Education: Physics over Fear
It’s been a year since my last blog post and since my book was published. I’ve found in this year that new thoughts are slowly forming…very slowly. Other than a couple of book reviews for my work at The Other Journal, I haven’t written much. That said, I had an occasion to break that writing gap after I was invited to speak at my high school alma mater’s Academic Honors Banquet in March (2022), where I addressed the Top Ten students and their parents at Union City (TN) High School. So, here’s my address, “Education: Physics over Fear.”
It’s so good to be back at a place that means so much to me and my family. I was raised here from 3rd grade onward; my sister was a graduate of UCHS in ‘98; my parents are here with me tonight, and they served this community by supporting the Union City School system in a variety of ways for twenty years. I rode here with them tonight, and I’m sure they resisted the habit to drop me off at the curb and drive off like it was 1991 all over again. I am a proud member of the Class of 1995, and it is an honor to be back with fellow Golden Tornadoes.
Let me begin by commending you—students, parents, faculty, and administration—for your work to bring us to this momentous evening. You know the sacrifices you’ve made—the lonely hours you’ve dedicated to personal excellence. Make time over the next few days to celebrate this achievement, because it’s truly a communal achievement. Give thanks to one another for making nights like tonight possible.
I’m going to talk about courage tonight, because Union City High School was the place where I learned how to be courageous—physically through competition, emotionally…because it just takes courage to endure high school, and most importantly, I learned intellectual courage.
I had plenty of successes here, many of which came about because I showed or learned courage. Plenty of failures, too, which is fine because that’s the point of what we do in education. We learn from our mistakes. I’ll tell you a little about one such misstep that is encapsulated by a miniscule number .007. More about that in a minute.
Here’s what I mean by “courage.” My academic field is theology/religion, but I know just enough philosophy to be dangerous, so quick philosophy lesson: Aristotle is credited with our foundational thinking on Virtues and Vices. Aristotle held that we find true virtue in the mean between the extremes. For the virtue COURAGE, you must recognize and avoid the distortions of courage: The deficit of courage is Cowardice—failing to act, remaining silent, being paralyzed by fear. On the other extreme is the excess of courage, which is being rash, fool-hearty, acting or speaking without thinking, and basically causing harm or chaos.
Or, to put this in much simpler terms, Aristotle is saying if you want to be truly courageous don’t be a coward or a hothead, and you’ll be on your way. But still, avoiding certain actions still doesn’t tell us how to be courageous. The answer is in the old axiom “practice makes perfect,” or perhaps better put, “Practice makes permanent.” In other words, the only way to become courageous is to practice showing courage. Thanks, Aristotle, but it’s true: You cannot think your way into courage, in the same way that you can’t think your way to a perfect jumpshot or musical performance. As high-achieving students, you know the value of putting in the hours to perfect your crafts. The same principle applies to the virtues, like courage. Practice is the only way.
+++
So, let me get back to that .007 number: In 1994, the year before I graduated from high school, I was making my schedule, and I reached that crucial moment where you look at the classes you need to graduate versus the ones that will keep you with your friends, but those classes will definitely be more stressful.
Now, as good students you all know the pressure-cooker that can begin in Middle School. Middle School is where I earned my first Top Ten honors. Even got my picture in the Messenger. I was flying high. I was in the Top Ten all through Middle School. Then, my freshman year here concludes, and all of a sudden, I wasn’t! I thought my world was ending. I struggled in algebra freshman year, and I was out of the top ten. Sophomore year I was determined to regain the throne…but then geometry smacked me in the face.
No Top Ten again.
World ending.
Junior year I was a maniac. Crushed my math class. Aced Chemistry. Overall, just had a phenomenal year. So, this time in 1994, I was back in the Top Ten—where I thought I belonged—and I was never leaving. Never. Ever.
So, when it was time to fill out my schedule, I see two courses staring me in the face—my historic nemeses, math and science: Specifically, Calculus and Physics. I had just finally had a good year in math. I had also actually thrived in Wilford Gray’s chemistry class, even though I’m still convinced it took years off my life. Why would I subject myself to the grind of Mr. Gray’s physics course??? Ask your parents or some of the faculty here. They remember. It was no joke.
I had just clawed my way back into the Top Ten. The pinnacle! Why would I put that spot at risk? So, I didn’t. I decided I would run out the clock on my high school career. Four corners. Prevent defense. Whatever you want to call it.
My senior year ends, right where you are now, and the standings are revealed. I graduated # 7 in my class, and according to the UCHS yearbook my GPA was .007 points ahead of one of my best friends… a future engineer who took calculus and physics.
Some of you are reflecting on this story thinking, “Fair play, Justin. Play to win. Good strategy.” Others of you are thinking, “That’s a punk-move.” I know we’re drifting into the “unwritten rules” territory of playing fair, where we all have our differing philosophies, but at this moment in time skipping out on physics and calculus seemed to be the smart play. But I’ve felt over the years like I missed out.
+++
Here's what I missed: I exchanged 180 hours of physics class and time with my friends for 180 hours of study hall, where I knew no one and probably didn’t get much work done…all for .007 on my GPA to leapfrog a friend and ensure I was in the Top Ten. Was it worth it? Meh. Now days, I’d show a bit more courage, understanding that a likely “B” in physics would be worth that time with my friends. That’s a trade I’d take now.
Now, I haven’t been haunted by this decision to not take physics. Let’s not be dramatic. But it may have been the first time I really played it super-safe, which is the first sign that I was becoming an adult. Isn’t that what adulthood is? Considering the cost of what you already have in-hand versus other possibilities? Please hear me students: There are many, many good reasons to play it safe at certain times of life! But I’m not convinced education is one of those occasions.
All of us have a charge to display courage—real courage in the sense that Aristotle would have us practice it, neither being silent cowards or unreasonable loudmouths.
Students, you are living through a time where more and more adults are losing their minds and happy to do so publicly. They are neither displaying the virtue of temperance (from Aristotle) nor the fruits of the spirit that the Apostle Paul named as peace, kindness and self-control. We need YOU to have courage these days to help us regain our sanity—to look at the state of world and consider that there might just be a better way to do things rather than constantly tearing one another apart. No community, no place of worship, no school, or even nation can sustain this constant fight-or-flight mode of existence.
Parents, Faculty— adults in the room—we have to show courage, too. We have to model the behavior we want to see from our students. And let me say this as clearly as I can: As an educator you must never believe that ideas are existential threats to you or your institutions. Keep learning and considering perspectives other than your own.
Now, I practice courage by writing and speaking about race and religion—everyone’s favorite topics these days. I learned how to do that here. I’ve practiced courage by visiting death row members in Tennessee prisons and visiting family members who have lost loved ones to violent crimes. I’ve taught pretty good lessons when I didn’t feel my best or have my prime material. I’ve made mistakes: I’ve remained quiet when I should have spoken, and I’ve been an inconsiderate loudmouth who should have chosen my words more carefully. But at my best I hope I have stood up for those whose voices have been minimized or silenced.
What Aristotle knew was that we need a community of learners to help us know how to practice courage, and I firmly believe UCHS can be such a community that strengthens the bonds between one another which we so desperately need today.
+++
When a school is at its best, it is a place where people, cultures, and ideas collide—and that collision releases energy.
THAT’S PHYSICS.
So, while I missed out on physics class, I still learned physics at Union City High School.
UCHS is where I made my first Jewish friend and learned why you don’t joke about long-dead and discredited dictators. I learned about an incredibly rich religious tradition that was not my own.
At Union City High School, I made my first Muslim friend, and he explained to me what Ramadan was as we ran laps during track practice. He was fasting and running laps…and explaining it to me. That happened over there (on that track).
UCHS was the first time I had awkward conversations about race, religion, politics, and it set me on the path I’m still on, never a finished product by the way but always in process of becoming.
I hope you all are continuing to have deep discussions, where ideas collide…hopefully without explosions. Maintain the physics of this place—that’s the commitment we need to continually renew with one another, much like a marriage vow, a religious covenant, or the promise of democratic participation. Maintaining the physics of this place will launch the people it transforms to serve the world in incredible ways.
Thank you for transforming me and sending me out.