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Disability and Inclusion in Classical Education

October 24, 2024

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In their 1978 Pastoral Statement of U.S. Catholic Bishops on Persons with Disabilities, the bishops acknowledged that defending life is more than just opposing abortion. It implies that working to “enable the individual with a disability to achieve the fullest measure of personal development of which he or she is capable,” and, among other things, that includes “the right to equal opportunity in education.” (See page 3.)

Unfortunately, almost fifty years later, that prophetic statement remains elusive to most children with intellectual and developmental disabilities who would like to attend a Catholic school. Happily, though, there are signs of hope. Individual initiatives are growing, and foundations are being founded to assist with training staff and funding these initiatives. There is also an increase in the number of Catholic liberal arts schools—commonly called “classical schools”—that are welcoming these students. The classical education movement began in independent Catholic schools but is now catching on in diocesan schools as well, where it is bringing joy and wonder back to education, filling classrooms, and reinvigorating Catholic identity (see also here). Some believe this newly recovered old method of education is ideally suited to provide formation for students with disabilities. 

A recent article by Abriana Chilelli beautifully expressed how the focus of these schools can serve students with intellectual and developmental disabilities. Ms. Chilelli’s nephew Max is in a school that follows an “educational covenant” that describes education as “that which reveals the human person, invites the student to order their life beyond their limited mortality, and ultimately forms the student to seek God Himself in that which he comes to know about reality, both naturally and supernaturally.” That describes the anthropological perspective of Catholic classical education in a nutshell. She says her nephew belongs in that school because its philosophy of Catholic liberal education “takes the anthropology of the human person seriously.” 

Human dignity demands these individuals be seen for who they are in the uniqueness of their own particular identity—a unique and unrepeatable child of God.

So, with that prelude, I want to draw your attention to a recently published book by Dr. Amy Richards. Dr. Richards is an Affiliate Professor and Chair of Philosophy at Eastern University in the Philadelphia suburbs. She is also a Faculty Fellow of the Templeton Honors College’s Master of Arts in Classical Teaching program where she teaches a course titled “Difference and Human Dignity in the Great Tradition.” The book is called Disability and Classical Education. 

Dr. Richards is trained in philosophy, specifically the philosophy of the human person (philosophical anthropology), so naturally this understanding informs her perspective. She states in her introduction that the anthropology she offers is an anthropology of relationship, and that relationships can only be had with particular persons and not groups. Her approach provides a counterpoint to one of my personal grievances with the evolution of the disability rights movement—especially where it has evolved under the influence of critical studies—and that is that it tends to whitewash disability with a broad brush, assigns it a label as an identity group, and then politicizes the intersectional relationships of the group with other oppressed groups that suffer from social exclusion—e.g., race, sex, sexual orientation, and gender identity. It is a discipline whose energy is found in the identification of grievances, and, therefore, it is turned inward on itself—incurvatus in se, as Bishop Barron often says. 

Social exclusion is a serious problem among those living with intellectual and developmental disabilities, and one that inclusive education is perfectly equipped to solve—at least for those under twenty-one who still have access to school classrooms. While it is true that social and political progress has been made that was only possible by advocating for the needs of groups, that sword cuts both ways. Individuals may prefer not to be cast in the mold of the various intersectional relationships listed above; but more than that, human dignity demands these individuals be seen for who they are in the uniqueness of their own particular identity—a unique and unrepeatable child of God. Dr. Richards addresses these issues in her discussion of the inadequacy of the medical and social models of disability (chapter 1), and in her observations of the weaknesses that can exist in government schools’ inclusive classrooms—classrooms that developed from a legal mandate found in the Individuals with Disabilities Education Act (IDEA), a federal law first enacted in 1975 and last reauthorized by Congress in 2004 (chapter 5). 

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In chapter 2, Dr. Richards introduces the foundational principle drawn from her anthropological perspective: of disability as a vocation, or, as she calls it, drawing from references in St. Augustine, a “strange vocation.” The first impulse some may have is to take offense at the use of that term. However, she has developed this term from sources like the Catechism of the Catholic Church that teaches it is “through the exchange with others, [and] mutual service and dialogue with his brethren, [that] man develops his potential; [and] thus responds to his vocation” (Catechism of the Catholic Church, 1879). Also, from another author, Dr. Richards writes that the “strangeness [of disability] disrupts the predictable world and so disorients us, making us conscious of the extent to which we are all vulnerable.” Drawing the two references together, the “strange vocation” of disability begins to make sense in that it holds a special place in community where it challenges the “cult of normalcy” that tends to see disability as a problem to solve, rather than as a gift. If we are formed in the right kind of way, persons living with disabilities cause us to wonder at the mystery of our shared humanity, so including persons with disabilities in school classrooms offers all children the opportunity to expand their understanding of what it means to be human, what it means to accept human differences, and to learn to love. 

So why classical education and inclusion, and not just Catholic education? Perhaps the answer is that the model of a classical school where individual subjects—e.g., philosophy, literature, history, theology, and even mathematics—are studied together in time to inform a larger truth. It follows that schools whose purpose is to help students experience wonder in the interrelatedness of academic disciplines might be the ideal place to apply the same approach to the school’s anthropological perspective. See the quote above related to Abriana Chilelli and her nephew Max.  

Turning away from the use of the term “inclusive” classrooms, Dr. Richards prefers to call these classrooms “doxological” classrooms. Doxological because, as she writes, in the right order “we adore [worship or praise] before we know or do.” Modern education has prioritized “instrumental attention,” or the mastery of skills that will be useful in becoming successful materially, over wonder and worship. The raison d’etre of Catholic education has always been to form children in holiness and truth so that they can evangelize the world. Education begins in wonder and adoration. Also, as Dr. Richards writes, “inclusion presumes prior exclusion,” so inclusion implies allowing individuals to enter a general education classroom by exceptions and to accommodate their needs. Those words don’t necessarily sound like they encourage belonging, but I might add that a lot of good has come from IDEA-inspired inclusive classrooms. There is no reason to assume that the same anthropology she proposes can’t apply across the board to all Catholic schools. Dr. Richards is providing her vision of the ideal, and it is a beautiful vision. 

Including persons with disabilities in school classrooms offers all children the opportunity to expand their understanding of what it means to be human, what it means to accept human differences, and to learn to love

Before you begin to think that Dr. Richards has produced something without practical application, toward the end of the book she grounds her philosophical thought and language in a practical way with support for Universal Design for Learning (UDL). UDL anticipates difference and doesn’t merely accommodate difference; therefore, Dr. Richards sees it as reinforcing the anthropological perspective she explores in the book. 

Doxological classrooms, she writes, offer “the marriage of excellence and adaptability, of order and love, of the transcendent living in the immanent and calling us toward the fullness of our common humanity” (pages 91–92). They are schools “punctuated by praise” and “pause for reflection” that “discuss difference” and where “systems serve persons.” That sounds ideal for all students, and that is the foundation of her book: Schools should serve all persons—every individual person with his or her various needs and abilities.

Disability and Classical Education is a short read, but it’s one that demands attention. Dr. Richards calls upon many sources to make her points, from Augustine to Iris Murdoch, Josef Pieper, Wendell Berry, John Paul II, and various contemporary scholars writing on disability and inclusion. It is a thought-provoking read that will interest teachers and parents, and hopefully pastors and Catholic school principals as well. 

There is a lot of self-reflection happening in Catholic education as we face the demographics of dwindling numbers and disaffiliation from the Church. Almost fifty years ago, the bishops in the United States said that the right thing to do in Catholic education was to provide equal opportunity for children with disabilities. We’re past due responding as a Church to that prophetic message. 

As Catholic education continues to reflect on its future, we should pray that the Church’s pro-life mission expands to be more than defense against threats to life’s beginning and end. Those who have been given life need the support of our schools and parishes where we can marvel at the gift of human life in all its diversity and where we can come together to adore the God who made us one in glorious praise.