President Durden's 2012 Convocation Speech

I extend special greetings to the members of the class of 2016 and transfer students who are about to become lifelong Dickinsonians. I also welcome back our seniors for what will be their last year as undergraduates.

Convocation is intended not only to permit students, faculty and staff to assemble ceremoniously and commit as a community to the new academic year, but also—and rather mischievously—to provide an opportunity for a president to suggest to incoming students those "big ideas" that might concern you and engage your intellectual and emotional energies on and off campus during your undergraduate years. Given that, it is not uncommon for my comments to be provocative, not merely for the sake of "the cognitive disruption" they might cause, but also to indicate that this college is a "noisy" place and does not shy away from candor and reasoned, yet passionate engagement with issues that matter.

But first, let me offer a bit more about this ceremony. 

At the conclusion of today's Convocation, weather permitting, you will walk to Old West—led by college marshals—to participate in one of Dickinson's most treasured traditions when you ascend the Old Stone Steps into Memorial Hall to "sign in" to the college. Several years from now, you will reverse this symbolic action when you descend these same steps to receive your diploma and move beyond these limestone walls to engage the world as Dickinsonians. For the seniors who have joined us today, this rite of passage will occur in just nine short months. 

When you ascend the Old Stone Steps, be sure to glance to the right at the statue of our founder, Dr. Benjamin Rush. You will hear much about Dr. Rush over the next four years. Dr. Rush, a signer of the Declaration of Independence, serves as a constant reminder that Dickinson College is linked inextricably to the founding of our nation with all its triumphs and blemishes. By extension, you also are connected. Benjamin Rush was one of the most passionate and eloquent advocates of a distinctive American education—a useful liberal-arts education. His fundamental precepts offer us important directives as we explore ways to define the relevance and value of liberal education in our own rapidly changing, revolutionary era. 

I begin by congratulating you on your decision to matriculate at Dickinson College for your undergraduate education. By so doing, you proclaim to the world that you desire "the real thing"—the "object itself" in higher education and not a substitute. Let me explain what I mean. Two summers ago I read in the International Herald Tribune about the "exploding" audience for original works of art. The head of the venerable auction house, Christie's in London, Steven P. Murphy, explained the increased appeal in the following words:

"I think that the virtual world, the ease of access to images in high definition, the total availability of art online—all those things have increased the value of the object itself." The role of an institution like Christie's, he says, is that of "honoring the object." 

Well, in a strange way, Dickinson College is like Christie's—our primary mission is to "honor the object itself." You are the initiated who realize just how precious and ultimately useful the pursuit of the object itself is as opposed to its mere image—a facsimile—even if it "costs" more. Of course, it has to cost more! It is the "object itself!" It is created by high labor intensity and unfolds in intricate, complex precision. Undergraduate research universities, and increasingly colleges, are overwhelmingly filled with exceedingly large classes, radically diminished in- and out-of-class resources, graduate-student and adjunct instructors, professors obsessed with their own research agendas rather than your learning, online virtual courses, degree programs that often extend over six or more years because of the unavailability of required courses and an outcome-based accountability that neglects you and your complex development in its drive to be quantitatively precise. 

Instead, you have chosen to experience a premier undergraduate education. This encompasses direct interaction with a small group of similarly motivated learners in a physically and emotionally safe "24/7" residential setting. It also includes interactions with dedicated professors—committed solely to you and your intellectual development, with sustained focus on original texts and objects, and engagement in those skills and experiences in and out of the classroom that mature your mind and emotion. And all of this is concentrated in an efficient four years of study. This object—as all such precious objects—costs a considerable amount to honor. And like the "object" itself—like the original work of art—it only continues to increase in value as its scarcity becomes apparent in a broader world where a mere reflection of the original undergraduate education seemingly and deceptively suffices. 

Over the years I have also used these Convocation addresses to mentor students in a non-curricular way-to give advice that might prove helpful as you mature intellectually and emotionally. In reviewing my advice from the past 13 years, I realized that much of what I offered-even years ago-is still relevant for today's students. But rather than keep you in your seats here until nightfall, I decided to make the more provocative passages available to you on the college's Web site when this speech is posted tomorrow. I encourage you to take a few moments to read through these snippets at your convenience. 

In terms of today's address, rather than looking backwards, I would instead like to look forward with the introduction of a "new" tradition at Dickinson College. While the tradition is new, it is composed of "pieces" of the college that have always existed, and that is comforting. I have merely "assembled" them in a new way.

Every summer my wife and I travel the world to challenge our preconceived notions, to unsettle the "tyranny" of familiar place—no matter how appealing and comfortable that place may be—and to remain receptive to seeing what always has been in ways that cause it perhaps to no longer be. I attribute this lifelong habit of purposeful, disruptive travel to my Dickinson junior year abroad in Freiburg many decades ago—when I was about your age and in this community as a student.

Two summers ago was no exception. 

Among the cities we wanted to visit was Dresden, Germany. Our primary motivation was to experience its historically high level of cultural offerings in the arts. Additionally, we were curious about reports of its reconstruction after near total leveling in WWII and abject neglect during the Cold War Communist era. Dresden historically has attracted people as its citizens who defy authority and any limitation they perceive upon their personal freedom. They were, for example, an early location for the rise of the Reformation. A large statue of Martin Luther stands today in one of the city's main squares. 

During the Revolution of 1848-49, they dramatically rose up against the dominant and oppressive nobility. In June 1953, citizens of Dresden rose in protest of East German communist rule and demanded freedom and the right to vote. They were violently suppressed by the ruling authorities. However, the Dresdeners have also partaken—as knowing silent witness or participant—in some of the most brutal events in human history, to include the elimination of Jews in WWII and the destruction of the historic synagogue in Dresden that served for centuries as the focal point of a vibrant community. On November 9, 1933, the synagogue burned to the ground—excepting astonishingly the Star of David. Of the 20,000 Jews who resided in Dresden in 1933, fewer than 200 survived the war. The synagogue has since been rebuilt on the exact same historic site and rededicated in 2001. The Jewish community is thriving again in Dresden. 

Dresden was also the scene of a massive, horrific firebombing in 1945—at the end of WWII—with the resultant destruction of just about all of the cities' buildings and an overwhelming loss of life. Debates rage today as to whether this firebombing by the British and Americans was really necessary, as the war was essentially over. Priceless historical treasures were lost in the act. A friend of the college through our long-standing partnership with the University of East Anglia, the late W.G. Sebald, published an extremely controversial book on the bombing entitled On the Natural History of Destruction. Among the historic buildings totally razed—fried actually—was the architecturally exquisite Frauenskirche. This building was, however, also recently rebuilt and reopened in 2010 and is located only meters from the synagogue. 

While my wife and I were walking past the brilliantly reconstructed Frauenskirche on the old marketplace square, I noticed fragments of a surviving old stonewall on display and a pile of little stones scattered at its base. There was also a message in German accompanying the stones. It read as follows: 

Well, I have indeed returned, and I give to this community one of those small stones that is so filled with meaning. I commit it to our archives. 

I ask you as a community to look long and hard at this stone from Dresden and what it means. I ask you—especially those just joining the Dickinson community as undergraduates—to pause and reflect on how you want to live your life here and beyond. What kind of community do you want for yourself and those around you? What is the quality of life you want to establish and protect? How will you protect that life? For the new students, you have begun to articulate those aspirations in the "life path" letter that you will deposit as you ascend the Old Stone Steps. This is a letter that you will review periodically throughout your time at Dickinson and beyond to assess your progress in advancing quality of life and commitment to community. 

Most profoundly, this stone from Dresden in particular, reminds us all of the extreme danger and harm of unmitigated hate, intolerance, misinformation, greed, ungrounded idealism, ignorance and racism—dispositions that can all too readily be exercised even in this college community. This stone likewise asks us to secure a world of understanding, tolerance and forgiveness. We must also pursue actively these attributes in our college community. But it also asks that we never forget—never—the destruction that people can inflict so readily upon others through action (violence) or words (rumor).

And, lastly, this stone has everything to do with identity—who one is and how one will act. An American undergraduate education for young people of your age is first and foremost about identity—identity formation. Academic skills, competencies and knowledge gained over the next few years and your engagement in out-of-class activities are essential to identity formation. They inform your subsequent ability to evaluate and absorb new knowledge and to live a life of fulfilling quality and commitment to citizenship. The undergraduate years are both an exhilarating and fearful period. (And it is ok to be apprehensive—everybody is or at least they should be if they are honest with themselves!) You are inheriting the responsibility of defining who you are and how you will think, feel and act for a lifetime. The process you confront is, I think, best described in D.H. Lawrence's novel, The Rainbow. With reference to his character Ursula at about the age of 17: "As Ursula passed from girlhood towards womanhood, gradually the cloud of self-responsibility gathered upon her. She became aware of herself, that she was a separate entity in the midst of an unseparated obscurity, that she must go somewhere, she must be something. And she was afraid, troubled. Why, oh why must one grow up, why must one inherit this heavy, numbing responsibility of living an undiscovered life? Out of the nothingness and the undifferentiated mass, to make something of herself! But what? In the obscurity and the pathlessness to take a direction! But whither? How take even one step? And yet, how stand still? This was torment indeed, to inherit the responsibility of one's life." 

Let us remember: History is concrete; this stone I hold is concrete, and your identity is ultimately concrete. It is who you are when you cease becoming. (Of course, there are arguments that one never ceases becoming; but the ages 18-21 are especially intense, formative years in human development.) And your identity is of your making. It lies in formation before you at this college and to be formed among the people with you today and those with whom you will connect through this community over the next few years. But please remember that even for Ursula in The Rainbow identity is a formative, constructive process out of vagueness, uncertainty and lack of concreteness—"How to become oneself, how to know the question and the answer of oneself, when one was merely an unfixed something—nothing, blowing about like the winds of heaven, undefined, unstated." Identity formation involves trials and errors, risk and restraint, responsibility and obligation and most of all attention—"attention must be paid" by you and this community as you progress the next few years from somebody arguably "unfixed" and only vaguely stated to a concrete personality ready to engage the world.

As you begin your tenure at the college, it is important to be reminded that the actions you take and the decisions you make-the wise ones and, unfortunately, those not so wise-are indeed ultimately concrete and will set the pattern for who you are as a person both at college and beyond.

 To remind you of the "concreteness" of your college experience, of our community of opportunity and obligation and of the self-responsibility of identity, I begin a new tradition at the college. It is based on the stone I just presented to the college and the recognition that stones—limestone—have played in the history of our college. It was the architect of the U.S. Capitol, Benjamin Latrobe, who designed West College, or Old West, and decided that our campus should be a limestone one. We also have our own quarry not located far from here.

As you, the new students, ascend the Old Stone Steps to sign into the college formally, you can pick up your very own piece of limestone—a piece from the quarry—the very same quarry that supplied the stones for Old West. You shall take the stone, and you shall give us your life-plan letter. You may keep the stone for your years as an undergraduate. It is your "concrete" link to your aspirations for yourself and our community. It is a symbol of your identity in formation. At your Commencement, I ask each of you to bring your stone with you. As you descend the steps to receive your diploma, you will face a choice between two equally valid actions. You may retain the stone and refer to it for a lifetime—a reminder of your opportunities and obligations to yourself and others; or you may return your stone as you receive your diploma. This stone will then be "recycled" and given to the next generation of students. These simple gray pieces of limestone unify us as Dickinsonians and signal to the wider world that we build community stone by stone, thought by thought, action by action. We carry the limestone!

New students, as Dickinsonians, you will carry a unique historic legacy into the future as the engaged citizens and leaders of your generation. Again, you carry the limestone. This stone concretely represents our obligation and our opportunity. We are together Dickinsonians for life.