Towards the end of last school year, a student asked the most important question ever.
“Sir, is it true that as one grows old, he becomes more practical?” Somehow he looked guilty. ”I am just worried that when the time comes, I will lose my ideals.”
What ideals? I asked.
“That there are things I want to do for this country. That I want it to be better.”
I recall fumbling for an answer. Caught unprepared, I didn’t have anything coherent to say. Or more likely I wasn’t ready to say what I really wanted to.
At that time, I was at a crossroads. The economic downturn left so many in a bad place, myself included. I was about to send myself off to graduate school, but my savings were nearly wiped out (one month I spent more for gasoline than food) and the prospects of finding a new, more fulfilling job simply wasn’t there. I was also at a sore spot emotionally. Despite being given a position of authority and responsibility in the school, support wasn’t given to me by the higher ups when I needed it most. It was demoralizing. It felt futile to dream, taboo to hope.
It was so difficult to answer that student because I just wanted to give up. I just wanted to take the easy way out and quit. So the plans I’ve set for my batch wouldn’t push through? “I’m sorry. It was beyond me.” The stress wasn’t worth the pay check. And the call center seemed so attractive all of a sudden. I was ready to say, “Yes, it is true what they say about growing old.”
Abandon hope, all ye who enter here.
But there was something wrong with what I wanted to say. It wasn’t true. To the very end, I struggled with the question. Then I stood in front of my classes for the last time.
There is simply no way to describe the anticipation in their eyes knowing that they were listening to me speak for the last time. They all knew that what I’m about to say won’t be in their exam, and yet the room fell so deeply silent that it drowned out the steady creaking of rusty chairs. And I began. (The following speech is still so vivid in my mind.)
“We often divide time into three parts: past, present, and future. Thinking of the present isn’t as easy as the past and the future. The former are those events that have already happened, and the latter are those that have yet to. We can’t pin down the present with the word “now” for even when we speak it, it has already passed. In the time we spend thinking of how to make the most of the here and now, we are already history.
“Very much like that man in the Daoist tale I often share. Chased by a tiger, he fell down a cliff only to save himself by grasping on a vine. He couldn’t climb down though for another tiger awaited below; he couldn’t climb up for the first tiger wouldn’t give up the chase. While he held on, two mice began to chew on the vine. Desperate with nowhere else to go, he held on tighter until an image slowly formed in a corner of his eye. A berry portruded from the cliff wall. Knowing that he is doomed anyway, he reached out, plucked the berry, and ate it.
“Even Daoism sees the present as merely caught in between the past and the future. Yet what it cultivates is a sense of the moment, an awareness that we are finite and fragile so while we live, we make most of our time. Indeed, there is no time like the present.
“Historian John Lewis Gaddis views time differently. He writes that time is composed of two components — continuities and contingencies. The former are those events that form patterns over time. Observing continuities allow us to establish everything from simple causalities to grand theories of the universe. Think of your daily routine; imagine the rigor of the scientists running repetitive stress tests on the Large Hadron Collider. In sequencing events we establish continuities, allowing us to find refuge in the Marxian adage, “history repeats itself.”
“On the other hand, contingencies are those events with no precedent. Just entertain the very notion of an accident. The birth of a great leader. A natural disaster (which science can only predict up to a point). An anomaly in space and time. Contingencies are what rattle us from our false sense of security, introducing a sense of unpredictablitiy and danger. These events can disrupt whole continuities or even create new ones. In failing to prepare ourselves for these strange events, we can echo the words of George Bernard Shaw, ‘We learn from history that we learn nothing from history.’
“Hence, how do we view the past, present, and future in the terms set by Gaddis? Imagine a singularity or a black hole — even simpler: a funnel. The narrow tube represents the past. At that point, continuities and contingencies have fused and can no longer be undone. Hence history becomes the science of observing this amalgam of events, deriving an understanding of how man and nature affect the course of time. The wider cone represents the open space where continuities and contingencies shift, race and move around. That is the future; unformed, undetermined and inchoate is its very nature. But all these converge into a point — the void itself — which mercilessly and indescriminately fuses all aspect of time into a single stream. That is the present. This is now.
“Thus, the present is where history is made.
“The other day, one of you asked me the most important Question I’ve ever received. That’s a Question with a capital Q, the sort that can change your life.
“He asked, ‘Sir, is it true that as someone grows older, he comes more practical? Is it true that they lose their ideals?’
“This is an interesting question. Considering that we just talked about ‘Freedom from Fear’ by Aung San Suu Kyi, I would like to end by sharing my answer to this question.
“First of all, let nobody tell you that it is wrong to want the better life. There is nothing wrong with wanting a fast car, a big house, and a job that can earn you millions before you even hit thirty. Just remember what all the religions we discussed had to say about happiness and fulfillment. As long as you are honest, upright, and true, then by all means seize the life you deserve.
“My only request is that if at one point in your life you feel compelled to undertake a cause greater than yourself, take the time to listen. Think about it. Maybe the voice will go away. But what if it doesn’t?
“Sadly, it is difficult to stand up for what you believe in. It shouldn’t be, but it is. For those of you who choose to answer the call, know that it will be tough. There will be many who will say you can’t; these are the pessimists. There will be more who say ‘don’t bother, be realistic, play it safe.’ These are the cynics. What these two have in common is that they find virtue in their apathy and wisdom in their ignorance. These are the people who try to shut their ears — they know they can’t, but they do so anyway.
“But dealing with the naysayers is easy. The true difficulty in standing by your beliefs is the amount of sacrifice you will have to make. Our country, quite frankly, needs a lot of work. We need more teachers. More doctors. More scientists. More public servants. But we need them here. We need more honesty. More fairness. More integrity. More passion. And we need them now.
“What many people miss is that our country is full of hope; we just have to work for it.
“So much has happened in my life that if things went another way, I wouldn’t be here speaking to you. I was supposed to be a lawyer. My salary now would be four times what I’m earning. With all the bills these days, I am paying for that decision now. But even early on I knew that it wasn’t what I wanted to do. I wanted to be part of something larger than myself. I wanted to change the world. Call it being idealistic, but this was real to me. It’s a big deal. And when I graduated college at 21, I knew that it was through teaching that I could attain this goal best.
“It wasn’t an easy decision to make. My father did not speak to me for months, and he reminds me of this every now and then. Without a fancy car or a big house, I will never measure up to success the way society has defined it. But it’s only because they’ll never measure up to success the way I define it either — that in being happy you allow others to be happy, and in embracing your possibilities you make things happen for other people.
“So I decided to work for the change I sought. And I hope that after everything has been said and done — and perhaps your awed silence is a sign — I did something right. I am sure that in the future, this means of attaining that goal will change. I will find another way other than teaching, and I will be needed elsewhere. I continue to dream and hope. But right now, this is where I am. This is my present.
“If it is in the present that history is made, then what are we waiting for? Thank you.”
As it turned out, our plans for the Batch pushed through and it all turned out really, really well. But what brings me back down this road is not a sense of nostalgia.
Now, more than ever, our country is at a crossroads. Some call it good versus evil. Rich versus poor. Idealism versus realism. No matter how you cut it though, we all have to take a stand somewhere. Whatever position we take will be difficult but there is no other moment. The question is — Are we ready?
Robert Langdon is the 21st century urban man’s Indiana Jones. Instead of raiding catacombs in a remote region of South Asia, his adventures often begin in a capital of high culture. His haunts range from museums to grand churches, haunted by anyone from a misguided antisocial zealot to a secret society rooted in the ancient arts.
