Ten minutes to write. Less time to read.

I received a letter in the mail last week from Lake Forest College, where I obtained my master’s degree almost a decade ago. It informed me that Art Zilversmit had died, and I silently wept.

Art Zilversmit was the first director of the Master of Liberal Studies program at Lake Forest. This was only fitting, since he started the program in the late 1970s. By the time I came along in the late 1980s, he was well ensconced as its protector.

A Master of Liberal Studies is categorically different from other Master’s degrees. Instead of focussing on more and more about less and less, the MLS focuses on more and more about more and more.

Consider an economics degree at the Master’s level. This degree focuses more and more on economic issues, reducing the subject matter to less and less about anything else. The economist who graduates from this school of thought truly knows economics.

But the MLS takes the opposite tack. MLS programs, and there are many at very prestigious universities, assume that the world’s problems can be solved by learning more and more about all disciplines, because each one has something to contribute to the dialogue.

An economic issue, for instance, is studied not only from an economic point of view but also from an historic one, a sociological one, a biological one, etc. It is the blending of knowledge from these various disciplines than enables people to arrive at the best solution for problems.

By training, Art Zilversmit was an historian; and he brought his point of view to every class. At the same time, he was an eclectic, recognizing that other disciplines had their value and encouraging his students to agree with this. That is the essence of an MLS program.

Art and I never were particularly close. He didn’t seem to like opinionated women, and I was old enough to have plenty of opinions. At the same time, he got the best work out of me because I was determined to prove my worth as an older student. I wanted his respect. All along, I’d always found school easy. Until Art. He made me think.

What better eulogy could there be?