“They Want Awakening”

Education, at its core, has historically been a journey into the profound questions of human existence. Among the most vital of these is the search for life’s meaning. Once central to higher education, this pursuit framed knowledge as more than an intellectual endeavor—it was a deeply personal and existential one. As Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote,

“The whole secret of the teacher’s force lies in the conviction that men are convertible. And they are. They want awakening.”

Universities and colleges were once vibrant arenas for discussing what constitutes a significant and valuable life. Through philosophy, literature, history, and the arts, students engaged critically and reflectively with the mysteries of human existence. This inquiry nurtured not only intellectual acumen but also moral and spiritual growth, offering students the tools to define their own sense of purpose and value.

The ancient Greeks understood this well. Plato’s Academy emphasized cultivating the soul through philosophical dialogue. Aristotle, his student, developed the concept of eudaimonia—human flourishing—as life’s ultimate goal, achievable through virtue and wisdom. These classical ideals shaped liberal education for centuries, highlighting self-examination and aligning life with higher principles.

The Decline of Existential Inquiry

In recent decades, the emphasis on life’s meaning in education has waned. Two major forces contributed to this shift: the dominance of the modern research ideal, prioritizing technical expertise over existential reflection, and cultural trends that question the legitimacy of such inquiries in academic settings. Together, these forces have relegated life’s meaning to the periphery of education.

Max Weber’s concept of the “disenchantment of the world” offers insight. With the rise of scientific rationality, traditional frameworks for exploring meaning—rooted in religion, philosophy, and the arts—lost their centrality. Weber highlighted the tension between modernity’s focus on efficiency and humanity’s enduring need for existential depth.

The Consequences of Neglecting Life’s Meaning

The sidelining of existential questions has profound consequences. Without exploring life’s purpose, students risk missing an essential part of education: cultivating a holistic worldview that integrates knowledge with values and aspirations. This neglect has also left a cultural void, with secular education ceding the authority to address life’s purpose largely to religious institutions.

Nietzsche’s critique of the “death of God” warned of such consequences. He foresaw the difficulty of constructing meaning in a fragmented world, a task education must embrace to prepare students for lives of depth and purpose.

Restoring Existential Inquiry in Education

To address this imbalance, education must reclaim its role as a forum for existential exploration. Reinstating life’s meaning as a central theme will enrich students intellectually and equip them with purpose and resilience. John Henry Newman, in The Idea of a University, argued for cultivating intellect while shaping character. He envisioned the university as a place where students confront life’s great questions in dialogue with past wisdom.

By reimagining education as a space for existential inquiry, we can reinvigorate the humanities and strengthen their relevance. Engaging deeply with great works of thought and imagination allows students to rediscover timeless questions: What is life for? As Augustine writes in Confessions, the restless heart finds rest only when oriented toward its ultimate purpose. This is the journey education must inspire.

What is Living For?

Unlike other questions, the quest for life’s purpose defies definitive, external answers. It cannot be solved like a mathematical theorem or settled through historical consensus. The value of the answer lies in its personal authenticity. Each individual must grapple with this question, drawing from their own values, experiences, and circumstances. While we may find inspiration in the lives of others, from Socrates to modern thinkers, the answer remains uniquely ours to discover and own.

Socrates exemplified this lifelong engagement with purpose, famously declaring that “the unexamined life is not worth living.” His relentless questioning of himself and others emphasized the necessity of personal reflection in pursuing a meaningful existence. Similarly, Kierkegaard argued for the importance of individual choice and responsibility in defining life’s meaning, urging each person to take a “leap of faith” toward their highest commitments.

Life can be understood as a series of commitments, ranging from the routine to the profound. These commitments form a hierarchy, with everyday decisions resting on deeper, more significant values. At the apex of this pyramid lies the essence of what we hold most dear—our ultimate purpose. Yet, even seemingly trivial choices have the potential to reveal or challenge these foundational commitments.

Consider a simple dilemma: Should I take the day off work? The question might evolve: Why do I care about this job? What does success mean to me? Such reflections can cascade into a deeper inquiry about life’s meaning, demonstrating that even the mundane is connected to our highest aspirations. Gabriel Marcel, a philosopher of existentialism, might describe this process as a journey of “being over having,” where our commitments move us toward authenticity and transcendence.

The Necessity of Living Beyond the Self

A meaningful life demands more than self-interest. Purpose arises from committing oneself to something greater—whether family, art, justice, or faith. These transcendent commitments offer stability and direction in a chaotic world. Without them, life risks becoming hollow, a mere exercise in personal gratification.

This principle resonates across cultures and traditions. Parents sacrifice for children, artists devote themselves to craft, and activists pursue justice at personal cost. Meaning emerges from dedication to something enduring. Nietzsche, despite critiquing traditional values, argued for creating one’s own values through the Übermensch, transcending norms to forge purposeful lives.

Once, the pursuit of life’s meaning was central to education. Yet modern institutions now prioritize specialization over reflection, career preparation over wisdom’s cultivation. But as Hannah Arendt observed, education must bridge past and future, equipping students to confront personal questions of meaning with inherited wisdom. This task is not nostalgic but vital for human flourishing.

Education’s Shift from Purpose to Utility

Historically, American higher education unified around engaging life’s meaning. Puritan colleges, for example, prepared students for discernment and piety. By the mid-nineteenth century, liberal arts curricula expanded this vision to foster intellectual and moral growth through studying civilization’s history and achievements.

However, the rise of the research ideal and vocationalism displaced this existential mission. Weber’s “Scholarship as a Vocation” describes the tension between academic specialization and the need for purpose. Weber described the scholarly life as a calling, even in “our godless and prophetless time.” Originally, the research ideal promoted a vision of scholarship as a “calling,” imbuing academic work with moral and spiritual significance. This aspiration draws from the German concept of Bildung, which emphasizes self-cultivation and the development of one’s unique talents for the benefit of humanity. Scholars like Thomas Mann and Weber saw Bildung as a secularized form of Christian stewardship, urging individuals to cultivate their gifts in service of a larger purpose. Yet, in detaching itself from theological foundations, Bildung risks becoming a hollow exercise, emphasizing personal refinement without offering a coherent vision of the good.

While the research ideal encourages originality, it also isolates the scholar, replacing the communal pursuit of wisdom with an “ethic of supersession”—the relentless drive to outdo one’s predecessors. This ethic undermines the sense of continuity and shared purpose that characterized the older classical tradition. In doing so, it deprives scholars of the consolations once found in the timeless conversation between generations.

The modern research ideal is rooted in the German universities of the nineteenth century, where scholars pursued highly specialized studies to advance their fields. This model brought unprecedented rigor to academic inquiry, transforming disciplines through systematic research and methodological precision. Yet, as Weber observed, specialization inevitably narrows the scholar’s perspective, cutting them off from a holistic understanding of human knowledge. Adam Smith’s analogy of the pin factory illustrates this dynamic: while specialization increases efficiency, it fragments the worker’s connection to the whole.

This fragmentation is particularly problematic in the humanities. When research becomes the sole criterion for academic success, the broader existential questions that once animated humanistic inquiry are marginalized. The scholar’s commitment to producing new knowledge often comes at the expense of engaging with timeless questions about justice, love, and the purpose of life. Secular humanism sought to bridge this gap, emphasizing human dignity and ethical inquiry. Yet without metaphysical grounding, it struggles to sustain a coherent vision of the good.

The Allure of Science and Technology

The natural sciences command unparalleled authority today. Their intellectual frameworks are robust, and their practical value is universally acknowledged. Teachers and students in these fields pursue their work with clarity of purpose, confident that their efforts contribute meaningfully to human knowledge and its application. Even amidst occasional debates over methods or goals, the broader faith in the scientific enterprise remains unshaken.

In stark contrast, the humanities are plagued by a pervasive sense of doubt and insecurity. Since the 1960s, talk of a “crisis” in the humanities has been widespread, citing a lack of direction, cohesive purpose, and confidence in their relevance. While university administrators may ceremonially reaffirm the value of these disciplines, the humanities lack the shared conviction and collective self-assurance that buoy the sciences. Humanities faculty often face a bemused or even dismissive attitude from their peers in the natural and social sciences, who prioritize “objectivity” and “practical” results.

This crisis has roots both within and outside academia. Internally, the humanities have faltered by adopting the research ideal of the sciences, sidelining their traditional focus on meaning and values. Externally, the ascendant authority of science—especially its technological offspring—has marginalized the humanities, rendering them seemingly obsolete in an era defined by empirical precision and utility.

The dominance of science in contemporary life stems largely from its technological achievements. These advancements, from medical innovations to communication tools, shape modern existence and foster an implicit trust in scientific knowledge. As a result, science and technology now set the standard for truth and progress, relegating other forms of knowledge to the periphery. This deference extends beyond utility; it affirms humanity’s ancient desire for control over the natural world, which modern science has increasingly fulfilled.

The Emptiness Beneath Progress

Yet this triumph comes at a cost. The relentless pursuit of technological mastery often blinds us to the intrinsic limits of human existence—our mortality, finitude, and the moral and spiritual dimensions of life. Technology’s promise of liberation from constraints risks eroding the very framework within which human life gains its meaning. The humanities, by contrast, have historically explored these boundaries, offering insights into the human condition that science alone cannot provide.

Aristotle’s claim that “all men by nature desire to know” highlights a fundamental human impulse: the pursuit of understanding for its own sake. While science excels at unraveling the mechanics of the natural world, the humanities investigate the deeper questions of purpose and value. They remind us that the human desire to understand is not solely about control but also about the joy and wonder of contemplating our place within the cosmos.

To address the spiritual and existential void created by an overreliance on science and technology, the humanities must reclaim their central role in higher education. They alone can provide the reflective space necessary to grapple with life’s ultimate questions and to reassert the value of the limits that define human existence. By fostering a renewed appreciation for the humanities, we can cultivate a more balanced and meaningful engagement with the modern world.

The Enduring Role of the Humanities

Despite these trends, the humanities retain a unique capacity to explore life’s ultimate questions. Unlike the natural and social sciences, which often aim for objectivity and detachment, the humanities demand a personal engagement with values, ethics, and meaning. A student reading Plato’s Republic or Tolstoy’s Anna Karenina is not merely analyzing texts but confronting questions of justice, love, and purpose. This personal dimension of the humanities fosters a kind of education that transcends mere technical proficiency.

John Stuart Mill argued that the worth of a person’s life should be measured by the quality of their reflections and commitments. Similarly, Hannah Arendt emphasized the importance of education as a bridge between the past and future, enabling students to inherit and critique a world of inherited meanings. Both thinkers underscore the critical role of the humanities in nurturing thoughtful and purposeful lives.

To revitalize the role of existential inquiry in higher education, we must reaffirm the value of the humanities. This involves more than preserving “great books” programs or offering isolated courses on ethics and philosophy. It requires a concerted effort to integrate the question of life’s meaning into the broader curriculum, fostering spaces where students can grapple with their deepest concerns.

Such a shift would not only enrich students’ intellectual and personal lives but also address the broader cultural malaise stemming from a loss of shared purpose. By restoring the question of what living is for to its rightful place in education, we can prepare students to navigate the complexities of modern life with wisdom, resilience, and a sense of higher calling.

Rediscovering Wholeness in Scholarship

To address modern education’s fragmentation, we must reclaim a sense of wholeness in inquiry. Augustine argued that the restless heart finds rest in its highest purpose. By grounding academic work in transcendent frameworks, we restore scholarship’s dignity. A balanced approach integrates specialization’s strengths with a renewed commitment to existential questions. This renewal enriches learning and equips students for lives of depth and wisdom.

What is College For?

From its earliest days, college was envisioned as a space to foster character and explore life’s most profound questions. But as contemporary forces reshape the educational landscape, we are confronted with a critical question: what should a college seek to do for its students?

One of the peculiarities of the teaching profession is that every year, the teacher grows older while students remain perpetually young. This cyclical renewal mirrors the ancient story of Baucis and Philemon, who hosted gods in disguise. Their ever-replenished goblets symbolized the continuity of knowledge across generations. Teaching, at its best, becomes an act of defying mortality, transmitting wisdom to the next generation so that it doesn’t perish with us.

The relationship between teacher and student is delicate and transformative. Henry James captured this dynamic in his story The Pupil, which explores the subtle interplay of ignorance and emerging understanding. The teacher’s task, James implies, is to unlock latent knowledge, guiding students toward self-awareness. This Platonic ideal frames the teacher as a catalyst for intellectual and moral growth, though such a role requires both patience and rigor.

Figures like Joseph Schwab, the famously demanding professor at the University of Chicago, exemplified this rigor. Schwab’s “tough love” approach, placing students in the “hot seat,” fostered deep learning but also anxiety. Today, such methods might clash with the consumer-oriented ethos of modern education, where end-of-semester evaluations often deter teachers from challenging their students too strenuously.

The Foundational Mission of College

The foundational mission of American colleges was both pragmatic and visionary. Harvard’s original “mission statement,” penned by Puritan founders, sought to “advance learning and perpetuate it to posterity,” driven by the fear of leaving an “illiterate ministry.” Faith and dread, hope and mortality—these tensions originally defined the college ideal. College was imagined as a pastoral retreat, a sanctuary for reflection and growth, yet always shadowed by the urgency of life’s fleeting nature.

Despite the pastoral ideal, today’s colleges serve a vastly different student population. According to recent numbers, fewer than 100,000 students out of 18 million attend traditional liberal arts colleges. Most students are commuters, online learners, or adults balancing education with work and family. For them, college is less a retreat and more an extension of their demanding lives.

This shift challenges the idea of shared self-discovery. At elite institutions, students navigate a labyrinth of opportunities and expectations, often shaped by parental pressures or financial constraints. For many, the central question is no longer “What do I want?” but “What’s worth wanting?”

Rediscovering Purpose

Amidst these changes, the core question remains: What is college for? Colleges must be places of reflection, helping students learn how to think and how to choose. This entails more than networking or credentialing; it requires fostering an environment where students grapple with life’s fundamental questions.

The American college’s unique contribution lies in its commitment to democratizing liberal education, a tradition rooted in the artes liberales of Greece and Rome. Figures like Newman and Matthew Arnold defended this vision, arguing that education must cultivate both the intellect and the soul. As I noted in another post, Newman described liberal knowledge as “knowledge which stands on its own pretensions,” independent of utility, offering a sanctuary for contemplation in a frenetic world.

In a society driven by metrics and outcomes, colleges must resist the temptation to reduce education to mere vocational training. They should strive to create spaces where students can reflect, question, and grow. As Walt Whitman wrote, “I loaf and invite my soul,” an invitation that every college ought to extend to its students. Only then can higher education fulfill its promise: to prepare individuals not just for work, but for a thoughtful and meaningful life.

From Pastoral Retreats to Intellectual Communities

History may serve as a guide in this endeavor. The notion that young adults should pass through a period of higher education before embarking on their professional lives is ancient, predating even the English colonies that later became the United States. Aristotle, for example, identified the years between puberty and twenty-one as formative for both mind and character. In ancient Greece and Rome, young men attended lectures and gathered in intellectual communities resembling modern colleges. By the Middle Ages, educational centers like Paris and Padua formalized this structure, laying the groundwork for the modern university system.

However, the American college as we know it is fundamentally an English invention, transplanted to New England by Puritans in the seventeenth century. These English Protestants modeled their institutions after Cambridge and Oxford, where colleges served as retreats for scholars devoted to divinity and moral inquiry. Originally, these scholars performed religious duties in exchange for sustenance, but by the fifteenth century, they began teaching and housing younger students, giving rise to the modern concept of undergraduates. These institutions combined rigorous study with a cloistered environment, fostering both intellectual growth and social formation.

The physical layout of early English colleges reflected this dual purpose. Students lived and studied within enclosed courtyards, their days structured by worship, lectures, and disciplined study. This regime of intellectual rigor and spiritual reflection produced figures such as John Milton and Isaac Newton. Yet, these institutions also offered recreation, with gardens, bowling greens, and archery ranges providing relief from their austere schedules.

The Puritan Vision

When Puritans established Harvard College in 1636, they carried this vision to the New World. John Harvard’s bequest of half his estate and his library symbolized the intertwining of intellectual and moral aspirations. Early fundraising appeals emphasized the importance of “advancing learning” and “perpetuating it to posterity.” While theological study was central, the curriculum also included logic, ethics, and mathematics. Harvard’s library held works by Augustine, Calvin, Erasmus, and even the comedies of Plautus, reflecting a broad intellectual scope.

Central to this vision were the contributions of the Mather family, particularly Increase Mather and his grandson, Cotton Mather. Increase Mather, a president of Harvard, viewed scholarship and religious devotion as inseparable. For him, intellectual pursuits were acts of piety, reinforcing the belief that knowledge of the natural world illuminated God’s wisdom. Cotton Mather expanded this idea in his extensive writings, portraying the scholar as a servant of both truth and faith. In works like Magnalia Christi Americana, Cotton celebrated the intertwining of academic and spiritual endeavors, asserting that learning was a divine mandate and a means of glorifying God.

For the Puritans, education was not merely about doctrine but about shaping the whole person. The historian Samuel Eliot Morison described their goal as developing “the whole man—his body, soul, and intellect” for a life of “unity, gentility, and public service.” Religion remained foundational, with the Bible serving as the ultimate source of truth. Yet, they also viewed natural phenomena as manifestations of divine wisdom, fostering an integrated understanding of knowledge that encompassed history, natural philosophy, and theology.

The Unity of Knowledge

The early American college embraced an interdisciplinary vision, aspiring to unify all branches of knowledge as reflections of the Creator’s work. This “university of things,” as Jonathan Edwards described it, was a place where all subjects were interconnected. Frederick Barnard, the namesake of Barnard College, echoed this sentiment, urging students to uncover “the beautiful truths” within the natural world. Unlike today’s fragmented academic disciplines, early colleges sought to integrate knowledge into a cohesive whole, fostering a comprehensive worldview.

The founders of America’s first colleges also saw character formation as central to education. To them, “character” encompassed both moral integrity and the capacity for self-discipline. While the term has been misused and abused—sometimes to exclude or discriminate—its essence remains vital. Education should cultivate empathy, civic responsibility, and an enlarged perspective.

Today, the American college faces significant challenges: rising costs, shifting demographics, and increasing vocational pressures. Yet its original purpose—to form individuals capable of thoughtful reflection and public service—remains as urgent as ever. By revisiting the principles that guided its founding, colleges can reclaim their role as spaces for intellectual growth and moral awakening. They can once again become, in Newman’s words, places where “all branches of knowledge” are “connected together” in the pursuit of truth.

The Enduring Question

A number of recent publications have claimed that “going to college” might soon become a relic of the past, much like newspapers torn apart by digital disruption. While such dire forecasts often miss the mark, one aspect has already materialized: the traditional vision of college as a “community of learning” has eroded for many students. Only a small fraction of American undergraduates experience the residential liberal arts model. For millions, college life is a commuter school reality, far removed from the autumnal imagery of dorm move-ins and tenured professors.

Despite these challenges, the “college idea”—a place for intellectual and personal growth—retains its vitality. Programs like Carthage College’s Intellectual Foundations program seeks to demonstrate the transformative power of education, even in unconventional settings. These efforts underscore the connection between ethics and learning, a cornerstone of the liberal arts tradition.

To preserve and revitalize this ideal, colleges must recommit to fostering vibrant intellectual communities. They must support faculty who view teaching as a calling and invest in creating environments where students can engage deeply with life’s fundamental questions. As Emerson reminded us, colleges “gather from far every ray of various genius to their hospitable halls” and set the hearts of their youth aflame. By embracing this mission, higher education can sustain its role as a beacon of democracy and human flourishing.