Copyright Baltimore Sun
I wonder if you’ve ever seen it. If, sitting in the audience at Maryland Hall in Annapolis, you’ve ever noticed an inscription above the stage. It reads: “The measure of a man is the depth of his convictions, the breadth of his interests and the height of his ideals.” Sure, it has the feel of an incomplete assessment. What about, for example, the depth of one’s love, the breadth of one’s imagination or the height of one’s courage? Still, for however incomplete it may be, it serves as a powerful barometer against which we can measure ourselves. Importantly, this unattributed inscription is an “and” statement rather than an “or.” It recognizes that one’s character is a composite of convictions, interests and ideals, not a precious good mined from a single source. At the same time, the language of this formula does not give equal weight to each of its elements. Convictions, interests and ideals are all important, but not in equal measure. I propose that of these three, the breadth of one’s interests is the most important one because of the foundation it provides for the other two. A breadth of interests leads one to a host of different experiences. These experiences carry with them an objectivity that only comes from exploring different perspectives, engaging with different people, navigating different places. It provides for a diversity of experience that inculcates an appreciation for a diversity of opinion. What’s more, such an openness to new experiences suggests an openness to new information, no matter how at odds it may be with a previously held position — a position previously held with less information. A breadth of interests creates an opportunity to cross-pollinate between disciplines. Indeed, it is foundational to the idea of a liberal arts education. Its benefits, of course, are not limited to the classroom. Skills obtained in one sport, for example, can be applied to another. Once, when asked after a game how he avoided a certain tackle, Hall of Fame quarterback Joe Montana cited “an old basketball move.” He added: “Spin away from your man, remember?” A breadth of interest encourages wonder, a trait that seems in such short supply among adults today. But not so with children, for whom even the mundane is an adventure. Indeed, it was Ralph Waldo Emerson in his “Self-Reliance” essay who wrote of how the greatest among us consider themselves “childlike to the genius of their age.” We would do better to make it so among ourselves as well. None of this is to suggest that specialization isn’t important. We need specialists in medicine, for example, not enthusiastic hobbyists. The point is that specialization can be enhanced by elements beyond the immediate purview of a certain field. A neurosurgeon who took a philosophy class in college may well approach her work differently than a peer who dedicated himself only to the study of medical textbooks. A civil engineer with an interest in history could perhaps build bridges and buildings in a way that roots development in the existing community of a given area. A governor with an interest in the world could well open up new economic opportunities for her constituents. What’s more is that having an array of interests can lead one to abandon shallow convictions and ideals that are hardly worth the name. Anyone can hold a deep conviction about something, no matter how wrong it may be. Some, for example, continue to hold a deep conviction that the earth is flat. But even a passing interest in geography or travel or fact cuts such a conviction low. Having high ideals is laudable. Having high ideals that don’t wither away in their first confrontation with the way of the world is perhaps even more so. Ideals detached from reality are easily obliterated and can shatter the holder of them. Ideals rooted in reality are less easily uprooted and can embolden their messenger for their resilience. This is not a call for you to gawk at each passing whim and adopt it as a new interest. Rather, it’s a call to encourage you to explore those interests beyond the familiar to you. It’s a call for openness that in no way requires a forfeiture of one’s self, but a strengthening of one’s self. It’s a call for you to look up from your phone, to look above the immediate horizon, and explore the world around you for the interests you may discover. If you’re looking for a place to start, you could do worse than taking in a show at Maryland Hall, that community bastion of “art of all.” If you do, I would encourage you to look up, read the inscription just above the stage, and see how well you measure up to it. David Peduto writes from Annapolis.
