Response to the address posted below

 

Respond: Compose a 3-4-page essay in response:

Commencement addresses are often cheerful and inspiring speeches that give life advice to graduates as they sit proudly in their cap and gowns. As you may have noticed, this is not one of those speeches, at least in the traditional sense. Instead, David Foster Wallace questions and explores our techniques and strategies for day-to-day living, even beyond college. Your essay will respond to David Foster Wallace’s argument. That means you will first need to understand and identify Wallace’s central thesis, attribute it to him (give him credit for his ideas!) and then describe how your opinion is similar or different to Wallace’s.

I will use this first essay to evaluate your personal writing habits, style, and skills. Use the pre-writing techniques we discuss in class to generate ideas for the essay, especially when you formulate your thesis. After reading your essay, I will give you feedback that includes my own perceptions of your writing challenges, personalized practice recommendations, and my hopes for you as a writer. 

Checklist (be sure to read and follow each item):

• Demonstrate understanding of the speech (Watch the video and read the transcript carefully while taking notes and define all unknown vocabulary).
• Take a stance. State a clear thesis.
• Plan and organize your essay.
• Support your thesis.
• Incorporate ideas and quotations from the video along with your own experience and knowledge.
• Stay on topic.
• Proofread for clarity, tone, and grammar.
• Use Times New Roman, 12 pt font. Double space. 1” margins.
• Length (3-4 pgs.): A page is counted if the text runs past the middle of the page.

Grading:

Each of the check marks above represents 10 possible points. Although this is worth only 10% of your grade, you want to turn in your best work so you know exactly what to practice during the weeks we have together. Both you and I should expect improvement in your writing over the quarter.

Make sure you give yourself enough time to resolve any technical problems before the deadline.

Transcription of the 2005 Kenyon Commencement Address –
May 21, 2005

Written and Delivered by David Foster Wallace

(If anybody feels like perspiring [cough], I’d advise you to go ahead,
because I’m sure going to. In fact I’m gonna [mumbles while pulling up
his gown and taking out a handkerchief from his pocket].) Greetings
[“parents”?] and congratulations to Kenyon’s graduating class of 2005.
There are these two young fish swimming along and they happen to meet
an older fish swimming the other way, who nods at them and says
“Morning, boys. How’s the water?” And the two young fish swim on for a
bit, and then eventually one of them looks over at the other and goes
“What the hell is water?”

This is a standard requirement of US commencement speeches, the
deployment of didactic little parable-ish stories. The story [“thing”] turns
out to be one of the better, less bullshitty conventions of the genre, but if
you’re worried that I plan to present myself here as the wise, older fish
explaining what water is to you younger fish, please don’t be. I am not the
wise old fish. The point of the fish story is merely that the most obvious,
important realities are often the ones that are hardest to see and talk
about. Stated as an English sentence, of course, this is just a banal
platitude, but the fact is that in the day to day trenches of adult existence,
banal platitudes can have a life or death importance, or so I wish to
suggest to you on this dry and lovely morning.

Of course the main requirement of speeches like this is that I’m supposed
to talk about your liberal arts education’s meaning, to try to explain why
the degree you are about to receive has actual human value instead of just
a material payoff. So let’s talk about the single most pervasive cliché in the
commencement speech genre, which is that a liberal arts education is not
so much about filling you up with knowledge as it is about quote teaching
you how to think. If you’re like me as a student, you’ve never liked hearing
this, and you tend to feel a bit insulted by the claim that you needed
anybody to teach you how to think, since the fact that you even got
admitted to a college this good seems like proof that you already know
how to think. But I’m going to posit to you that the liberal arts cliché

turns out not to be insulting at all, because the really significant education
in thinking that we’re supposed to get in a place like this isn’t really about
the capacity to think, but rather about the choice of what to think about.
If your total freedom of choice regarding what to think about seems too
obvious to waste time discussing, I’d ask you to think about fish and
water, and to bracket for just a few minutes your skepticism about the
value of the totally obvious.

Here’s another didactic little story. There are these two guys sitting
together in a bar in the remote Alaskan wilderness. One of the guys is
religious, the other is an atheist, and the two are arguing about the
existence of God with that special intensity that comes after about the
fourth beer. And the atheist says: “Look, it’s not like I don’t have actual
reasons for not believing in God. It’s not like I haven’t ever experimented
with the whole God and prayer thing. Just last month I got caught away
from the camp in that terrible blizzard, and I was totally lost and I
couldn’t see a thing, and it was fifty below, and so I tried it: I fell to my
knees in the snow and cried out ‘Oh, God, if there is a God, I’m lost in
this blizzard, and I’m gonna die if you don’t help me.'” And now, in the
bar, the religious guy looks at the atheist all puzzled. “Well then you must
believe now,” he says, “After all, here you are, alive.” The atheist just rolls
his eyes. “No, man, all that was was a couple Eskimos happened to come
wandering by and showed me the way back to camp.”

It’s easy to run this story through kind of a standard liberal arts analysis:
the exact same experience can mean two totally different things to two
different people, given those people’s two different belief templates and
two different ways of constructing meaning from experience. Because we
prize tolerance and diversity of belief, nowhere in our liberal arts analysis
do we want to claim that one guy’s interpretation is true and the other
guy’s is false or bad. Which is fine, except we also never end up talking
about just where these individual templates and beliefs come from.
Meaning, where they come from INSIDE the two guys. As if a person’s
most basic orientation toward the world, and the meaning of his
experience were somehow just hard-wired, like height or shoe-size; or
automatically absorbed from the culture, like language. As if how we
construct meaning were not actually a matter of personal, intentional
choice. Plus, there’s the whole matter of arrogance. The nonreligious guy

is so totally certain in his dismissal of the possibility that the passing
Eskimos had anything to do with his prayer for help. True, there are
plenty of religious people who seem arrogant and certain of their own
interpretations, too. They’re probably even more repulsive than atheists, at
least to most of us. But religious dogmatists’ problem is exactly the same
as the story’s unbeliever: blind certainty, a close-mindedness that amounts
to an imprisonment so total that the prisoner doesn’t even know he’s
locked up.

The point here is that I think this is one part of what teaching me how to
think is really supposed to mean. To be just a little less arrogant. To have
just a little critical awareness about myself and my certainties. Because a
huge percentage of the stuff that I tend to be automatically certain of is, it
turns out, totally wrong and deluded. I have learned this the hard way, as I
predict you graduates will, too.

Here is just one example of the total wrongness of something I tend to be
automatically sure of: everything in my own immediate experience
supports my deep belief that I am the absolute center of the universe; the
realist, most vivid and important person in existence. We rarely think
about this sort of natural, basic self-centeredness because it’s so socially
repulsive. But it’s pretty much the same for all of us. It is our default
setting, hard-wired into our boards at birth. Think about it: there is no
experience you have had that you are not the absolute center of. The
world as you experience it is there in front of YOU or behind YOU, to
the left or right of YOU, on YOUR TV or YOUR monitor. And so on.
Other people’s thoughts and feelings have to be communicated to you
somehow, but your own are so immediate, urgent, real.

Please don’t worry that I’m getting ready to lecture you about compassion
or other-directedness or all the so-called virtues. This is not a matter of
virtue. It’s a matter of my choosing to do the work of somehow altering
or getting free of my natural, hard-wired default setting which is to be
deeply and literally self-centered and to see and interpret everything
through this lens of self. People who can adjust their natural default
setting this way are often described as being “well-adjusted”, which I
suggest to you is not an accidental term.

Given the triumphant academic setting here, an obvious question is how
much of this work of adjusting our default setting involves actual
knowledge or intellect. This question gets very tricky. Probably the most
dangerous thing about an academic education — least in my own case — is
that it enables my tendency to over-intellectualize stuff, to get lost in
abstract argument inside my head, instead of simply paying attention to
what is going on right in front of me, paying attention to what is going on
inside me.

As I’m sure you guys know by now, it is extremely difficult to stay alert
and attentive, instead of getting hypnotized by the constant monologue
inside your own head (may be happening right now). Twenty years after
my own graduation, I have come gradually to understand that the liberal
arts cliché about teaching you how to think is actually shorthand for a
much deeper, more serious idea: learning how to think really means
learning how to exercise some control over how and what you think. It
means being conscious and aware enough to choose what you pay
attention to and to choose how you construct meaning from experience.
Because if you cannot exercise this kind of choice in adult life, you will be
totally hosed. Think of the old cliché about quote the mind being an
excellent servant but a terrible master.

This, like many clichés, so lame and unexciting on the surface, actually
expresses a great and terrible truth. It is not the least bit coincidental that
adults who commit suicide with firearms almost always shoot themselves
in: the head. They shoot the terrible master. And the truth is that most of
these suicides are actually dead long before they pull the trigger.

And I submit that this is what the real, no bullshit value of your liberal
arts education is supposed to be about: how to keep from going through
your comfortable, prosperous, respectable adult life dead, unconscious, a
slave to your head and to your natural default setting of being uniquely,
completely, imperially alone day in and day out. That may sound like
hyperbole, or abstract nonsense. Let’s get concrete. The plain fact is that
you graduating seniors do not yet have any clue what “day in day out”
really means. There happen to be whole, large parts of adult American life
that nobody talks about in commencement speeches. One such part
involves boredom, routine, and petty frustration. The parents and older

folks here will know all too well what I’m talking about.

By way of example, let’s say it’s an average adult day, and you get up in the
morning, go to your challenging, white-collar, college-graduate job, and
you work hard for eight or ten hours, and at the end of the day you’re
tired and somewhat stressed and all you want is to go home and have a
good supper and maybe unwind for an hour, and then hit the sack early
because, of course, you have to get up the next day and do it all again. But
then you remember there’s no food at home. You haven’t had time to
shop this week because of your challenging job, and so now after work
you have to get in your car and drive to the supermarket. It’s the end of
the work day and the traffic is apt to be: very bad. So getting to the store
takes way longer than it should, and when you finally get there, the
supermarket is very crowded, because of course it’s the time of day when
all the other people with jobs also try to squeeze in some grocery
shopping. And the store is hideously lit and infused with soul-killing
muzak or corporate pop and it’s pretty much the last place you want to be
but you can’t just get in and quickly out; you have to wander all over the
huge, over-lit store’s confusing aisles to find the stuff you want and you
have to maneuver your junky cart through all these other tired, hurried
people with carts (et cetera, et cetera, cutting stuff out because this is a
long ceremony) and eventually you get all your supper supplies, except
now it turns out there aren’t enough check-out lanes open even though
it’s the end-of-the-day rush. So the checkout line is incredibly long, which
is stupid and infuriating. But you can’t take your frustration out on the
frantic lady working the register, who is overworked at a job whose daily
tedium and meaninglessness surpasses the imagination of any of us here at
a prestigious college.

But anyway, you finally get to the checkout line’s front, and you pay for
your food, and you get told to “Have a nice day” in a voice that is the
absolute voice of death. Then you have to take your creepy, flimsy, plastic
bags of groceries in your cart with the one crazy wheel that pulls
maddeningly to the left, all the way out through the crowded, bumpy,
littery parking lot, and then you have to drive all the way home through
slow, heavy, SUV-intensive, rush-hour traffic, et cetera et cetera.

Everyone here has done this, of course. But it hasn’t yet been part of you

graduates’ actual life routine, day after week after month after year.

But it will be. And many more dreary, annoying, seemingly meaningless
routines besides. But that is not the point. The point is that petty,
frustrating crap like this is exactly where the work of choosing is gonna
come in. Because the traffic jams and crowded aisles and long checkout
lines give me time to think, and if I don’t make a conscious decision about
how to think and what to pay attention to, I’m gonna be pissed and
miserable every time I have to shop. Because my natural default setting is
the certainty that situations like this are really all about me. About MY
hungriness and MY fatigue and MY desire to just get home, and it’s going
to seem for all the world like everybody else is just in my way. And who
are all these people in my way? And look at how repulsive most of them
are, and how stupid and cow-like and dead-eyed and nonhuman they
seem in the checkout line, or at how annoying and rude it is that people
are talking loudly on cell phones in the middle of the line. And look at
how deeply and personally unfair this is.

Or, of course, if I’m in a more socially conscious liberal arts form of my
default setting, I can spend time in the end-of-the-day traffic being
disgusted about all the huge, stupid, lane-blocking SUV’s and Hummers
and V-12 pickup trucks, burning their wasteful, selfish, forty-gallon tanks
of gas, and I can dwell on the fact that the patriotic or religious bumper-
stickers always seem to be on the biggest, most disgustingly selfish
vehicles, driven by the ugliest [responding here to loud applause] (this is
an example of how NOT to think, though) most disgustingly selfish
vehicles, driven by the ugliest, most inconsiderate and aggressive drivers.
And I can think about how our children’s children will despise us for
wasting all the future’s fuel, and probably screwing up the climate, and
how spoiled and stupid and selfish and disgusting we all are, and how
modern consumer society just sucks, and so forth and so on.

You get the idea.

If I choose to think this way in a store and on the freeway, fine. Lots of us
do. Except thinking this way tends to be so easy and automatic that it
doesn’t have to be a choice. It is my natural default setting. It’s the
automatic way that I experience the boring, frustrating, crowded parts of

adult life when I’m operating on the automatic, unconscious belief that I
am the center of the world, and that my immediate needs and feelings are
what should determine the world’s priorities.

The thing is that, of course, there are totally different ways to think about
these kinds of situations. In this traffic, all these vehicles stopped and
idling in my way, it’s not impossible that some of these people in SUV’s
have been in horrible auto accidents in the past, and now find driving so
terrifying that their therapist has all but ordered them to get a huge, heavy
SUV so they can feel safe enough to drive. Or that the Hummer that just
cut me off is maybe being driven by a father whose little child is hurt or
sick in the seat next to him, and he’s trying to get this kid to the hospital,
and he’s in a bigger, more legitimate hurry than I am: it is actually I who
am in HIS way.

Or I can choose to force myself to consider the likelihood that everyone
else in the supermarket’s checkout line is just as bored and frustrated as I
am, and that some of these people probably have harder, more tedious
and painful lives than I do.

Again, please don’t think that I’m giving you moral advice, or that I’m
saying you are supposed to think this way, or that anyone expects you to
just automatically do it. Because it’s hard. It takes will and effort, and if
you are like me, some days you won’t be able to do it, or you just flat out
won’t want to.

But most days, if you’re aware enough to give yourself a choice, you can
choose to look differently at this fat, dead-eyed, over-made-up lady who
just screamed at her kid in the checkout line. Maybe she’s not usually like
this. Maybe she’s been up three straight nights holding the hand of a
husband who is dying of bone cancer. Or maybe this very lady is the low-
wage clerk at the motor vehicle department, who just yesterday helped
your spouse resolve a horrific, infuriating, red-tape problem through some
small act of bureaucratic kindness. Of course, none of this is likely, but it’s
also not impossible. It just depends what you what to consider. If you’re
automatically sure that you know what reality is, and you are operating on
your default setting, then you, like me, probably won’t consider
possibilities that aren’t annoying and miserable. But if you really learn how

to pay attention, then you will know there are other options. It will
actually be within your power to experience a crowded, hot, slow,
consumer-hell type situation as not only meaningful, but sacred, on fire
with the same force that made the stars: love, fellowship, the mystical
oneness of all things deep down.

Not that that mystical stuff is necessarily true. The only thing that’s
capital-T True is that you get to decide how you’re gonna try to see it.
This, I submit, is the freedom of a real education, of learning how to be
well-adjusted. You get to consciously decide what has meaning and what
doesn’t. You get to decide what to worship.

Because here’s something else that’s weird but true: in the day-to day
trenches of adult life, there is actually no such thing as atheism. There is
no such thing as not worshipping. Everybody worships. The only choice
we get is what to worship. And the compelling reason for maybe choosing
some sort of god or spiritual-type thing to worship — be it JC or Allah, be
it YHWH or the Wiccan Mother Goddess, or the Four Noble Truths, or
some inviolable set of ethical principles — is that pretty much anything
else you worship will eat you alive. If you worship money and things, if
they are where you tap real meaning in life, then you will never have
enough, never feel you have enough. It’s the truth. Worship your body
and beauty and sexual allure and you will always feel ugly. And when time
and age start showing, you will die a million deaths before they finally
grieve you. On one level, we all know this stuff already. It’s been codified
as myths, proverbs, clichés, epigrams, parables; the skeleton of every great
story. The whole trick is keeping the truth up front in daily consciousness.

Worship power, you will end up feeling weak and afraid, and you will
need ever more power over others to numb you to your own fear.
Worship your intellect, being seen as smart, you will end up feeling stupid,
a fraud, always on the verge of being found out. But the insidious thing
about these forms of worship is not that they’re evil or sinful, it’s that
they’re unconscious. They are default settings.

They’re the kind of worship you just gradually slip into, day after day,
getting more and more selective about what you see and how you measure
value without ever being fully aware that that’s what you’re doing.

And the so-called real world will not discourage you from operating on
your default settings, because the so-called real world of men and money
and power hums merrily along in a pool of fear and anger and frustration
and craving and worship of self. Our own present culture has harnessed
these forces in ways that have yielded extraordinary wealth and comfort
and personal freedom. The freedom all to be lords of our tiny skull-sized
kingdoms, alone at the center of all creation. This kind of freedom has
much to recommend it. But of course there are all different kinds of
freedom, and the kind that is most precious you will not hear much talk
about much in the great outside world of wanting and achieving and
[unintelligible — sounds like “displayal”]. The really important kind of
freedom involves attention and awareness and discipline, and being able
truly to care about other people and to sacrifice for them over and over in
myriad petty, unsexy ways every day.

That is real freedom. That is being educated, and understanding how to
think. The alternative is unconsciousness, the default setting, the rat race,
the constant gnawing sense of having had, and lost, some infinite thing.

I know that this stuff probably doesn’t sound fun and breezy or grandly
inspirational the way a commencement speech is supposed to sound.
What it is, as far as I can see, is the capital-T Truth, with a whole lot of
rhetorical niceties stripped away. You are, of course, free to think of it
whatever you wish. But please don’t just dismiss it as just some finger-
wagging Dr. Laura sermon. None of this stuff is really about morality or
religion or dogma or big fancy questions of life after death.

The capital-T Truth is about life BEFORE death.

It is about the real value of a real education, which has almost nothing to
do with knowledge, and everything to do with simple awareness;
awareness of what is so real and essential, so hidden in plain sight all
around us, all the time, that we have to keep reminding ourselves over and
over:

“This is water.”
“This is water.”

It is unimaginably hard to do this, to stay conscious and alive in the adult
world day in and day out. Which means yet another grand cliché turns out
to be true: your education really IS the job of a lifetime. And it
commences: now.

I wish you way more than luck.