I wrote an e-mail tonight. It was about honesty and credibility and accountability. It sent me, as anything does when it impresses me particularly, on a long train of thought.
It got me back to my graduation day. You see, Italy’s quirky. People who get a degree here can attach a title to their names, but unlike the English “Ph.D.”, it goes to the front of the name — I am Doctor Emanuele Vulcano (Doctor in Engineering in Computer Science, to be precise); and were I to take the associated national exam, I would be referred as Engineer Emanuele Vulcano, not unlike “Sir” denotes knighthood in the United Kingdom.
And yet, this is no honorific title, not (or not just) a badge of accomplishment. No. On graduation day, a lovely sunny day in March last year, we were gathered in one of the Politecnico’s largest rooms, where the Vice-Director of the Faculty of Information Studies tried and failed, as is customary, to impress us with a speech about the market and the future we would be protagonists of yada yada blah blah. That part I do not regret not recalling. But what followed it, after every name was called and every degree handed, was something I do regret not recalling in detail. It was a standard proclamation, required by the law, and yet it was, yes, formal, but deep and touching, in a way.
It told us in no uncertain terms that what we earned along with our title was no list of privileges but a list of duties. It reminded us that we’d now be required to perform our Art with honor, with professionality, without letting anyone interfere with the quality of its result.
It told us a simple truth: that what we got that day, what we have in front of our names, means that we’re held to a higher standard. We must not just be decent human beings; it is our honor-bound duty to be outstanding human beings.
This it is. And a thought hit me like a little meteor tonight: if I died before I could do any of the things I imagine, I’d still be content if I could be remembered for holding myself up to that standard — for having strived towards being a better person.
This is not what I believe, in the sense of consciously choosing to believe in something. This is merely what I am; saying this is, to me, no different than saying that I have brown hair. It’s part of what I am, and I cannot escape from it more than I could escape from my own skin. In what’s left of my life, I might not become an exceptional person by any standard; but this side of me will always nag me for it, remind me all the ways in which I could — I should, must — be better. I will never be able to ignore it.
And on the days I actually happen to listen to it, it hurts less, and I sleep a little better.
