Recently, University of Dallas President Jonathan J. Sanford had the privilege of sitting down with Rabbi Mark Gottlieb, chief education officer of Tikvah and founding dean of the Tikvah Scholars Program, during his recent visit to the University of Dallas as our McDermott Lecturer. Their conversation ranged across philosophy, education, faith, and culture—but it ultimately returned to a single, pressing question:
In an age increasingly defined by specialization, speed, and utility, it is a question we cannot afford to ignore.
Rabbi Gottlieb offered a striking insight from the Jewish tradition. The Hebrew word for education—chinuch—does not mean the creation of something new. It means consecration: bringing a person into a role they are already meant to inhabit.
This stands in sharp contrast to many modern assumptions. Too often, education is treated as a kind of manufacturing process—efficient, transactional, and oriented toward immediate outcomes. We ask how quickly a student can acquire skills, enter the workforce, and become “productive.”
But this vision is too narrow.
True education is not about producing workers. It is about forming persons—men and women capable of living meaningful, virtuous, and intellectually rich lives.
One of the great misunderstandings of classical education is that it looks backward at the expense of the future. In reality, the opposite is true.
As Rabbi Gottlieb put it, tradition is not “the dead faith of the living,” but “the living faith of the dead.” It is an inheritance—one that we do not merely preserve, but actively inhabit and extend.
We stand, as has often been said, on the shoulders of giants. If we sever ourselves from that inheritance—intellectually, culturally, spiritually—we do not become more innovative. We become unmoored.
A civilization that forgets its past cannot meaningfully shape its future.
Classical education aims at something far more comprehensive than information transfer. It seeks to form the whole person:
This is not an abstract ideal. It has real consequences.
In a world marked by anxiety, fragmentation, and uncertainty, students formed in this way gain something increasingly rare: confidence rooted in truth. Not arrogance. Not blind certainty. But a steady sense of purpose and direction.
This is what many families are searching for—even if they do not yet have the language to describe it.
There is a persistent fear among parents and students: that a broad, liberal education may limit future opportunities.
Yet the evidence—and experience—suggest otherwise.
The most effective leaders, innovators, and builders of institutions are rarely narrow specialists alone. They are individuals with breadth of vision, capable of judgment, synthesis, and moral reasoning.
They are, in the fullest sense, educated.
A liberal arts education does not close doors. It opens them by forming individuals who can adapt, lead, and serve across a wide range of vocations.
One of the most compelling parts of their conversation centered on the relationship between knowledge and practice.
We do not become virtuous simply by understanding virtue. We become virtuous through habituation—through repeated, intentional action.
This insight, deeply rooted in both Aristotelian philosophy and Jewish tradition, reminds us that education must extend beyond the classroom. It must shape the rhythms of daily life:
These practices are not constraints. They are the conditions for freedom—forming individuals capable of living with purpose rather than drifting into distraction.
Perhaps the most hopeful dimension of our conversation was the recognition of a shared mission.
Despite real and important theological differences, Jews and Christians share a profound inheritance—what we often call the tradition of Athens and Jerusalem. Together, we bear responsibility for preserving and renewing the moral and intellectual foundations of the West.
As Rabbi Gottlieb noted, we are, in many ways, “brothers in arms” in a civilizational effort:
This is not merely an academic concern. It is a cultural and moral imperative.
In a results-driven age, it is tempting to measure success in numbers alone. But the true fruits of education are often quieter—and more enduring.
What does it mean to succeed in this endeavor?
It means forming graduates who possess:
Even a small number of such individuals can have an outsized impact. History reminds us that transformative change often begins with a few who are deeply formed rather than many who are superficially trained.
At the University of Dallas, we believe that education is not simply preparation for a career. It is preparation for a life—one ordered toward truth, animated by purpose, and grounded in a living tradition.
In recovering this vision, we are not retreating from the modern world.
We are equipping our students to engage it more fully, more intelligently, and more humanely.
That is the work before us. And it is work worth doing.