In the autumn of 2008, in the corridors of Columbia Law School, two students from abroad, Sophie and Stella, met. The conversation that followed, wandering between history, law, and the curricula of their respective younger years, settled before long into a shared preoccupation: the question of what the coming generation would need in order to inhabit a world whose shape was not yet legible to either of them. Both had come of age in a resource-scarce era of recent Chinese history, and both had carried away from it the same conviction: that an education, at its best, is an adventure and a gathering, a way of opening onto possibilities no one has yet thought to imagine.
Their conversation continued, over the years, through the professional lives that each of them in turn made, and through the children that each of them in time had; at some moment in that long extension it became clear that the conversation needed a place of its own to be conducted in. Lumine is what they made.
The two of them have since been joined by others who recognized the same questions as their own, a varied and particular company drawn from scholarship, from writing, from the study of the mind, from the practice of the wider working world, and from years of close work with young people. What draws this circle together is a shared disquiet about the moment, an instinct for what young people are actually going through, and a stubborn wish to help them find their bearings.
The name they chose was drawn from the Columbia motto under which they had passed each morning as students, In lumine Tuo videbimus lumen, with its hope that the work of teaching takes place within a light not its own; the Chinese characters they paired with it, 鹿鳴, were drawn from the opening poem of the 小雅 of the Classic of Poetry, in which deer call to one another across a field, and at the sound the friends and teachers gather, in mutual study and delight.