Aug. 20, 2023: Convocation Remarks

Good evening, members of our distinguished faculty and staff. And welcome, Bucknell University transfer students and Class of 2027!

Tonight, you begin writing a new chapter of your lives. I know the last few weeks have been a whirlwind of transitions, changes and long goodbyes. You likely sit here excited, perhaps a little anxious, and still with more questions than answers. So let me illustrate the significance of this moment.

With your inauguration as Bucknellians tonight, you are embarking on a time in your lives that will be unlike any other. I hesitate to say that these will be your best years, because I certainly hope that every year is forever better than the last. However, I can confidently say that your experience as an undergraduate at Bucknell will always stand out as a distinct period in your life's journey, and one that I hope you come to treasure.

If you could foresee the next four years, you would marvel at all you will learn, overcome and accomplish. You would be filled with anticipation over the passions you'll discover, the talents you'll reveal and the memories you'll create. You would look around this room that is now filled with strangers and see future classmates, colleagues and lifelong friends. And if history is any guide, more than a few will see their future spouse.

The accomplishments of generations of Bucknellians are rooted in the same classrooms, studios and laboratories that you will enter this week.

Kelsey Herrmann, Bucknell Class of 2009, found that her undergraduate studies in mechanical engineering enabled her to fulfill a slightly modified version of her childhood dream of becoming an astronaut, by enabling her to remotely go to space. She is now a NASA flight director, working on the VIPER lunar rover that will embark on a 100-day mission to explore the South Pole of the moon.

Michael Tonge, Class of 2012, leads a content and events platform that champions Black art and creativity called The Culture LP. Today, his organization produces public art projects in Los Angeles and New York City, though the idea all started as a blog that Michael began here at Bucknell. He recalls designing the logo as a student and having the organization's first T-shirts delivered to his dorm room.

And just last year, Anushka Mehrotra, Class of 2016, won the 2022 Screenwriters Association Award for Best Original Screenplay for the Amazon Prime series Mumbai Diaries 26/11. Before her award-winning career, Anushka had transferred to Bucknell in her junior year. In her words, she came to Bucknell "to be more challenged and learn how to write well." As a critically acclaimed screenwriter before the age of 30, I think she has achieved her goal.

Dreams are born at Bucknell. The enormity of your potential can be unleashed. Hold on tight to your dreams, and fear not the failures along the way. Rather, let the bumps on the road help guide you from the edges of your dreams to the core of what is calling to you, to what ignites your passion. James Joyce said that "Mistakes are the portals of discovery," and Thomas Edison – perhaps America's most prolific inventor – said that he never failed, but rather found 10,000 ways that don't work.

Of course, your time with us will not merely be about academic and professional ambitions. The next four years will be a formative period of self-discovery and self-reconstruction. Your worldview will be shaped. Your thinking, broadened. You will fashion your sense of identity with greater assurance.

Most thrilling of all, you will find companions to accompany you on this adventure. There is a certain alchemy to your college years. Something about the achievements and pressures of academia, combined with shared campus walks, dining hall debates and semesters abroad that transmute acquaintances into deep lasting friendships. Earlier this summer, alumni reaching back to the Class of 1953 attended our Reunion weekend. Seventy years had passed for those particular Bucknellians, yet the memories and experiences of this place inspired them to return.

That is why there is so much magic to this moment. Time as a student at Bucknell is a rarity and a privilege.

Promise yourselves — not your family, not your friends — yourselves! — that you will take full advantage of every moment here at Bucknell. I say this in particular because in recent years I have observed students, colleagues, my family and certainly myself sacrificing more and more of this precious experience, as we all increasingly exist — and in fact dwell — in a digital world.

Now if you're bracing for a lecture about screen time, no worries — you're not going to get one. No — I want to talk with you, instead, and perhaps a bit furtively, about ideas, education and the life of the mind.

Because now that you are scholars engaged in higher learning, with a finite time as undergraduates, the impact of social media and increasing prevalence of artificial intelligence take on new meaning and consequence.

I approach this topic as someone who has been fascinated by technology for my entire life. I was writing code in seventh grade — and let me tell you, in 1970 that was something else. I was an early adopter of cell phones and Blackberries and Macs and the iPhone and a whole lot more — visit my office sometime and see a part of my collection. In past Convocations I have praised tech visionaries for the promise of their advancements, some of whom I knew after spending 35 years in Silicon Valley.

And yet, at the same time, I have watched with growing concern the sometimes-damaging effect of this "progress." Regardless of my predilection for all things tech, and your natural comfort with platforms, apps and AI, it is vital that we evaluate them with a critical eye and a humble acknowledgement that none of us quite know the totality of their consequences, particularly in the years and decades to come.

Despite social media being seamlessly integrated into our lives, these kinds of digital experiences are breathtakingly new.

TikTok, YikYak, Instagram, Snapchat, Twitter — I refuse to call it "X" — some of these platforms are younger than you, yet they are some of the most powerful forces shaping human behavior and global events today.

These platforms, per se, are neutral. My concern stems from the algorithms that dictate the social media experience.

Algorithms are often misunderstood as a platform's ability to feed you customized content that you are likely to enjoy. However, they are not actually focused on giving you what you like. Rather, the algorithm's goal is to keep you watching, which is an entirely different calculus.

By observing patterns in the seemingly infinite amount of data collected from billions of users, computers are able to identify and leverage when emotions like anger, distrust, fear, vulnerability and rage will keep us watching longer than would joy, fun, pleasure and love.

A leaked presentation from 2018 admitted that Facebook's systems were designed to provide "more and more divisive content in an effort to gain user attention and increase time on the platform." The report conceded, quote, "Our algorithms exploit the human brain's attraction to divisiveness."

That admission — that algorithms exploit the human brain — is something we must take very seriously. We would all like to believe that our intellect shields us from the dangers of social media; however, social media taps into something deeper in our brains — something emotional and instinctual. Tristan Harris, an advocate for ethically designed technology, reminds us that when we turn on our devices, there are thousands of other intelligent people on the other side of the screen determined to break down our self-regulation.

So, for all of social media's promise, what perils must we acknowledge and address as scholars?

The first is social media's incredible ability to steal our most precious resource, which is time.

From 2019 to 2021, the average teenager spent 8 hours, 39 minutes interfacing with their personal devices every day.

We regularly hear stunning daily totals like this, so let's give ourselves a new perspective by extrapolating that number over time. Five hundred nineteen minutes a day adds up to more than 189,000 minutes a year, or more than four months. And for the four years you will spend as an undergraduate, that annual average totals to nearly one and a half years spent interfacing with a screen. One and a half years out of the next four, staring at a device. And that's before we factor out time for sleep.

Naturally, we all react defensively to such numbers. We might say that we use our devices less frequently than the average user. Or we justify some of that time by saying that we use our devices for school, or to socialize. And there is some validity to those arguments.

So, let me pose this question: If you truly use social media less than the average person, then how much of the next four years do you wish to spend scrolling through your feeds? Fourteen months? Twelve months? Eight months?

To get your four-year total down to three months, you'd have to reduce your usage to one-fifth of the average teenager. And three months is still a stunning amount of time to be disengaged from the physical world around you.

To say nothing of the time you will lose enjoying campus life, the rapid pace of social media has radically shaped our expectations for how long we should invest in working toward a goal and the immediacy with which we should see results.

People who create lasting achievements and change the course of history often think of time very differently, in terms of years and decades. They foresee results that might not come in their own lifetimes.

Just a few grand examples include the more than 13,000 miles of the Great Wall of China, built over thousands of years; the architectural triumph of the Notre Dame Cathedral, which took nearly 200 years to construct; or Michelangelo's painting of the Sistine Chapel's ceiling, for which he spent four years reaching above his head to paint a masterpiece.

Even ambitions in the age of technology take time.

In 2018, the Voyager 2 entered interstellar space after launching more than four decades earlier — that's so long ago, I was still a junior! The Voyager 2 became the first human-made craft to study the solar system's outermost planets at close range before reaching its current distance, more than 11 billion miles from Earth — a historic feat almost a half-century in the making.

Or consider how, in 2013, then-President Obama announced a long-term initiative to map the human brain. When it was unveiled, the columnist George Will projected that after 50 years, when the president's own daughters were themselves grandmothers, it might reveal itself to be the most consequential action of his presidency. As a side note, if you'd like to hear more from George Will, he'll be here at Bucknell on September 19 as the first speaker in our Bucknell Forum speaker series.

I know these are lofty examples, but more incremental milestones often require just as much patience. Engineering projects, literary endeavors, software design, musical compositions, business development, public policy, can all be years in the making.

So don't let yourselves become absorbed by the inconsequential aspects of the digital world. There isn't time to waste.

A second drawback of social media is its use as an escape. An escape from boredom, from loneliness, from uncomfortable social situations — or from homework.

But here's the problem: In so many of these instances, we are not actually escaping. Rather, we are delaying the inevitable, often at a cost. Boredom may be the one emotional experience that we can partially avoid through social media, but I still think something precious is lost when we instinctively pull out our devices to pass those quiet moments by. Often, moments of boredom are opportunities for thought, reflection, even revelation.

Leonardo da Vinci, one of history's great geniuses, demonstrated what is possible when we allow our minds to observe, imagine and wonder. For much of his adult life, Leonardo carried notebooks to make notations and drawings of passing thoughts and ideas. Moving through the world, he would write observations of people — what they wore and how they interacted. He would record the details of his examinations of nature — the ratios of the human body, the movement of a dragonfly's wings, how the changing position of the sun affected the colors around him. The great artist would practice sketches of human subjects, often obsessively, perfecting their faces, their musculature and the curls of their hair. He even created intricate drawings of inventions — mechanized grinders, flying contraptions and perpetual-motion machines.

Historians estimate Leonardo filled more than 28,000 pages in his lifetime. He refined and curated his best works from this prolific collection of nascent ideas and experimental sketches. Just a few years ago, thanks to an IBM-sponsored exhibition, I saw many of these "inventions on paper" brought to actual life. I left that exhibit thinking every student should see this. Centuries after he drew them, sketches became brass and wood and moving parts highlighting the great master's genius. Art and science merged into one.

Don't underestimate what you can accomplish in the still moments of life. Don't underestimate your ability to dream and imagine and create.

My third concern over social media, and the one that I find most alarming, is how algorithms shape our world view.

Imagine if Bucknell's librarians assisted your research in the same way as algorithms. Rather than access the vast collections at Bertrand Library, the librarians would instead greet you at the circulation desk with a small selection of books and articles, curated based on what you already know, or think you know. All the readings would present information that you are inclined to agree with, as predicted by your online habits. No contradictory facts. No opposing arguments.

To keep you engaged over time, our algorithm librarians would increasingly recommend writing that was more emotional and extreme. At times, they would also suggest authors who disagreed with your opinion, but only those who were so incendiary that they would harden your stances and distort your perception of anyone on the opposing side.

By the end of the semester, you and your classmates would come into the classroom not simply with different opinions. You would engage in discussions with entirely different understandings of reality.

Rashida Richardson, a law professor and corporate counsel for data protection and privacy, has said, "We all are simply operating on a different set of facts. When that happens at scale, you are no longer able to reckon with, or even consume information that contradicts that worldview that you've created."

In his book Think Again, Wharton School organizational psychologist Adam Grant observes that we are increasingly falling into the communication roles first observed by his University of Pennsylvania colleague, Philip Tetlock. According to Tetlock, we are either a preacher, defending our opinions as sacred beliefs; a prosecutor, instinctively looking for flaws in opposing opinions; or a politician, obsessed with bringing people to our side. To our detriment, Grant writes, we have forgotten the value of living our life as scholars: aware of our limits of understanding; doubtful of what we think we know; curious about what we don't know; and willing to change our views with the introduction of new information.

Friends, institutions of higher learning are not where intelligent people gather after arriving at the same conclusions about the world around them. They are where intelligent people — with open minds and compassionate hearts — come to question, test and refine what they believe to be true.

I am under no illusions that you will all return to your residence halls this evening and dutifully sign off every social media platform. As a technophile, I understand that it's hard to let go of the promise of these platforms, and I know that we can approach them with nuance.

For example, Matt Kandler, Bucknell Class of 2010, created his own social site, Happyfeed, but designed it as an alternative to more negative online experiences. He said, "I wanted to take an existing habit — scrolling on Instagram or Facebook or Twitter — and turn it into something that's research-backed and actually good for you." And I should note, in light of what I shared about Leonardo da Vinci, that Matt's idea was not wholly inspired by his Silicon Valley colleagues, but by his habit of gratitude journaling.

So I understand what is possible through these platforms. But I hope that you will journey through your undergraduate years prepared to resist their attempt to confine your thinking. I encourage you to break free of their hold and let your imagination wander. And I implore you — do not let them needlessly steal time from these cherished years of exploration.

Shortly after my time as an undergraduate, an exploration of my own profoundly shaped my outlook on life. Growing up in New York City and on Long Island, I spent my youth believing the night sky was populated by only a few dozen bright stars. Of course, intellectually, I knew that there were far more stars than the city lights would allow me to see. But for most of my life, that had been my night sky — that was what I accepted as the view from Earth.

Then, on a trip to the Rocky Mountains in my 20s, I finally saw the night sky as it was meant to be seen. Far from the light pollution, I was awe-struck by the ink-black night, illuminated by a covering of brilliant white, blue, orange and golden speckles. I could easily see the Milky Way — our galaxy — like a ribbon of glowing storm clouds stretching across the heavens. It was unmistakable. Remembering that, I just posted to one of my own social media feeds a news story about a recent estimate that there are at least two trillion galaxies in the universe, each one comprising tens or hundreds of billions of stars.

By going beyond what was comfortable — by stepping away from my day-to-day habits and turning my gaze outward — my long-held perspective on something that seemed so evident and so constant was forever changed. So, too, was my understanding of the universe and my place within it.

Spend these next four years creating moments of exploration like this for yourselves.

A liberal arts education places no restraints on thinking. As Bucknellians, we will encourage you — and challenge you—to stretch as deep as you do wide. Our chemists are poets. Our musicians are scientists. Our economists speak multiple languages. And our engineers look to the wonders of nature and contemplate what they can teach us about design.

Take a break from endless scrolling on your phones and indulge yourselves in the rarefied opportunities available here at Bucknell. And speaking of stars, let our stellar faculty and staff, and your immensely talented classmates, be your influencers and inspiration. Discover your own passions and talents, rather than watch others discover theirs.

Each of you is here because you hold incredible potential. We know you are capable of achieving the extraordinary. And we are so proud to have you as part of the Bucknell community.

Welcome, again, Class of 2027.