We’ve also explored how the underpinnings of prudence are instilled in the young through practice according to principles, examples of good character, and appropriate discipline. Prudence itself can then flower into fully blooming rationality through a pedagogy of dialectic, rhetoric, and ethical inquiry. Students who have had their “powers of discernment trained by constant practice to distinguish good from evil” (Heb 5:14 ESV) will then be equipped to live virtuous and prudent lives. And if they add some measure of political, managerial or leadership wisdom to their personal prudence, these graduates might just lead their communities and the culture at large in a wiser direction.

But readers familiar with Aristotle, whether from a college philosophy class or an inspiring YouTube video, may be left wondering, “What about the virtues themselves? What about Aristotle’s famous mean?” Today were going strengthen the connection between Head and Heart by describing how the beginnings of prudence can help a person develop the moral virtues through aiming at the mean or intermediate state. Aristotle’s doctrine of the mean is an incredibly helpful aid to self-regulation and self-government. Through understanding and teaching students the nature of virtue and vice, we give them one of the linchpins of prudence that has stood the test of time.

Moral Virtue as a Mean between Excess and Deficiency

What does Aristotle mean by the “mean” or “intermediate” in his discussions of moral virtue? In Book II, chapter 2 of the Nicomachean Ethics, Aristotle introduces this idea of the mean through a physical analogy:

First, then, let us consider this, that it is the nature of such things to be destroyed by defect and excess, as we see in the case of strength and of health (for to gain light on things imperceptible we must use the evidence of sensible things); both excessive and defective exercise destroys the strength, and similarly drink or food which is above or below a certain amount destroys the health, while that which is proportionate both produces and increases and preserves it. (Nicomachean Ethics II.2, trans. W. D. Ross, Internet Classics Archive)

“Defect” here refers to a deficiency, when there is too little of something, the excess refers to too much. If you work out too little or too much, both those extremes will have a negative effect on strength, just like eating too little or too much will hurt a person’s health. But an amount that is in between or “proportionate” will have a positive effect. That right amount is the virtuous mean or intermediate. Aristotle then applies this principle to two common virtues: 

So too is it, then, in the case of temperance and courage and the other virtues. For the man who flies from and fears everything and does not stand his ground against anything becomes a coward, and the man who fears nothing at all but goes to meet every danger becomes rash; and similarly the man who indulges in every pleasure and abstains from none becomes self-indulgent, while the man who shuns every pleasure, as boors do, becomes in a way insensible; temperance and courage, then, are destroyed by excess and defect, and preserved by the mean. (Nicomachean Ethics II.2, trans. W. D. Ross, Internet Classics Archive)

We might summarize Aristotle here by observing that courage is a mean or intermediate state of proportionate fear between cowardice, on the one hand,  and rashness on the other. Courage, as a virtue, then is not simply a passion, like fear, but a state of character, whereby a person has been accustomed to feel fear or confidence at the right sorts of things in the right amounts and at the right time (see Nic Ethics II.5). 

Developing courage over time, then, can be helped by a sort of nascent awareness of our own tendency toward excess or defect in our responses or passions. In the same way, when I become aware that temperance consists in a mean or intermediate state between the excess of too much indulgence pleasures or the wrong sorts in the wrong ways, and insensibility of the deficiency in pleasure, I can learn how to prudently manage my own inclinations to aim nearer the mark. 

Aristotle helpfully remarks that the intermediate or mean of virtue isn’t always halfway between two equal and opposite vices, but is an intermediate “relative to us”: “if ten pounds are too much for a particular person to eat and two too little, it does not follow that the trainer will order six pounds; for this also is perhaps too much for the person who is to take it, or too little- too little for Milo, too much for the beginner in athletic exercises” (Nic Ethics II.6). So in similar fashion to this physical analogy, moral virtue too has 

the quality of aiming at the intermediate… for it is this that is concerned with passions and actions, and in these there is excess, defect, and the intermediate. For instance, both fear and confidence and appetite and anger and pity and in general pleasure and pain may be felt both too much and too little, and in both cases not well; but to feel them at the right times, with reference to the right objects, towards the right people, with the right motive, and in the right way, is what is both intermediate and best, and this is characteristic of virtue. (Nic Ethics II.6)

The intermediate is a helpful concept for understanding virtue because it provides us with the moral categories for avoiding pendulum swinging from one extreme to another. There is a real danger in swinging continually from one vice to another that we must guard ourselves and our students against. Aristotle concludes this thought with the blatant remark that “men are good in but one way, but bad in many” (Nic Ethics II.6), a comment that could have come out of a Christian theology book. “To miss the mark [is] easy, to hit it difficult,” he says, reminding attentive readers of the linguistic origin of the term ‘sin’ in Greek as to miss the mark. Which mark? The intermediate virtue that we should be aiming at!

Aristotle’s Moral Virtues in Prudential Perspective

For those who have paid close attention to this series of Aristotle’s intellectual virtues, it may be that this descent into the details of his theory of moral virtues seems out of place. (Never mind the fact that we’ve already discoursed on the analogy between artistry and morality in our series on Apprenticeship in the Arts….) While I can assure you that we are right on track, or hitting the proper mean as far as I’m concerned, that may convince you less than a deliberate appeal to Aristotle:

Virtue, then, is a state of character concerned with choice, lying in a mean, i.e. the mean relative to us, this being determined by a rational principle, and by that principle by which the man of practical wisdom would determine it. Now it is a mean between two vices, that which depends on excess and that which depends on defect; and again it is a mean because the vices respectively fall short of or exceed what is right in both passions and actions, while virtue both finds and chooses that which is intermediate. Hence in respect of its substance and the definition which states its essence virtue is a mean, with regard to what is best and right an extreme. (Nic Ethics II.6)

Did you catch it? While we’ve jumped back several chapters from the Nicomachean Ethics Book VI, where Aristotle’s mini-treatise on the five intellectual virtues situates the life of the mind within his broader ethical vision of the good life, still Aristotle’s consistent terminology is at play here. Practical wisdom consists in that rational principle to choose correctly the mean of moral virtue rather than the vices of excess or deficiency. 

What then are some of these Aristotelian virtues, along with their vices of excess and deficiency? It seems obvious that knowing or perceiving the nature of virtue and vice will help the person who is developing prudence to aim correctly. In the case of prudence, we must, says Aristotle, “not only make this general statement, but also apply it to the individual facts,” because the particulars are essential to reasoning about what will make for human flourishing (Nic Ethics II.7). 

The following table has been developed from Aristotle’s Nicomachean Ethics, Book II, ch. 7, and also Books III-IV, when Aristotle returns to each of these to discuss them in more detail (using mainly Ross’ translation, but with some additions/alterations). Take a moment to look it through and contemplate the Aristotelian mean. 

It is important to note that even Aristotle confessed that the names are not always apparent for either the excess or deficiency. Ambition, for instance, is a challenging virtue and vice because sometimes people call ambition the vice, when someone is too ambitious and sometimes an ambitious person is praised (see IV.4). Aristotle’s conclusion is that the character of moral virtue is “to aim at what is intermediate in passions and in actions”: he has given us the middle way as a target and argued for “moderation in all things.” This claim does not let us off from the hard discipline of virtue; in fact, he states that often there is a more opposed vice, whether for humanity as a whole or for a particular individual, that must be violently striven against. For instance, Aristotle barely even discusses insensibility, since he knows that self-indulgence is the vastly more common flaw (see III.10-12)

On the contrary, most often we must, as in archery practice, aim toward the opposite side of the target, since we see clearly that when we shoot at the bull’s eye, our arrow inevitably strays off to a particular side. As Aristotle explains, 

Hence he who aims at the intermediate must first depart from what is the more contrary to it, as Calypso advises–

Hold the ship out beyond that surf and spray.

For of the extremes one is more erroneous, one less so; therefore, since to hit the mean is hard in the extreme, we must as second best, as people say, take the least of the evils…. But we must consider the things toward which we ourselves also are easily carried away; for some of us tend to one thing, some to another; and this will be recognizable from the pleasure and pain we feel. We must drag ourselves away to the contrary extreme; for we shall get into the intermediate state by drawing well away from error, as people do in straightening sticks that are bent. (II.9)

This involves a knowledge of self and particulars that only the eye of prudence can rightly perceive. And so it is that we encounter the inevitable chicken or the egg syndrome of moral virtue and prudence: both require some measure of the other’s presence even in their first formation. 

A Christian Assessment of Prudential Aim

Christians might initially object to these Aristotelian categories as being unbiblical. Surely Jesus and the apostles do not represent holiness as in every case an intermediate between extremes? Should we really aim at vice rather than virtue in order to straighten ourselves out? We can deal with these objections by first noting that Aristotle is crystal clear that while in one sense the essence of virtue is a mean, “with regard to what is best and right it is an extreme” (II.6). As for whether we should aim at an opposite vice in order to hit the mark of virtue, we need look no further than Jesus’ hyperbolic words in the Sermon on the Mount: 

If your right eye causes you to sin, tear it out and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that you lose one of your members than that your whole body be thrown into hell. And if your right hand causes you to sin, cut it off and throw it away. For it is better that you lose one of your members than that your whole body go into hell. (Matt 5:29-30 ESV)

I cannot think of a stronger endorsement of aiming at insensibility in order to fix the fatal flaw of intemperance and self-indulgence. Lest we forget, the term ‘self-control’ used in the New Testament derived from the Aristotelian and Stoic tradition of reflection. 

We must admit that the idea of proper pride as a sort of crown of the virtues strikes against the heart of the New Testament’s overwhelming endorsement of humility. Part of this is easily accounted for based on a different view of the facts of the human situation. In Christian theology, human beings are poor and needy sinners standing by nature under the judgment of a holy God. In such a context humility before God and fellow image-bearers is the only right disposition. Still, even Christians can resonate appropriately with some aspects of Aristotle’s description of the man of proper pride, as characteristic of Jesus at least, if not the Christian martyr:

Again, it is characteristic of the proud man not to aim at the things commonly held in honour, or the things in which others excel…. He must also be open in his hate and in his love (for to conceal one’s feelings is a mark of timidity), and must care more for truth than for what people will think, and must speak and act openly; for he is free of speech because he is contemptuous, and he is given to telling the truth, except when he speaks in irony to the vulgar. He must be unable to make his life revolve around another, unless it be a friend; for this is slavish, and for this reason all flatterers are servile and people lacking in self-respect are flatterers. (IV.3) 

We need not quibble over details, but we can simply observe that a person’s worldview as well as their assessment of the particular details of life and relationships will inevitably influence their take on what exactly each virtue looks like.

Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice offers its own semi-Christian chastening of Mr. Darcy’s Aristotelian proper pride. When charged by Elizabeth (ironically) with the faults of pride and vanity, he disavows vanity but says that “pride will always be under good regulation where there is a real superiority of mind.” It is this Aristotelian view that he must modify in his repentance after being initially rejected in his proposals. There is good reason to fail to endorse all the details of Aristotle’s exact take on what is and is not virtuous. At the same time, we would be unwise not to take on board Aristotle’s fundamental insights into the nature of virtue as an intermediate state between excess and deficiency. We can recognize with him that “to find the middle of a circle is not for every one but for him who knows” and this unique sort of knowledge is in fact prudence. So also, “any one can get angry–that is easy–or give or spend money; but to do this to the right person, to the right extent, at the right time, with the right aim, and in the right way, that is not for every one, nor is it easy; that is why goodness is both rare and laudable and noble” (II.9).

The post Counsels of the Wise, Part 8: Aiming at the Intermediate or Aristotle’s Moral Virtues appeared first on .

At Clapham School, where I serve as an administrator, we were able to hold a small, in-person ceremony for our graduates. As I composed my commencement address, I was struck by parallels with the class of 1919, which had graduation ceremonies cancelled or postponed in various locations due to the Spanish Influenza pandemic. In this message, I try to bring perspective to graduates this summer, that the challenges we face due to Covid-19 may go a long way toward shaping the outlook of this next generation, if one embraces the opportunity a catastrophe provides. In many ways, this speech is a sequel to my article on the Black Death in the 14th century.

Here I’ve shared my commencement address in the hope that perhaps this message will be meaningful to you as a teacher and leader in your school.

Commencement Address – Class of 2020

Good evening, class of 2020. I am so grateful that we can meet this evening with a small gathering of parents, siblings, teachers, relatives and friends. Little about the past several months has gone according to plan, so it is that much more satisfying to have planned this event, bringing a little order in the midst of chaos.

The “Greatest Generation” is a term used to describe the Americans who experienced both the Great Depression and World War 2. What characterizes these Americans is that they lived through some of the greatest hardships of the depression and exhibited the will to win on the battlefields of Africa, Europe and Asia. Of the 16 million who served in WW2, only about half a million remain today.

When we look back on the Greatest Generation, we can observe that such a generation is forged by the harshest of trials. You can’t engineer such a generation. There’s no recipe or lab manual. There were attempts to create great generations. Warren G. Harding called for a return to normalcy in 1920, a phrase that anticipated “Make America Great Again.” What is normalcy? And can normalcy be created through public policy?

The post-war 1950s represented another attempt at social fabrication of a great generation. The idea was social conformity. The picture of suburban docility was promoted on the covers of the Saturday Evening Post with weekly prints of Norman Rockwell paintings. What, though, are we striving for when we call for conformity? Can social pressure create a great generation? This is a highly relevant consideration in light of the dominant position social media has taken since the early 2000s.

My thesis, and the point that I want to make for our graduating seniors, is that great generations are forged through unexpected hardship, and cannot be made by the will of cultural engineers. And what has 2020 been, but a year of hardship after hardship. This pandemic gives me pause to ask whether we are experiencing the kinds of conditions that will contribute to the making of a new great generation. To assess this hunch of mine, I want to take us back to 1918 and 1919.

The Great War, or WW1, was drawing to a close after years of stagnation. The US was ultimately drawn into the conflict as the decisive force, bringing victory to the allied forces against the central powers. One of the unexpected consequences of American soldiers serving overseas was that they brought back the Spanish Influenza, which hit pandemic levels in the fall of 1918. Schools closed in September and October of 1918. Homecoming events, a fairly new annual celebration in the early 1900s, were cancelled that fall. We can empathize with some of the experiences from that pandemic that swept the nation. For instance, students in Los Angeles remained at home and were sent assignments by teachers through mail-in correspondence.

There were subsequent spikes of the Spanish Influenza in January of 1919 and then again in the April-May timeframe later that year. This meant that graduations were cancelled or delayed in various hotspots throughout America. The class of 2020 seems to have similarities with the class of 1919. There were no vaccines or treatments available, so the only protocols to follow were isolation, quarantine, washing hands, disinfecting surfaces, and canceling or limiting public gatherings. If nothing else, it’s good to know we are not alone. Mark Twain is reputed to have said that “history doesn’t repeat itself, but it does rhyme.” Well, sometimes it sure seems like it does repeat itself.

For reasons we don’t particularly know, the Spanish Influenza just went away. It took researchers until 2008 to fully understand the genetic makeup of the H1N1 virus, colloquially termed the Spanish Flu. Side note: the Spanish Flu did not originate in Spain. Spain became associated with this virus simply because they remained neutral in WW1, and were therefore able to provide unbiased reporting about this new virus during the war, a service which ultimately associated their national identity with a virus. The Spanish, by the way, referred to the virus as the French Flu.

The parallels between the Spanish Flu and the Coronavirus interest me for this simple reason. The Spanish Flu is something we can regard as the first in a series of hardships that impacted the generation who would subsequently experience both the Great Depression and WW2. Yet, few ever associate that pandemic with the ensuing events. But could it be that the Influenza pandemic served as an initial crisis in a string of events creating the greatest generation?

And so I ask you now, our graduates, a compelling question. Will our pandemic serve as an initial crisis that will forge the next greatest generation? I don’t know what the future will hold. I can’t promise you that depressions and world wars will further galvanize your generation. But perhaps if the mantle is born with only this one catastrophic event, the work of making a next great generation is accomplished here and now.

The temptation will exist to dive deeply into social distractions. We could be on the verge of the next roaring 20s. But I trust that the books that you’ve read here at Clapham, the discussions about what it takes to live life with meaning and purpose, will have prepared you to fully embrace the opportunity now made available to you in our current traumatic experiences.

Let me be clear about my charge to you. I do not spell these things out to you to place a burden of expectations on you. It matters not whether you become labelled a great generation. Instead, what does matter is to notice that your class has had a bit of rubbish luck when it comes to your graduation. And I say, good for you! That’s now part of your story. That’s something that becomes part of your perspective on life. That’s something that marks your graduation as something unique and special. And if you can own that and truly embrace it, you will find joy and blessing.

For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plan for wholeness and not for evil, to give you a future and a hope.

Jeremiah 29:11

The post Class of 2020: The Next Greatest Generation appeared first on .

When I think of leadership, my mind goes directly to Theodore Roosevelt’s famous quote:

“It is not the critic who counts…The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena; whose face is marred by the dust and sweat and blood; who strives valiantly … who, at worst, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly; so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who know neither victory or defeat.”

Theodore Roosevelt, “Citizen in a Republic,” 1910

However leadership is to be understood in terms of traits, it is manifested in Roosevelt’s image of “daring greatly.” Leadership is bold. It is messy. Leadership takes calculated risks, which leads to both glowing victories and temporary setbacks. In a phrase, leadership requires courage. And yet, paradoxically, despite what has just been said, courage entails vulnerability.

Like all organizations, schools are made up of leaders. Teachers are the leaders of their classrooms. Administrators are leaders of their divisions. And board members are the overseeing leaders of the school. These various examples of school leaders prompt a thoughtful and prudent understanding of educational leadership, which I hope to persuade readers should include courage and curiosity.

The Curious Leader

Over the past few years, Dr. Brené Brown has led the way in emphasizing courage as the paramount trait of leadership. Brown, a social work research professor at the University of Houston, defines a leader as “anyone who takes responsibility for finding the potential in people and processes, and who has the courage to develop that potential” (Dare to Lead, 4). She goes on to explain that, according to her research, the courage she speaks of is not a static trait. Instead, it is a collection of skills that can be taught, observed, and measured. These skills include embracing vulnerability, living out values, risking trust, and overcoming failure.

Brown is right to point out that leadership is fundamentally about people and processes. As leadership expert John Maxwell quipped, “He who thinks he leads, but has no followers, is only taking a walk.” But what I appreciate most about Brown’s definition is that she emphasizes the reality that leadership requires “finding.” Finding what? The potential in people and processes. This emphasis on “finding” is striking. It reveals that leadership exists in an ongoing state of not knowing…of continuous searching in order to find. This searching process requires a key trait that all educators do value: curiosity. 

Courage and Vulnerability

As a social work expert, Dr. Brown’s research is centered on human beings, and in particular, the way human beings interact with one another. She rose to prominence in 2011 when her TedTalk “The Power of Vulnerability” went viral on YouTube. It currently boasts nearly 13 million views and is one of the top five most watched TedTalks online. 

According to Brown, vulnerability is the most accurate measuring tool of courage. It is the birthplace of innovation, creativity, and change. Before I explain why, let me acknowledge that the name Brené Brown and the topic of vulnerability both tend to have a polarizing effect on people. From what I’ve discovered, people either love what she has to say and find her insights into personal growth and leadership brilliant. For others, she is yet another proponent of a secular ideology, but with a social worker’s twist. 

Let me suggest that Brown’s emphasis on vulnerability offers educational leaders, and Christian educational leaders in particular, some valuable insights into the human condition, even if these insights need to be shored up with biblical theology. (Note: for a thoughtful analysis of Brown’s work from a Christian perspective, I commend this article, which translates some of her secular terminology into more familiar Christian language.)

So what is vulnerability and why does Brown insist it is the key measuring tool for courage? 

Vulnerability is “…the emotion we experience during times of uncertainty, risk, and emotional exposure” (19). It is therefore present in nearly every worthwhile decision leaders make. Whenever a leader puts his neck out there and declares, “Let’s go that way!”, he places himself in a potentially vulnerable situation. There is credence to the pioneer adage “You can always tell a leader by the arrows in his back.” Courageous leaders step out into the unknown, take calculated risks, and force themselves to endure emotionally turbulent, pressure-filled circumstances.

The Courage to Rumble

In her book Dare to Lead, Brown disposes of a number of myths about vulnerability, the chief one being that vulnerability is tantamount to emotional weakness. According to her qualitative research, which in part consists of interviewing hundreds of senior leaders, no one has yet to give an example of courage without vulnerability. Circumstances that require courage are those in which a person is in some state of uncertainty, risk, or emotional exposure. In one memorable interview with a soldier, the young man acknowledged, “I can’t think of a single act of courage that doesn’t require managing massive vulnerability” (23). 

So then, how does a courageous leader respond to vulnerability? Rather than flee or downplay feelings of uncertainty or emotional exposure, Brown advises leaders to rumble with it. Brown defines rumbling as follows:

“A rumble is a discussion, conversation, or meeting defined by a commitment to lean into vulnerability, to stay curious and generous, to stick with the messy middle of problem identification and solving, to take a break and circle back when necessary, to be fearless in owning our parts, and…to listen with the same passion with which we want to be heard” (10).

This resolve to rumble, for Brown, is the key to becoming courageous. And I assure you, it occurs everyday in schools everywhere. Teachers rumble when they respond to student misbehavior with the desire to shepherd rather than merely punish. Parents rumble when they refuse to assume the worst about a teacher but instead seek first to understand. And administrators rumble when they debate challenging issues in which a clear path forward is not immediately evident.

Where is Courage to be Found?

Brown’s understanding of courage as a collection of skills employed in moments of vulnerability is framed in a quintessentially modern sort of way. It is explained in psychological and sociological terms with an emphasis on self-awareness and authenticity. As a result, you might be wondering how her understanding of courage squares with the way it was understood in the classical tradition. In antiquity, for example, courage is listed among the virtues as a moral attribute of excellence. It was demonstrated most notably in wartime when a soldier would fight the enemy, refusing to abandon his post. Courage, as a virtue, was reserved for moments when one may very well have to choose between life and death.

Or was it? Even in the Greco-Roman tradition, things are not always as simple as they may seem. In Plato’s Laches, for instance, Socrates directly contests the notion that courage is reserved for exclusively wartime scenarios. As he engages in conversation with Laches, an Athenian general, the question is raised whether courage necessitates its typical martial, glorious manifestations. After Laches suggests that courage is remaining at one’s post as the enemy approaches, Socrates disagrees. He responds that some situations actually call for courageous retreat (Laches, 191a). If Socrates is right, then sometimes true courage calls for standing down rather than up. This feels strangely Brené Brown-ish in some ways insofar as retreat requires some sense of feeling vulnerable yet responding to it with confident rumbling.

As the dialogue proceeds, Laches, not to be easily outdone (does he know who he’s up against?), offers a second definition of courage: the wise endurance of the soul. But again, Socrates provides an example to contradict this definition, demonstrating that sometimes courage can be the foolish endurance of the soul. At this point, Nicias, a fellow Athenian general, jumps in, suggesting that courage is the knowledge of the grounds of fear and hope (196d). And although this definition may be preferable to Laches’, it, too, is problematic. For it implies a myopic focus on the future, when courage itself is not quite so limiting. Courage, after all, takes into account not only what is to be feared or hoped for in some future state, but also what has happened in the past and what is happening in the present.

I will spare readers the remainder of the exchange, but suffice it to say, characteristic of a socratic dialogue, the group does not settle on a definition of courage. And yet, paradoxically, Laches and Nicias both seem to demonstrate the courage to admit they are wrong by the end of the dialogue.

For those who criticize Brown for her reconceptualization of courage in terms of modern sociology and emotional vocabulary, I respond that she may not actually be that far afield. True, it is not how the ancients spoke, but her analysis of vulnerability and the connections she makes to courage seem to be getting at something true about the human condition nonetheless. To act courageously, one must be experiencing some degree of uncertainty or fear; otherwise, why the need for courage? And although Brown’s writing may be geared toward “first-world problems” they are problems nonetheless.

Moreover, it is worth noting that courage, if it is anything, is complex. We should therefore expect modern research of the social sciences to glean new insights about it. Courage, however, we want to define it, comes in all shapes and sizes. It is not reserved for only wartime scenarios, as Socrates and his friends agreed, but instead can be found wherever humans can be found, schools included.

The Call for Curiosity

So what of curiosity? I have written at length about courage but where does curiosity come in? Remember, for Brown, rumbling with vulnerability is the fundamental skill of courage building and, overtime, leads to grounded confidence. Brown writes,

“In tough conversations, hard meetings, and emotionally charged decision-making, leaders need the grounded confidence to stay tethered to their values, respond rather than react emotionally, and operate from self-awareness, not self-protection” (168).

It is in moments like these that courage kicks in. But curiosity must as well. This is because rumbling with vulnerability is a skill that must be learned and practiced. And one only seeks to learn if they are curious. So Brown here isn’t thinking of curiosity in its typical intellectual sense. Instead, she has in mind the sort of curiosity that remains calm about present ignorance due to a hopeful resolve to experience a fresh encounter with knowledge. Curiosity is the feeling of deprivation we experience when we identify and focus on a gap in our understanding. The more we know, the more we want to know. In this way, curiosity propels leaders to move past fears of failure, judgment, or looking foolish, and, instead, lead their teams toward trust, openness, and collaboration.

Brown actually references the latest learning science as she thinks about curiosity and growing in the skill of rumbling with vulnerability. Like any skill, rumbling takes practice. It is not easy to learn but easy learning does not build strong skills. Referencing the NeuroLeadership Institute, she makes the point that effective learning needs to be effortful. The brain needs to feel some discomfort when it’s learning–this is the concept of desirable difficulty (170). 

Therefore, each leader must develop, through practice, the ability to remain courageous in vulnerable moments. Brown writes, “Building the grounded confidence to rumble with vulnerability and discomfort rather than armoring up, running away, shutting down, or tapping out, completely prepares you for living into your values, building trust, and learning to rise” (166). 

She goes on:

“We’re scared to have hard conversations because we can’t control the path or outcome, and we start coming out of our skin when we don’t get to resolution fast enough. It’s as if we’d rather have a bad solution that leads to action than stay in the uncertainty of problem identification” (171).

Remaining at peace in states of uncertainty is a core principle for Brown and a key reason why curiosity is both an act of vulnerability and courage. Curiosity is content without certainty and knowing all the answers. It is not concerned with saying the right thing or knowing ahead of time how people will react. Instead it remains focused on rumbling with vulnerability, embracing the unknown, and pursuing further knowledge in order to lead most effectively.

Conclusion

At the end of the day, school leaders need courage and curiosity in order to engage in the important work of finding the potential in the people they lead and the processes they oversee. It takes courage to develop this potential through mining for conflict and leaning into vulnerable situations. Likewise, it takes curiosity to embrace uncertainty along the road to knowledge and understanding. Schools thrive when its people thrive and people thrive when they feel a sense of belonging, connection, and shared values. May school leaders rise to Dr. Brown’s challenge to lead courageously and remain “in the area,” trusting in God as their rock and foundation at all times.

The post The Importance of Courage and Curiosity for School Leaders Today appeared first on .