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Studying at Boston College has given me ample opportunity to think for myself about what it means to be a Catholic and a scholar. There is obviously a wealth of writing on this topic, since the two things have gone hand-in-hand since the earliest centuries of the Church, and such writings probably exhibit a strong influence on my thoughts, but here I’ll try to be more personal and specific.

First of all, a central Christian virtue is humility; you’ll find many of the great ascetics and Desert Fathers name it as the foundation and cornerstone of spiritual life. An offshoot of humility, a logical consequence, is gratitude: knowing that you haven’t earned what you have been given, and responding with love and careful stewardship of gifts.

Most people are only able to attend university because of the support of their parents or of scholarships, and even due to the fact, often taken for granted, that there are universities to attend at all. These are things to be grateful for, and they elicit the response of proper use. So before all else, a Catholic attending college ought to be making the absolute most of the gift of its intellectual offerings and his or her ability to access them.

Catholics ought to put their whole effort into being good students; they actually have a moral obligation (through the virtue of humility) to do so. That idea manages to sound cliché while still being notably absent in practice or even in the basic thoughts of many people I’ve spoken to. 

Well, what is it that a Catholic should strive to excel at? Basically, everything possible. Catholicism has achieved and nurtured a powerful intellectual culture from its earliest days, and while that furnishes ample content (which students learn about in classes such as Perspectives), it also implies a certain holistic approach to learning.

It seems to me that Catholicism only ever attained its intellectual status and history by taking every department and level of education head-on. There have of course been failures and naysayers (such as Tertullian in his famous question “What hath Athens to do with Jerusalem?”), both fail to properly examine new ideas or theories and occasions when such were given too much credence (after all, the Church’s members on earth are only humans!), but for the most part, Catholicism has proved intellectually adaptable and capable of engaging with all areas of study.

Naturally, then, a Catholic scholar shouldn’t turn his or her nose up at any topic, at least not in principle. You needn’t love calculus because you’re Catholic, but the logic of this religion’s intellectual outlook certainly says you shouldn’t genuinely hate it. Traditional Christian perspectives on education are rooted in the Prologue of John’s Gospel, the vision of a universe infused with meaning and form, where all Creation lies open to understanding and exploration. No area is truly off-limits, though some demand prudence where various heresies, errors, or overreaches are persistent and seductive to the unwary.

Trying to perform excellently in as many realms as possible is stressful in worldly terms. This, of course, finds a solution (if you’ll permit me to speak so bluntly) in the regular reception of the Sacraments of Communion and Reconciliation. Excepting a few people of great potential, it really is too much to be a true Renaissance man. Fortunately, it’s not just your own strength you’re relying on, but Christ’s. He made poor fishermen the Church’s first (and greatest) spokesmen and could do that and greater with anyone even in these present days.

Therefore, a Catholic scholar should be the very best kind of scholar, not necessarily in terms of natural talent, but absolutely according to mindset, priorities, and virtues. One person may have immense intellectual gifts but squander them in laziness and narrowmindedness; another may be of limited skill but immense range, interest, and integrity. The Catholic scholar should certainly have the latter’s virtues, and the former’s as well according to God’s decree.