Every human culture known to us from the dawn of time has engaged in them in some form or other. In our day, the fact that so many consider them dispensable is rather a tragedy.

All the things I wanted to say, Part One of Four

by Anne White

I recently had the opportunity to talk to an Ontario workshop group about the challenges of teaching Charlotte-Mason-style in the upper grades.  The time went too fast and after I got home, I realized that I didn't even get to some of the most important things I wanted to say.

Doesn't that always happen?

So here are some of the notes I had as I would have liked to present it...ironically, it begins with a reference to time travel.  

To many people, CM looks like this. Dr. Who's time-travelling spaceship is permanently disguised as a 1960's British police call box. From the outside, it looks too small to be of practical value; technologically outdated; not even from this country. Interesting as a museum piece, but not that relevant or useful.

However, when you open the door, you get a surprise. You see that the inside has very large proportions; how can this much inside could fit into such a small outside? It is fact a TARDIS, which stands for Time And Relative Dimensions in Space. It is a machine that can take you anywhere and any time, all at once. The TARDIS on Dr. Who has been rearranged and redecorated (or re-Doctorated) over time, but it still works essentially in the same way, for the same purposes. And on Doctor Who, those purposes can range from casual jaunts through time, to saving the entire universe from Daleks and Cybermen; in every episode there is a certain amount of risk. You also are taking a risk not only by homeschooling; not only by homeschooling through middle school and maybe high school; but by doing it CM style, which puts you really "out there." At times, you may feel like your Tardis has dropped you on some weird forsaken planet with no other signs of human life around. But there is good news there too: that you are not alone. The landscape of the upper years may not be densely populated, but it's not completely empty, not untillable. We're Canadians, after all—we're used to appreciating big underpopulated landscapes.

In our own family we have used several of the Uncle Eric books on economics and government by Richard J. Maybury, and in his first book he begins by talking about models, like my (cardboard) model TARDIS. It's only a model, but models are a useful way of showing people what something looks like or explaining how something works. Uncle Eric says that everybody has certain mental models or ideas of how things work; and that if you see something or are told something that doesn't match up with the model you already have, you either have to reject that idea, or alter your model to fit the new information, and when you change your model, you experience a paradigm shift. For instance, when you see what's in the TARDIS, that challenges your belief that a big inside can't fit into a small outside. In the same way, we can allow ourselves to be astonished first at the large room that is a CM education, and further when we realize its potential for connecting us with other people of other times, with our earth and with the rest of the universe, cutting across the limits of time and geography. To use a favourite Scripture quote of Charlotte's, we have put our feet into a really large room.

There are educational models that, over time, have become the accepted way to do things in our culture, that have made us forget sometimes what learning is about or that it can happen outside of a school, or without fitting into a box called the first or fourth or ninth grade. You might say that some contemporary approaches to education are about picking the chocolate chips out of cookies, examining them, and then trying to put them back in again; CM is more of a whole-cookie approach. It is definitely different from the "industrial model," the "brick in the wall" or piling-up-information model of education. It emphasizes respect for the individual, process over product, context over unconnected facts. It is a way of learning that is both innovative, cutting edge, stretching to the future, and also very much part of the classical tradition, reaching back towards the past.

Charlotte Mason said that the only real education was self-education, which does not mean there is no place for a teacher but rather that each mind has to do its own learning. When you're sitting looking at a painting together, or drawing forget-me-nots in nature notebooks, or singing a folk song, or listening to a really interesting story together, there's a human rhythm, a natural drawing together that happens, there's no exclusion based on children vs adults, or younger children vs older ones; it is very much like a family. Charlotte Mason educators tend to like the word "community" rather than "co-op" to describe multi-family, group activities. This model is one that seems to naturally include people with disabilities and differences. It's not even limited to homeschoolers or those in private CM schools. I have seen articles written by people who learned their CM basics by homeschooling their children, but who are now reaching out and finding ways to use these ideas in Sunday Schools, Vacation Bible Schools, and with other groups of children, teenagers, and families. For instance, they might incorporate living books plus individualized notebooks. They might find ways to include art or music, or nature study, or gardening, or handicrafts, and they are finding that the same kids who were always bored with worksheets and colouring pages are getting engaged and excited about what they're learning.

Are you excited yet? Can you imagine an education that looks like that?  Doesn't it make sense that our creative Creator God would want us to approach education in a way that awakens our sense of wonder, that emphasizes close observation but also beauty?

(Part Two still to come.)