Memory and Education

Here in our large Florida retirement community, we have a growing number of facilities designed to support and house those among us who can no longer live alone and require some level of assistance. Rehab facilities and physical therapy practices abound, helping those who are recovering from surgery, illness, or injury. We’ve also witnessed the construction of many facilities supplying various levels of assisted living. But increasingly common among these new facilities are those devoted to “memory care.” Given today’s remarkable advances in medicine, for many of us seniors, our bodies are outliving our minds. We see so many physically healthy seniors suffering from various forms of dementia. This, combined with the ravages of such diseases as Alzheimer’s, and the inability of aging spouses to care effectively for their loved ones, has created the growing need for this level of institutional care. 

As a deacon, I often visit patients in memory care facilities. Over time their dementia seems to have as great an effect on care-giving spouses and other family members as it has on the patients. I see this far too often as spouses witness and personally experience the gradual loss of the human presence of those they have known and loved for most of their lives. To experience, gradually over time, the complete loss of one’s memory is inevitably to lose awareness of one’s surroundings, of others, and even of self. I recently visited a parishioner who’s in an advanced stage of dementia. I hadn’t seen him in a while and was saddened to encounter only a shell of the man I had known. But there were signs of recognition, signs of faith. When I prayed the Our Father aloud, his lips moved silently along with the words. I've come to believe that in some way we cannot perceive, he will always know the God who brought him into being. 

Societies, too, seem to experience collective memory loss. Some results from the normal passage of time and our tendency to focus on the present or the more immediate future. I recall once being told by a professor of managerial psychology, "You can do nothing about the past, so why focus on it." Of course, he was absolutely nuts. And I immediately thought of Henry Ford's famous and blunt evaluation: "History is bunk." In truth he really didn't say that, but what he actually said in that interview wasn't very different:

"History is more or less bunk. It's tradition. We don't want tradition. We want to live in the present and the only history that is worth a tinker's damn is the history we make today."

Neither Henry Ford, nor my grad school professor, apparently agreed with George Santayana's more famous comment:

“Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.”

As for myself, I'm more comfortable with Santayana's approach to history than Henry Ford's. Ford was a great manufacturer who could drive his products down that assembly line right into the showroom. But what he knew about tradition you could etch on the head of a pin with a jackhammer. And since he's not around to defend himself, I can attack his attack and fear no rebuttal. 

You see, I look at tradition in its theological sense. I see it as God's communication of Himself to us. As the Church understands tradition (and in the words of the late Cardinal Avery Dulles): 

"Its content is the whole Christian reality disclosed in Jesus Christ...transmitted not only by written and spoken words, but equally by prayer, sacramental worship, and participation in the Church's life."  

Sadly, too many, like old Henry Ford, ignore not only spiritual tradition but even secular tradition. They seem to suffer from a form of temporal bias or bigotry which encourages them to believe that progress toward the good, or at least the better, is inevitable. These are the folks who believe the ancients -- and that includes any generation before their own -- must have been far less intelligent because they didn't have iPhones and iPads or YouTube and TikTok and Google. And using these devices and apps they generate little or nothing of real lasting value. 

Today, too many of our institutions of "higher education" -- all those colleges and universities -- have devolved into high-priced trade schools, turning out well trained but poorly educated graduates. They are trained as coders, or marketers, or number crunchers, or influencers. Some are taught to be teachers, but they learn only how to teach, not what to teach. They might be ready to enter a narrowly defined field or profession, but do they possess an understanding of the human condition? Are they aware of the philosophical and theological struggles that have brought humanity to its present state? Do they know why they exist and what God intends for them? Do they know God and themselves? They, too, are the victims of memory deprivation inflicted on them by lesser souls.

The truly valuable, the great works of men and women of the past are being neglected in too many of our schools. They and the traditions they represent have been intentionally forgotten, eliminated from curricula, discarded from libraries, and certainly not read by or taught to students. Fortunately, there are some schools where the "great books" still have pride of place, and where a truly liberal education remains the sought-after end. I believe St. John's College in Annapolis was among the first of these, but today there are many others, including Thomas Aquinas College, where my daughter, Erin, studied. 

I'm glad I'm as old as I am, so I don't have to help my children make these decisions in today's crumbling world. If I were raising children today, I'd teach them about the real, living tradition that God has revealed to us, about the wondrous relationship between God and His people. And then I'd encourage them to become useful members of society as plumbers, librarians, electricians, beauticians, house painters, farmers, mechanics, even teachers. Doing that, it's less likely your job will consume you or monopolize your life, but it might provide the leisure you need to live the life God wants for you. How you and I live, however, is always our choice.