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Web Exclusives:
Under the Ivy June 9, 2004: Setting
sail When I began the year, I did not expect that I would be writing two columns about President Francis Landey Patton, Princeton’s 12th president, who from this century’s vantage point seems to have had an undistinguished career. But Patton was beloved by his students, and his wife’s death in 1942 sparked a number of fond reminiscences from the classes of the late 1900s. One correspondent wrote to PAW of Patton’s faith while facing adversity – he and his wife both went blind in their later years — which prompted another, Roswell Easton, Secretary of the Class of 1898, to submit the text of a letter Patton had written to the class on the occasion of its 25th Reunion, in 1923. Today Patton’s letter would probably be dismissed: too sentimental, too clichéd, too reliant on the single conceit of ships sailing through sometimes smooth, sometimes rough seas. And yet some of Patton’s imagery is lovely, and appropriate for this time of Reunions and Commencement. “A fine fleet you were when you then set sail on the great voyage of life,” Patton began (childhood, adolescence, and college being only preparations for the actual voyage, apparently). “You have had your share, I dare say, of fine weather and foul; storms and calms; head winds and following seas. Some of your number have already dropped anchor in their last port.” The middle of the letter consists of advice with a nautical theme: “Do not try to steer by the phosphorescent light in the wake of the ship; past experience is not a sufficient guide to future action. Use the light in the binnacle, feeble though it be, to read the compass; and steer by the compass. With a chronometer in your cabin it is foolish to go by dead reckoning; lean not unto your own understanding.” He goes on, “When in shallow water take soundings. The lead will serve you better than the stars. I deals have their place, but the business of life is practical and it is well sometimes to know as you go along how much water you have under the keel.” It is the final paragraphs of the letter, however, that resound loudest through the years. Here Patton gives his sailor’s rationale for faith. “Remember that a search light is of no use in a fog. In such circumstances faith is the only rational antidote to fear. Do not despise it, but be thankful that when the great crisis comes the only thing you can do is all that you are asked to do. “Sailing directions have been given us; but no time-table.” Patton concludes, “As you approach the shore and the harbour lights appear, let Another take the wheel. You will need Him then as never before. And above all, let us hope, as sang the great laureate in his own nunc dimittis, that we shall see our Pilot face to face when we have crossed the bar.” Old-fashioned, yes; easy for someone living in Bermuda to say,
sure. But still somehow comforting, and thought-provoking, even
in this age of supersonic jet travel. |
