Ours The Task Eternal

It is not often these days that I have an opportunity to remember that I am an academic with research interests in the art and archaeology of medieval Italy, so it was with some pleasure that I accepted the invitation of a prominent British art history journal to review the exhibition of painted panels and illuminated manuscripts from early 14^th-century Florence which opened recently at the Art Gallery of Ontario.  And if you find yourself in Toronto before this show closes on June 16^th, I recommend it highly.  Florence in 1300 was a remarkable place. An explosion of manufacturing and trade had necessitated the creation of a stable currency, and the invention of “banking” more or less as we think of it today; and this in turn led to profound social change as a newly wealthy and increasingly literate middle class began to take the lead in the patronage of buildings and their decorations, as well as creating a market for books on secular or quasi-secular subjects written in a language they could actually read (i.e. not Latin).  The works of authors such as Francesco da Barberino and Dante Alighieri would not have been possible a hundred years earlier, as there would have been no readership; and without the exploding demand for books that quickly spread from Florence to other parts of Europe, a century later Johannes Gutenberg would have had no reason to invent the printing press.  It is also at this time that the concept of the “artist” begins to emerge, creating the hitherto unthinkable possibility of a painter (Giotto) being the protagonist of a story in Boccaccio’s Decameron.  Whereas artists’ signatures are virtually unknown in the earlier Middle Ages, from 1300 onwards we find that more and more pieces are signed — although exactly what the signatures were intended to attest is still a matter of some debate.  It probably signified a “brand”, in other words the product of a particular atelier, rather than suggesting that all parts of the work were painted by the same individual.  And most works still remain unsigned, leading to speculative attributions.  Whereas these were once based primarily on an analysis of style, now the main tool of the art historian is more likely to be a technical analysis of materials and technique, supplemented by an exhausting exploration of archival documents.

Over the last twelve months I have initiated a series of luncheon meetings with groups of FASS alumni in Toronto, intended to update them on what is happening on our campus and to explain the concept of the “Signature B.A.”; and it seemed like a good idea to combine some of these events with a personally guided tour of the Florence exhibition.  The Director of the AGO, Matthew Teitelbaum, is also a Carleton grad, and the plan quickly obtained his enthusiastic support.  I met with two such groups at the beginning of this month, making for a rather long and exhausting day, and there is one more to follow on April 29th.  It is always a pleasure to meet with gatherings of Carleton alumni – something that I have also now done in Montreal, Winnipeg, Victoria, and New York – because, like me, they harbour a very warm affection for this place.  There is always much reminiscing about particular occasions and events, or professors who showed a special interest and went out of their way to help.  But there is also a universal understanding that the “transferable skills” learned as an undergraduate – the skills in critical reading, in analysis and synthesis, and in writing and speaking – have served them exceptionally well in their subsequent careers.  Most have gone on to travel paths which they never could have envisaged as undergraduates. And I believe that this is the most important message that we can convey to our students today.  At this time they can have no accurate idea of what they will end up doing with their lives – and indeed I have heard it said that most of the jobs that will exist in 10 years time have not even been invented yet.  What they need from their education is not training for any one specific job, but the general ability to know how to tackle in an intelligent fashion whatever particular challenge happens to come their way; in other words, they need to acquire the basic skills for survival in an increasingly complex world.  And at the same time they need to discover their particular passions: what it is that they value, what it is that will make their lives worth living.  By no coincidence, it was precisely these same needs that led the citizens of Florence in the early 1300s to create a market for books in the genre that we would today define as “educational”.  And of course it is this period of the late Middle Ages that witnessed the establishment of universities in many parts of Europe, in response to the burgeoning need for educated citizens now extending well beyond the traditional professions of the church and the law.

By chance I had an opportunity this past week to take in a wonderful production of Shakespeare’s As You Like It, part of a drama workshop course in the Dept. of English.  And consequently I was reminded of the lines “All the world’s a stage, and all the men and women merely players.  They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many parts.”  Our “task eternal” at a university is not to train students for a single role, but for that life of many parts.  And according to our graduates, we do so rather well.

I would love to find a way to connect our alumni with our graduating students – and also perhaps with certain columnists who write for national newspapers!  In the end it is not the specific knowledge acquired in the process of completing a Bachelor of Arts degree that is important in life, but rather the understanding of the process of acquiring knowledge, and of knowing how both to undertake research and then how to bring it to bear on any specific problem that requires resolution.  As is so often the case, it is the journey that is of primary importance, rather than the short-term destination.