Fathers and mothers have lost the idea that the highest

In the solemn voice of Allan Bloom, we hear a lament that stretches across centuries: “Fathers and mothers have lost the idea that the highest aspiration they might have for their children is for them to be wise... specialized competence and success are all that they can imagine.” These words are not casual, but the cry of one who beheld the decline of noble dreams. They point to a sickness in the soul of society: the loss of wisdom as the highest good, replaced by the shallow pursuit of status, wealth, and technical mastery.

The ancients knew otherwise. To them, the cultivation of wisdom was the very purpose of life. Socrates walked the streets of Athens, poor and mocked, yet richer than kings because he sought truth above applause. His parents, had they measured his worth by worldly triumphs, might have despised him. Yet history remembers him not for material gain but for the light of reason he kindled. Bloom reminds us that modern parents often dream not of raising a philosopher, a sage, or a seer, but of raising a specialist—an engineer of things, not a shepherd of souls.

We must ask: what is specialized competence without wisdom? It is the sword without a hand to guide it, the ship without a compass, the mind sharpened but the heart empty. One need only recall the story of the German scientists in the Second World War—brilliant in skill, unmatched in invention—who built engines of death without ever asking whether they should. They were competent, yes, but not wise. And the world paid in blood for the absence of wisdom in their work.

In contrast, wisdom has always stood as the crown of human aspiration. Consider King Solomon, who when given the chance to ask for anything—power, wealth, victory—chose instead to ask for wisdom. And with wisdom, he gained all else besides. For wisdom is the fountain from which justice, love, and true prosperity flow. Parents who pray for their children to be wise pray for them to be rich in the treasures that endure when all worldly honors fade.

The words of Bloom sting because they are true. Too many today dream only that their children will be “successful”—that they will find a good job, earn money, and climb ladders of prestige. They forget that a person may be successful outwardly while being empty inwardly. What profit is it, said the Teacher, if a man gains the whole world but loses his soul? Better a poor man with wisdom than a rich fool surrounded by the ruins his pride created.

The lesson for us is thus clear: let us reawaken the ancient calling. Let us remember that the true measure of a child’s growth is not the titles they bear but the wisdom they embody. To be wise is to live with justice, compassion, humility, and reverence for truth. To be merely successful is to stand on shifting sand, at the mercy of every storm. Parents, then, must set their eyes higher, beyond the glitter of careers, to the golden light of character and discernment.

Practically, this means nurturing in children not only skill but reflection. Encourage them to read the great books, to wrestle with questions of right and wrong, to pause before desire and ask, “Is this good?” Teach them to serve, to listen, to walk humbly, and to see beyond themselves. Praise not only their achievements, but their kindness, their patience, their courage to speak truth. In this way, the seed of wisdom will grow strong.

So let Bloom’s lament become our charge. Let fathers and mothers return to the ancient dream—that their sons and daughters might be wise. For when wisdom rules the heart, all else finds its place. The world needs not only more skill, but more light; not only more specialists, but more sages. And perhaps one day, when our children’s children look back, they will say: “They gave us not only tools to live, but the wisdom to live well.”