My children have gone to Catholic school... Part of their whole

In the words of Alice McDermott: “My children have gone to Catholic school… Part of their whole education is talking about the inner life and looking at your life, even though you’re only 15 or 16—thinking about your mortality, thinking about the value of your life, thinking about your obligations.” These words are not simply the reflection of a mother, but the echo of wisdom spoken through the ages. For to be educated is not only to master the outer world of numbers and facts, but to awaken the inner life, where meaning, conscience, and purpose dwell.

The ancients knew this truth. In the schools of the philosophers, the young were taught to contemplate death, not to terrify them, but to give them clarity. Socrates, even before drinking the cup of hemlock, reminded his followers that the unexamined life is not worth living. To reflect upon mortality is to sharpen the flame of existence, to recognize that life is fragile and precious, and that every action carries weight. This is what McDermott celebrates: an education that does not hide from the great questions, but introduces them to the young, so that they may walk with deeper wisdom.

Consider the story of Marcus Aurelius, the philosopher-emperor. In the midst of wars and the burdens of empire, he wrote in his Meditations that one must daily reflect: “You could leave life right now. Let that determine what you do, say, and think.” Though he held immense power, he did not neglect the inner life. His practice of contemplating mortality did not weaken him—it gave him strength to rule with restraint, to value justice over conquest, to seek meaning beyond the fleeting pleasures of the world. This ancient example mirrors McDermott’s vision of nurturing young minds with thoughts of value and obligation.

How different is such teaching from the hollow instruction that speaks only of success, competition, and material gain. To raise children without knowledge of their obligations—to family, to community, to their own souls—is to raise them as vessels empty of purpose. But to guide them into reflecting on the value of their lives is to forge within them a compass, a light that will not fail even in the darkest storms. It is to teach them that they are not merely consumers of the world, but stewards of it.

McDermott’s words remind us that true education is not about information alone, but about formation—of character, of conscience, of spirit. For what good is it if a youth solves complex equations but cannot answer the question: What is my duty? What is the worth of learning vast knowledge, if one has not considered the worth of one’s own life? To neglect the inner life is to build a tower on sand; to cultivate it is to build upon rock.

The lesson is clear: cultivate reflection in your own life, no matter your age. Set aside moments to ask: What is the value of my life today? What obligations call me? How does the knowledge of my mortality shape the way I love, act, and speak? In doing so, you will not only sharpen your own path, but you will teach by example those who look to you. For reflection is not a private luxury—it is a public duty, shaping the kind of world we leave to others.

Therefore, O listener, take this teaching to heart: do not run from thoughts of death or dismiss the weight of obligation. Instead, embrace them as guides. For in remembering that life is brief, we learn to live fully. In considering the inner life, we find the strength to serve outwardly. And in pondering our obligations, we weave our lives into the greater fabric of humanity. Thus you will live not as a shadow, but as a light, and your days, though finite, will echo through eternity.