A man may die, but an idea cannot be extinguished. The mind and body of a man are easily destroyed, but words cannot be attacked by bullets

or be conquered by the most powerful governments. A vision, once voiced, has an impetus that ripples outwards in an inscrutable pattern. Even when

the idea passes out of the human consciousness, it remains forever in the collective unconscious, affecting

lives and events far distant. The most powerful visions are ones of truth; the precious virtue, which in the

deepest sense of the word, the American Heritage dictionary defines as: “that which is considered to be the

supreme reality and to have the ultimate meaning and value of existence." Truth dispels concealment and

defies the tyranny of deceit, it is a pure perception and articulation of the facts. In every generation, there

will be someone who carries a torch which burns so brightly, that it illumines the dark corners of the human

mind and dispels the shadows cast by the great terrors of the world. The power of leadership however, is

also its paradox: auguring the greatest potential for mankind as well as its greatest temptation. Ideas may be messages of love or hate, life or death,

good or evil. They can both create and destroy. In the end, however, they cannot be shaped to the will of one mind, but must bend to the combined

will of the generations that follow. They must be harnessed by the leaders who will shape order out of the new

world that is created by the energy unleashed from the birth of common purpose. We are the guardians of the potential passed on to us. We are the

ones charged with the responsibility of preserving the truth. In the words of author Jim Wallis, “we are the ones we have been waiting for.”[1]

          Each of us is called to this higher purpose and each of us will respond in our own measure. Each life is galvanized by its individual purpose in

the greater whole. My personal calling to this greater unity is through the beauty of living things and the vitality of the natural world. I want to dedicate

my energy, my talent, my life to the preservation of life. Specifically, I want to work to help liberate life, both human and animal, from the oppression

of fear of hunger and disease. I wish to see and study humanity’s relationship to its environment in all its forms, to learn, and to serve. Ultimately, I

desire to add in some small way, to the sum total of what it means to be a member of the human race through a commitment to “a life of decency,

justice, and dignity for us all.”[2] In short, I want to work in service of something greater than myself, so that when I die, I will become a part of that

imperishable ideal. I believe my vital matter will return to the energy of the greater whole. Somewhere, the self that was the essence of me, will be

dancing in harmony to the eternal pulsing of the stars, the intricate waltz of the galaxies, and the devastatingly beautiful rhythm of the universe.

          My current path is toward veterinary school. The day to day reality of this pursuit consists of completing four years of

undergraduate pre-requisites and the painful hopes that accompany it. Competition for the few places open in veterinary schools is fierce, and it is

frightening to want something that there is a very real possibility of being denied. In fact, a shocking amount of the free time during my first semester

at the university was spent grappling with this lingering fear: “from the first crude days/ Of settling time in this untried abode,/ I was disturbed at times

by prudent thoughts,/ Wishing to hope without a hope.”[3] Deeper than this anxiety though, an obscure feeling of doubt permeates my plan,

threatening my contentment with the choice of career I have made. I have heard many stories of professionals in the health services field that

eventually feel burned out and unappreciated. After many years, they no longer feel that their work has an impact and grow weary of toiling in what

they view as a losing battle against indifference and disorder. It seems that this cynicism, is in some degree, an inevitable byproduct of the nature of

work in medicine. In spite of this vague worry, I recognize that it would be foolish to let such a negative possibility prevent me from pursuing my

goal. No matter which profession one pursues, “in helping others, we’ll always find ambiguity and paradox...this need to know” how our help has

made a difference.[4] I know that when I encounter “those moments when we are not at all sure what our actions have amounted to,” I will have to

practice acceptance of Not Knowing.[5] The times when I am given direct proof of the impact of my service will be rare, but by contenting myself

with not knowing, I am allowing the possibility that my work is affecting lives in ways more wonderful than I could predict or imagine. More simply

though, will be the satisfaction of knowing that I have dedicated myself to a purpose which I have judged to be the most unselfish use of my gifts. For

even “if the object to which one devotes himself is an illusion, the devotion to it is none the less a reality; and this reality is the most splendid dress

with which man can deck out his wretched state.”[6]

          In the meantime, between the mundane work and the self-doubt, I dream of Africa. I envision the equatorial sunrise, the savannah, and the heat

with a feeling akin to what I can only call genetic nostalgia. I hypothesize that it is an inborn longing to return to man’s origins– the very cradle of

infant life on primal Earth. It is like hidden magnets within my cells have oriented themselves towards that mysterious continent, generating an almost

imperceptible but steady pull across time and miles of vast, open ocean. Some of my earliest memories are tinged with this strange longing. I am not

sure exactly when or how it began. Maybe it was the vivid television documentaries of

the annual rains and wildebeest migration that first enchanted my younger self. Often, I

would sit spellbound with a childlike appreciation of the sheer drama graphically

unfolding before me. More likely perhaps, it was a combination of fantastical images

conjured up by Dr. Doolittle and the Swiss family Robinson. I believed that I could

persuade that jolly doctor (watching the 1967 film convinced me he was real), to hire me

as an assistant on amazing voyages in his giant pink conch shell to faraway islands. I

even thought out lengthy lists of what I would pack and imagined in great detail the tree

house where I would live. In some versions, I had a horse like Pippi Longstocking, and

in all of them I learned the secret of talking with the animals. Even before my imagination

was captured by reading these stories, however, I loved to pore over the glossy pages of

National Geographic magazine. I can remember rows filled with their bright yellow

bindings on the book shelves of my basement. They had a distinct acrid smell, were

smooth to the touch, and full of color photos that opened up avenues of possibilities in

my mind. The subjects were colorful, exotic, and endlessly fascinating. I could not

articulate this feeling then, but what I loved most about the magazines was that they

granted me freedom: “freedom from the accidents of history, the accident of being born

in this country in the decade, the century I was born in. Freedom to survey other countries, other centuries, other traditions.”[7]

          I did not know it at the time, but my odyssey through the volumes of National Geographic was the beginning of a journey that would retrace

my grandfather’s footsteps. He is a man whom I would never meet, but who had given my mother the subscription, and thus filled my

bookshelf and childhood with images of a strange but beautiful world. I learned later that my mother had been born overseas because he had worked

as a veterinarian for the World Health Organization of the United Nations. The captivating treasures under the glass of our coffee table had been

collected on their family’s travels through Central and South America. Fascinated with animals, with travel, and with this idea of a brilliant man who

had been my mother’s father, I conceived an idea that he was watching down on me somewhere secretly pleased with my interests and my progress

through school.

          Over the years, my precocious career choices varied a lot; at one time I declared a passionate conviction to be a baker. By the time I was in the

fifth grade, however, becoming a veterinarian became a recurrent idea. When it came time to pick a foreign language to study at the end of the year, I

chose French because I knew it was spoken in some parts of the African continent. I had decided rather than shadowing my grandfather’s career in

Latin America, I would have my own dream. I would explore Africa.

          In high school, my participation in Model United Nations heightened my interest in international

relations. I did research on Nigeria’s position on issues like Mad Cow Disease (Bovine Spongiform

Encephalapathy), and genetically modified foods for committee hearings of the Food and Agriculture

Organization.Studying Mad Cow especially interested me in animal diseases that are transferable to

humans. Once I began the research, I would spend hours immersed everyday in the websites of non-

governmental organizations and in the beloved stacks of my town’s well-funded library. I felt fired with purpose, anxious to write, and deeply

involved.

          When it came time to apply to college, I looked for programs that would allow me the flexibility to explore all of my interests. I did not wish to

pigeonhole myself into a pre-professional track or even to a strict pursuit of the sciences. I was afraid that my much cherished abstraction of being a

veterinarian would prove to be just that– a well worn and comfortable habit of thinking that might not hold up against the reality of experience. Despite

my explorations of alternative career paths, however, my thoughts and inclination always return to the ultimate goal of being a veterinarian without

borders. It is the inevitable querencia where my aspirations dwell, the potential future to which my thoughts always return. I no longer fear, however,

that my goal is motivated by habit or comfort. After all, “a dream is a being that travels from wild mind into the dot/monkey mind/conscious self to

wake us up.” [8] The choice to become a veterinarian excites me, scares me, and challenges me in every calm moment to evaluate my decision and the

ideals to which I am dedicating myself. In the end, “we reach certainties not through logic but perception.” [9]

      As both a dreamer and an idealist, it is easy to lose myself in the abstraction of my goal. With each day I spend at the University of Texas,

however, I gain courage and conviction. My classes, especially our world literature course, has encouraged freedom of thought and growth in self-

knowledge. This semester was a continuation of our class’s pilgrimage towards higher consciousness. Through humility and reverence for objects and

places that connect us to something greater than ourselves, our ultimate goal was knowledge of that which is beyond the comprehension of an

individual ego.

      Nature served as our first guide on this odyssey of discovery learning. By its awesome grandeur and infinite complexity, we were humbled, and

thus placed in an ideal position to be receptive to the learning process. Our discussions of the role of nature in literature and our modern world,

inspired us to question life’s very origins and humanity’s place in the overall pattern. Our line of questioning

followed these unifying strands: Does the natural world serve as a eucharist, the embodiment of the divine in a flawed

human reality, both partaking of the essence of, and at the same time, serving as evidence for the presence of a God?

Was man designed with purpose or is he a chance product of chaos? Are we no different than any other species of

animal, ultimately doomed to extinction in a mindless game of survival of the fittest? Has God abandoned humanity, his

presence receding along with Matthew Arnold’s “sea of faith?” When man ceases to worship a god, like the forgotten

pantheon of the ancient Greeks, does the god cease to exist? Perhaps God is not dead as Nietzsche declared, but never

existed at all, always merely an illusion produced by human culture.

      We framed these questions in the context of the 1860 debate on evolution held at Oxford. Like the fall semester project, we searched for past and

present “ghosts” we felt a connection to, and by giving voice to their opinion on the evolution debate, we explored the ramifications and convictions of

our own beliefs. Before the project and the necessary self-reflection it entailed, whenever I had read or heard a persuasive pro-evolution or Creationist

argument, I would be captivated by whichever opinion the author was defending. After I finished the article or walked away from the discussion,

however, I would feel confused and guilty that my beliefs were so unclear and easily persuaded by rhetoric. I realized that my confusion and

reluctance to hold a firm opinion on evolution, resulted from my ignorance of the true nature of

the argument. I knew that scientists believe they are engaging in a scholarly debate, a matter of

proving or disproving a scientific theory, but I did not have a clear idea of the opposing side’s

ideology or methods of argument. This led to my decision to choose Phillip E. Johnson, an

outspoken proponent of the Intelligent Design theory, for the “voice” of my project. By seriously

considering a theistic approach for the first time, I discovered that the debate had deeper

implications to people of faith than an entrenched defense of a literal interpretation of the Bible.

      My research redefined the way I viewed the nature of the evolution debate as well as my perceptions of the theory’s opponents. I had the

humbling experience to discover, that contrary to my previous assumptions, the only close-minded and ignorant person in the debate had been myself.

From a confusing internal struggle to decide, “Which side is right, which side is better,” I progressed to the simple awareness that the answer is not as

important as our ability to appreciate the profundity of a question as fundamental as the origin and purpose of human life. In short, I began to question

the act of questioning and think about the human thinking process. This brainstorm reminded me of something important, that “there is more to the

mind than reason alone. There is awareness itself”.[10] “The question therefore is, how did all that information “get” there? What’s the source?”[11]

No matter which position of the debate one takes, either for or against evolution or a comprise of the two, each is struggling to answer that most basic

and profound question: “Why am I here?” I realized that what makes people really passionate about their view on evolution vs. Creationism is not so

much the fact evolution proposes to tell us the How of our existence, but has far reaching implications into the Why. What the debate surrounding

evolution confronts, is not the design that made us, but if the designer was disinterested chance or a loving Creator– are we cared about or not. While

not directly questioning the existence of a Creator, the impersonal mechanism described by evolution inherently concludes that a divine interest in life

ceased long ago. Therefore, evolution, as defined by modern scientists, precipitates a belief in the disappearance of God. This crisis of faith is clearly

documented in Victorian literature, seen in the despair expressed by Alfred Lord Tennyson’s, In Memoriam:

“So careful of the type? But no.

From scarped cliff and quarried stone

She cries, “A thousand types are gone

I care for nothing, all shall go.” [12]

It is also poignantly expressed in Charles’s struggle with self-will and destiny in Fowles’s, The French Lieutenant’s Woman. Finally, I could

understand why theists felt so threatened.

      Although the project did not convert me into a stalwart defender of either mechanism of human creation, my self-reflections have left me with the

conviction that just as there is a greater awareness behind my thoughts, there is a message behind the information coded in our DNA. I do not think

that either our philosophical or scientific pursuits will ever be able to accurately define the source. We must be content with Not Knowing. I think it is

possible, however, to decode the message. I personally believe that there is a deeper meaning to a human than the sum of his DNA, and that it is

evidence man is part of the greater unity connecting all living things. Whatever one calls that deeper meaning, be it a soul or an inscape, it is man’s

birthright to a unique place within the Mystery.

      Besides serving as a catalyst to coalesce my thoughts on the evolution debate, the first project had other important consequences as well. The

experience I gained from defending Phillip E. Johnson’s conviction prepared me to articulate my life’s

vision for the LR Midterm. It taught me the power of conveying a personal passion and dedication to that

ideal to others. Eloquence combined with sincere belief forges compelling connections between the

speaker and the listener. As Cardinal John Henry Newman said, and Dr. Bump reminds us, "the heart is

commonly reached, not through the reason, but through the imagination, by means of direct impressions,

by the testimony of facts and events, by history, by description.” [13] Just as my research on the views of

Phillip E. Johnson redefined my perceptions of the evolution debate, I have the ability to inspire others, or

at the least, persuade them to re-examine their assumptions.

      With greater knowledge of my self, I discovered a greater capacity to lead. This discovery, aided by

our previous course objectives and assignments, marked a transition point in our class’s pilgrimage. Our ultimate goal remained to achieve appreciation

of that which is greater than the self, but the method became reversed. Instead of looking outside of ourselves for guideposts (like our exploration of

Nature in literature), and for teachers (like the “ghosts” of the evolution debate), the search turned within. The new emphasis on self-reflection

and challenge to demonstrate leadership translated into the greatest progress towards my goals for the course. I especially noticed my improvement in

public speaking. Both our informal journals and in-class discussion have fostered my creativity and confidence in conveying my ideas. I no longer feel

constrained by doubt or self-consciousness. Grounded in the thorough knowledge of who I am and focused on my goals, I feel freed from the anxiety

of having to meet artificial expectations. Whether listening or speaking, I am comfortable enough to simply be in the moment. With the emotional

literacy conferred by knowledge of the self, we are better able to understand, interact, and serve others: “as we reach a deeper sense of who we are,

we discover how much more we have to give.”[14] Thus, greater knowledge of the self is clearly linked with greater knowledge of that which is

beyond the ego.

      To develop our emotional literacy and continue our pursuit of higher awareness through greater knowledge of the self, we practiced exercising our

sympathetic imaginations. John Ruskin in his 1873, Fors Clavigera, defines this sympathy as "the imaginative understanding of the natures of others,

and the power of putting ourselves in their place,” and that this, “is the faculty on which virtue depends."[15] Many of the authors we read in this

course relied on the reader's crucial ability to identify with the characters, in order to convey a deeper sense of meaning or irony. Browning’s

dramatic dialogues, My Last Duchess and Porphyria’s Lover, were two important examples. Their unusual insight into the mind of the murderer

instead of the typical omniscient objective voice, convey the alien social mores of the Victorian era in a way that can be understood by the modern

reader. To be told a woman was killed by a jealous lover is much different than to know the thoughts and secret desperation of a Victorian man

hopelessly in love with a woman above his station. The crime remains unforgivable, but the motive is no longer an enigma. The reader’s opportunity to

penetrate the temporal and geographic barrier between the customs of Victorian England and modern America, placed me in a position from which I

could judge the morality of a crime committed in a society that is completely foreign to my own.

      The sympathetic imagination, developed through the literature of our course, has important applications to my future career. Working in the field

of veterinary medicine requires a high capacity for understanding suffering from abuse, disease, and starvation. Since an animal cannot speak for itself,

a veterinarian must be particularly adept at extrapolating a diagnosis from subtle changes in behavior. Much of this process relies on the basic but

generally underdeveloped skill of identifying with an object separate and foreign to oneself, even the mind of an animal. Some people believe that

animals do not feel complex emotions or that they have any emotions at all. If one observes animal behavior, however, this is a very counterintuitive

belief. Just as humans become lethargic and avoid food when they are ill, a dog becomes depressed and refuses to eat when he is in pain. In addition to

respecting and learning the unique needs of every animal, a vet also has the responsibility of sympathizing with the owner. Pet owners look on their

animal as a member of the family, and livestock owners are dependent upon their animals for their livelihood. When their animals fall ill, a vet has to be

extraordinarily tactful in discussing the patient’s prognosis. A stoic does not make a good veterinarian. The best vet possesses the ability to sympathize

with all life, both animal and human.   

          This summer, my journey towards becoming a veterinarian begins with a two-week field veterinary experience in Costa Rica and Nicaragua.

For the first time in my life, I will be traveling to a country outside of the United States and Canada. Though I have seen many diverse styles of living

within the US, I know nothing in my experience has prepared me for life in a foreign country. Both the Spanish language and the culture of Central

America will present barriers to communication and understanding. I will even have to conform to new gender roles. In Latin America, the women

dress modestly and speak with more restraint. In some conservative areas, women are not even allowed to launder other women's clothes.

Consequently, my ability to employ the sympathetic imagination will be tested to the utmost. The brochures claim that this trip will be “life-changing,”

and for once, I do not doubt the truth in advertising. Already, I have been forced to make decisions and think on subjects far different from my normal

routine. Dr. Bump’s words about finding a vision you would be willing to die for have become uncannily true. They were echoed back at me during

my visit to the University Health Services. I had to have a variety of inoculations for diseases eradicated in the US, but still of major concern in

developing countries, like Hepatitis A and malaria. The nurse even warned me that there are several serious diseases that they cannot vaccinate against

like Dengue fever and Rabies. She dwelt particularly long on Rabies, trying to impress me with the gravity of contracting it, since it is generally fatal if

not treated within twenty four hours. Figuring out health insurance for the trip was also a morbid experience, especially while in looking over the

terms, I read the clause which detailed benefits covering repatriation of my remains, should I die abroad. The policy also explained provisions made in

the event I disappear and my body is never found. Suddenly, my exciting volunteer trip to Costa Rica and Nicaragua became very serious. After I

recovered from the initial shock of these frightening propositions, however, I became almost perversely glad of the risk. I have found something that I

am willing tocompromise my health and my safety in order to pursue, and thus have come to appreciate all that I have to give, and to lose. Like Jane

Eyre, I recognize that, "God did not give me my life to throw away." [16] She stubbornly scorned a life of labour without love, and I just as

enthusiastically defy a life of safe convention.I want to live so that my life will not be measured by the number of breaths I take, but by the strength of

my dedication and service to the best of my abilities.

Revised Word Count: 4021 (4198 with quotes)

1. Jim Wallis, God’s Politics: Why the Right Gets it Wrong and the Left Doesn’t Get it (New York: HarperSanFranciso, 2005), 374.

2. A. Bartlett Giamett, Hall of Noble Words, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. I, 320B.

3. William Wordsworth, Residence at Cambridge, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. II, 373.

4. Ram Dass, The Witness, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. I, 159.

5. Ibid, 159.

6. Anatole France, The Hall of Noble Words, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. I, 302

7. Dr. Bump’s thoughts on Newman’s theory of the liberal arts, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. I, 320.

8. Natalie Goldberg, Wild Mind, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. I, 180.

9. Cardinal John Henry Newman, The Grammar of Assent, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. I, 308

10. Ram Dass, The Witness, Fall Course Anthology Vol. I, 157.

11. Ibid, 63.

12. Alfred Lord Tennyson, In Memoriam, Spring Course Anthology, 54.

13. Cardinal John Henry Newman, The Grammar of Assent, Fall Course Anthology, Vol. I, 308.

14. Ram Dass, The Witness, Fall Course Anthology Vol. I, 159.

15. Ruskin, John. Fors Clavigera (Sunnyside: Allen, 1873), quoted in George P. Landow, Emotionalist Moralist Philosophy: Sympathy

and the Moral Theory that Overthrew Kings, http://www.victorianweb.org/philosophy/phil4.html.

16. Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre (New York: W.W. Norton & Company, 2001), 352.

Image Sources

1.Day Dream Believer- Class Website (photoshop editing)

2. African Baobab Tree- www.cricketboy.org/ canvas/africa/Africa%2020.jpg

3. African Sunset- http://www.ecoafrica.com/images/africa.jpg

4. Discovery Learning- Class Website (photoshop editing)

5. Oxford University Museum of Natural History- http://www.universeum.de/museums/oxford.html

6. Sympathetic Imagination of the Victorian Era- Class Website (photoshop editing)

7. Articulating Intelligent Design- Class Website (photoshop editing)