I thought I might begin my remarks with an excerpt from a successful petition “to the honorable, the Board of Overseers, and the President and Fellows of Harvard University” to end compulsory attendance at morning prayers. It was 1886. As they mounted many arguments against the practice, our predecessors also expressed hope for what our minutes together this morning—my minutes speaking to you now—could accomplish.

“References to passing events” they wrote, “may serve to attract attention – if made eloquently they may move, if made blunderingly they may amuse or disgust – but the office of daily prayers is to bring the passing and casual under the shadow of the eternal; to make a man feel that amid the confusion of his hurried life, he can lay hold of an unvarying, underlying truth.”

To make people feel that they can lay hold of an unvarying, underlying truth amid the confusion of their hurried lives: That was a tall order in 1886—taller still in 2025, especially on the first morning of what will likely be a very challenging academic year marked by events outside our control.

What truth might we lay hold of now?

Not too long ago, I served as the provost and chief academic officer. I don’t think any other position ����ר��—including the presidency—gives one a better sense of the vast, wonderful, and pervasive sense of curiosity to be found here, curiosity that makes discovery of all kinds—and its application—possible. I spent nearly thirteen years marveling at the extraordinary interests and aspirations of our community. I witnessed many moments of joy and celebration punctuated by new questions, questions large and small, questions that seemed small but turned out to be large, questions too numerous to answer in a single career or even a lifetime. But questions posed, considered, and refined just the same, with confidence that the search for knowledge is eternal.

This posing and considering and refining—this unceasing evolution of ideas—does not come from a place of comfort. Working alone, we struggle. Working together, we struggle more. Though our efforts often lead to affirmation and agreement, they begin and proceed with confrontation and debate, fueled by a shared desire for deeper and richer understanding. Academic institutions, like religious institutions, depend on our passion to seek truth. They depend on our determination to overcome doubt, disapproval, and dismissiveness. Solitude is an important ingredient, and internal debate can be as brutal as the criticism of others, but success nearly always depends on a supportive but critical community.

My own religion, Judaism, is built on a foundation of debate and disagreement. The Talmud, at the center of rabbinical Judaism, is an era-crossing record of ongoing rabbinical debate over the meaning of the Torah and its application to every facet of life. In many ways, it is as important as the Torah itself. Following the destruction of the temple and exile, a process of communal discovery helped sustain a religion and an identity for millennia.

My own experience with Talmudic study is limited but illuminating. Learning with a partner, who is both guide and companion—in my case, always someone with far greater knowledge of Hebrew, Aramaic (which I had never learned), and the content of the Talmud—gave me rapid access to Talmudic reasoning, to the role of argument in advancing understanding, and to practices that build a community and bind its members. The patience of my partners taught me the value of persistence.

At their best, institutions—academic, religious, and otherwise—provide a place and a framework to know one another, to challenge one another, to encourage one another, to elevate and celebrate one another. They stir and strengthen feelings of connection that lead to compassion and genuine appreciation. At the same time, institutions challenge us to resist our inclinations, to confront our assumptions, and to develop the capacity to explore different views with the seriousness they deserve. That is how they ensure that our endless and unending quests for unvarying, underlying truth will be rewarding.

That is some of what institutions do for us. What do they need from us in return? They need our commitment. We must recognize their value with even greater intention when confusion and hurry—and a host of other calamities—threaten to overwhelm them. It is up to us, the beneficiaries of the greatness and endurance of institutions, to defend and protect them, to steady and ready them so that they might continue to thrive.

We are all seekers, fortunate to find ourselves—and one another—at a University that renews and continues the eternal search for knowledge each academic year, turning our sights to distant horizons and inviting us to look together, to draw on our disparate views, to push each other, and to find answers that beget more questions.

May this year bring opportunities for us to affirm and fulfill the commitment to Veritas that unites and strengthens us as an institution and as a community. And, as we argue, discuss, and work together under the shadow of the eternal, may our contributions to understanding—and the progress they enable—make our nation and the world a better place.

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The Harvard College Class of 2029: I promise you won’t grow tired of hearing that. In June, at Alumni Day, I welcomed a member of the Harvard College Class of 1948 who, at 99 years of age, was as proud as ever of his association with this institution, grateful for how it enabled him to pursue his interests, achieve his goals, and enjoy a productive, meaningful, and satisfying life. 

When asked what he recalled most fondly about his time as an undergraduate, he offered an evergreen answer. For him—some eighty years after arriving in the Yard—what mattered most was, and I quote, “going to classes with some wonderful professors and meeting some great students and becoming friends.”

Harvard is a rare place of unending opportunity, in classrooms and labs, on the playing fields, on the stage, in the dining halls, museums, and libraries, and in activities taking place far from Harvard Square.  Each pursuit spawns another, creating an endless chain of chances to explore and experience the world. There is more for you to try in a single day here than you could hope to accomplish in a week or maybe even a month. We chose you because you are exceptional students, but we also chose you because you are capable of making interesting and unusual decisions, not always the ones that others would make. You embrace the possibility not only of doing one thing well, but also of learning to do many things well at the same time. Many of you refuse to accept that you must always choose one of two or more options. In other words, you reject “either/or.” You are the kind of “both/and” people that this institution has nurtured, empowered, and celebrated throughout its long history. 

But of all the opportunities you will have during your time here, the greatest opportunity for you to grow as an individual is sitting next to you—or a couple of seats down from you—or a few rows away from you. Each of you is here to teach as you learn.  You are here to share your experience and perspective so that our community can be one in which all people are welcomed, all ideas are given due consideration, and all beliefs are treated with respect. 

What does that look like in practice? Right now, you are trying your best to get comfortable, to navigate a new place and new people while projecting calm self-assurance despite nagging doubts about yourself and your place here. You will be tempted to find the familiar, to seek comfort in the company that you know. It can be very difficult to do otherwise when almost everything is unfamiliar. 

But we also chose you, in part, because you consider the difficulties and challenges you encounter to be invitations to improve and ultimately to excel. You had to surmount a plethora of obstacles to be part of this class. I know some of you worried that you would not be able to make the journey here—would not be able to become part of our community. We are so glad to see you. Harvard would not be Harvard if it did not include inquisitive, ambitious students from across the United States and around the world. 

We trust that you—of many points of origin and many more types of backgrounds—will greet differences with genuine curiosity and sincere interest. This, of course, does not mean that you will agree with everyone. It doesn’t even mean that you will like everyone—at least at first.

Let me tell you something few people know about me…

I didn’t do as well as I had hoped on the AP physics exam. 

When I arrived here fresh from the Land of Lincoln in 1973 —or, as Lincoln might have put it, poor score and fifty-two years ago (I see some of you are paying attention!)—I had a strong sense, despite being gently advised otherwise, that I could certainly handle the most challenging physics course offered for first-year students. My advisors knew better, and I found myself in Physics 12 instead.

Staring at the very first problem set, I quickly realized that my fallback course was not a fallback after all. What was this strange concept of spherical coordinates? Would I need to spend hours a week just to get to the starting line? Did I even understand the gravity of the situation?

Almost immediately after I settled into my seat at our first section meeting and we started to review the P-set, one of my classmates blurted out: “When are we going to get some real����Dz����𳾲�?”

I cringed. Here—in my section—was “that guy.” Was he a physics genius? How did he have the chutzpah to say such a thing? And why was he in Physics 12? Did I even belong in Physics 12?

I could have answered these questions for myself. There was, however, something about my classmate—about his self-confidence and seeming under placement in the class—that intrigued me. He was interesting, often funny, and, as I soon learned, behind that bluster was real insight. So, instead of reducing him to a caricature, I got to know him. He later became my roommate, and along with my other roommates, challenged me in ways that I might never have challenged myself. He made my undergraduate experience richer. 

To this day, I feel very fortunate that I ended up in Physics 12, which was one of the most important courses I have taken in my entire academic career—and not only because it was the last physics course I took! 

I did learn what spherical coordinates were, along with a good helping of classical physics, from two brilliant professors, the grad student leading my section, and my classmates. I also learned that not every person who becomes a good friend is someone who makes you comfortable, at least initially. “That guy” is still my good friend. And he still makes me proud. He went on to become an accomplished theoretical physicist, an expert in artificial intelligence, and a celebrated innovator. By single-handedly creating the arXiv, he changed how research findings in math and the physical sciences, and ultimately throughout the life sciences as well, are reviewed and disseminated. He is the “both/and” approach exemplified—a person who wanted real problems, found them, solved them—and then some!

What I most wish for you are the gifts that I received from Harvard as a student – strong and lasting friendships with your classmates and your fellow students, with your faculty and your mentors, with the many other people throughout the University who make this institution what it is. Some of these friendships will form easily and require little to no tending. Others will demand effort to take hold. Those are the ones that will evolve in ways you cannot anticipate— that will lead to debate and argument, conflict and reconciliation, growth and change. Those are the ones worth pursuing intently because they will deepen your understanding and enlarge your spirit. 

Some eighty years from now, you and your friends will not remember a word of what I just said, but you will remember one another—the wonderful and great people that you are—people worth knowing, supporting, and celebrating. 

Today, we mark much more than just your beginning here. We mark your belonging here. You are a part of Harvard, and Harvard is a part of you—a lifelong connection that will grow as strong as you are willing to make it. And lifelong friends who will grow as close as you are willing to let them—bringing you joy and happiness long after you leave the Yard. 

Congratulations and welcome, members of the Harvard College Class of 2029!

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Thank you, Moitri. Greetings, alumni and friends.

My task today is to update you on the state of the University. That’s not a joke. This has not been a typical year, so this will not be a typical update. In recent months, Harvard has attracted an unusual amount of attention. Unless you have been living off the grid—or on the International Space Station with Harvard Medical School alum Jonny Kim—you are no doubt familiar with some of the serious challenges the University is facing.

What is our approach to those challenges?

First, we are defending the University against misrepresentations of who we are and what we do.

Second, we are defending the University against retaliation by the federal government for refusing to surrender our rights.

And, third, we are addressing legitimate criticism.

We recognize that no university—no institution—is without flaws. They are inevitable. They are also correctable. We are working hard to ensure that we give each person ����ר�� the opportunity to thrive, which means providing for the safety and security of all members of our community and combating antisemitism and other forms of discrimination and hate. We are working to promote open discourse and constructive dialogue so that everyone feels comfortable expressing their views. We are developing plans to ensure that a greater variety of respected, rigorous, and compelling viewpoints is present and heard on our campus. And we have made clear the rights and responsibilities that membership in our community demands. Unless we are able to overcome these flaws, we are unlikely to be successful in pursuing our mission of excellence in teaching, learning, and research.

We have reason to be optimistic. Only one thing about Harvard has persisted over 388 years—and actually it’s not our name. It’s our embrace of scrutiny, advancement, and renewal. A perfect university would not be a university at all. These irreplaceable places—established, nurtured, and supported over centuries—are built on the idea that there is always more to know and more to do. Just as humanity rounds the bend from ignorance to insight, new vistas open and more possibilities for progress appear on the horizon. One of the greatest joys of life is realizing that there is no end to learning, no end to discovery, no moment to rest on one’s laurels—and not a minute to waste. The pursuit of truth—of Veritas—is perpetual.  We are unceasing in our efforts to champion our motto.

Many of us are here today because institutional mistakes—small and large, subtle and glaring—were identified, considered, and corrected by our predecessors. Like them, we bear the responsibility of delivering to our successors an institution that is better and stronger than the one we inherited. Like them, we prepare Harvard not for the age that is unfolding now but for the age that is waiting before us.

Last week, I told our graduates that they are the hope of Harvard embodied—living proof that our mission changes not only the lives of individuals but also the trajectories of communities. I know that is true because of you. Your care and attention, your service and leadership, your achievements and contributions—many heralded but many, many more delivered with little fanfare—across too many fields of endeavor to list—have made life better for countless people and have made the world better for all of us.

As Harvard has faced demands from without, you have provided strength from within. You have advocated for our interests and supported our research and teaching efforts. Out of loyalty, you have offered honest and thoughtful criticism. You have inspired me with your stories of how the University fueled your ambitions, and helped you accomplish more than you dreamed you could. You have told me about the classmates and friends who changed your thinking, and the faculty and mentors who expanded your perspective.

And one of you, who has demonstrated remarkable courage in standing up for the rights we all hold dear, let me know last week how readings from Social Studies 10 decades ago have come in very handy today.

Now—a reasonable person might make a fair observation about what I’ve just said—of course, alumni and friends of Harvard love Harvard; of course, alumni and friends are defending our mission to educate students, produce and disseminate knowledge, and serve our nation and our world; of course, alumni and friends are standing up for this institution and everything for which it has stood for centuries—and for which it continues to stand.

But what about people with no direct connection to Harvard, Alan?

Well, your many emails and letters were not the only ones I received this semester. Thousands of individuals who have only experienced Harvard from a distance, some who had known it as little more than a name, also took the time to voice their support for the University.

Our efforts to preserve academic freedom—and our insistence that no government should dictate what we teach, who we admit and hire, and which areas of study and inquiry they can pursue—were welcomed and applauded around the world and across the country—from every state in the Union.

I’ve heard from a monk in Arkansas, a librarian in Kentucky, a firefighter in Massachusetts, a dentist in Oregon, a veteran in Virginia, a social worker in Wisconsin—the list goes on and on. I’ve heard from high school students and college students, from people who care deeply about higher education and what it represents—and from parents and grandparents whose own hope for the future is bound to the prospects of their children and their grandchildren.

“The road ahead will not be easy,” wrote a woman from Arizona “But I believe future generations will look back at this moment and remember that when principles were tested, Harvard did not yield.”

As long as there are people across this country and around the world—and within this hallowed theater—who believe in the promise of Harvard, who put their hope in higher education, I will never lose confidence in our ability to meet our obligation to the future.

The University is as strong as the people of the University. That is all of you—and so many others. If I have learned anything since our last meeting—in addition to everything I learned about the tenacity of glitter—it is that the people who support this University are far more numerous than I ever hoped to imagine.

May their confidence in our motto and our mission, and their willingness to stand with Harvard, sustain us in the months to come. May Veritas lift us up and light our way, especially in dark times, enabling Harvard and our fellow universities to persevere and succeed in building a better future, not perfect but more perfect than the present. And may those who come after us look back on the work we do today with gratitude and pride.

Thank you.

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Welcoming Remarks

Welcome, family and friends, champions and supporters.

Welcome, guests from down the street, across the country, and around the world.

And welcome, members of the Class of 2025.

Members of the Class of 2025 from down the street, across the country, and around the world.

Around the world, just as it should be.

I see you this morning not as groups of graduates separated by School but as one Harvard—a community bound by the shared cause of seeking knowledge, of acquiring wisdom, and of serving society—a community composed of remarkable individuals who take their chances rather than rest on their laurels. We gather today to acknowledge your achievements and to celebrate your excellence.

Here, among beloved colleagues and mentors, and distinguished and dedicated faculty and staff, you have learned to consider curiosity a state in which to live, open always to the ever-present possibility of personal growth.

I implore you to hold fast to that lesson after your degrees are conferred today. The world as it is tempts us with the lure of what one might generously call comfortable thinking, a habit of mind that readily convinces us of the merits of our own assumptions, the veracity of our own arguments, and the soundness of our own opinions, positions, and perspectives—so committed to our beliefs that we seek information that confirms them as we discredit evidence that refutes them.

Though many would be loath to admit it, absolute certainty and willful ignorance are two sides of the same coin, a coin with no value but costs beyond measure. False conviction saps true potential. Focused on satisfying a deep desire to be right, we can willingly lose that which is so often gained from being wrong—humility, empathy, generosity, insight—squandering opportunities to expand our thinking and to change our minds in the process.

My hope for you, members of the Class of 2025, is that you stay comfortable being uncomfortable.

Starting with the folding chairs on which you sit now.

Ambition eschews comfort. If—in some near or distant future—you find yourself feeling as if you have it all figured out, as if you know enough to kick up your feet and lean back in your seat, recall this day—and your chairs—and just how much you have to gain from living your life in a state of curiosity, welcoming ideas, both familiar and unfamiliar, with your arms outstretched and your minds open.

You are the hope of this institution embodied—living proof that our mission changes not only the lives of individuals but also the trajectories of communities that you will join, serve, and lead. May you carry the best of wh����ר�� is and does into the world that awaits you. May you chart a path for others to follow as you choose your own. And may your many destinations bring you joy, satisfaction, and peace.

Your journey will not always be clear, and it will surely be full of unexpected turns, but fortified by openness and curiosity, by what you have learned here, and by the many connections you have made and will make, you will bring honor to yourself, your family, and your alma mater. Thank you, and congratulations.

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Lieutenant General McGee and distinguished guests—family and friends—welcome. I am grateful for the opportunity to mark this moment with all of you and to acknowledge the achievements of our graduating cadets.

Tomorrow, we will celebrate the whole of your Harvard class, the many friends and acquaintances who have given shape to your experience, who will follow your lives with the attentive interest of those who knew you when. We will mark your transition from students to alumni, and you will join the company of individuals who have brought honor and distinction to the University since its founding in 1636.

Among those individuals are recipients of honorary degrees. On September 6, 1943, Winston Churchill entered this theatre—packed with some 1,300 people and another hundred on this stage—to receive his Doctor of Laws. After the ceremony ended, my predecessor, President James Conant, escorted the Prime Minister to Tercentenary Theatre where your predecessors—more than seven thousand officers-in-training—waited in parade formation to greet him. Footage of the wartime leader punctuating an impromptu address to those assembled with taps of his walking stick is part of the long and storied history of our University.

But, for me, the history that is far more compelling is the history of Churchill’s own political exile, the years during which he was all but alone in his warnings about German rearmament—ridiculed and shunned by those who chose to blind themselves to the truth that was unfolding before their eyes. Despite being dismissed as paranoid and pushed to the margins, Churchill had the courage to persist, to keep his eyes open and unblinking. His confidence, even in the face of near-constant opposition, offers a powerful and enduring lesson for anyone who seeks to stand up for the truth. I hope that you will carry his lesson with you as you support and defend the Constitution.

Today, we commend your embrace of duty and your commitment to service. You represent two of the nation’s great institutions—the United States military and Harvard University—and have excelled at their intersection. Congratulations on all that you have achieved and will continue to achieve. We look forward to learning where you go from here and to welcoming you back to campus—and, perhaps, to this stage—in the years to come.

Thank you.

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Greetings, members of the Harvard College Class of 2025.

Someone asked me recently how I felt when I arrived where you will be on Thursday morning. The conclusion of your undergraduate career is much like reaching any destination. To know how far you have actually traveled, don’t consider time alone. Consider your triumphs and defeats, your pain and tears, your joy and laughter—I hope much more of the latter—the relationships that you developed and the challenges you overcame. As you savor your memories, I hope that you will experience an exquisite awareness—perhaps for the first time—that all of these things—the moments large and small, the places and the people, the p-sets and the papers, the sights and sounds and other senses of being here, on this campus in your favorites spots with your favorite folks—will very soon stir in your young heart the bittersweet pangs of nostalgia.

How did I feel on my own Commencement Day, some 49 years and, it seems, just a moment ago, when I was where you will be in 44 hours, give or take some minutes?

I felt profound gratitude.

First for my friends and my classmates. Their aspirations and their dreams—their skills and their intensity about nearly everything—intimidated me, astonished me, and ultimately inspired me. They changed how I thought about myself. We went through so much together as students. Much of what seemed like crushing blows then seem like laughing matters now, and much that we thought mattered little turned out to matter a lot. The relationships we build, especially with our fellow students, matter over a lifetime. Throughout my own career, I have had a front row seat to the many successes of my friends and classmates, and they continue to inspire me. The people who knew you when are irreplaceable.

For you, when is now. Recall your own Harvard move-in, spread across three days, giving you ample time to overflow our housing, meet one another, and settle into new spaces that you soon made your own. You were excited and nervous, undoubtedly intimidated by (yet inevitably drawn to) your interesting and accomplished peers. They became your confidantes, co-commiserators, champions, and cheerleaders. Your family away from family, your home away from home.

After your class photo is taken on the steps of Widener, try to remember your earliest interactions with one another. What were your first impressions? How did they change—or not? And what do you admire most about each other now? And then articulate your appreciation—and use me as an excuse to be a bit more effusive than you might be otherwise because this is the perfect time to be profuse in your thanks and praise. You will be remembered for it, even if – especially if – it tests the boundary of credibility.

Second, I felt grateful for my teachers. When I entered Dunster House my second year, Jerome Culp, the resident tutor in economics, convinced me that I should switch concentrations from biochemistry to economics because I had enjoyed EC10 so much. (Not to dissuade any of you would-be biochemists out there.) Jerome also suggested that I take more challenging courses and become a research assistant. That conversation with him changed my life. I still think about it all these years later.

Who inspired you? Who gave you the attention and gentle nudging you needed exactly when you needed it? Who kindled your true ambition? Send that note you have been meaning to send to a mentor who meant more to you than they might realize. Though we teachers can seem to know everything, or at least seem to think we know everything, we’re all thrilled when we receive confirmation that we’re truly helping our students gain new insights about the subjects we teach and acquire more of the skills that will serve them well throughout their lives. Your generous praise will be cherished for years to come.

And, finally, I felt grateful for the University. Harvard, like any institution, may never achieve all of our highest aspirations, but—however imperfect—it is a beautiful and enduring expression of humanity’s confidence in the power of knowledge to change the lives of individuals, the prospects of communities, and the course of human progress. I hope that you—like me—have found that when you became a part of Harvard, you began to build a stronger foundation for all that you dream of achieving than you could have imagined. I hope these years have been for you a rare chance to study and learn in the good company of some of the most talented people you may ever encounter.

The best way to acknowledge Harvard—and what this time has meant to you—is to advocate for education. Not only higher education—education from preschool to postdoc and beyond.

Everything we might achieve—morally, scientifically, technologically, and even economically—is grounded in knowledge.

Where else are you more likely to find a path to knowledge and all that it unlocks for humanity than in education?

Let your gratitude on Commencement Day become your attitude in life. Make it your mission to put more people on trajectories that yield knowledge and understanding—that build capacities for listening and learning—that generate genuine empathy and sympathy. Ensure that the journeys of others look more like your own than less, that more people have the opportunity to take a trip like the one that you have taken. When you look back—many, many years from now—you will be proud that you did, and others will be profoundly grateful for your efforts.

We are proud of you, and we are eager to see all the good that your work will enable in the years to come. May these final 44 hours—give or take some minutes—be filled with opportunities to celebrate how far you have traveled since your arrival. You have done so much. Rest on your laurels but not for too long. The world, with its countless magnificent destinations, awaits you.

Thank you.

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Over the past year or so, I have spent an extraordinary amount of time in conversation with people who are curious about what is going on ����ר��. In these conversations, I have tended to focus on what we are doing—the research and scholarship we are undertaking across the University to deepen understanding, to yield discoveries, and to drive innovation and progress in every field and discipline. Academic excellence continues to resonate with individuals across the country and around the world. Despite the great uncertainty of the present moment, the possibility of knowledge paving the way to a better future has not lost its luster.

Of course, what we are doing is possible because of who we are, and we can never lose sight of that fact. Our community spurs and speeds excellence by embracing difference in its many forms. Derek Bok, who was the University’s president when I was an undergraduate, described diversity as a critical enabler of learning. Exposure to different backgrounds, different perspectives, and different experiences leads to intellectual and personal growth. Here, we encourage the best people to learn alongside one another as they learn from one another. Everyone benefits when all are welcomed, supported, and included.

This is a truth deeply felt. Throughout my career as a physician, an academic, and a leader, I have worked with incredibly talented people whose lives were nothing like my own. I learned from them—and they from me—and the many bonds and bridges that formed among us made our work together richer and stronger than it might have been otherwise.

My hope is that all of us can have that experience—that all of us can grow in expected and unexpected ways thanks to the community we create and sustain together year after year. This gathering is an important part of that effort. Thank you for being here. Thank you for your commitment to our mission and to our community—and for your own efforts to ensure that each person ����ר�� can thrive.

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President Alan Garber's Installation Speech

Thank you. Good evening, everyone.

Nothing fortifies quite like a room full of colleagues and dear friends, including my partners in the work and my predecessors in the Holyoke Chair. As to the chair, it’s not really as uncomfortable as I expected it to be, but it was surprisingly warm when I sat on it during Commencement. It seems to be growing hotter by the day.

Seating aside, I am moved beyond measure by your presence here this evening. This is, in some ways, an inverted lecture. Each of you has taught me important lessons that have guided me to this point: what it means to be part of the higher education community and to be a part of this university; what it means to be an academic, an economist, a physician, a leader, a human being; what it means to meet the present guided by purpose and to imagine a future lit by possibility.

But only four of you have taught me what it means to be a father—and only one of you has taught me what it means to be a husband.

Dan, Ben, Ali, Andrew, I’ll never forget what the head of school at Gideon Hausner said to your mother, many years ago. He told her that we were blessed in our children. Your mother and I knew it was true then, and I’m reminded of it every single day.

And, Anne, you have brought out the best in our family and the best in me. Neither would have been possible if you were not the best person I know. You and our children have made my life worth living. I can never express my gratitude adequately, so for now, let me simply say thank you.

I returned to Harvard in 2011 to be provost, as you have heard. Thank you, Drew, for seeing something in me that I didn’t see in myself, and for being both persistent and persuasive. Someday, other people will know the whole story. Thank you, Bill, for that first meeting in Mass Hall, and for everything that’s followed it. I’ll have to thank Tom [Lee] for exaggerating my talents as a physician. I’ll admit that, at the time, I had my doubts about the transition from professor to academic leader. Could service to my alma mater—with all of the mediation and meetings that such service demands—be as challenging, as varied, and as stimulating as my previous existence as a researcher and teacher?

Now, more than 13 years later, I can say the answer is a resounding yes, though there are still parts of me that miss the special place that I left for Harvard. Many years ago, when I told Henry Rosovsky about my plans to move from Boston to Stanford to begin my first faculty position, his reaction was classic Henry. He had been the long-serving dean of the Faculty of Arts and Sciences and embodied our University as much as anyone. Henry couldn’t imagine returning to the Golden State, where he had studied years before, because it was, as he put it, “too much like Shangri La.”  For him, that was a bug, not a feature.

Of the many ways I’ve heard people describe Harvard over the years, I don’t recall anyone comparing it to that mythical bit of heaven. Though there is an important similarity: our tenured faculty, like the inhabitants of Shangri La, lead exceptionally long lives. And they very seldom leave.

Perhaps Shangri La and Harvard have another similarity: timelessness. At Harvard, we are always conscious of our long history. That history—approaching 400 years, making us one of the oldest institutions of any kind in North America, and, for the last century or so, one of the most influential in the world—shapes the way we think and act now, as well as the possibilities we imagine for our future.

Our University is rich in beloved traditions—and richer still in accomplishments. Morning Prayers started in 1636, and Commencement, a personal favorite (despite the chair), commenced in 1642. From those days to these, the people of Harvard have made contributions to humanity that defy accounting. Even reciting a partial litany of worthies would take us through the weekend.

But allow me to share some recent favorites. When the Radcliffe Institute celebrated its 25^th anniversary in late September, I found myself moderating a lively and illuminating conversation between Claudia Goldin and Oliver Hart, Nobel prize-winning economics professors. Ten days later, I found myself congratulating the medical school’s Gary Ruvkun, who had just received word of his own Nobel Prize in medicine. Between these two events, I served as a delegate at the inauguration of Melissa Gilliam, Harvard alum and now president of Boston University; I attended a barbecue with Harvard veterans and ROTC cadets; and I traveled to New York to see another medical school faculty member, Cigall Kadoch, receive the Blavatnik National Award for Young Scientists in the life sciences. Her research may one day change how we treat and ultimately cure cancer, among other maladies. The work done ����ר��—the good it does in the world—the good it will do in the world—is wonderfully abundant.

That is not to say that our University is unassailably good. Members of the Harvard community have, throughout history, marginalized and excluded or ignored entire groups of individuals, and embraced and encouraged practices that we now condemn. Our predecessors did wrong alongside right, and those of us who have been fortunate enough to inherit this institution—including those of us who would surely have been turned away from it in the past—still contend with a complicated legacy.

How does that legacy influence our present—and our future?

Accomplishment, longevity, and resources have led to prominence and visibility. People inside and outside of academia pay attention to wh����ר�� does—and wh����ר�� fails to do. People share their opinions, their suggestions readily. Most of them care about our University. While our institutional self-importance may, on occasion, be overblown, our institutional self-consciousness and self-reflection are justified and necessary if we are to avoid falling into complacency. That, too, is an important part of our legacy—one that we carry to a person.

Harvard has been a part of me since I arrived on campus in the fall of 1973, and I have been part of Harvard for 51 of its 388 years. When I last sat in this chair in May—at Commencement—I was presiding over what we call our festival rites. At several points, I was acutely aware of two facts: One, that I was almost continuously visible to those watching in Tercentenary Theatre or elsewhere, for all time, thanks to streaming and recording. No frowning, no zoning out, no dozing allowed.  And, two, that the chair was perched at the edge of a raised platform. At my favorite event of the year, after having been part of Harvard for nearly three-quarters of my life, I found myself worried about falling flat on my face. I tried not to move a muscle. Prominence and visibility—and the close scrutiny they invite—can be paralyzing for individuals and institutions alike.

Our long history—with the reputation we’ve acquired—is a priceless gift. Awareness of how damaging the loss of that reputation could be is among the reasons why we often proceed with caution, when we proceed at all. With so much at stake, it is prudent to do so. Yet we forfeit opportunities when we feel as though the University cannot make a move without considering every possible ramification, without fully understanding every possible consequence. In a world that confronts challenges and opportunities more frequently than ever before, we will need to move forward with greater alacrity—and to correct course more quickly—than has been our custom.

An excessive aversion to risk is a risk itself. We must keep in mind, always, that the mistakes we have made—whether individually and collectively—may have been plentiful, but we have our long history to celebrate because they have never been fatal. Assuming that this trend continues, our history demands that we plan – boldly – for a very long future. We need to think not only in years and decades, but centuries.

So here we are, not in Shangri La, but in a place that is neither placid nor hidden.  What we do here matters. A sketch of the shield bearing the word Veritas appears in the first of the College Books, inscribed on a coat of arms nearly 381 years ago and passed throughout the generations to all of us. That one word conveys both our purpose and the source of our strength as we fulfill our mission of excellence in the pursuit and dissemination of knowledge. Despite the challenges we face, we will discover; we will learn; and we will make the world a better place. As president, I intend to work with you to ensure that we do so as faithfully, as energetically, and as successfully as possible, so that those who follow us can make this institution as vital to our nation and our world as it has ever been. With our efforts, may Fair Harvard, ever guided by Veritas, grow fairer still.

Thank you.

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Find yourself a teacher, win yourself a friend, and be one who judges everyone by giving them the benefit of the doubt.

These Talmudic words are part of a compendium called ‘Pirkei Avot,’ or ‘Sayings of the Fathers’ that are traditionally read on the Sabbath day. Today, on the first day of classes of the fall semester, you do not need to be a student to benefit from their insight.

Find yourself a teacher. Seek out people whose experiences, skills, and perspectives are different from your own, and whose knowledge and wisdom often exceed yours.

Win yourself a friend. Friendship is a reciprocal relationship. Not only must you find the friend, but you must earn the friendship by being a friend, offering companionship, empathy, concern, support and trustworthiness.

Be one who judges everyone by giving them the benefit of the doubt. We’re all too adept at recognizing the flaws of our antagonists and even of our friends. It’s tempting to interpret the actions of others in the worst possible light. It is better for all of us to do the opposite, consciously striving to judge others in the best possible light, in the words of Rabbi Irving Greenberg, shows our true respect for them. People who judge in this way will be better people themselves and will more likely evoke the best possible behavior from others.

How should we interpret these words at a tumultuous time like this one?

Yesterday, many of us attended a particularly beautiful convocation for the first year undergraduates. The enthusiasm and the optimism of the new students uplifted us all as we sensed the seemingly limitless possibilities ahead, and judging from the new students I met with, openness to hearing and benefiting from the diverse views of a diverse group of people.

Yet we also know that this fall is not likely to be calm, with memories of the spring still fresh. We expect that there will be debate and argument, there will be dissent and protest. There will no doubt, be hard feelings and hurt feelings among us, if you believe the headlines. And last month was awash in them. Those of us who are fortunate enough to be a part of universities have no choice but to brace ourselves.

What a bleak notion that is at an institution such as this one.

As a place to find a teacher and to win a friend, it is hard to imagine a better environment than ours. This is one of the world’s finest centers of learning and teaching with some of the world’s greatest scholars and researchers. With some of the world’s most challenging issues and most complex problems in our sights.

As a place to find your teacher and to win some friends, it is hard to imagine a better environment than ours. This is one of the world’s finest centers of learning and teaching with some of the world’s greatest scholars and researchers with some of the world’s most challenging issues and most complex problems in our sights. Here we are peering into the unknown, teetering on the verge of discovery, ushering in a new era of insight. Here we are pushing the limits of understanding, pursuing genuine excellence in every domain, and making ourselves, our university and the world better.

Here, we are blessed with resources beyond many of our wildest dreams. Laboratories laden with the most advanced equipment, libraries and museums brimming with collections that would take a lifetime and more to fully explore. Breathtaking architecture, beautiful landscapes, herbarium — notice plural — as well as an arboretum in Boston, a forest in Petersham, a garden in our nation’s capital, a villa in Florence, all of the many places on our campus and beyond, where we feel enlarged by association, all of the many things that make it possible for the people of Harvard to do their best work and to be their best selves.��

Here we are blessed with both opportunity and community. Here we are together, and bracing ourselves is the best we can do? I don’t think so. I am a person who has faith in our capacity to listen attentively and generously, to treat one another with decency and respect, to recognize every day how special a place this is, and how much depth result, not of our physical resources, but of our relationships.��

This is not a time to brace ourselves. This is a time to embrace one another. We can do so by always keeping these precepts in mind. Be one who judges everyone by giving them the benefit of the doubt. By reserving judgment, we make it possible for others to know that they are part of this community and that this community cares for them as much as you hope and expect it will. Disappointment in this regard is a crushing blow not to the will, but to the spirit, with belonging and the freedom and peace that it brings out of reach.��

We cannot afford to build walls that separate us from one another. We cannot be quick to pass judgment. We must devote ourselves to knowing one another better, to seeing how things look from a perspective that differs from our own. We must try to bring day to day interactions the same commitment to inquiry and discovery that we bring to our intellectual pursuits. If and when tensions among us mount, I hope that we will approach each other, not only as fellow human beings, but as potential teachers and friends.

To do so, we must welcome humility and humanity into interactions with each other more readily than the sense of righteousness. I hope that we can grow in understanding, lifting each other up and urging each other on along the way. And I hope, most of all, that we can take the time to appreciate the fact that we have the chance to do all of these difficult things in the first place.

Here we are at an institution whose name has long been synonymous with excellence, with opportunities that few can equal. Here we are together at a university that belongs to each of us, as we find teachers and win friends. Let us be slow to judge and quick to renew our commitments to one another as we work to make the world a better place.

Thank you.

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Welcome from every continent save Antarctica. Welcome from each state in the Union—and from DC, Puerto Rico, and the US Virgin Islands.

Like me, fifty-seven of you hail from the Land of Lincoln. And two of you are named “Alan.”

A very special one of you was a summer Olympian. Thank you for making Harvard proud in Paris.

Your class is 1,650 strong. That number contains multitudes—countless ideas about what these next few years could hold for you—countless identities, ideologies, and interests—passions and pursuits.

The same is true of returning undergraduates, as well as graduate and professional students from across the University. Some of them are here today. They are of many minds about events unfolding in the wider world, and their diversity of perspective is part of what makes this among the richest learning environments you will ever encounter.

Being in this environment—in this community—means having rights and responsibilities.

Those gathered here have the right to express themselves freely—to dissent and protest. But they also have the responsibility to act with each of you—and the meaning of this occasion—in mind. We are convened to welcome you. Each of you should leave this gathering feeling acknowledged and accepted by our community.

What do we stand for ����ר��?

We stand for growing in knowledge and wisdom—not only through intellectual and extracurricular pursuits but through everyday interactions, through disagreement and argument, through conflict and reconciliation. You will learn at least as much from one another as you will from anyone else ����ר��—and you will learn more in difficult moments of tension than in easy moments of understanding. Be prepared to defend your point of view. Be prepared to articulate points of view that are different from your own. Be prepared, most of all, to change your mind.

We stand for seeking, supporting, and sustaining excellence from as broad, as diverse a pool of talent as possible. That is the beauty of the University. It attracts and supports interesting and ambitious individuals with different experiences and perspectives, individuals who challenge one another by virtue of being together in community. We acknowledge and celebrate that beauty—and the beauty of pluralism—with our willingness to encounter beliefs that are not our own, to be curious and respectful, to be genuinely attentive despite our tendency to be pulled in a million directions at once.

It should come as no surprise to you that this work cannot be done well on your phone. Think of how many assumptions you make when those three little bubbles let you know that someone is typing—and then how many more assumptions you make when those three little bubbles stop bubbling. Think of how much time you have devoted to unraveling those assumptions when you discover that you were down a rabbit hole of your own digging. There is no time for that now. Here you have no time to waste. Before the week is out, arrange to sit outside with a person you don’t know well, pick a place together in advance, and—this is essential—leave your phones in your rooms while you get to know each other. Fifteen minutes is enough time.

I think you will discover quickly the virtue of removing distraction. Send me an email and let me know who you meet, how it goes, and what you learn. My address is easy enough to remember: president@harvard.edu.

Learning to focus on another person, to listen sincerely and generously, to cultivate compassion and empathy: these are not indicators of intellectual prowess—they are qualities of humanity. You need both in equal measure if you hope to leave Harvard College having done what is expected of you. Open your mind, and your world will expand. Open your heart, and you’ll make lifelong friends.

I still keep in touch with people I met during my first week on campus. A lot has changed since I moved into Claverly Hall in 1973, but there is one characteristic of Harvard people that has always stood out to me—and stands the test of time.

We stand for excellence, embracing “both/and” rather than “either/or.”

What do I mean by that? Here, you will often encounter individuals who don’t accept the notion that they can do only one thing really well. You can be both a mathematician and a competitive cyclist, both a folklorist and a committed journalist, both an engineer and a graceful dancer. Combinations and permutations too numerous to mention often lead to improbable and stunning successes—and testaments to what can be accomplished in a single lifetime.

Everyone you will hear from this afternoon is here to help you realize your own take on “both/and.” We want your initial discomfort at encountering the vast landscape of opportunity before you to yield to wonder at the possibilities. We want you to feel supported in focusing on multiple interests and pursuing multiple goals. We want you to feel confident in following hunches and taking risks—and just as confident in changing course as you become more knowledgeable about who you are and what brings you joy and fulfillment.

Your time is precious. If you invest in people and situations that bring out the best in you, you will become a better version of yourself—and your years here will have been very well spent.

Speaking of your precious time, I will not use a minute more of it.

Welcome, members of the Class of 2028. I cannot wait to learn more about you—and what you learn about one another. I look forward to what you will accomplish as undergraduates both through your chosen work and in your daily dealings. Congratulations on your arrival—we are thrilled that you are here!

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