I was a junior at Georgetown back in 1986 when I took “Elements of Political Theory” with Fr. James Schall, S.J. He introduced me, and by now thousands of other Georgetown students, to Plato, Aristotle, Augustine and Aquinas. As he wanted, I would have to return again and again to the texts to really understand what the ancients were saying. In his classroom, I became captivated by the idea of virtue as the measure of human character. Later, when I was in law school, I would thank Jim for introducing me to the Socratic method, so favored by law professors in their first-year courses.
After decades of teaching at Georgetown, Fr. Schall will retire at the end of this semester. He will return to California, where he first joined the Jesuits in 1948. The gratitude of many will carry him westward.
Times of transition in the Jesuit community prompt me to reflect more intentionally about the Jesuits who inspired me to join their ranks and who have sustained me in my commitment. More than ever, I realize that I stand on very broad shoulders and rest in even larger hearts. One of the reasons I am a Jesuit is because of men like Fr. Schall, whom I have had the privilege of calling a brother.
A religious community like the Jesuits is based on a fundamental premise: We are much better together than we are by ourselves. I did not take that insight to heart as an undergraduate. In my 20s, I was not very good at commitment, always thinking that there was something or someone better around the corner. I embraced an individualism that basically put me at the center of the universe.
The Society of Jesus helped me to grow up. With the Jesuits, I have realized the satisfaction that comes from depth of commitment. Relationships and work are so much more meaningful when based on lasting, mutual commitment. While once I worried that commitment would lead me to miss out on something, I realized the greater loss that comes with not committing to anyone or anything at all. Moreover, in the Jesuit community, I have experienced the joy of being part of a shared endeavor greater than myself. The vows of poverty, chastity and obedience unite me to my Jesuit brothers near and far, and liberate me from excessive self-preoccupation so that we can better serve others together.
Fr. Schall is a humble man, reticent about accolades and attention. In his goodbyes, he will undoubtedly point to others — to God first, of course, through whom all things are possible. But he can also point to fellow Jesuits, colleagues, students and alumni with whom he has shared his life here. He too can recognize the very broad shoulders on which he has stood — some of whom are buried down the hill at the Jesuit cemetery.
There is a certain humility, too, that comes with taking leave. I’m reminded of that every time I walk by the graveyard where some of my mentors are buried. Over the centuries, with countless leave-takings, the work goes on here on this hilltop. All that we are asked to do is to leave a place better than when we found it and to invite others into the ongoing project of giving glory to God and serving others. Fr. Schall has done that and more. In his retirement from teaching, he can relish all the good that continues to be done through the people he has influenced along the way.
The Jesuit graveyard teaches me another lesson. If you look at the headstones, they are all the same, except for the names and dates. In death, we do not fall into anonymity; we fall in line, together, side by side. Better together than we are by ourselves.
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