The Ennobling of Man

Many people think of the Incarnation as primarily about the eternal salvation of man.  It is certainly that, but it is that and more, something that was driven home to me by three frescoes more than five hundred years old.

Revisiting the Sistine Chapel

When my wife recently led some of her high school students on a trip to Italy, I was fortunate enough to join them.  It had been nearly thirty years since my wife and I had been to Rome and Florence, two of our favorite places on earth, and it was a joy to become reacquainted with some of our favorite works of art and architecture.  Although we took countless pictures, we were allowed to take none in the Sistine Chapel, and this is reasonable, for if the masses that pass through it each day were allowed to stop for photographs, no one would ever make it through.  Three frescoes, however, struck me in a way they had not before.  I stayed with them for as long as I could and kept my thoughts with me until I could record them later in my journal.

The Last Judgment (Michelangelo)

The Last Judgment is a famous fresco by Michelangelo filling the wall behind the altar in the Sistine Chapel.  There is much to catch the eye, but what caught mine on this trip was the body language of St. Peter, the rather muscular, older man looking toward Jesus from His left.  As I stared at the image, it seemed to be one of someone in an organization saying to his leader, "Now, here's what I think."  It was a depiction of someone focused on the mission and who was on intimate terms with one above him.  It was of a person who clearly felt free to offer his thoughts and opinions to the boss, as indeed Peter does in the Scriptures.

The Delivery of the Keys (Perugino)

Turning to my right, I stayed for a long time with two of the frescoes on the north wall.  The one by Perugino depicting the delivery of the Kingdom kings by Jesus to St. Peter was another of intimacy and familiarity.  Although Peter is properly kneeling before his Lord, there is something in the posture of the figures that speaks of intimacy, familiarity, and trust.  We can get this from the words of Matthew in chapter 16 of his gospel, for common sense tells us that no one would give such authority to one he did not trust, yet the painting by Perugino makes this abundantly clear.  Psalm 8:5 says that man was made just a little lower than the angels, and we see the truth of that, the fact of it, in this fresco.

Sermon on the Mount (Rosselli)

Also on the north wall is a fresco depicting the Sermon on the Mount by Rosselli.  Jesus is elevated, but not absurdly so.  The people are shown as being quite close to Him.  They are not far removed either in elevation or proximity, which is a striking thing since most speakers today are on stages raised well above their audiences or positioned far from them or both.

Condescension and Elevation

Although I was surrounded by a crowd of tourists that filled the chapel, I was alone with my thoughts, and the message that struck me from each of these frescoes was this.  The condescension of God in the Incarnation of Jesus Christ served to fulfill man's elevation, which was the plan from the beginning.  When we read in Genesis that God handed over control of His creation to Adam, even going so far as to let Adam name the creatures He had made, we see God's plan for us to be one of partnership, and if you are not convinced of how extraordinary that is, consider whether you would allow someone else to name and rear your newborn child the way our Lord turned creation over to mankind.

Of course, things went astray, and the work of Christ restored what was lost and ruined.  Yet the work of Jesus Christ was not only to secure for us an eternal home with Him someday, but to elevate us into His work now, the way we were meant to serve Him in the Garden.  I had not looked upon these frescoes in quite that way before, but I can never see them in any other way now.

And when I entered again the bustling streets of Rome and later Florence and saw every manner of person in every manner of dress, talking and behaving in every way imaginable, I had to wonder if they knew that they had been given such an exalted calling.  What I did know for certain was that it was my calling to help them come to know it.

Mastering the Craft

There is a sense in the popular imagination that if it is a science, then anyone can do it.  If it is an art or a craft, then it is something only for those so gifted.  This is not entirely a bad way to look at things.  Broadly understood, science is about breaking things down and understanding how their components work, and this understanding applies fairly well from everything like baking a cake to repairing a car engine to launching a rocket into space.  If you lay out the steps along with a parts or ingredients list, I should be able to do the thing.

Of course we know that even in a scientific endeavor, some are simply better at it than others.  When it comes to the truly creative side of the equation, the side that details with intuitive leaps and connections, few of us are Einsteins.  Even Einstein acknowledged that there is a beauty to certain equations, so there is unquestionably an artistic aspect to science.  Similarly, the science of breaking something down so others can do it can be applied in the graphic arts.  Do you remember the paint-by-numbers books as a child?

When it comes to education, the current trend has unquestionably been to see it as a science.  We measure and track growth and use data to make many, if not most, of our decisions.  Workshops present tips and tricks of the trade so that teachers may replicate in their classrooms what others have accomplished.  There is some need of this.  There is a greater need for teachers than can be supplied by the Michelangelos of pedagogy.  We simply must have some people who are trained to draw Tippy the Turtle.

That, however, is not what Samuel Rocha's book A Primer for Philosophy & Education is about.  As he clearly states on page 3,  "[T]he craft of philosophy and education is what we are after."  In other words, he is after the art, not the science.  Because that is what he seeks, he continues, "If the labor and artistry of these intertwined crafts does not interest you, then you should certainly not begin.  Disinterest breeds a lack of seriousness.  Quit for now and go discover something about which you can be serious.  Go paint a house or run a marathon.  Learn and master a different, but equally worthwhile craft."  (p. 4)

This is not harsh, but helpful.  Education is not for those who are uninspired to master the hard work of their craft.  Yes, even masters must train, as Michelangelo did under Ghirlandaio.  There are many reasons to enter the field of education, but not all of them are worthwhile.  Some simply enjoy a subject matter and can think of nothing else to do with a major in it.  Some like to be around children.  There are those who teach until something better comes along.  The increasingly popular balanced calendar has likely weeded out those who wanted a job with three months off in the summer.  Whatever a person's reason for pursuing the craft of education, if it is insufficient to motivate and inspire the necessary work, then it is a poor reason.

Now, this is not so arrogant and high-minded as it may sound.  It is not saying, "If you are found unworthy of us elites, then go forth and do something lesser with your inferior life."  There are many worthwhile crafts.  Be a doctor, a pastor, an attorney.  Pursue business or politics or sports.

This is also not saying that you must be a Michelangelo.  The Tippy-the-Turtle-drawers can be just as committed to mastering their craft.  They may not have the flight of fancy or the stroke of genius that befalls the born artist, but they can be just as diligent in doing the work to develop what talents they do have.  What matters is being inspired and interested enough to do so.