Sept. 13 University: Goals and Purposes


About four years and one month ago, Strake Jesuit’s Class of 2005 assembled for the “Rules” talk given to all freshmen.  I remember my assigned seat was on the aisle, providing a quick escape if necessary.  After discussing the dress code and the various ways a student could acquire a PH (Penance Hall, or detention), Strake’s Santa Clause-like President Mr. Nevle walked to the podium and turned bright red either due to anxiety or abnormally high cholesterol.  
    However, Mr. Nevle’s powerful voice, heard by most students for the first time, was certainly not anxious.  It was actually quite frightening, a mood that suited his message well.  Cutting right to the chase, he acknowledged that our class was extremely gifted, talented and privileged, assumptions arising from our entrance exam scores, his review of our applications, and the price of tuition.  He then told us we would be “future leaders,” a rather hackneyed expression but, nonetheless, a welcome ego boost for two hundred fourteen year-olds.  
But Mr. Nevle’s next words, which I will never forget, transformed these commendations into something quite unexpected.  “You are to be men for others,” he charged.  In one moment, an auditorium of high exam scores and promised success had been reduced to nothing.  Mr. Nevle entrusted us to use our gifts and talents, not for ourselves, but for the betterment of society.  My high school education revolved around this message of social obligation.
Only two months ago, I attended the UT Orientation programs, which were of a much different nature than the “Rules” assembly.  Contradicting what I had learned in theology class were directions to the nearest condom-depot, and the suggestion that three of four alcoholic beverages for a minor “is pretty reasonable.”  I was caught in a whirlwind of new faces, values, and moral standards, and I felt lost.  Of course, at UT, I met plenty of students and faculty of unquestionable virtue, but I still wondered if these were mere vestiges of a quickly crumbling moral foundation.  
 Then, to my rescue from what my mom once called “the school of sin and hedonism,” came the motto on the tower: “Ye Shall Know the Truth and the Truth Shall Make You Free” (303).  This quote from the Gospel of John provided a much-needed link to my past.  Citing “the Truth” as opposed to simply “Truth” and using the word “Know” instead of the more individual “Discover,” suggests that the Truth is objective and universal.  Furthermore, the imperative “shall” implies a sense of duty, which R.E. Lee’s quote on the Hall of Noble Words claims “is the sublimest word in the English language” (302).  
John Henry Newman said, “If then a practical end must be assigned to a University course, I say it is that of training good members of society” (313).  If we follow Newman’s idea, the obligation to search for the objective Truth parallels the social obligation taught at my high school.  The ends of both Jesuit education and the University of Texas ultimately require students to transcend above themselves and focus on others.  Connecting the values of my high school to the values of this much bigger and more diverse University has allowed me to realize that I am a college student for the same reason I was a high school student.  I am a student to form myself, to develop my talents, and to learn about the many facets of being human so that I am able to devote my life to the betterment of society.  I am a student because I hope to be a man for others.


Sept. 20: Liberal Arts and Plan II


In May, when my friend James got back from his Freshman year at St. Andrews University in Scotland, his parents invited me to dinner to see which direction my life had taken in the past few months, especially in regard to college.  After disappointing them with my choice of UT (my friend’s dad is the kind of aggie-alum who has a maroon pickup truck), I went through the ordeal of explaining what Plan II is—“It’s like a liberal-arts-honors-major…?” I will write the rest of the conversation in script form for my own amusement:

JAMES’S MOM:  Looking slightly confused, “But, Brian, I thought you wanted to be a doctor.”

BRIAN:  “That’s right, I’m also going to focus in pre-med and possibly major in Biology.”

MOM: “So, why are you studying liberal arts?  At St. Andrews, the med students only study medicine, and they get finished a lot more quickly.”

JAMES: “Mom, St. Andrews isn’t in America.  Europeans do things differently.”

JAMES’S DAD: “Like drive on the different side of the road!” Chuckles to himself.  

MOM: “I know, James.  You don’t have to rub it in.”  (The distance of his college is a touchy subject for the often-overbearing mother.) “All I’m saying is that I don’t care if my doctor is well-read, as long as he can prescribe me my medicine!” Which is obviously not what she had been saying, but is what she had really meant.  

JAMES: Mischievously jumping on the opportunity, “Mom, we’ll get your pain medication prescriptions filled tomorrow.  You go through those things so fast…”

MOM:  “James! I don’t…”

Awkward pause.

BRIAN: Cutting the tension, “Mrs. O’Connor, this stew is excellent.” And then, inconspicuously, “Can you pass the salt, James.”

MOM: Why, thank you Brian.  I’m glad you like it.

DAD: “This is stew?  I thought you were punishing us with pig’s feed!” Chuckles violently. “You might need a bit more salt there, Brian.”

MOM: “Jay! You’re really not that funny.  Do you think he’s funny, Brian?”

BRIAN acts like his mouth is full to avoid answering the awkward question.

JAMES: “I think your funny, dad.”

DAD:  “Thank you, James.”

DAD winks to JAMES which MOM notices.  DAD attempts to act innocent.

DAD:  Turning to BRIAN, “Well, I think it’s great that you’re able to receive a liberal arts education, Brian.  I might not care that my doctor has read Shakespeare, but I’m sure the doctor cares whether he has or not.”


    Although I wasn’t able to contribute much to the dinner conversation, hearing James’s mom’s objections to the liberal arts curriculum helped me realize exactly why I was pursuing it.  One of the reasons I had worked so hard during my early-education is that I had wanted to keep my options open. I have avoided identifying myself with and restricting myself to one specific subject because, essentially, I don’t know what I want to do.  I know I would like to be a doctor.  I would also like to be an editor of a magazine or the founder of a graphic design company.  As far as I know, being an astronaut isn’t out of the picture as my future career (well, it actually is, but I was illustrating a point).  Furthermore, if I do end up donning scrubs and a stethoscope as “Dr. Dillon”, I do not want to be restricted to the ER forever.  I might find an interest in research or health administration.  
Because of my uncertainty, the five-year medical track that my friend’s mom supported scares me.  I know for certain that I do not want to be doctor without “an open mind, a mind flexible and tough in its powers, humane in its perspective, rational and imaginative in its operations” (320B).  Without such a liberal outlook, I would be essentially tied down and doomed to walk the planet as, say, a podiatrist for the rest of my life.  I think I would eventually get tired of feet.  Furthermore, as Daniel H. Pink suggests in his article “Revenge of the Right Brain”, the right-brained abilities such as “artistry, empathy, seeing the big picture, and pursuing the transcendent” are becoming drastically more important to remain a professional asset in our quickly changing and growing world.  
Another aspect of the liberal arts education that I value and that James’s dad pointed out is much more personal.  I want a broad, liberal education because I want a life filled with learning.  People who make “learning an essential part of their life plans” are able to respond to any situations with a broader perspective (338).  While I must eventually learn the skills necessary for my career, I also need the skills to enrich my social, spiritual, and political lives.  Rather than living to work, I hope to work to live.  

Oct. 13: Hopkins vs. the “Disappearance of God”


On the very first page of the Hopkins and Ruskin readings, the reference to St. Thomas transported me precisely a year back in time to the fall semester of my senior year.   Every weekday, after an incredibly boring Bioethics class, I would walk into an off-white room in the "three-hundred" building, sit in my desk at the front of the class, and wait for Mr. "Big Mac" McNeil to saunter up to his desk.   After the bell signaled the beginning of class, Mr. McNeil would read a quote from either St. Augustine or St. Thomas Aquinas and segue into an often subtly didactic prayer asking God to "assist us in our quest of knowledge, which we know will ultimately lead us to You."  And then, my favorite class of the day, "Augustine and Aquinas" would begin.    
    In this class, we discussed the philosophies and teachings of the two major theologians of the catholic church.  I found that Hopkins' and Ruskin's adoption of "Carlyle's metaphysical view of the object--'Rightly viewed no meanest object is insignificant; all objects are as windows, through which the philosophic eye looks into Infinitude itself'" is strikingly similar to the thought of Aquinas, which, in the thirteenth century, significantly modified the church's Augustinian doctrine from the early fifth century (484).   Alright, brace yourself:

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Brian's Crash Course in Church History:

*In the early fifth century, St. Augustine converted to Catholicism and contributed a large volume of theological and philosophical teachings which the Catholic church adopted almost immediately.  Modeled after the thought of Plato, Augustine believed that the spiritual world was far superior to the material world (for reasons above and beyond the scope of this course).  The implications?  The peons of the early middle ages/dark ages (500-1100 AD) were taught to "reach towards the heavens" in their search for God.  The material world was less pure, and therefore not to be trusted, which basically precluded scientific pursuits.  

*Then, in the mid-thirteenth century, the Aristotle-loving St. Thomas Aquinas modified Augustine's reigning dualistic model of the universe.  He still acknowledged a spiritual world and a material world, but said that Truths about the spiritual world can only be understood through a method of "abstraction" in which one understands the spiritual world through observing "forms" in the material world. (see above: Carlyle's metaphysical view of the object)

*OH! THE IMPLICATIONS: This drastic shift in universal-views ended the Augustinian "upward thinking" and allowed people to begin looking at the material (natural) world as the source of knowledge and revelation.  This is kind of awesome.  And by "awesome" i mean REALLY awesome, because this philosophical change basically started a scientific revolution in the western world.  Some call this revolution the Renaissance (14th century-16th century).  

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    I hope you got all that, because Hopkins' and Ruskin's focus on the natural world, and embrace of science is closely linked to the philosophy of St. Thomas Aquinas and has many of the same implications.  The two artists were naturalists, and sought to recreate the natural world because they believed truths could be derived from nature.  This kind of thinking is extremely beneficial to scientific progress because it encourages the understanding of the world.  
    On the other side of the spectrum are the realists whose art Hopkins attacked as being a "degenerative realism lacking 'truth of detail'" (485).  These realists hope to capture something more "real" by using their art to point towards a higher idea which more closely relates to a momentary experience or feeling.  This ambition is similar to that of Augustine who also pointed to a spiritual world.  Such an "upwards" philosophy precludes the exploration of science.  
    In light of Augustine and Aquinas, i disagree with the claim that Hopkins' (and I assume this means Ruskin's as well) drawings "reflect the rise of modern science" (484-485).  It seems that the contrary is true.  The focus on nature that Hopkins' and Ruskin's sketches display supports a world view that embraces the material world, rather than distrusting it.  It is this philosophy that promotes scientific progress.  Therefore, their drawings are not the effect, but part of the cause of the rise of modern science.


Oct. 27: Landscape Architecture: Waller Creek


Before writing this journal, I opened my iTunes and played one of my favorite Beatles songs--"Mother Nature's Son".  The terse lyrics describe a young troubadour sitting by a flowing steam and observing nature through song.  I can almost picture the frolicking animals in the nearby fields dancing to Paul McCarney's finger-picked melodies.  After three short one-sentence verses, McCartney gives up his spirited depictions of nature and begins scatting along wordlessly.  I think the lack of lyrics in this part of the song alludes to the wordless character of nature.  Like when we remove ourselves from the city to appreciate nature, when the human lyrical crafting is taken from the song, "nothing remains but Beauty" as Arthur Grey Butler would say (417).

A certain incorporeal appeal exists in the peaks of mountains and "attractively eroded banks" of wandering streams (658).  Nature is inherently a most pure manifestation of beauty, but it is difficult to explain why. Newman quotes the Proctor of the German nation who considers nature a place for "retirement and pleasure" (315).  When the land near the University of Paris is defiled by the buildings of a new town, the Proctor laments "Whither shall the youthful student now betake himself, what relief will he find for his eyes, wearied with intense reading, now that the pleasant stream is taken from him" (315).  Paul McCartney notes the same therapeautic value when one can "sit beside a mountains stream, see her waters rise" (The Beatles, "Mother Nature's Son).  

John Dougill provides a reason why the experience of nature is so therapeutic.  He reminds us that nature is our origin, and that, essentially, mankind is simply another aspect of nature.  However, it seems that "progress" has removed the human race from all that is natural.  Often, and detrimentally, human-kind is described as the opposite of nature.  Dougill asks "could it be that we need, for our own mental health, to cultivate fresh acquaintance with those remaining [natural] parts of our cities [such as streams and parks] which most easily and powerfully reopen past time, returning us to our half-forgotten origins?" (666).  He realizes that nature, not cities, buildings, or fast-food restaurants, is more closely related to what it means to be human.