Commencement 2006 Closing Remarks
May 14, 2006
It is, finally, my honor and charge, to end our proceedings with a few words of congratulation and farewell to the Class of 2006.
In your journey here, you have known of Queen Noor and Kofi Anan, of John Lewis, of Sarah Brady and Shirin Ebadi, of the inspiring and heroic David Brown. You've seen hurricanes and storms, and the road trips they spawned, traumas and losses and heartaches, mid-year tuition increases, controversial dorm projects, a caf that went to Yates Field—and back again—a much-loved Alcohol Task Force Report, and now construction at ever turn. You've brought model UN acclaim, football championships and ESPN. Ramon Jackson on the rings, Hawley Smith on MTV, and, at long last, movie theatres worthy of the name.
You have said goodbye to a president brilliant and much beloved; and welcomed a rookie with more warmth than he deserved. You have encouraged the marvelous doctorate of Chon Glover, one of our mutual she-roes. You brought us a new Chancellor unparalleled, a world weightlifting champion, and lights at Zable Stadium. You've been Newsweek's 'hottest' and Virginia's smartest. You've been 'children of the storm,' 'masters of chaos,' and, with Faulkner, you have not only endured — you have prevailed. And you have done it with a stunning and uplifting and, to a new president, I will say, surprising commitment to causes far larger than your own. If I can have only one first graduating class in this life — I am honored it is you.
So rather than load you with advice, that I have precious little standing to offer, I close with ten good wishes for your years ahead:
First, I hope you'll follow Mark Twain's unflinching dictate: "When in doubt, do the right things. It will confound your enemies and amaze the rest." And heed always Lincoln's warning to "tell the truth, you won't have so much to remember."
Second, I hope you'll understand that leaders are meant to be the custodians of our ideals. And each and every one of you is capable of being a leader. Each and every one.
Third, I hope you'll see that you cannot have a powerfully developed sense of justice without a powerfully developed sense of injustice. So keep your eyes wide.
Fourth, I ask you to remember what I believe you already know — that you make a living by what you get, but you make a life by what you give. And that though you may have worries, challenges, and even debts, 700,000 Virginians living in poverty paid to subsidize your education. Now you'll want to think about what you're going to do to pay them back.
Fifth, I hope you've seen that compassion without expertise can be a mess, but that technique without heart can be a menace. And your work cannot omit the weightiest matters of life — judgment, mercy and faith.
Sixth, in the darkest of times, I ask you to keep close Dr. King's reminder that "the arc of the moral universe is long, but it bends toward justice." And that you'll live with this day's strong sense of hope — understanding that hope is not just a prediction of success, or a description of the world you survey, but a way of living, a predisposition of the heart.
Seventh, I remind of John Kennedy's claim that public universities "are not maintained by the people...merely to give their graduates an economic advantage in the life struggle. (Though that) they do. (Unless those) who (obtain) a running start in life are willing to put back those talents...into the service of the republic, (then) the presuppositions on which our democracy is based" will surely fail."
Eighth, I hope that you will never believe you cannot make a difference — no matter how hard the path, or how uncertain success may seem. An ancient proverb reminds that when you get to your wits' end, there God lives. And I'm pretty sure Fannie Lou Hamer didn't do an opinion poll before she started the Mississippi Freedom Democratic Party, that Rosa Parks didn't conduct a focus group before she sat down for freedom.
Ninth, I wish that you would lift your sights higher, dream better, lead more, challenge more, change more, protect more of what's sacred to you, live closer to the core of your ideals, than my own generation has managed. That you would literally recapture the ethical responsibilities of learning — recognizing that to whom much is given, must is required — and that the pursuit of happiness and the pursuit of justice march not in opposite directions, but hand in hand.
Tenth, I hope you'll think too, on occasion, of those greatest ones who have gone before. Those who have taught by ennobling grace of life. Those who did not confuse wealth or fame with character of purpose. Of Gandhi, of King, of Chavez, of Heschel, of Lewis, of Teresa, of Mandela, of Ebaki, of Tutu. Those who followed the paths of heart. Those who saw service to their fellows as the literal purpose of existence. Those who knew, as the scriptures claim, that "the permanent things are the things you cannot see."
Those permanent things fill the hall this day. They lift us up. They mark our lives. They send you out. They fill your sails. They whisper in the gale. Keep 'em with you. They ask for the tougher path; the larger contribution. They are the foundation of our best selves. Make them your own.
And finally, in the storied words of Brian Wilson, "be true to your school." Remembering, as you depart, that the College is not a Wren Building or a Sunken Garden or a Crim Dell or a Yule Log or even a Candlelight Celebration — it is, instead, an unvanquished movement of the spirit, an unyielding habit of the heart. A belief, proclaimed self-evident, in the dignity and worth of each of us. In a fraternal good more potent and uplifting than selfish and contending screed. In the power of discovery and the potential of imagination in the mind made free. In a search for value and character that inevitably unfolds as a love of truth. In knowledge employed to promote the happiness and welfare of all — rather than the narrowed interest of those whom fortune and circumstance have imbued with temporary ascendancy. In a sense of blessing and obligation — bound by neither time nor place — that dwells at the core — traveling with us to unknown and unknowable shores. A tug essential to remember and that, remembered, calls us home.
Congratulations and Godspeed. Go Tribe. Hark upon the gale.
