Travelling through Sydney, Melbourne, Brisbane (and the stunning New South Wales towns of Armidale and Newcastle) during the cool, golden days of late autumn 2025 in south-eastern Australia, I had the great pleasure of accompanying author and speaker Joseph Pearce on a whirlwind tour of talks and conversations.
In recent decades, Pearce, a recognised bibliophile, has become renowned for bringing a Catholic lens to the religious and philosophical enigma found in the work of ageless literary figures.
What struck me from the outset was Pearce’s extraordinary ability to connect. The Australian audiences were diverse—school students, parents, teachers, clergy, academics, business leaders, and the simply curious—but everywhere we went, the response was the same: people leaning in, listening closely, and walking away enriched.
Pearce doesn’t just speak; he invites. He draws you in, not with ego, but with insight, humility, and heart. Moreover, he insists on imbuing his description of literary figures with the context of their times—portrayals as much about soul as about historical fact.
As Chair of Hartford College, an independent Catholic boys’ school in Sydney, committed to forming both minds and hearts, I found Pearce’s message resonated deeply with our mission. He spoke with the authority of someone steeped in the great literary tradition. But never once did he make it feel exclusive. His unique talent is to welcome the everyday thinker into a world too often reserved for the academic elite. He shows that for the great conversation to be truly a Great Conversation, we must each play our part in it. “The Great Conversation,” he remarks, “isn’t just for literary giants or philosophers. It’s for all of us. We’re all invited to the table.”
What impressed me most were the thematic tapestries he wove from his deep reading and love of the great books. There was no condescension, no gatekeeping – just a genuine desire to share something beautiful, good, and true.
Joseph spoke about the metaphysical gifts in ascending order that are found in the classic works—humility, gratitude, wonder, contemplation, and what he called dilation, that beautiful expanding of the soul when one truly encounters God. These are not just ideas for the classroom – they are tools for life.
And the insights kept coming. Sadly, my schoolboy memories of Shakespeare would struggle to meet the definition of ‘memories’. Perhaps it’s a reward for maturity, but listening to Pearce teach year 12 English Extension students brought the subject and his audience to life. His enthusiasm for the genius, context, history, and soul of Shakespeare poured forth in a multi-faceted rendition. That evening, I went looking for my children’s copy of The Merchant of Venice.
Another was the way he spoke about great literature: that the best writing never preaches (exhibit A: Evelyn Waugh’s Brideshead Revisited), but instead invites us to search for truth in the interstices—the quiet spaces and subtle nuances—where deeper meaning resides: “Great writing never shouts at us. Its truths are hidden in its silences, its subtleties, its shadows.”
One of the most powerful moments came when Pearce quoted G. K. Chesterton, who urged us to listen to “the democracy of the dead.”
“It was Chesterton,” Pearce stated, with both wit and sincerity, “who helped me find God. And God, I’m grateful to say, helped me find Chesterton.”
Listening to Pearce reminded me why we do what we do at Hartford College. A true education is not about stuffing the mind with information—pouring inputs in, so that outputs will be generated later. Of course, outputs are important. Young people need to be confident that they have the knowledge to get a job and a career as adults.
But in addition, and by definition, school learning is one precious brief window we have for forming the whole person. At Hartford, the students study natural science but also appreciate what the classics referred to as scientia. Scientia pursues truth because its foundational principle is that there is objective truth. Scientia takes us beyond natural science to the truth, beauty, and goodness that can be found in music, philosophy, and theology.
Pearce repeatedly referred to homo viator as distinct from homo economicus–man on a journey rather than man as an economic unit. The modern homo economicus draws a line between science and ‘non-science’. The former is real, the latter is relativist soup. I started contemplating what Australia, a modern Western society, might be like if the latter part were much less relativist. Might we not find unity in vision more achievable, greater confidence in culture, and deeper trust in each other?
Concerning education, Pearce reminded us of Chesterton’s prophecy 100 years ago: the “coming peril” was “standardization by a low standard”. Pearce opined that, at this moment, we need examples of schools like Hartford College that embrace the classical understanding of scientia and shine an alternative beacon to standardization.
It is an expansive insight. Each student is participating in his or her small conversation so that ultimately his or her life will be one that participates in the Great Conversation. The conversation of all humanity, living and dead, as we struggle to see God and see ourselves as creatures of God. In so doing, we hope, each student we form leaves a positive mark on culture downstream, through their interactions with others, their children, and their descendants. It awakens a desire for meaning and a thirst for truth, beauty, and goodness.
“A rich education doesn’t close minds,” explained Pearce, “it opens hearts. It teaches boys to love, to wonder, and to think deeply about what matters most.”
As Pearce jetted off back to South Carolina, I saluted him for bringing us the positive story that is currently fueling an educational revival in North America, and we are all ears.
We are all homo viator, and in confidence this leads us to pursue knowledge, yearn for reason and complement that journey with faith. Pearce’s visit was a powerful reminder that the stories we tell, the books we read, and the questions we ask—all these good things shape the men and women our boys and girls will become.
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Perhaps the most important, and often most neglected, goal of modern education is the necessity of facilitating the formation of a well formed conscience. One of the tools toward this end is exposing our students to the lives of the saints. These role models give our youth a high bar to reach for, exposing them to the power of purity and the possibility of living a meaningful, purposeful life which is obtainable for all-a life of quality not quantity. A life measured by God’s standards, not man’s.