I find myself in a constant struggle against forgetting — haunted by Marcus Aurelius' observation that time is like a torrent that sweeps away all that is born. Insights, faces, actions, definitions — anything that sprouts a root in my memory is immediately threatened by the currents of this river. I will venture to say that you, reader, struggle with this as well. Yet it is an essential effort because the things that survive, however fragmented, are stitched together to constitute our identity.
When I was seven, I got my first job working for a mechanic. But I was clumsy and slow in learning the names of the tools. Spilling my boss' hot chocolate was the last straw, and I was fired. But before my firing, there was my first paycheck. Upon receiving it, I walked next to the highway toward home. Along the way, I counted over and over the money in my hands — not a smart move in a city with plenty of robbers.
In some ways, it is a crucial memory, as it can help to organize other experiences. For example, the thrill of first being paid for one's labor anchors future experiences of competence and agency over one's property. But we all have these golden nuggets of memory — these discrete instances of identity. I intend to suggest that we bring all of these to bear in our academic and personal pursuits — that we embrace Jorge Luis Borges' assumption that "everything touches everything." That when we think about fundamental rules of physics, we remember that it is a Platonic ideal. That we inform our exploration of biology with insights from literature. That we force the authors we read to converse with one another within us. In short, that we link everything.
Although inspired by a writer, this principle is given flesh to me by the biologist Edward Wilson. In his book "Consilience," Wilson holds that any undergraduate should be able to explain the link between the social sciences and the natural sciences. Witnessing the facility with which he employed history and philosophy in his discussion of biology, I was inspired.
Other examples include another biologist, Jared Diamond. After being asked by a New Guinea native about the sources of European wealth, he was motivated to develop the theory that underlies "Guns, Germs and Steel" — namely that European advancement was largely a function of accidental factors, like geography. These biologists were undaunted by disciplinary barriers. Whatever the criticisms of their work, the connections they have made are incredible.
The fact is, most of today will be swept away by the time tomorrow comes around. Our challenge is to identify the things that matter and hold on to them. This is an ambitious undertaking prone to relativistic arguments. Still, proper perspective emerges from the remembered context. By linking everything, we begin to discover those links that are most important to us. Over time, this will reveal connections that are enduring. Perhaps even ones we can call first principles.
To be clear, linking everything refers to intradisciplinary links, interdisciplinary links and personal links. Although this is something we already tend to do as Brown students, I suggest a rigorous questioning that aims to powerfully link disciplines and deepen meaning for ourselves. As I have suggested before, our choice in taking varied classes already connects these courses. Our job is to investigate these connections to their limit. The reason, again, is that in this way we can find connections that transcend the obvious and give sincere meaning to what we are doing here.
There is a reason Socrates refused to write anything down — nothing rivals the act of thinking on the spot. Of thinking over and over again about those topics that matter most to us as people, among them truth and ethics. In exploring the issue of orality, George Steiner goes even further — "Writing arrests, immobilizes discourse. … The written word does not listen to its reader. It takes no account of his questions and objections." I admit that it is true — when we write something down, we assume we have thought about it sufficiently and thus abandon the subject. How many papers have we written that we never return to? For many reasons, we allow this torrent of time to sweep them away.
Maybe there is something to pure orality. We should be able to recall verbally what we have learned. But written words can help. I find that writing helps me untangle the alphabet soup in my head. Perhaps it might help you as well — to write down the links you make.
One of my favorite shows is "House," the one with the jerk doctor who deals with afflictions that on the surface appear to be witchcraft. There was a recent episode in which House indirectly gets relationship advice from two kids. The episode is hilarious, but as a fan, my judgment is biased. Nevertheless, the lesson I distilled is that adults can easily learn from kids — so-called experts from so-called commoners. So long as we pay attention, searching for those links, there is evidence that "everything touches everything" through us.
Hector Najera GS is a graduate student focusing in education.
