The King thought that he was made of glass, which posed a problem for his government. It was the 1390s, a pandemic had left its scars of grief, France was in the grisly heart of what would be known as the Hundred Years War, and the counselors of King Charles VI, in light of his glass delusion, began to question the most fundamental tenet of kingly rule: that virtue was bestowed by a divine power. They started to wonder if virtue – the kind that leads governments, the kind that assuages human suffering, the kind that mends a broken world – could be learned instead of bestowed, and in doing so, they ushered in a new chapter of secular education that would be reinvented and renewed multiple times.
Students from this 14th century of pedagogical possibilities might feel a familiarity at Grinnell, not only by walking under our neo-Gothic archways and within our vaulted loggias, but also in the pursuit of knowledge that enlivens our classrooms and conversations, and in our hope and effort that what we learn can better the human condition. The curriculum continues. At times, we live and learn within deep continuity.
My own research and fascination with this moment in the history of education led me to the 16th century court of François Ier, where his tutors wrote several “Mirrors of Princes” – texts of history and political theory to prompt “self-reflection” in the learning process of virtue. In Le Triumphe des Vertuz, the student is presented with a spectrum of governments, with the good king at the desirable center, the repressions of tyranny at one unwelcome extreme, and the chaos of democracy at the other. The curriculum has changed. At times, we live and learn within great change.
Being a student positions and empowers us to learn in the generative and exhilarating spaces between continuity and change: between the values and principles we hold dear and champion with all of our energies and acumen, and the breakthrough discoveries and overturned structures and new experiences we propel with vigor and resolve to change the world.
What holds us in good stead within the perpetual renewal of higher education? What could constitute a “Mirror of Grinnellians” – a text that prompts our self-reflection in the midst of our learning? Colleges will establish a motto for such a purpose, putting their highest held beliefs in succinct Latin phrases. Grinnell College has a motto, too, and its emergence within continuity and change is why I bring it forth to you here.
In 1967-68, a new motto was developed for the College: Veritas et Humanitas (Truth and Humanity) replaced Christo Duce (with Christ as leader). This change translated the Congregationalist abolitionist origins of the College and its Social Gospel tradition of progressive Christian reform into a new secular language that itself – from my own contemporary perspective looking back at Grinnell in the history of this country – was changing through the Civil Rights Acts of 1964, the Voting Rights Act of 1965, and the visit to Grinnell College of the Reverend Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. on October 29, 1967.
I don’t know if those transformational moments, involving great resolve and sacrifice, were the motivations for the change to our motto, but in my experience of why Grinnell College exists, of why we are all here doing meaningful work together, those transformational moments continue to be a powerful framework for positive change and human dignity.
The understanding of our motto, of what holds us in good stead, will continue to change: truth is not singular, humanity is complex. You, beloved students and cherished faculty and staff, walk under archways that would have been simultaneously recognizable to 14th century visitors searching for new ways to learn what had previously only been bestowed and would have filled them with wonder at all that is now known and all that we have yet to learn. I can envision us learning in community across time and truth – honoring each other’s humanity through all that holds us in good stead here at Grinnell.
