MY GRADUATION SPEECH
by Neil Postman
Having sat through two dozen or so
graduation speeches, I have naturally wondered why they are so often
so bad. One reason, of course, is that the speakers are chosen for
their eminence in some field, and not because they are either
competent speakers or gifted writers. Another reason is that the
audience is eager to be done with all ceremony so that it can
proceed to some serious reveling. Thus any speech longer than, say,
fifteen minutes will seem tedious, if not entirely pointless. There
are other reasons as well, including the difficulty of saying
something inspirational without being banal. Here I try my hand at
writing a graduation speech, and not merely to discover if I can
conquer the form. This is precisely what I would like to say to
young people if I had their attention for a few minutes.
If you think my graduation speech
is good, I hereby grant you permission to use it, without further
approval from or credit to me, should you be in an appropriate
Members of the faculty, parents,
guests, and graduates, have no fear. I am well aware that on a day
of such high excitement, what you require, first and foremost, of
any speaker is brevity. I shall not fail you in this respect. There
are exactly eighty-five sentences in my speech, four of which you
have just heard. It will take me about twelve minutes to speak all
of them and I must tell you that such economy was not easy for me to
arrange, because I have chosen as my topic the complex subject of
your ancestors. Not, of course, your biological ancestors, about
whom I know nothing, but your spiritual ancestors, about whom I know
a little. To be specific, I want to tell you about two groups of
people who lived many years ago but whose influence is still with
us. They were very different from each other, representing opposite
values and traditions. I think it is appropriate for you to be
reminded of them on this day because, sooner than you know, you must
align yourself with the spirit of one or the spirit of the other.
The first group lived about 2,500
years ago in the place which we now call Greece, in a city they
called Athens. We do not know as much about their origins as we
would like. But we do know a great deal about their accomplishments.
They were, for example, the first people to develop a complete
alphabet, and therefore they became the first truly literate
population on earth. They invented the idea of political democracy,
which they practiced with a vigor that puts us to shame. They
invented what we call philosophy. And they also invented what we
call logic and rhetoric. They came very close to inventing what we
call science, and one of them-Democritus by name-conceived of the
atomic theory of matter 2,300 years before it occurred to any modern
scientist. They composed and sang epic poems of unsurpassed beauty
and insight. And they wrote and performed plays that, almost three
millennia later, still have the power to make audiences laugh and
weep. They even invented what, today, we call the Olympics, and
among their values none stood higher than that in all things one
should strive for excellence. They believed in reason. They believed
in beauty. They believed in moderation. And they invented the word
and the idea which we know today as ecology.
About 2,000 years ago, the
vitality of their culture declined and these people began to
disappear. But not what they had created. Their imagination, art,
politics, literature, and language spread all over the world so
that, today, it is hardly possible to speak on any subject without
repeating what some Athenian said on the matter 2,500 years ago.
The second group of people lived
in the place we now call Germany, and flourished about 1,700 years
ago. We call them the Visigoths, and you may remember that your
sixth or seventh-grade teacher mentioned them. They were
spectacularly good horsemen, which is about the only pleasant thing
history can say of them. They were marauders-ruthless and brutal.
Their language lacked subtlety and depth. Their art was crude and
even grotesque. They swept down through Europe destroying everything
in their path, and they overran the Roman Empire. There was nothing
a Visigoth liked better than to burn a book, desecrate a building,
or smash a work of art. From the Visigoths, we have no poetry, no
theater, no logic, no science, no humane politics.
Like the Athenians, the Visigoths
also disappeared, but not before they had ushered in the period
known as the Dark Ages. It took Europe almost a thousand years to
recover from the Visigoths.
Now, the point I want to make is
that the Athenians and the Visigoths still survive, and they do so
through us and the ways in which we conduct our lives. All around
us-in this hall, in this community, in our city-there are people
whose way of looking at the world reflects the way of the Athenians,
and there are people whose way is the way of the Visigoths. I do not
mean, of course, that our modern-day Athenians roam abstractedly
through the streets reciting poetry and philosophy, or that the
modern-day Visigoths are killers. I mean that to be an Athenian or a
Visigoth is to organize your life around a set of values. An
Athenian is an idea. And a Visigoth is an idea. Let me tell you
briefly what these ideas consist of.
To be an Athenian is to hold
knowledge and, especially the quest for knowledge in high esteem. To
contemplate, to reason, to experiment, to question-these are, to an
Athenian, the most exalted activities a person can perform. To a
Visigoth, the quest for knowledge is useless unless it can help you
to earn money or to gain power over other people.
To be an Athenian is to cherish
language because you believe it to be humankind's most precious
gift. In their use of language, Athenians strive for grace,
precision, and variety. And they admire those who can achieve such
skill. To a Visigoth, one word is as good as another, one sentence
in distinguishable from another. A Visigoth's language aspires to
nothing higher than the cliché.
To be an Athenian is to understand
that the thread which holds civilized society together is thin and
vulnerable; therefore, Athenians place great value on tradition,
social restraint, and continuity. To an Athenian, bad manners are
acts of violence against the social order. The modern Visigoth cares
very little about any of this. The Visigoths think of themselves as
the center of the universe. Tradition exists for their own
convenience, good manners are an affectation and a burden, and
history is merely what is in yesterday's newspaper.
To be an Athenian is to take an
interest in public affairs and the improvement of public behavior.
Indeed, the ancient Athenians had a word for people who did not. The
word was idiotes, from which we get our word "idiot." A
modern Visigoth is interested only in his own affairs and has no
sense of the meaning of community.
And, finally, to be an Athenian is
to esteem the discipline, skill, and taste that are required to
produce enduring art. Therefore, in approaching a work of art,
Athenians prepare their imagination through learning and experience.
To a Visigoth, there is no measure of artistic excellence except
popularity. What catches the fancy of the multitude is good. No
other standard is respected or even acknowledged by the Visigoth.
Now, it must be obvious what all
of this has to do with you. Eventually, like the rest of us, you
must be on one side or the other. You must be an Athenian or a
Visigoth. Of course, it is much harder to be an Athenian, for you
must learn how to be one, you must work at being one, whereas we are
all, in a way, natural-born Visigoths. That is why there are so many
more Visigoths than Athenians. And I must tell you that you do not
become an Athenian merely by attending school or accumulating
academic degrees. My father-in-law was one of the most committed
Athenians I have ever known, and he spent his entire adult life
working as a dress cutter on Seventh Avenue in New York City. On the
other hand, I know physicians, lawyers, and engineers who are
Visigoths of unmistakable persuasion. And I must also tell you, as
much in sorrow as in shame, that at some of our great universities,
perhaps even this one, there are professors of whom we may fairly
say they are closet Visigoths. And yet, you must not doubt for a
moment that a school, after all, is essentially an Athenian idea.
There is a direct link between the cultural achievements of Athens
and what the faculty at this university is all about. I have no
difficulty imagining that Plato, Aristotle, or Democritus would be
quite at home in our class rooms. A Visigoth would merely scrawl
obscenities on the wall.
And so, whether you were aware of
it or not, the purpose of your having been at this university was to
give you a glimpse of the Athenian way, to interest you in the
Athenian way. We cannot know on this day how many of you will choose
that way and how many will not. You are young and it is not given to
us to see your future. But I will tell you this, with which I will
close: I can wish for you no higher compliment than that in the
future it will be reported that among your graduating class the
Athenians mightily outnumbered the Visigoths.
Thank you, and congratulations.
Neil Postman is a critic, writer, communications theorist, and
professor of communication arts and sciences at New York University.
Educated at the State University of New York and Columbia
University, he holds the Christian Lindback Award for Excellence in
Teaching and in 1987 was given the George Orwell Award for Clarity
in Language by the National Council of Teachers of English. He was
for ten years editor of Et Cetera, the journal of general
semantics. His sixteen previous books include Amusing Ourselves
to Death, Teaching as a Subversive Activity, The Soft
Revolution, and The Disappearance of Childhood.