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Such a concern for beauty reveals the values underlying a classical educational model and their distinction from the values of a modern educational model. We believe that education aims at the good, true, and beautiful. If education aims to train students in beauty, then the form of education, even down to the letters with which we write our spelling words, ought to likewise aim at beauty.

Some weeks ago, as I was explaining my role as a teacher at a classical Christian school to several peers, we began to discuss the topic of cursive. I lauded the grammar-age children at my school, who use cursive for nearly all their daily work. “But why is cursive good?” a peer then asked me. I was tempted to answer that cursive is good because it is beautiful, but I knew such an answer would not satisfy him. Though I wished to be able to rattle off five clear reasons why writing in cursive is better than print handwriting or typing, I could not, and, as such, my peer’s question forced me to reflect.

In my reflections since our conversation, I have thought several times of Wendell Berry. Wendell Berry is a writer whose stories and novels often revolve around themes of community, place, and tradition; I was first introduced to Berry by Rockbridge’s own Mr. Vaughn. 

Berry attempts to resist a life of screens and machines. In this resistance, he writes his books by hand, and his wife types his work on a typewriter. In his short but widely-circulated essay “Why I am Not Going to Buy a Computer,” Berry expresses his distaste for computer companies and other companies of their ilk, saying that he wants to be “as little hooked to them as possible.” Yet Berry’s argument against computers relies on the fact that he, as a writer, does not want to use a tool that degrades his work instead of improving it. Berry writes:

“My final and perhaps my best reason for not owning a computer is that I do not wish to fool myself. I disbelieve, and therefore strongly resent, the assertion that I or anybody else could write better or more easily with a computer than with a pencil. I do not see why I should not be as scientific about this as the next fellow: when somebody has used a computer to write work that is demonstrably better than Dante’s, and when this better is demonstrably attributable to the use of a computer, then I will speak of computers with a more respectful tone of voice, though I still will not buy one.”

Now, I’m not sure if Mr. Berry writes in print or in cursive, but his preference for handwriting over typing makes a statement about his beliefs. Berry believes that some forms of writing—and living—are more conducive to truly good work, to the genuine expression of beauty and truth, than others. Berry believes that innovation and ease are not sure means to the end of good work. Berry’s stance suggests, too, that form matters: how we work has an impact on the fruit of our work. How we write has an impact on what we write. 

Instinct attests to the above proposition. We know that form matters: without question, we know that a lecture attended in a classroom, given by a teacher whom we know, will be more memorable than a lecture viewed on YouTube. The former allows us to receive the speaker’s wisdom more directly, due to our shared presence in the classroom. While the latter may be more accessible, its form is not as conducive to learning. Likewise, we know that a poem printed in a bound book will command more of our attention than an Instagram post claiming to be poetry. As many have written, a conversation in person is more likely to have a deeper and more personal effect than a conversation over messaging software.

In short, the meaning of a thing relies in part upon the form of that thing, the way that it is communicated. Or, in the famous words of media critic Marshall McLuhan, “the medium is the message.” We know that the medium or form of anything impacts its meaning, and yet we often neglect to recognize the implications of such a principle. But this principle has implications for many areas of our lives—from evangelism to education, and even in handwriting.
Cursive, as a form of handwriting, ennobles the written word in a way that type, and even print writing, do not. The form of cursive lends significance to the written content. This is part of why classical Christian schools emphasize cursive, a skill otherwise considered outdated and unnecessary. 

Cursive, as a form of handwriting, ennobles the written word in a way that type, and even print writing, do not. The form of cursive lends significance to the written content. 

In a classical Christian school setting—like that of Rockbridge, where I was educated, or that of the school in Pennsylvania where I recently taught—we want to teach our students that their work is important. What students at these schools write is not mere chicken-scratch. What students write are not simply notes to be thrown away. What students write is, instead, an integral part of and a representation of what they are learning. Some of their assignments are more important than others—composition paragraphs are more important than extra math calculations, completed on “scratch paper.” But all of their work is still important. And because we want to teach children that their written work is a vital part of their education, we teach that it is important that the form of that work‒‒that is, the students’ penmanship‒‒be well-ordered, and not only well-ordered, but beautiful.

Such a concern for beauty reveals the values underlying a classical educational model and their distinction from the values of a modern educational model. We believe that education aims at the good, true, and beautiful. If education aims to train students in beauty, then the form of education, even down to the letters with which we write our spelling words, ought to likewise aim at beauty.

A friend of mine, herself now a teacher at a classical Christian school, put it this way: “A century ago, penmanship was a significant part of school curriculum, with methodologies, textbooks, and handwriting drills devoted to it… Emphasizing excellent penmanship in the school setting would train students in a teachable skill that brings a sense of beauty back into learning.” Penmanship itself is an art, one little talked of today. Like any art or skill, penmanship requires a dedicated effort and time, but it also produces rich rewards.

For instance, studies show that cursive not only activates different areas of the brain than print writing, but that it develops more fine motor skills than print writing or typing, because, as one teacher writes, cursive letters “must be connected in a smooth and continuous motion. This can help students develop their hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills, which can have benefits beyond writing.” 

In addition to the “sense of beauty” brought by cursive penmanship, secondary benefits of cursive have been marked by researchers and teachers alike. For instance, studies show that cursive not only activates different areas of the brain than print writing, but that it develops more fine motor skills than print writing or typing, because, as one teacher writes, cursive letters “must be connected in a smooth and continuous motion. This can help students develop their hand-eye coordination and fine motor skills, which can have benefits beyond writing.” Cursive can also help children retain more of the information they are learning, as an article from Time magazine tells.

Apart from its usefulness, cursive brings beauty and even joy. How excited students are when they can finally sign their name in cursive! How proud they are of a neat page of cursive writing! A thing well done is a delight, and so, too, is a thing well-written.

I, too, have felt this delight. Before I began teaching grammar-school students, I had to refresh my memory of cursive. It came back to me easily, as I had been well-trained in penmanship as a grammar-school student at Rockbridge but slowly lost my handwriting skills when typed assignments became the norm in my education. Since taking up cursive again, I have found all my written work to be not only more beautiful but more enjoyable. A thing of beauty—even something as seemingly inconsequential as penmanship—is, as the poet John Keats once said, “a joy forever.”

Perhaps my instinctual response to my friend—that cursive is good because it is beautiful—was not, after all, so far off the mark.

This essay originally appeared in Voegelin View. The above version was edited slightly.

Sarah Reardon (née Soltis, Class of 2020) taught at a classical Christian school in Philadelphia. Sarah graduated from Grove City College in 2023, and her writing has appeared in publications such as First Things, Plough, Public Discourse, among others.
 

One year ago, Mr. Northup retired from teaching at Rockbridge Academy after being diagnosed with brain cancer. Mr. Northup greatly impacted my life so when I  was given the opportunity to write about his life, I took it. This article is dedicated to Mr.  Northup and his family for their 17 years of love and support of Rockbridge Academy. 

I know many of us are wondering how he is handling the cancer, but more so why he, of all people, got cancer. Mr. Northup was one of the  greatest Bible teachers I (and all of Rockbridge) could have asked for. He displayed his faith in every word and deed, and his love for his students and the subjects he taught was unmatched so, why did Mr. Northup get cancer? This question can be restated in this infamous question: why do bad things happen to good people?  

That was my main question for Mr. Northup, and he answered it. Before I reveal exactly what he said, make sure to actively look for the providence of God in Mr. Northup’s life throughout the rest of this article. 

Mr. Northup was born in Rhode Island and moved to California a year later. At eight  years old in California, he dreamed of becoming a real-life Tarzan but he had two problems preventing him from becoming the rope-swinging monkey-man. For starters, he  lived in California, and one cannot be Tarzan when climbable objects are limited to a “cactus and a palm tree in the backyard.” This problem was solved when he moved back to Rhode Island the same year where trees grew as commonly as the California cacti. His other problem was more serious: he needed a Jane, but where to find the perfect girl? He did not need to look far; across the street lived the future Mrs. Northup, Merry Dupre. Mr. Northup said that from a young age he knew he was going to marry her. If she made a great Jane, which she did, then she would make a great wife. Obviously, he convinced the girl across the street that he was worth keeping around as they have been married for 27 years and have had five children. 

Mr. Northup’s youth in Rhode Island involved street fights and big older brothers. Our  teacher was small for his age but hotheaded. He was known for roughhousing and the kids on his street beat him up multiple times. However, they stopped picking on him after Merry’s brother began looking out for him. Her brother was big and strong with a statement 70s hairstyle, a mohawk. 

While Mr. Northup had his fair share of fighting, he also spent a good amount of time in church. He was brought to church as a child, but only began searching for God in his teenage years. He told me that, “Everyone at church had a testimony but I didn’t.” Mr. Northup decided to change that by becoming a rebel until he had a good story to tell.

Mrs. Northup said this time was short lived once they had their first child, Samuel, when he was 17 and a daughter, Nadia, at 18. With two children and little stability, Mr. Northup decided to start bringing the family to church, but he made a mistake and joined, as he called it, a “cult” instead.  The church that the Northup family joined preached that one’s salvation depended upon their daily missionary work. One had to share the gospel every day to a random stranger to secure their own salvation. Mr. Northup realized that this teaching did not match his understanding of the Bible from his youth. The dissonance between his understanding  of the Bible from childhood and what this church was preaching lit his heart afire for God and truth.

Mr. Northup was hungry and curious to know God’s word, so he sought out the youth pastor from the church he grew up in and began a mentoring relationship with him. To make ends meet he worked as a mechanic until he pursued seminary at age 20. He brazenly decided to attend Moody Bible Institute in Chicago. At first, the college rejected him but that did not stop our teacher. He caught a flight from Rhode Island to Chicago to meet the admissions board face to face. He told them, “I am going to come, but how do I do this?” Seeing the passion of this young teacher changed the hearts of the board. Mr. Northup’s grades were not great, and he was behind in the necessary schooling, but his heart was ready to tackle any obstacle presented to him. The college offered him a deal: he would take night classes until he was ready for full admission into regular daytime classes. Eventually, Mr. Northup worked his way up to those daytime classes and even earned a full ride. During this time, he moved his family out to Chicago and received free housing from a nearby church in exchange for his cleaning services. His living costs were low, so he only had to provide food for his family. Thankfully, the window washing business was booming and he received a job cleaning windows for around $100 an hour.

Here, Mr. and Mrs. Northup had their third child, Josiah. After finishing college with a wife and three kids, he moved back to Rhode Island, desiring to impact children’s lives. He first thought about working at summer camps, but a week or two was too short to create a lasting impact. He then considered becoming a pastor, which he did for three years, but he still wasn’t achieving his goal of teaching children. He decided to change careers once more and become a teacher. 
 

The first and only school Mr. Northup taught at was Rockbridge Academy. When deciding where to teach, Mr. Northup and his wife asked the question, “Who do we want our kids to be?” They came upon this one, strange way of teaching called classical  Christian Education. They fell in love with the idea of teaching children with a focus on the liberal arts but centered around Christ. Mr. Northup told me concerning classical Christian Education, “This is the way Christians ought to be training their kids.” The Northups found a classical Christian school called Rockbridge Academy which they thought embodied the classical Christian spirit and teaching they desired for their kids. Mr. Northup applied to work here and hit it off with the school board, landing the job for a Bible teacher. He served at Rockbridge for a total of 17 years and during this time, had two more children, Luke and Emma. I asked him which Bible class he enjoyed teaching the most and he answered, “Christ in the Old Testament . . . We get to explore the question ‘where specifically is Christ?’” 

Sadly, as we all know, Mr. Northup has left Rockbridge and pursued treatment for his cancer. He said that in these hard times, his wife, Merry Northup, has been his continuous rock and constant companion, a true helper. He is also very grateful for the time he can now spend with his immediate family and his three grandsons. God’s providence, which has shown itself time and time again, is clearly woven throughout Mr. Northup’s life. God has provided in countless ways from protection in his youth to free housing in college and ultimately a job at Rockbridge Academy. To end this story, I want to provide you with Mr. Northup’s answer to the question, “Why do bad things happen to good people?” He said, “This sounds cheap, but I don't think that people are good; I  think that God alone is good and He's gracious. I don't expect that I should get things because I'm good or because I'm not. He is. That's one part. The rest is grace. He's been gracious to me with everything from my family to provision. I don't expect that I should be taken care of. Everything is grace. I am grateful for the provision of my family. I can't do anything more than simply be grateful. I don't know if that's the right way to think about it, but that's what I think.”

Hannah Bates is currently in 11th grade and a member of the Rockbridge Review (student-run school newspaper) editorial team.