True Culture Cannot Be Crowd-Sourced
The survival of a mission demands a resolute adherence to patience, to prudence, to the unshakable belief that true excellence is cultivated, not conjured.
In the headlong rush of modern ambition, a cultural jet stream that spares neither the individual nor the institution, the challenge of measured growth is often drowned in the din of clamor. To lead a school is to inhabit a crucible of competing expectations, a space where patience is both a virtue and a provocation. And yet, the survival of the mission demands a resolute adherence to patience, to prudence, to the unshakable belief that true excellence is cultivated, not conjured.
As schools expand into new territories—be they higher grades, broader programs, or novel ventures—a familiar chorus arises. Parents, students, faculty, and the wider community sing an insistent refrain: “We want it all, and we want it now.” Athletics, arts, academics, clubs, and the ephemeral tokens of modern prestige are demanded with a fervor that brooks no delay. Fencing teams and robotics leagues, anime clubs and Norwegian woodcarving guilds—each request, perhaps valid in isolation, collectively swells into an unmanageable tide. This culture of immediacy threatens to overwhelm the steady, thoughtful progress essential to building something lasting and meaningful.
It is tempting, in the face of this pressure, to succumb to Doing More. After all, isn’t more always better? Yet here lies the paradox: the uncritical pursuit of more often yields less. In attempting to satisfy every demand, a school risks losing its coherence, its integrity, its soul. The mission becomes diluted, excellence dispersed, and what remains is a simulacrum of success—a busy, buzzing hive of activity devoid of depth or direction.
Prudence, however, tells a different story. It reminds us that great things—whether institutions, cultures, or works of art—are not built in haste. Consider the cathedrals of Europe: their spires, soaring heavenward, were not the product of hurried hands but of patient generations. To lay a firm foundation, to craft a structure capable of enduring the test of time, is to resist the temptation of shortcuts. So, too, with schools. Excellence demands deliberation. It demands the courage to say no to the Cult of Now.
But this restraint is not easily understood in a society entranced by immediacy. Whispers emerge, spreading like wildfire: “Why isn’t everything already in place?” “Do they know what they’re doing?” Doubt, once ignited, becomes a roaring blaze, fed by assumptions and half-truths. The challenge for leaders lies not merely in resisting the noise but in transforming it—reorienting the narrative from scarcity to gratitude, from impatience to trust.
Gratitude, after all, is the antidote to entitlement. It shifts the focus from what is missing to what is present, from what could be to what already is. Schools that grow with intention—that prioritize quality over quantity, coherence over clamor—are schools that endure. This growth, while slow, is sustainable. It honors the mission and respects the community it serves. It is, ultimately, a gift to the future.
The impatience of the We Want chorus obscures an essential truth: true culture cannot be crowd-sourced. It cannot be built through committee votes or wish-fulfillment strategies. It must be cultivated with care, guided by vision. This requires trust—trust in leaders to steward resources wisely, trust in the process of growth, trust in the slow unfolding of excellence. Without this trust, schools risk devolving into chaotic collections of competing interests, each louder than the last.
To those involved in the leadership and growth of schools, the imperative is clear: hold the line. Resist the seductive pull of the Cult of Now. Recognize that to serve every demand is to serve none well. Excellence, as it turns out, thrives in the tension between ambition and restraint, in the quiet but unyielding discipline of prudence.
And so, we build. Brick by brick, season by season, small victories leading to greater ones. We remind ourselves and our communities that patience is not passivity but power—the power to create something enduring. We cultivate gratitude for the progress made, even as we look ahead to what remains undone. In this way, schools become more than institutions; they become legacies, vibrant and lasting testaments to the virtues of trust, discipline, and vision.
Let us then embrace the slow work of excellence. Let us silence, with kindness but firmness, the murmurs of impatience and entitlement. For in time, all things will flourish. The demands of the present will fade, replaced by the quiet satisfaction of a mission fulfilled. And what will remain is far greater than the sum of its parts: a school, a culture, a community—rooted, resilient, and radiant with purpose.
Michael S. Rose, a leader in the classical education movement, is author of The Art of Being Human (Angelico) and other books. His articles have appeared in dozens of publications including The Wall Street Journal, Epoch Times, New York Newsday, National Review, and The Dallas Morning News.