Behind the Curriculum Curtain

Every teacher’s journey is filled with mentors, but sometimes the greatest one comes wrapped in pages, waiting patiently for us to turn them. I’ve often felt that the best teacher is, indeed, a good book. Not just any book, but one of those classics that holds more than a story—it holds a conversation across time, across disciplines, and across the very virtues we strive to cultivate.

When we talk about “great books,” we often think of dusty covers or lofty literature, but what if we think of them more like wise old friends who hold something to challenge us. They become characters in our lives. They’re companions to ideas that endure—virtue, justice, courage, and prudence. And as teachers, we can lean on these universal themes because they never stop offering new perspectives.

The beauty of great books is that they lead us out of the familiar. Learning is not about walking the same well-trodden path. It’s about stepping into the unknown, and books are the perfect guides. When we open Homer, we’re stepping into ancient Greece—different values, different challenges but same universal themes of honor and fate. When we explore Austen or Dickens, we’re engaging with the moral fabric of another era. But the themes—love, loss, justice—those are ours, too.

Further great books are not confined to the humanities disciplines. Shelly’s Frankenstein can spark ethical debates in science classes, or Darwin’s Origin of Species not just teaching biology but reflecting on how we, as humans, fit into the larger story. There’s a reason some schools use these classics even in science or math. Euclid’s geometry? It’s not just about shapes; it’s about the timeless logic we build on.

And, of course, we need tools to engage our students with Great Books. In classical traditions, we practice commonplacing—jotting down quotes or reflections, committing them to heart. It’s a practice much like how we might memorize a powerful passage of scripture. But more than that, it’s a model for our students. We don’t just read—we wrestle with these books. We show them that these old texts have something to say, and how we can interact with such books.

In the end, a good book is more than a lesson plan. It becomes a partner in the work of teaching—a voice that continues the conversation long after the classroom has emptied. And perhaps the best part is this: when we equip students with the skills to read and think deeply, these books remain available to them, ready to be returned to again and again, whenever they need them.