At present, our culture is dominated by a Romantic outlook; its predecessor, and in many ways its more deserving alternative, is a Classical view of life. Classicism is founded upon an intense, pessimistic awareness of the frailties of human nature and on a suspicion of unexamined instinct. The Classical attitude knows that our emotions can frequently over-power our better insights, that we repeatedly misunderstand ourselves and others, and that we are never far from folly, harm and error. In response, Classicism seeks via culture to correct the failings of our minds. Classicism is wary of our instinctive longing for perfection. In love, it counsels a gracious acceptance of the ‘madness’ inside each partner. It knows that ecstasy cannot last, and that the basis of all good relationships must be tolerance and mutual sympathy. Classicism has a high regard for domestic life; it sees apparently minor practical details as deeply worthy of care and effort; it doesn’t think it would be degrading to tidy the laundry cupboard or do the household accounts, because these are modest points at which our own routines intersect with the great themes of life. Classicism understands that we need rules and, in the education of children, it trusts in the setting of boundaries. It loves, but does not idealise, the young. In social life, Classicism counsels politeness as a way of keeping our true selves at bay. It understands that ‘being yourself’ is not something we should ever seek to be around anyone we care for. It also knows that small compliments and reassurances are of huge benefit to us, given our natural frailty and insecurity. It doesn’t disdain the writing of thank you notes. Classicism believes in evolution rather than revolution. It trusts that many good things have to be accomplished by institutions rather than by heroic lone agents, and accepts the necessary compromises that are involved in working with other people. In relation to careers, the Classical attitude is at odds with the notion of vocation. It doesn’t look to our instincts to solve the complex problems of what we should productively be doing with our lives. Instead it sees the need for careful and extensive self-questioning. But it also assumes from the outset that all work is laborious and frustrating in some ways, rejecting the notion of an ‘ideal’ job, much as it rejects the ideal in most spheres. It is a fervent believer in the concept of things being ‘good enough’. Unlike Romanticism, Classicism is cautiously welcoming of capitalism. It isn’t inherently sceptical of profit; it doesn’t see a concern with money as essentially sordid or shameful; money is just a resource that can be used foolishly or wisely. It doesn’t think that talking of money is wrong in relation to the issue of who one might marry; it accepts the role of the material in a good life. Classicism has a particularly ambitious attitude towards art. It sees art as having a mission to seduce us, by means of an alluring, sensuous presentation, to keep wise and useful ideas at the front of our minds. Classical architecture, for instance, is ordered, tranquil and harmonious, because it recognises how vulnerable our inner spirit is to prompts from our environment and accepts how much we stand in need of poise, calm and serenity. It isn’t afraid of things being a little boring. A ‘quiet life’ is no insult for a Classical mind. Classicism admires compromise around things one doesn’t feel like compromising on; it has faith in slow and messy progress rather than in sudden ruptures. It is not shocked by venality, corruption or selfishness (it assumes that these are natural parts of the human character), but likes institutions, rules and laws because of their role in restricting the scope of our impulses. Although the Classical attitude often conflicts with things that are very popular, it doesn’t in any way reject the value of popularity in itself. Indeed, its ambitions are firmly populist. If an idea is very complicated and difficult to grasp, Classicism assumes that it has not yet been brought properly into focus. It is suspicious of the narrows of academia and the cloistering of culture. The ideas we most need, it insists, can be presented lucidly and attractively and must spread far and with charm to be of any use in taming our chaotic and confused minds. Classicism sees no fundamental reason why wisdom can’t be very widespread. Indeed, it takes this to be the definitive, realistic task of civilisation. The School of Life is built upon a Classical view of existence.
It’s a truth universally acknowledged that a normal person in search of a holiday will enjoy skiing; they will delight in bracing mountain air, thrill at going down mogul dotted slopes and feel pleasantly exhausted after a day of parallel turns. This assumption about pleasure joins a host of others proposed by the modern world. Normal people will equally enjoy white wine, the Amalfi coast, the novels of Margaret Atwood, dogs, high heels, small children, Miami beach, oral sex, Banksy, marriage, Netflix and vegetarianism. We may legitimately delight in all of these elements; the issue lies in the immense pressure we are under to do so. The truth about ourselves may, in reality, be a great deal more mysterious than the official narrative allows. Whatever our commitments to decorum and good order, we may in our depths be far more distinctive than we’re supposed to be. We may — once we become sensitive to our faint tremors of authentic delight and boredom — hate the idea of jogging, the the...

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