BY BENJAMIN BRADLOW

In print | May 1, 2008

For those of us planning to graduate in a month, we’ve already begun to hear the innumerable platitudes that surround the graduation season. Since those of you still reading this column after indulging a semester of my random pearls of likely-not-so-wise wisdom, I’ll assume one last indulgence. Allow me to invoke what may be the quintessential Swarthmore platitude. When President Al Bloom spoke at his first commencement in his current office, he argued that the college should foster in its students what he termed “ethical intelligence.” I want to propose an additional creed for us to assume: “ethical irreverence.”

While attending Swarthmore we honor our professors who, we are told, will lead us to better and deeper understand our world. Administrators tell us that we are part of an institution of elite higher learning committed to social justice. Our families see us as children who attend Swarthmore to somehow transform into intellectually sound adults. Much of this is true, for we do not reach graduation without these people. But they and their respective generations leave us in times that also have much to be desired.

We have spent our time at Swarthmore studying comfortably, while our peers were serving — and continue to serve — in the military in the United States’ wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. In part, too much respect for the offices of our political leaders, rather than their deeds, led our country to put our fellow young peers into the undeniable hell of war. Poverty, social inequality, war and lack of freedom stem in part from our reluctance to question properly the institutions and social structures that allow such injustices to persist. Let us be aware of what remains to be done — where those who came before us have failed to earn our respect.

When I argue that we should embrace “ethical irreverence” as a concept, I mean to say that we must open our hearts to the people who have led us to where we are today. At the same time, we cannot afford to give our professors and parents the pedestal they might assume. We graduate to change the world, not to revere it.

As I write my last piece for The Phoenix, a newspaper for which I have written almost continuously since my second week as a student here, I think of would-be fellow graduate and my former Phoenix colleague, Tariq Fischer, who died in a car accident in July 2005. On the surface, our friendship may have seemed unlikely — I, a Jewish day school graduate from suburban Washington, DC; he, a Muslim from Georgia. What we shared, and what I learned from him, were the seeds of what I am proposing here. His open-heart, love for his friends and love for life were complemented by a sense that no icon was too sacred for a good laugh or a little fun. At newspaper meetings, he was always willing to challenge the conventional wisdom expressed during any debate, regardless of if we were discussing a profound political matter or whether or not to get pizza after a Monday night editorial board meeting.

In the spirit of ethical irreverence that Tariq, in many ways, embodied, I tried jokingly to provoke him by arguing at a Sharples dinner that Abraham Lincoln was, in fact, our country’s worst president, as he should have just let the South secede so that we wouldn’t have to deal with it today. Tariq, proud of home and family, clearly would not let this preposterous point stand. His defense of the South was just as vigorous as his epic discourses on the merits of “crunk” rapper Li’l Jon. I write this column with the memory of his unmistakable laugh and deep heart in my mind.

Bob Dylan has an enigmatic song called “Open The Door, Homer,” where, in my mind, he speaks to the idea of ethical irreverence that I write of here: “‘Pack up all of your memories,’ said Nick / ‘For you cannot relive them / And remember when you are out there trying to heal the sick / You must first forgive them’.” As we encounter the world beyond our college years and engage with the current illnesses of this world, we are armed with the lessons of those who came before us. Doing so with ethical irreverence means we must keep our hearts open to these people. But they gave us their wisdom only for it to be re-imagined once again.

When we leave Swarthmore we should thank our parents and professors, friends and loved ones. Let us also recognize and forgive their failings. The world needs more open hearts, less constricting reverence. Let us celebrate our time here with open, irreverent hearts.

Ben is a senior. He can be reached at bbradlo1@swarthmore.edu.

« RETURN TO OPINIONS

« PREV ARTICLE | NEXT ARTICLE »