He delivered this speech Saturday.
The men of this senior class are some of my closest friends — men who have inspired me, challenged me, and befriended me. I am humbled and deeply honored to represent such a group of remarkable people.
Last summer I worked at a university on the East Coast doing physics research. Several faculty that I met barely concealed their condescension when I told them of my home institution, a small liberal arts school. “Liberal arts” in modern higher education has become synonymous with a feel-good, buffet-style academic free-for-all, in which trying a little bit of everything makes students supposedly well-educated. Disciplines are often taught in an air of moral and academic relativism, in which any claims of superiority, worth, and proper method are mocked. After four years at such a place, students take pride in their status of being “well-rounded.” This is not what Hillsdale does. Hillsdale does not round its students. It does just the opposite. It gives them proper angles. It sharpens them.
Four years ago, I came here reluctantly. Most of my friends had gone to engineering schools, and I had come close to joining them. Yet I chose not to because of a suspicion. Despite my nearly-complete ignorance of the Western tradition, something told me that it was, in fact, worthwhile to study history, English, and politics. This thought materialized because of a speech that Dr. Whalen gave during my first campus visit. He argued for the virtues of a classical liberal education. When we study literature, history, philosophy, and the sciences, our great strides in our learning often happen in singular moments. These are moments in which we make connections. Moments in which we suddenly understand. Rare moments in which we see beauty bare. They are full of wonder. In fact, Dr. Whalen called the wonder of these moments a species of fear. For as we catch a glimpse of greater truths, we ourselves diminish in the face of their magnitude. It is a humbling experience, yet I have found few pursuits more gratifying. I am not romanticizing when I say that we as Hillsdale students take part in this — in our classes, in our readings, and in our conversations.
Now, I myself am a science guy. I’ve majored in physics and math, and I intend to continue my studies in graduate school. I’m frequently asked why I would come to a place like Hillsdale to study these subjects. After all, it might be great for history, English, and politics. But for physics?
The role of science itself has evolved, and without studying history and philosophy, it is almost impossible to know how scientific discoveries were made in the past and, consequently, how they ought to be pursued in the future. It is essential to study the humanities along with science. For if we as scientists agree that there is any truth to be found in literature, philosophy, or theology, it is then necessary to properly understand the interrelation of these truths with our own field. Truth is clouded at best, and distorted at worst, when it is compartmentalized and isolated. I think most universities’ science programs do exactly this. The science faculty and facilities here are excellent, and I am gratefully indebted to them. But what sets us apart as Hillsdale science majors is this environment in which we study.
We’ve all heard the well-worn cliché about Hillsdale: “It’s the people.” And yet it is around because it is true, affirmed repeatedly with each new class of freshmen. This place attracts some of the kindest and most intelligent people that we will ever meet. Our campus is absurdly, disproportionately musical. Some of my dearest memories have been made playing cello or singing in our various ensembles. The friendships that we make here are kindled in an intense atmosphere. We make them as we struggle together in the academic project we set out to do. People say that our four years in college tend to be the most formative in our lives. I rejoice in the fact that I have been able to spend those years in this community.
Now as I myself have been doing today, we at Hillsdale tend to speak very loftily about our aims. We allude to our college’s noble mission. We aim to wrestle with questions of the human condition. We set out to claim our historical and intellectual heritage. Many times, I’ve been discouraged at Hillsdale. I’ve sat back and realized that no, I could not give an airtight defense of what the “good” is. I am occasionally embarrassingly wrong about historical events. My list of books to read grows ever longer, and I make little progress. The more that I learn, the more I am aware of how little I really know.
A friend of mine who graduated recently helped me to think about this discouragement in the right perspective. He said that studying at Hillsdale is not about getting all the answers. Indeed, that is patently impossible. Rather, our time here is an introduction. We now know what kind of questions to even ask. The moments of wonder that Dr. Whalen spoke of are not over. Properly tended to, they will continue for the rest of our lives.
I’d like to part with a few lines from the end of T.S. Eliot’s Four Quartets. They speak to me especially as I prepare to leave Hillsdale and reflect on my time here: “We shall not cease from exploration / And the end of all our exploring / Will be to arrive where we started / And know the place for the first time.”
Thank you.
