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Freshman Address
The Spirit of Adventure
"Ask questions, and don’t hesitate to accept surprising answers if your observations have been careful and your reasoning has been rigorous,” Yale’s President told the incoming Class of 2003.
October 1999
by Richard C. Levin
This summer I attended a meeting at which Bill Gates, the founder and chief executive of Microsoft, discussed some of the advances in technology that we can expect in the next two to five years. I was struck in particular by a prototype device, less than an inch thick, with a flat screen about the size of a typical printed page. The page of text displayed on this device did not exhibit the familiar, unsatisfactory range of color from light gray to dark gray. Instead, the contrast of clear white background with jet-black text was as sharp as you would find in a printed book of high quality and as pleasing to the eye. The memory of this device can hold the complete text of dozens of books, and before long many thousands of books will be available for downloading from the Internet. It is easy enough to imagine a device containing two of these flat screens, joined at the edge, with the weight and external appearance of a book.
I don’t want to claim that this new “paperless book” will completely replace the book-as-we-know-it any time soon. But this example is only one of many I might offer to suggest that we are living through a genuine revolution that has vastly expanded our access to information and is radically changing the way we study, communicate, and conduct our professional and personal business.
This Information Revolution has already propelled the American economy to an unprecedented era of sustained growth, stable prices, and low unemployment. Together with the developing revolution in genetics—which promises major improvements in human health—the Information Revolution has created for your generation exceptional opportunities for scientific discovery, technological innovation, and entrepreneurship. It is not too bold to predict that the economic and social impact of the Revolution we are now experiencing will equal or exceed that of the Industrial Revolution in the 18th century, the building of the railroads in the 19th century, and the invention and diffusion of the automobile in the century now ending.
I find it notable that the innovation and the risk-taking that drive the Information Revolution are mirrored in our popular culture by a renewed passion for adventure. There is, for example, a revival of interest in the history of polar exploration, reflected in the numerous books and articles about Scott, Amundsen, Peary, Byrd, and Ellsworth that have appeared recently. This year’s exhibit at the American Museum of Natural History on the astonishing Antarctic ordeal of Ernest Shackleton, the related publication of Frank Hurley’s surviving photographs, and a new edition of Alfred Lansing’s gripping account of the voyage, have attracted wide attention.
Our passion for adventure is even more evident in the current popularity of mountaineering. Jon Krakauer’s Into Thin Air is among the longest-running best sellers on the New York Times' list, and David Breashear’s I-MAX movie, Everest, has played to sold-out theaters around the country. Indeed, with neither extreme temperatures nor avalanches expected, hundreds of Yalies are seen regularly walking across campus wearing guide jackets, parkas, and fleece garments of all description from purveyors whose catalogues portray this clothing in use on remote Himalayan peaks.
I must confess that I am not immune to the lure of adventure.I have read all the books I just mentioned, seen all the movies, and—while avoiding anything that threatens danger—my family and I have enjoyed trekking in the Alps each of the past several years. On such a trip earlier this month I read one of the classics of alpine literature—Edward Whymper’s Scrambles Amongst the Alps, first published in 1871. The memoir gives a compelling account of Whymper’s explorations and numerous first ascents from 1860, when the young Englishman was 20 years old, to 1865, when, after seven unsuccessful attempts, he was the first to reach the summit of the Matterhorn.
What impressed me most in reading Whymper’s vigorous account of his exploits was neither the harrowing dangers he encountered nor the exceptional physical strength that allowed him, when summits and glaciers did not intervene, to cover 50 miles a day walking up valleys and over mountain passes. What impressed me even more was his curiosity, his resourcefulness, and his deliberate application of critical intelligence to overcome whatever obstacles confronted him.
Whymper’s curiosity was prodigious. He read the geological literature to understand better the movement and historical effects of glaciers, and he staked out his own position in several contemporary debates among geologists. He gave a detailed account of the technology of tunneling through the Alps and the innovations in railway engineering required to handle steep grades. He also described how ropes were typically used in climbing, offering insights that experienced mountaineers have told me were well ahead of their time.
Whymper’s resourcefulness was as notable as his curiosity. He virtually invented the alpine tent, which his memoir describes in detail. And he invented two simple devices to assist a solo climber—a serrated grappling hook for help with short ascents and a simple ring that permitted climbers to recover their rope after using it to secure a descent from above.
Each of Whymper’s accounts of his investigations and inventions reflects the power of his critical, analytical thinking, but his discussion of how to plan a route up a mountain is particularly striking. Here he gives a compelling illustration of the importance of acquiring multiple perspectives on an object of inquiry. He demonstrates that certain insights may be gained by perceiving the mountain from afar, others can be obtained by inspection from nearby, and still others are elusive until one actually begins the ascent and observes the terrain at the closest possible range. His discussion is a perfect metaphor for how to attack virtually any scientific, technological, or practical problem.
I relate all this detail because you are now setting out on your own adventure, and curiosity, resourcefulness, and critical thinking are exactly what you will need to make the most of your journey. To stimulate your curiosity, we offer you 1,800 courses, covering the whole range of human knowledge. We have ten million books, two magnificent art museums, unique natural history collections, and excellent computer facilities. You have the freedom to follow your interests wherever they lead.
As your Yale adventure unfolds, you will be pleased to find masters, deans, freshman counselors, and a gifted faculty devoted to helping you. Still, you must draw upon your own resources. You will be challenged—in the classroom, on the athletic fields, in other extracurricular activities, and in relations with your classmates. Some of the challenges will be difficult, and you may not succeed at everything you try. But the great reward is that your Yale experience will be what you make of it.
Perhaps the most impressive demonstration of Whymper’s curiosity, resourcefulness, and analytic thinking is his discussion of how, after seven failed attempts to climb the Matterhorn from the southwest, he decided to attack the mountain from the northeast. From this direction, the perspective represented in most photographs, the mountain appears to be utterly inaccessible, yet it yielded to Whymper’s first attempt. What led him to take a new approach? First, he noticed that snow accumulated on the steep eastern face of the mountain, despite what appeared to be a slope of 60 to 70 degrees. By hiking to untraveled passes both north and south of the mountain, he confirmed that the slope, despite appearances, was no more than 40 degrees. Second, he observed that the strata of rock in the mountain were not parallel to the ground; instead, they sloped upward from southwest to northeast. This meant that the ledges, and the possible hand and footholds that they offered, sloped inward on the northeast side, making them easier for the climber than on the more frequently attempted route.
In this example there are many lessons that bear on your Yale adventure. You can turn repeated failure into success if you are curious enough, resourceful enough, and analytic enough to look at things in a new way. You have to think outside the box. Don’t take received opinion for granted. Look at problems from all perspectives, and use the power of reason to draw inferences. Ask questions, and don’t hesitate to accept surprising answers if your observations have been careful and your reasoning has been rigorous.
Seventy-five years before Whymper climbed the Matterhorn, another young Englishman visited the Alps after completing his course of study at Cambridge. Close observer of nature as he was, young William Wordsworth, by his own account written 15 years later in The Prelude, did not attempt to dissect his experience analytically, as Whymper had. Instead, he found in the Alps one of those rare and precious ‘spots of time’—moments, when considered afterward in calm reflection, that inspire us, or the poet in each of us, to transcendent insight—about nature, ourselves, and our place within nature. Such a moment occurs when Wordsworth and a companion ascend all morning to lunch in a mountain hut, lose their way shortly thereafter, and, when set back upon the right course, discover that they had, without realizing it, crossed the Alps! Only later, on reflection, does Wordsworth understand the significance of his accomplishment.
Women and men of the Class of 2003, during these next four years you will accomplish far more than you imagine now and, I expect, far more than you will appreciate upon graduating. I hope that your adventure here gives full sway to your curiosity and resourcefulness, and I trust that the challenges you confront here will strengthen your capacity for critical thinking and prepare you for the revolutionary times that will be yours. Most of all, I hope and I trust that here at Yale you will find ‘spots of time’ to stir your imagination and inspire you for a lifetime.  |
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