St. Lawrence University: Commencement

Address to SLU Commencement - May 16, 2004
Marie "Lorrie" Moore

Good morning. I was once where you are and there was a flask of whiskey that made its way up and down the rows, hidden from student to student in the drapey sleeves of the graduation robes. The original owner or possessor of this flask was unknown to me, but despite that, I took a discreet, ceremonious sip and passed it along. Which brings me, perhaps, to my theme: Everything in Moderation and other bits of Healthful Hooey.

First of all: There is no Everything. Your life will be very specific and – apologies to Walt Whitman and Timothy Leary – will not contain the universe, or even very many universal truths. When even physicists are demanding a new physics universal truths are probably like unicorns or holy grails or fountains of youth, in the end, pretty to think so – that's for you English majors – even for purposes of Ostensibly Wise Advice to the graduates. Here is what I known from my twenty-five years on you: you won't grow wise. And your parents, too, will tell you this, if you will only just share that flask a little bit with them. There is no wisdom awaiting you up ahead – for advice there may be little more than "Live, love, laugh, and be happy," those appealing words embedded at the heart of "When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin Along." There is not a lot of wisdom – not really – but there is discovery: and what you will probably discover will be what is the truest of the things you already know. Do not take everything with a grain of salt – there is no everything – but take a lot of things with a grain of salt, and take even more, as we have learned watching our country in the last few years – with a handful. Moderation is not always helpful or true. And everything does not exist. But salt exists. And is necessary for human life – as any biologist will tell you.

Four years ago, in another talk, I found myself saying the following: "As a fiction writer I believe that most of what is good and useful and helpful and beautiful in the world comes from an imagination that is being vigorously used rather than one that is being used sparingly, or dimly, or not at all. A mind is a book – and a book that remains closed is a doorstop. To imagine – which means to step away slightly from what is strictly one's own point of view – is at the heart of tolerance if not understanding, sympathy if not actual explicit generosity. And it is the reason why we are today living in the most tolerant times Americans have yet lived in – [Clinton was, at that time President, and his wife quite tolerantly had not even attempted to shoot him] – We have imagined others – their stories, their predicaments, their fantastically difficult decisions, their bad and totally unfair luck. This imagining away from what is familiar and self-interested enlarges and enriches us all – though that may be the least of it. It is also an act of charity, and makes the world safer for someone else – not only spiritually safer but physically safer – a life saved. When you have done that – when you have saved a life in one of the various ways a life can be saved – you have done something extraordinary."

That was four years ago, when most of you were just graduating from high school. Your ensuing four years of college have been arguably some of the most shattering years in American history. And if you paid attention to them, if you looked up from your desks and read the newspapers, the world needs your youthful astonishment and principled outrage. If you did not pay attention to them, if instead you had your head in your textbooks or angled beneath the tap of a fraternity beer keg: the world needs your strong necks, your focus, your optimism and unwoundedness. As I stand before you on this momentous day, I would love to share further with you all the fantastic knowledge I have acquired through the decades – the key to happiness, the key to contented success, the key to enduring romantic love – but I have been sworn to secrecy by the Keyholders Association and other powerful forces I am not allowed to name. But I can tell you these few things:

1) Do some things not in moderation but extremely, in total immersion. If everything should be done in moderation, then that must include moderation itself.

2) Not everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes. Certainly not fifteen minutes in a row. The person who said that originally was just being funny. Better to bear in mind George Eliot's famous conclusion, "That things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been in half owing to the number who have lived faithfully a hidden life."

3) Women, you can't have it all. George Eliot didn't have it all – despite a name that suggested that perhaps she did or at least was trying more than most. No one has it all. Even men don't have it all – though it's true: they have more. So there is work to be done.

4) Unplug your television sets. Garrison Keillor has said, "You can learn more about life by drinking gin straight from the bottle than you can by watching TV." He, of course, is a radio man, but that doesn't mean he isn't right. The people on Friends are not actually your friends: they are a vehicle for selling hair-care products. You needn't say farewell to them. You needn't speak to them at all.

5) Take the most essential interest in life: find even some small way – tutoring a niece, donating time to a school – to commit yourself to the next generation – not as an effort to ensure one's own child's getting ahead in the world but as an effort to do something that's not about that at all, something quietly majestic that honors the entire project of everyone's life.

6) And, finally even if it is for Donald Duck, don't forget to vote. Parents and graduates, bring your children to the polls.

Thank you and good luck to you all.

Return to Commencement	Address to SLU Commencement - May 16, 2004 Marie "Lorrie" Moore Good morning. I was once where you are and there was a flask of whiskey that made its way up and down the rows, hidden from student to student in the drapey sleeves of the graduation robes. The original owner or possessor of this flask was unknown to me, but despite that, I took a discreet, ceremonious sip and passed it along. Which brings me, perhaps, to my theme: Everything in Moderation and other bits of Healthful Hooey. First of all: There is no Everything. Your life will be very specific and – apologies to Walt Whitman and Timothy Leary – will not contain the universe, or even very many universal truths. When even physicists are demanding a new physics universal truths are probably like unicorns or holy grails or fountains of youth, in the end, pretty to think so – that's for you English majors – even for purposes of Ostensibly Wise Advice to the graduates. Here is what I known from my twenty-five years on you: you won't grow wise. And your parents, too, will tell you this, if you will only just share that flask a little bit with them. There is no wisdom awaiting you up ahead – for advice there may be little more than "Live, love, laugh, and be happy," those appealing words embedded at the heart of "When the Red, Red Robin Comes Bob Bob Bobbin Along." There is not a lot of wisdom – not really – but there is discovery: and what you will probably discover will be what is the truest of the things you already know. Do not take everything with a grain of salt – there is no everything – but take a lot of things with a grain of salt, and take even more, as we have learned watching our country in the last few years – with a handful. Moderation is not always helpful or true. And everything does not exist. But salt exists. And is necessary for human life – as any biologist will tell you. Four years ago, in another talk, I found myself saying the following: "As a fiction writer I believe that most of what is good and useful and helpful and beautiful in the world comes from an imagination that is being vigorously used rather than one that is being used sparingly, or dimly, or not at all. A mind is a book – and a book that remains closed is a doorstop. To imagine – which means to step away slightly from what is strictly one's own point of view – is at the heart of tolerance if not understanding, sympathy if not actual explicit generosity. And it is the reason why we are today living in the most tolerant times Americans have yet lived in – [Clinton was, at that time President, and his wife quite tolerantly had not even attempted to shoot him] – We have imagined others – their stories, their predicaments, their fantastically difficult decisions, their bad and totally unfair luck. This imagining away from what is familiar and self-interested enlarges and enriches us all – though that may be the least of it. It is also an act of charity, and makes the world safer for someone else – not only spiritually safer but physically safer – a life saved. When you have done that – when you have saved a life in one of the various ways a life can be saved – you have done something extraordinary." That was four years ago, when most of you were just graduating from high school. Your ensuing four years of college have been arguably some of the most shattering years in American history. And if you paid attention to them, if you looked up from your desks and read the newspapers, the world needs your youthful astonishment and principled outrage. If you did not pay attention to them, if instead you had your head in your textbooks or angled beneath the tap of a fraternity beer keg: the world needs your strong necks, your focus, your optimism and unwoundedness. As I stand before you on this momentous day, I would love to share further with you all the fantastic knowledge I have acquired through the decades – the key to happiness, the key to contented success, the key to enduring romantic love – but I have been sworn to secrecy by the Keyholders Association and other powerful forces I am not allowed to name. But I can tell you these few things: 1) Do some things not in moderation but extremely, in total immersion. If everything should be done in moderation, then that must include moderation itself. 2) Not everyone will be famous for fifteen minutes. Certainly not fifteen minutes in a row. The person who said that originally was just being funny. Better to bear in mind George Eliot's famous conclusion, "That things are not so ill with you and me as they might have been in half owing to the number who have lived faithfully a hidden life." 3) Women, you can't have it all. George Eliot didn't have it all – despite a name that suggested that perhaps she did or at least was trying more than most. No one has it all. Even men don't have it all – though it's true: they have more. So there is work to be done. 4) Unplug your television sets. Garrison Keillor has said, "You can learn more about life by drinking gin straight from the bottle than you can by watching TV." He, of course, is a radio man, but that doesn't mean he isn't right. The people on Friends are not actually your friends: they are a vehicle for selling hair-care products. You needn't say farewell to them. You needn't speak to them at all. 5) Take the most essential interest in life: find even some small way – tutoring a niece, donating time to a school – to commit yourself to the next generation – not as an effort to ensure one's own child's getting ahead in the world but as an effort to do something that's not about that at all, something quietly majestic that honors the entire project of everyone's life. 6) And, finally even if it is for Donald Duck, don't forget to vote. Parents and graduates, bring your children to the polls. Thank you and good luck to you all.
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