Teaching: an invitation to unity

Intellectual Retreat – Advanced Teacher Training – São Paulo, June 19-22, 2025.

by Lucas Fonesca

Lessons from an intellectual retreat with Boethius, Euclid, and Plato.

The intellectual retreats for my students, which occur twice a year, are highlights of the year for the Advanced Teacher´s Formation groups. During that time, I met dear students whom I had previously only known through computer screens, and I also had the pleasure of being part of their families and making my family part of theirs as well.

We always have three disciplines: 

1. Introduction to Liberal Arts
2. Introduction to Philosophy 
3. Christian Literature.

The choice is never neutral, and the criteria are not solely intellectual. There is something from each author that must become part of who we are, must become flesh of our flesh, become one with us, which is not always easy, especially with texts that seem so dry and abstract.

The texts may be the same, but a given identical subject may vary according to how it is structured, and so the same texts may bring different lessons depending on the students who have experience with them. This is what happens with the classics, which, in Italo Calvino’s definition, are “texts that have not yet told us everything they have to say”.

Some lessons that occurred to me at the end of the course:

Introduction to the Liberal Arts – The Elements, by Euclid (book I, propositions 1-9).

Euclid is an author who disconcerts us. We approach him with a certain apprehension, perhaps born of past experiences with mathematics, an apprehension that reminds us of an inability instilled in us when we were children: “Am I capable of understanding mathematics? Am I capable of perceiving this beauty that they say exists in it?”

This is the seriousness of the teacher’s job: he is capable of creating lasting scars, scars that can make the student think he is excluded from a realm of reality in which a certain beauty is found. The student thinks he was born with chronic blindness, a disability that gives rise to a certain anger against that which he is unable to understand, anger that sometimes turns into contempt, and contempt that causes mental schemes to be created to justify ignorance: “I am a humanities person…”

The Elements show how mathematics has a beauty that invites everyone. Sometimes it is difficult because we are not used to looking at the world with the patience required. Beauty is demanding, and it only shows itself to the patient: mathematics, therefore, does not demand innate intellectual virtues from us, but, above all, a certain exercise in patience; it demands a certain humility in the face of that which demands a price from us to reveal itself.

A common experience we had: the demonstrations of each proposition were almost perfect, and the student was required to demonstrate only the last step, which was obvious, and which required only greater attention to detail. How many hours did we spend in this waiting! How much time in this confusion!

It’s not a flaw: it’s part of teaching to let the student enjoy the bewilderment. You need to have a certain anguish mixed with the rush. That’s how we are, that’s how we think, and to see the beauty that hides between points and shapes, we need to purify our way of being. After a while… “Wow! It was here all along!”

Isn’t it the same in life? Don’t you have some points that are always before you, but that your haste prevents you from seeing? You have to be patient. Sometimes the anger that arises in you is a symptom of having become accustomed to easy and quick solutions, and Euclid, like a good doctor, made you see how many limits you have not only in mathematics, but in other disciplines, and potentially in life.

Be thankful: before you couldn’t see, but now you can see and apply the appropriate remedies to your wounds.

Introduction to Philosophy – Platonic Dialogues (Apology of Socrates).

An Introduction to Plato, Based on the Painting The Death of Socrates by Jacques Louis David

A motto that guides my teaching: integros accedere ad fontes – Go to the sources!

The best introduction to philosophy seems to me to be the one that reveals to us what philosophizing truly is: it is not something that is found only in syllogisms, but it is something that, if it is true, places us before death, places us before the injustice committed against us, makes us live an examined life.

This is the figure of Socrates: about to die, but erect, firm in what arises from his existential examination. He makes no concessions out of human respect; he is fair: he gives the men of Athens everything they are due, but does not give in to what belongs “to the god”, in what is, in his view, a divine calling.

Philosophy for him is a vocation, and like every vocation, it is not aimed at itself, but is a gift given to others, so that its century may be healed. Socrates must exist, since his gift is for the benefit of Athens; and the Athenians may even be bothered, but they do so in the same way as the sick person is bothered by the bitterness of the medicine that will save them from death.

Educator: You must take your mission seriously. Are you aware of the treasure it offers? Are you willing to carry out this work, even in the face of setbacks?

Perhaps what is an obstacle to you is not the threat of death, as it was for Socrates. Perhaps it is your enemy’s reputation: you must speak what pleases your ears, rather than the truth; perhaps it is money: you will earn more if you study less and teach more; perhaps it is pleasure: curiosity, contrary to studiousness, will invite you to investigate more topics outside your teaching, and you will be merely a taster of various delicacies, but you will not be nourished by solid food.

If you give in to this, you are corrupting your vocation; if you corrupt your vocation, you will corrupt the young people, your students; the condemnation that the accusers propose will be just against you.

Are you willing to die to what keeps you from who you are meant to be?

Christian Literature – The Consolation of Philosophy, by Boethius.

A precious lesson from Socrates, which is also brought by Boethius: our philosophy is tested in the face of death, when our eyes must then be placed under a new perspective: sub specie aeternitatis, under the gaze of eternity.

Reading the first few pages might suggest that the title of the work is nothing more than a bad joke: what consolation can there be in a situation like this? Boethius writes his work between torture sessions, which precede his death, just as Socrates makes his speeches before being condemned to death.

These two philosophical works could lead us away from the study of philosophy: if this is what happens to those who love wisdom, we might think, we do not want to philosophize.

But it is precisely here that our good intentions and high ideals are tested. What are the goods we have sought? Have we sought them, considering that all the goodness in them comes from the Source of all goodness, God?

The high point of our discussions came in Book III, in which Boethius considers how good is something one, and this unity is a certain good – these are transcendental notes, notes that are present in all beings. To be good is, in other words, to be one, to seek unity.

We consider this statement according to three dimensions: metaphysical, intellectual, and moral.

Metaphysically, a thing is good as long as it is one, structured according to its form, as long as its parts point to the whole. This unity is what makes such a reality desirable, makes it possible for this reality to be a principle of action, to be desirable.

Intellectually, the variety of knowledge must be transformed into wisdom. It is the nature of the wise to order, and therefore all learning that arises from diversity must become unity, must be evaluated according to a higher principle, and must also be considered sub specie aeternitatis.

Morally, the unity that makes us good involves the virtue of simplicity. The simple person does not live a double life, nor does he live by double standards of action. None of this is separate from our examined life: what do I know? What do I imply that I know? What are my defects? Intellectual and moral unity are manifested by our unity of life: we are men of a piece, we are the same wherever we are, and whatever the circumstances.

We have only one heart, one intelligence, one life to give to God and to our loved ones. This heart must be whole, one, and good.

This unity frees us from bondage, and makes us free – even if we are in a prison, in a moment of suffering, subject to excruciating external pressures, tempted to divide our hearts and lives, tempted to duplicity.

Lessons learned from the life of a teacher

Each of these lessons invites me to examine my teaching.

• First lesson: the importance of paying close attention.

How many points do I not see, even though they are in the figure? How many conclusions am I unable to draw because of haste or impatience? How many figures am I unable to compose because I have forgotten the postulates I once knew?

I’m not talking about geometry, but the art of following each student.

There are certain life circumstances that, although present, escape me, but which are fundamental for me to be able to help each student.

There are certain conclusions – certain diagnoses about each student – that I miss because I assume that I know perfectly well what their difficulty is, or because of impatience, which sometimes makes my eyes weaker in perceiving the details.

How many well-known postulates do I forget while carrying out the propositions? How many fundamental truths about teaching do I forget because of the pedagogical routine? How many times does this forgetfulness prevent me from being a firm support to my students?

• Second lesson: distinguish, teacher, in your actions, the rigidity that arises from love from that which arises from hardness of heart.

You have to correct, of course. Correcting correctly is an act of love, and it is also an act of justice.

On the other hand, to live an examined life, you must look beyond outward acts. You must check what inward acts impelled you to perform such outward acts: was it justice or impatience that led you to correct?

You will fail.

Sometimes your flaws will remain hidden – that’s what you want deep down.

On other occasions, on the other hand, your mistakes will be so obvious that you will not be able to hide them. You are ashamed, you realize that your nakedness is exposed… You tend to pretend that nothing has happened, and perhaps it is a small thing to those around you. But if you know the dignity of your profession and the dignity of your students, the mistake takes on a new dimension.

You could pretend that nothing happened. But you know that you were unfair in that correction, out of impatience or anger. Let go of that toad right away, ask for forgiveness for the excess in form, even if you must affirm, in justice, that the correction regarding the matter was due. Ask for forgiveness, so that they can’t have any illusion about you, so that they do not think that you are what you are not, so that you preserve your unity before yourself, before your students, before God.

Gift of God: your failures make your students take you as you are – a human teacher, with flaws, with defects, who also struggles. They will be freer: they know that they do not owe you servile obedience, but they know that you fight for the patience that they also fight for.

• Third lesson: our study life is family life, and it brings us back to our loves.

Each student brings a biography, an existential narrative. Each of them is part of a family. None of this is unrelated to our studies: we need to unify each point of our intellectual biography with our existential biography: my children help me to be a better teacher, a better husband, a better Christian. The fact that many brought their families was a constant reminder of this truth for us.

The children’s cries and laughter during class were a distraction that reminded us of what was essential, of the reason why we studied. The shared lunch reminded us of a family environment where we were known by name, where we were loved and considered. The morning Mass, celebrated by Father Juran Ruan, IVE, reminded us that, amidst so many studies, only One is necessary, and that all things must point to Him.

A certain family is also formed when we share what is precious in us, when we put our hearts into a common quest, when we allow what we study to become part of us, when, through common study and common discipleship, we become, as it were, one family.

What beautiful invitations! What beautiful lessons!