I was talking with a friend in the library (of all places) one random night when we started discussing the issue of doubt in our educations at Duke. It went something like this:
"So, I don't know what I'm going to do with myself this summer, much less after college."
"Yeah, me too. There's so much out there."
"For real. How do some people know so clearly where they're going in the world? I sure don't have any of it figured out."
"Wait a second...who does?"
We didn't know exactly what we were trying to understand, but we understood each other perfectly--clearly, there is a pervasive sense of tracked direction among undergraduate students at Duke, one that often puts the blinders on for other worthwhile experiences in college, or in the "real world" shortly thereafter. But that wasn't quite the point of the discussion. Our conversation was illuminating, not only because I realized that there are other undergraduates at this University who feel the same way, but also because it spurred my thoughts on the grand question of why we are here, why we continue to study and write and produce in the face of an infinite set of options and choices constantly begging for our attention.
The recent investigation by the Duke Conservative Union into the political affiliations of our professors at Duke raises a number of significant questions about the purpose of a university. Are professors and other scholars here to find truth, and if so, does that truth change with the values and assumptions of the people who are teaching? If we are not here to find truth, then what are we doing here?
One obvious answer is, of course, for the credentials. We need X degree to get Y job so that by the time we're 40 we can have Z pension plan (plus ABC spouse and kids). But this need exists only insofar as our society has deemed it necessary to have credentials. In its most ideal form, a university is the place for discussion of the greatest problems and questions facing our societies. Through our work at Duke, we all in some way hope to realize our personal visions for what is the "right" life or path in the world.
In Nan's published response to the DCU ad, she noted astutely, "No single political perspective has a monopoly on intelligence, on any topic, and our classrooms are impoverished if the expression of diverse views is discouraged.... One of the fundamental tenets of our University is that we provide an environment where multiple views can be raised and students can discern for themselves which arguments are more or less meritorious. As I noted in my address to the Academic Council, 'Open dialogue between human beings about issues that are subjects of conflict or misunderstanding is the only sure avenue to better understanding and to truth.'"
In academia, as in much of the rest of life, we must walk a fine line between categorically stifling all debate and viciously assaulting un-debatable experiences that define each individual's personal truths. Approaching our educations with a strictly "I believe this, you believe that" attitude is just as detrimental to robust inquiry as the belief that one's own experience outweighs all others. Similarly, we, as members of this community, must toe the tightrope between surrounding ourselves with peers of similar values or interests and exposing ourselves to colleagues with diametrically opposed ideologies or views about the world. Only in this way can we hope to form rewarding, synergistic relationships and at the same time realize the sheer infiniteness of our possibilities.
Nan's characterization of truth as the inevitable outcome of serious, forceful debate is widespread. But, in modern American politics, this characterization has reduced "open dialogue between human beings" to the combative war of ideals we see today, where very little, if anything, has to do with the truth, but all the more with how to skirt the issues or appeal to a wider constituent base. The views of the American majority may be the political reality, but they are surely not the truth.
Our valiant desire for individual liberty can never be achieved in a society lacking any semblance of equality in opportunity. It's about time that our nation's decision-makers and learned folk own up to the notion that maybe we don't know the "right" solutions to our conflicts or problems, and--perhaps even more disheartening to some--that there might not be feasible solutions available at all. Even a well considered "either way could work" every now and then would suffice, particularly in discussions about our economy.
But debate we must, and solutions we must offer, because a society (or university) with scarce resources must make hard decisions about what is important. I believe it was Voltaire who uttered the most enlightened phrase, "I know nothing." So many of us know how insignificantly little we know, yet this understanding has failed to color our political conversations. I am as guilty as the rest.
Ultimately, though, when it comes down to choosing in the war of ideals, our decision-makers--of all ideologies--will have to decide, and act as if what they believe is the truth. In this manner, the political arena is really no different than the religious one.
But for now, in college (and for academics, in their careers), we have been given a blessed opportunity, a glorious chance to bask in the warm glow of not knowing. So do everything in your power to catch a glimpse of that glow: read, write, embrace doubt, calculate, perform, suspend judgment, speak, analyze, protest, research, lead, follow, play, and most of all, ask questions. Questions are the ultimate demonstration of wanting to know what we don't know. Often we pass up asking the great question because we're afraid that others already know the answer or might think the inquiry juvenile or naïve. We're afraid because it's a huge lecture. Or we're afraid because it's a small seminar.
We can reinfuse our classes with fresh intellectual energy only if we constantly keep in mind the vast expanse of our ignorance, and our unending quest to diminish it. And maybe, just maybe, in this process of not knowing, we might come ever closer to the elusive understanding of truth.
We as scholars study, write, and produce to achieve better understanding. To express our opinions. To debate. To persuade. To rule out the expressions of other individual truths. Yet what we must always remember is that reasons, like all paths in life, are just manifestations of our choices, and nothing more.
Philip Kurian is a Trinity junior. His column appears every other Monday.
Get The Chronicle straight to your inbox
Signup for our weekly newsletter. Cancel at any time.