“In the Republic, the well-nurtured youth is one ‘who would see most clearly whatever was amiss in ill-made works of man or ill-grown works of nature, and with a just distaste would blame and hate the ugly even from his earliest years and would give delighted praise to beauty, receiving it into his soul and being nourished by it, so that he becomes a man of gentle heart. All this before he is of an age to reason; so that when Reason at length comes to him, then, bred as he has been, he will hold out his hands in welcome and recognize her because of the affinity he bears to her.’” -The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis My parents raised my sisters and me from an early age to love learning. They constantly encouraged us to find solutions to problems and to never cease being curious. Like the quote, they wanted to raise us so that we would hold our hands out in welcome to Reason. I never truly appreciated their efforts until Sophomore year, when I was struggling to see why I was at school. I felt I wasn’t learning anything in Humanities, and my class's reading levels were holding me back. We spent so much time discussing the basics of a book, like Plato's Republic, that we ended up missing much of what the authors were trying to say. Because of this, we weren’t taught what was actually amiss in the books or history. I could see my classmates and even myself at times blaming things that weren’t actually ugly. It wasn’t until Junior year that my mother taught us to love learning and to grow our imaginations. She taught us to “plunder the Egyptians”, in the words of Saint Augustine. She helped us see whatever was amiss in works of man, but also to give delighted praise to beauty revealed in the same works. She helped reawaken my love of learning and pushed me to continue in my education. She, alongside a few other teachers, Mrs. Olmstead, my 9th-grade Humanities teacher, Mrs. Stucker, my Art teacher, and Miss Dotters, my 12th-grade Humanities teacher, are the reasons I want to keep learning. They all helped teach me to hold my hands out in welcome to Reason and to give delighted praise to what was True, Good, and Beautiful. Because of them and the beauty that they showed me, I want to actively seek wisdom and virtue and continue learning as much as I can about them wherever I go.

“Love in action is a harsh and dreadful thing compared with love in dreams. Love in dreams is greedy for immediate action, rapidly performed and in the sight of all. Men will even give their lives if only the ordeal does not last long but is soon over, with all looking on and applauding as though on stage. But active love is labor and fortitude and for some people too, perhaps, a complete science.” (The Brothers Karamazov by Fyodor Dostoevsky) Love in dreams is hasty, always about the now, changing things now, and doing this now. It is never patient, nor does it root itself in the ancient foundations of tradition. It has short, choked roots in shallow dirt, which may be spread wide and far, but will never last when beaten against by the winds of History or amidst the drought of Time. Men in dreams are rooted in the same way. They refuse the proper nourishment of light and earth, lacking in courage and faith in their hasty ideals, so that they bend easily and willingly when Time comes for them. Unless it is easy and quick, like their ideals and ways of life, and all are praising them, then will they attempt to stand fast. They fail. Men in dreams seek constant change and revival of ideas, always devising a better food for their souls than the earth and the sun have to offer. They ignore their Will, begging them to find a firm foundation and to stay rooted. They ignore their Appetites, which are gnawing away at them for want of food that this world cannot offer. Reason is at the forefront of their mind, causing a great imbalance in their soul. Either they are constantly trying to find purpose and never are satisfied with the one they reasoned upon, or they are so bored and dissatisfied with the world that they have no purpose, and they choose to remain without one. Men in dreams seek something they shall never find. So they fall. Love in action has deep, strong roots, growing into the earth and merrily feasting upon the goodness and wisdom it has to offer. Love in action has soaring branches, reaching towards the heavens and pursuing the light with an eager spirit. Love in action withstands the winds of History and the drought of Time, for its roots dwell in the foundations of Faith, and it drinks from the fountain of Living Water. Men in action have all they need, nourished by the earth and the heavens. They believe with every leaf, every root, and every fiber of their being in their faith and philosophy. They believe so strongly that they would die willingly and humbly so that others might believe. They stand fast. Men in action find their constancy in their tradition and truth, and they have no need for better food as they recognize there could be none other than what the earth and the sun provide. Their Will never ceases to seek the light, willing itself to grow higher and higher so that it might receive more of it. Their Appetites dig deep in the earth, desiring to learn and observe. Reason balances the two and is balanced in turn. The soul is in perfect harmony and contentment with all, the sun, the earth, and the trees around it. It knows its purpose and wishes to encourage all to do the same. Perhaps, so it hopes, once Time comes for it, as it does for all, it might find itself part of the earth as it was in its birth. Then other trees, capable of reaching so much higher and digging so much deeper than it, might be nourished by the remnants of it abiding in the earth. So they live.

“In the Republic, the well-nurtured youth is one ‘who would see most clearly whatever was amiss in ill-made works of man or ill-grown works of nature, and with a just distaste would blame and hate the ugly even from his earliest years and would give delighted praise to beauty, receiving it into his soul and being nourished by it, so that he becomes a man of gentle heart. All this before he is of an age to reason; so that when Reason at length comes to him, then, bred as he has been, he will hold out his hands in welcome and recognize her because of the affinity he bears to her.’” -The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis My parents raised my sisters and me from an early age to love learning. They constantly encouraged us to find solutions to problems and to never cease being curious. Like the quote, they wanted to raise us so that we would hold our hands out in welcome to Reason. I never truly appreciated their efforts until sophomore year, when I was struggling to see why I was at school. I felt I wasn’t learning anything in Humanities, and my class's reading levels were holding me back. We spent so much time discussing the basics of a book, like Plato's Republic, that we ended up missing much of what the authors were trying to say. Because of this, we weren’t taught what was actually amiss in the books or history. I could see my classmates and even myself at times blaming things that weren’t actually ugly. It wasn’t until junior year that my mother taught us to love learning and to grow our imaginations. She taught us to “plunder the Egyptians”, in the words of Saint Augustine. She helped us see whatever was amiss in works of man, but also to give delighted praise to beauty revealed in the same works. She helped reawaken my love of learning and pushed me to continue in my education. She, alongside a few other teachers, Mrs. Olmstead, my 9th-grade Humanities teacher, and also my 12th-grade Summa Civitias teacher, Mrs. Stucker, my Art teacher, and Miss Dotters, my 12th-grade Humanities teacher, are the reasons I want to keep learning. They all helped teach me to hold my hands out in welcome to Reason and to give delighted praise to what was True, Good, and Beautiful. Because of them and the beauty that they showed me, I want to actively seek wisdom and virtue and continue learning as much as I can about them wherever I go.

“In the Republic, the well-nurtured youth is one ‘who would see most clearly whatever was amiss in ill-made works of man or ill-grown works of nature, and with a just distaste would blame and hate the ugly even from his earliest years and would give delighted praise to beauty, receiving it into his soul and being nourished by it, so that he becomes a man of gentle heart. All this before he is of an age to reason; so that when Reason at length comes to him, then, bred as he has been, he will hold out his hands in welcome and recognize her because of the affinity he bears to her.’” -The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis My parents raised my sisters and me from an early age to love learning. They constantly encouraged us to find solutions to problems and to never cease being curious. Like the quote, they wanted to raise us so that we would hold our hands out in welcome to Reason. I never truly appreciated their efforts until sophomore year, when I was struggling to see why I was at school. I felt I wasn’t learning anything in Humanities, and my class's reading levels were holding me back. We spent so much time discussing the basics of a book, like Plato's Republic, that we ended up missing much of what the authors were trying to say. Because of this, we weren’t taught what was actually amiss in the books or history. I could see my classmates and even myself at times blaming things that weren’t actually ugly. It wasn’t until junior year that my mother taught us to love learning and to grow our imaginations. She taught us to “plunder the Egyptians”, in the words of Saint Augustine. She helped us see whatever was amiss in works of man, but also to give delighted praise to beauty revealed in the same works. She helped reawaken my love of learning and pushed me to continue in my education. She, alongside a few other teachers, Mrs. Olmstead, my 9th-grade Humanities teacher, and also my 12th-grade Summa Civitias teacher, Mrs. Stucker, my Art teacher, and Miss Dotters, my 12th-grade Humanities teacher, are the reasons I want to keep learning. They all helped teach me to hold my hands out in welcome to Reason and to give delighted praise to what was True, Good, and Beautiful. Because of them and the beauty that they showed me, I want to actively seek wisdom and virtue. I want to continue learning as much as I can about them and then act upon all I have learned so that I may help and benefit those around me.

I was on a bus in Florence late at night, talking and laughing with my classmates on our senior trip. I turned my gaze towards the front and caught a glimpse of my teacher. She seemed to be listening but not intently, perfectly content to sit and simply be despite the noise of the bus. Any other person could have looked at that scene and thought it very mundane and ordinary. But as I looked at her, she was anything but ordinary. Her contentment felt almost otherworldly and ethereal. There was such serenity and elegance in the way she carried herself among the chatter and hustle and bustle of the bus. In that moment, she gave me a whole new understanding of what 'ordinary' truly means. The ordinary does not necessarily mean the uninteresting or the dull. Sometimes, perhaps even often, the ordinary can be the most beautiful. It simply requires an eye for the sacred moments woven into one's daily routine and life. That is what I hope to do as an artist. I want my art to draw the viewers' attention towards the quiet beauty that dwells within the ordinary. And, perhaps, by seeing that beauty, they might be able to create and cultivate their own beauty within the daily rhythms of their lives.

My artwork was created for my Medieval Humanities class and is inspired by the Italian "mappa mundi". These medieval maps were not merely geographical; they were designed to guide the viewer toward what was most important in the world. In the same way, my map brings together the literature, philosophy, and theology we studied throughout the year. It attempts to capture the magnanimity of the medieval mind and guide the viewer toward eternal Paradise. The map follows a sequence of events and places. Each circle corresponds to a day of the liturgical Holy Week. At the same time, the sequence represents multiple transitions: night into day, winter into spring, Dante’s journey from Inferno to Paradiso, and the Church’s movement through time on earth. Gold throughout the map symbolizes the divine Light, while silver indicates a lesser but still heavenly light. Circle One depicts the Fall (Genesis 1–3). It represents dusk, the beginning of sin and death, and Spy Wednesday. The scene also references the unclimbable hill from Inferno Canto I. Circle Two shows the Tabernacle during the Israelites' Exodus. This corresponds with Maundy Thursday and the Passover, a time of anticipation. The Lord's fire symbolizes God guiding His people toward the Promised Land (Exodus 13:21–22). Separate from the central sequence are the Three Fates from Greek mythology. Behind them is Rota Fortuna from The Consolation of Philosophy. Together they symbolize our mortal lives, ultimately subject to God’s will. Circle Three represents the Crucifixion on Good Friday. It is Inferno, night, and winter. It is based on Eastern Orthodox iconography. Beneath the cross, the earth is cracked, symbolizing the defeat of sin and death. Circle Four represents Holy Saturday, a time of waiting and prayer. It corresponds to Purgatory, midnight, and the Church’s present state awaiting the Second Coming. There are three images: an astronomer anticipating the celestial alignment associated with the Star of Bethlehem; a prayer altar; and Lucy and the lamppost from The Chronicles of Narnia, representing childlike faith and hope amid winter’s darkness. The stars, candles, and lamppost echo John 1:5: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Circle Five depicts the Resurrection at dawn on Easter Sunday. Based on Orthodox iconography, Christ stands triumphantly over the broken gates of Hell, in the fullness of his glory. Circle Six shows Sainte-Chapelle, representing the earthly Church and the light of the divine expressed through Gothic architecture and Scripture-filled stained glass. Circle Seven portrays Paradiso and the celestial planets, along with the Music of the Spheres, represented by the hymn Be Thou My Vision. At the center stands the perfected tree of Paradise whose root is Yahweh. From the tree in Eden extend dead branches representing the results of the Fall, while the golden roots of the tree of Life signify the Divine. Surrounding the central image are biblical scenes, saints, and historical figures. Left Border: The Authors We Read Saint Augustine, Saint Boethius, Saint Jack (C.S. Lewis), Dante Alighieri, The Four Cardinal Virtues Right Border: Those Important and Influential to the Artist Saint Matilda of Ringelheim, Virgil, Saint Theodora, Saint Catherine of Siena, Fruits of the Holy Spirit Top border: The Leading Up to the Birth of Christ/Scenes of Humility The Abrahamic & Circumcision Covenant, 2 Samuel 6:12-15, The Annunciation, The Incarnation Bottom Border: Great Kings & Leaders of The Church Charlemagne, Emperor Justinian, Emperor Constantine, Alfred the Great Finally, a small caterpillar in Eden symbolizes humanity in its fallen state. Beneath the Crucifixion it forms a chrysalis, and after the Resurrection it emerges as a butterfly, transformed and rising toward Paradise.

I have been in a classical Christian school for eight years. I have read books in our curriculum, ranging from C.S. Lewis, Milton, and St. Augustine, to Hobbes, Descartes, and Cicero. I have participated in countless Socratic discussions, debating and contemplating concepts such as what the modern man is and whether he is truly free, drawing on works such as Paradise Lost, Candide, Hard Times, The Brothers Karamazov, as well as political documents like the Treaty of Westphalia, and the British Petition of Right. When you have done that once or twice a week, and have read more books than a college student might, you would probably think that should be enough. Many would say that I have bided my time well in classical education and the Great Conversation. Yet the more I have learned, the more I have discovered that perhaps simply reading works and gaining knowledge is not all that education is meant to be. When looking at different classical liberal arts colleges, I got very giddy about all the books I would reread, as well as ones I had not yet had the chance to encounter. I realized that perhaps the next step in my education was not only to expand my knowledge, but instead to relearn more deeply. I do not want to gain knowledge for the sake of knowledge; rather, I want to act upon it and strengthen it. I want to ardently study the tradition of the Great Conversation and then actively engage in it in the present. As Cicero says in On Duties, mere knowledge of the universe is useless if one does not act upon said knowledge for the benefit of society. “...the knowledge and contemplation of nature are somehow defective and imperfect, unless they lead to some result in action; and this appropriate action is best recognized in care for the well-being of mankind” (On Duties, Book I). The truly wise man is the one who knows of the relationship between the Divine and Man, what Cicero sees as eternal law and justice, and acts accordingly. I want to learn about the virtues, justice, and wisdom so that I might be able to imitate them in my own life. I want to speak truth to others, pursue goodness and grace, and create beautiful things to uplift the souls of many. According to Cicero, it is our duty as a member of the civitas to use the great knowledge provided by education for the benefit of society. My response to those who say I have bided my time is that one can never stop learning more about the relationship between God and Man, and Virtue and Vice. One of the many ways to do this is through ardently participating in the Great Conversation with fellow peers, and at a college that aims to encourage us to do this. Many might also say that the Great Conversation belongs to the past and is irrelevant and superfluous in our present age. Yet it is called a conversation for a reason. A conversation requires contemplation of all that has been said before, but it also requires a response. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow declares that the "...[l]ives of great men all remind us/ We can make our lives sublime/ And, departing, leave behind us/ Footprints on the sands of time." (A Psalm of Life). Some say we may hear, acknowledge, and do nothing. Nay, it is our duty as humans to respond to those who came before us by acting virtuously in the present, striving to make not only our own lives but also the lives of others more sublime.