My favorite quote of all time is from the Greek philosopher Heraclitus, and it goes “No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he’s not the same man.” I like it so much that I put it in the biography of my LinkedIn profile—a field I’m doubtful anyone actually reads. In one sentence, Heraclitus perfectly encapsulates what it feels like to mature. And yet, to be brutally honest, the first time I heard that quote was on a TikTok slideshow about the Japanese manga Vagabond (which I have not read). I previously never cared much for philosophy or classical literature; I enjoyed reading fantasy and science fiction novels from time to time, but I wasn’t the type of high schooler drawn to English class. Maybe I could occasionally write an A-minus thematic essay, but I considered myself a “STEM person”, not a “humanities person”. Unlearning that was perhaps the most crucial step I took in growing up during my time at Stevens.
Have you ever looked back over the college essay you wrote as a senior in high school? Until starting this essay, I refused to, as thinking back on it makes me cringe. I remember feeling blocked on what to write about (not unlike my struggles with this essay), as summing up one’s entire identity in a few pages is a difficult task that requires refined creativity and prose. That struggle ultimately inspired the message of my essay; I wrote about how I enjoyed reading and writing, even though I couldn’t quite connect with the humanities. I felt my life was too structured and logical, so of course, I was destined for science or mathematics. Thus, I argued that I was drawn to computer science because I felt connected to computers and how they operated in such well-defined states with flawless syntactic cohesion.
I couldn’t see how much of a hypocrite I was. I proudly structured my essay-like comments in a file of source code to demonstrate “creativity”, yet dismissed any explicit interest in expression. I sheepishly admitted to feeling lost at art museums, disregarding how much I enjoyed staring at paintings and photographs in history museums. I forgot how much I loved making sculptures out of hot glue and bottle caps in art classes. For whatever reason, I defined my mindset as what I thought a “STEM person” should be like. This proved to be a mistake, and I’m sure you can imagine how much I held myself back.
I have no regrets about pursuing a degree in the sciences, and I thoroughly enjoyed my computer science education, despite the struggles. However, challenging my preconceived self took more than just thinking that art was “cool”. My identity relied on the idea that technical progress was the ideal goal in life. As I saw it, nothing would make me prouder than contributing to humanity’s technological achievement. This in itself does not sound terrible, as technical progress has been socially beneficial in cases such as accessibility and medicine. However, I believe it is important to accept purpose in a stagnant world. If technology stopped advancing today, how would we live meaningful lives? Growing up has allowed me to see the consequences of progress for the sake of progress: industry experts replaced by machines, an internet vulnerable to manipulation and misinformation, and the death of “data privacy.” That is not to say that progress is futile, but it probably shouldn’t be your only dream.
And so, as I once again step into the river of graduation, I recognize that I am no longer the same man. For one, I’m no longer learning philosophy from Vagabond edits on TikTok. I’m trusting myself to be creative, and I’m letting it guide me in how I use my technical education ethically and enjoyably. I want to change the world, but if the world stopped changing, there are a million new ways I’ve decided to appreciate it anyway. Humans should not aspire to be machines; we’re more brilliant than that.
