However unintentional, it seems to be Kenyon Week here at Nothing Aside. This time the contributor is none other than Kenyon's president, S. Georgia Nugent (affectionately known as "The Nuge" or "G. Nugget" by students). Writing as part of a series on colleges for Slate, Nugent takes up the issue of moral and ethical development as an important part of one's complete education. Perhaps she has been spending a bit of time in Horowitz House with our esteemed Political Science faculty?
But what of the emphasis on moral development? On the same national survey of faculty, only 69 percent identified "developing moral character" as the most important aspect of a college education, and only 39 percent chose "enhancing spiritual development." When I have asked my faculty colleagues their views, they say they are too "modest" to assert the ability to develop moral character and too wary, in today's political climate, to meddle in students' spiritual development. Perhaps it's time for me and my fellow presidents to draft the syllabus for that capstone course in metaphysics with which the presidents used to send their graduates off into the world.
What would be the syllabus for such a course? My response—not at all flippant—would be: It doesn't matter. What I'm talking about is not a required reading list; rather it is an experience of understanding and growth that might take a myriad of forms. The goal is not mastery of a subject but maturity as an adult—attaining a degree of self-understanding, an appreciation for the limits of the human condition, empathy for others, and a sense of responsibility for civil society. For me, as a classicist, the syllabus would probably focus on the Homeric epics and Greek tragedy. These texts have, to my mind, almost unparalleled power to anchor us in the world and confront us with both our wrenching limitations and our soaring possibilities as human beings. But for another colleague, the entire syllabus would be Melville's Moby Dick; for another, such a course would consist of teaching his students to construct a scientific instrument by hand; for a fourth, the course might be organic chemistry taught inductively through group discussion. What matters is not the subject but the sensibility. In fact, each of these hypothetical courses is one I have known a fine faculty member to teach, in a way that offered not information "to pass the exam" but the wisdom of a life-changing experience.
Kenyon's emphasis on the roots of the liberal arts education are, I think, stronger than most schools like it. For the best example of what Kenyon is all about though, I must refer back to the speech given by David Foster Wallace at my commencement last May.
Now that I am out of Kenyon, I really see how unique the liberal arts education is and how far it can take students. Too often here in Washington I find myself surrounded by overly-ambitious students (often from George Washington University, though the others are no less guilty) who don't know the first thing about political philosophy, the roots of our socio-political motivations or our responsibility to civic virtue. Since their first day of college they have been studying "Eastern European Security Issues", "Weapons Proliferation in Latin America" or some other equally admirable yet obscure and precise topic. All of these classes and subjects are of great interest, but without the theory behind the practice, what good is it all? If you don't know what Rousseau is blabbering on about, or don't comprehend why Aristotle would bother with a few words on political ethics, each real world crisis of our present day will be an unnerving surprise. If we have the right "sensibility" and the right degree of "self-understanding", as Nugent says, we'll be prepared to face what comes next with confidence and control. That is what a true education is all about.
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