As I sat, thinking about how best to describe my honors experience, I turned my head toward my window and gazed above into the devouring murk of the night. While I watched, a powerful winter gale began to pull on the cloud cover above with its cold fingers, separating each puff into a million balls of cotton. Pinpricks of starlight began to emerge from behind the dispersing wisps. As the stars above gathered together, they illuminated the dusky sky and the black shadows beneath it.
Beneath the light of the stars, even the ground itself seemed to shine. Beneath the light of the stars, the sky itself radiated with a light so pure that only Heaven could surpass it. The stars turned the utter darkness of night into a premier wonder of creation. The answer to my question waited in the sky above me: my journey through the honors program was Great, not because of the books I read or the papers I wrote, but because of the stars among whom I traveled.
In Marcus Aurelius’s Meditations, he encourages readers to elevate their level of thought by "observ[ing] the movement of the stars as if you were running their courses with them" (7.47). As my classmates and I have dwelt on the nature of beauty throughout Burke’s Philosophical Enquiry, wrestled with Aquinas’s Summa Theologica, and laughed during the GB V retreat, I’ve unwittingly found myself doing exactly what Aurelius writes about: running among the stars.
As I’ve run among the stars...
1) The darkness of space was transformed into an artistic wonder.
Each time I look up into the sky on a clear night, I am inevitably struck by how individual stars that vary in size, position, and brightness can connect to form beautiful constellations. Like the individual unique stars that transform the cold, empty blackness of space into artistic masterpieces, each of my unique classmates has come together and transformed the daunting task of probing the depths of difficult books into a Great experience. The power within oneself to change the overall story of an experience cannot be underestimated. For instance, consider the Prodigal Son. While the father turns the story into a beautiful tale of “forgiveness, reconciliation, and healing” (Nouwen 96), the older brother’s resentment casts a shadow on the joy of the younger son's return (Nouwen 74).
Like the Prodigal’s father, my classmates and professors have made the end of my journey truly Great. To my classmates: thank you for lighting up my experience with each joke, laugh, playful dig, smile, encouraging note, and joyful greeting. To Dr. Jacobs and Dr. Shirley: thank you for being our guiding lights, our North Stars, as we ran.
(2) The darkest corners of the universe were illuminated.
On nights when the stars are hidden behind thick clouds, the universe above appears as a stretch of inky blackness without beginning or end. When the stars inevitably begin to emerge from behind the clouds, though, they light up the darkness and reveal new depths to space. The light of individual stars appears relatively insignificant to the human eye, but when combined with the light of other stars, they form a blanket of fire that reveals the heavens.
In Paradise, Beatrice’s words give Dante the strength to see where he could not see before: "As soon as [her] brief words found their place within my understanding," Dante writes, "I became / aware I had surpassed my former might: / and a new power of vision burst aflame" (30.56-58). Dante may have been able to see partially without Beatrice, but her aid lets him see a full picture of Heaven. My classmates have become my Beatrice, elevating my vision to new heights. Reading each Great book in the sequence has grown my ability to interpret literature. However, my experiences and personality have limited my perception of the space around me; my star can only shine in the place where it currently is. Luckily, though, my Great classmates were different than I and could understand concepts that I was unable to grasp. Over the years, they’ve lit up the darkness in my mind by pointing out flaws in my logic and challenging presuppositions I didn’t even know I had. With their aid, I’ve seen a fuller picture of reality, truth, and God Himself than I could hope to see alone.
(3) Even the earth below shone anew.
Here’s the kicker: the wondrous beauty of the stars can only be realized among people who can observe, appreciate, and learn from it. Without people to see it, the potential hidden among the starlight would have never been realized. Sailors recognized the hidden patterns in the stars and used them for navigation. Van Gogh had to see A Starry Night before he could paint one, and even then, the purpose of his painting was for other people to admire it. What use is light if there are no eyes to see it? What is the purpose of beauty if there is no one to behold it?
Having absorbed the light of knowledge from the Great Books and having shone upon one another, we now have the responsibility to shine our rekindled lights upon the people around us. Now that we understand that “pain [can] lead to repentance” (Lewis 122), we can encourage the suffering to look for the blessings in their pain! We can inspire others to live life as it comes to them without too much seriousness. After all, “angels can [only] fly because they take themselves lightly” (Chesterton 117). Having realized that “lust ... is unbelief” (Bonhoeffer 132), we can teach others to defeat lust by drawing nearer to God.
Conclusion
In Matthew 5:15, Jesus says, “Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house.” Let’s not hide our lights! Throughout the Great Books program, we’ve poured enough oil over each other's lamps that they've begun to burn with a new intensity. We’ve handed one another the light. Now, let’s illuminate the world.
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