In Book VI of Plato’s Republic, we encounter the famous metaphor of the ship of state. Here Socrates likens the state, and its governance, to that of a ship. There is the captain, a skilled navigator prone to gazing at the stars (in the absence of modern technology, navigators traditionally had to keep their eyes on the stars for direction); there are the sailors, most of whom think they know more about steering the ship than they really do, basing their authority on their knowledge of particular aspects of the ship rather than the ship as a whole; and there is the ship owner, a well-meaning but easily impressionable person who knows little about what it takes to chart the course of the ship.
The sailors vie for the attention and favor of the ship owner, while viewing the navigator as a useless stargazer.
While the ship of state analogy was used, in the Republic, as a way of capturing Plato’s disdain for democracy—the captain and the sailors are too easily swayed by power, as opposed to truth—as well as his preference for a “born to rule” type of leader, the metaphor bears some uneasy resemblances to the challenges of school leadership and the manner in which schools have weathered this past year. What’s more, its resemblances may well linger into this coming school year, as we face what one person recently called the “sort-of-maybe-hopefully-but-probably-not ending stage to the pandemic.”
Knowing what many schools experienced during the past year and a half, the ship owner may well seem like the occasional school board—well-meaning but easily swayed by pressure and short-term politics. The sailors could represent any number of groups within our school communities, who feel they know what is best for the school and use their influence to further their own particular agendas. In their view, they hold the answer to any number of issues, whether it be how the school should reopen, what it should be teaching, or what should be the school’s position on matters of diversity, equity, inclusion, and belonging.
Then there is the captain of the ship, the navigator, the person supposedly in charge, perhaps viewed by some as out of touch with reality, standing in the way, or too focused on the big picture.
Plato likens the navigator to his notion of the philosopher-king, seeing how it is the role of the navigator to be guided by the heavens. To be sure, the upward gaze of the captain comes at a cost—the captain seems unconcerned about, almost oblivious to, the dealings of the sailors. Keeping one’s eyes on the stars may well be one of the crucial elements of maintaining the ship’s course; a single-minded focus on the stars, however, could mean isolation and aloofness.
The ship of state metaphor reminds us of two of the biggest traps of school leadership. The first trap involves the leader’s need to attend to the “big picture.” The true pilot needs to be looking upwards, constantly keeping in mind the mission of the organization and its overriding sense of purpose. To lose that upward focus is to risk the ship’s intended direction. By their nature, Episcopal schools hold on to the upward focus, fueled and constantly being challenged by our aspirational mission and vision. At the same time, leaders need to be attentive to the politics of competing constituencies, indeed of the ways in which they may have to lead the very people they work for—the board being the most obvious example. The dual task of school leadership involves juggling the mission of the institution with the realities of daily life at school, including how some people or groups within the school may be eager to use the institution to further their own goals.
The other trap involves the very knowledge of the leader. In most circumstances, the person who knows the most about the overall life of the school is its leader. A significant part of what that head knows includes what others in the school do not know, in some cases cannot know (how many school heads, for example, have found themselves bound by legal restrictions or privacy agreements from sharing information that others in the school community crave, even demand, to know?). Indeed, Plato’s impatience with democracy was fueled by his experience in Athens, where he was seeing an increasing devaluation of expertise and knowledge as well as growing mistrust of professionalism. Be it particular information, or overall mood and ethos, the leader possesses a perspective not available to others in the community. That can give rise to a frustration or even self-righteousness on the part of the leader, when others in the community lay claim to expertise they do not have or speak from the standpoint of knowing only part of the story. The head must hold an enormous amount of knowledge while not using that perspective to avoid taking seriously what others are saying or recommending be done.
Here, again, Episcopal schools, by their nature and mission, possess a unique framework for dealing with these and other traps of leadership. Our tradition acknowledges and works with the mysteries and complexities of the human heart (including the heart of the leader), and how that heart can distort the picture of what is best for the community at large. Just as the leader is at the center of the life of the school, so the tree of the knowledge of good and evil, found in the Genesis story, is placed right in the center of the garden. So, too, a good leader of an Episcopal school is not just a leader, that person is also a follower, whether that means being a disciple of faith, an observer of a rule of life, or someone who takes seriously the role of spirituality, not only in the world of education but also the ways in which the life of the spirit guides and challenges each human being,
The ship has found itself traveling through perilous and uncertain waters of late. Much of what schools have experienced no doubt has been due to the turbulence of these pandemic times as well as the uncertainty that currently imperils the future course of human dignity and worth, our environment, indeed our very search for the truth. Now more than ever, the ship needs not only capable and compassionate leaders, but those steeped in an understanding of the many ways that Episcopal schools can help us find perspective, courage, and conviction for the days ahead.
The Rev. Daniel R. Heischman, D.D. is Executive Director of NAES.
