The University of Maine exists because of a federal act concerned with agriculture — the Morrill Act of 1862, which granted land for the establishment of public universities throughout the country for “the endowment, support and maintenance of at least one college where the leading object shall be … to teach such branches of learning as are related to agriculture and the mechanic arts … in order to promote the liberal and practical education of the industrial classes in the several pursuits and professions of life.” This stands in a tradition of American thought going back to the early days of the nation. Thomas Jefferson considered a liberally educated, landholding farmer to be the most important member of the state. Jefferson’s idea that the farmer should be liberally educated — and not, in an academic setting, given any vocational or specialized agricultural training — is startling. His idea that this farmer would be then the most valuable type of citizen is unheard of in contemporary mainstream culture. Because this Jeffersonian ideal is so far removed from our current cultural consciousness, it is tempting to discredit it as outmoded and impossible in our post-industrialized world — but something that drastic may be precisely what our society needs.

For decades culture has been plagued by the dichotomy — and at times even the opposition — of the theoretical and the practical. The negative effects this has had are so pervasive, we hardly notice them. But consider the land-grant universities created by the Morrill Act: the diminishing liberal arts are viewed as impractical, as a means to no real economic end, other than to perpetuate the cycle by becoming a liberal arts teacher of others who will become liberal arts teachers, and the applied sciences specialize to the exclusion of cultural heritage, ethics and value. As Wendell Berry writes in ‘The Unsettling of America”, “The land-grant colleges … first reduced ‘liberal and practical’ to ‘liberal,’ and then for ‘practical’ they substituted ‘specialized.’ And the standard of their purpose has shifted from usefulness to careerism.” Thus, value and use become detached. Value is kept largely abstract; use is kept largely pragmatic. Without use, value is impotent; without value, use is exploitative. When they are separated, they are of no lasting worth at all.

My grandfather is the antithesis of this split. He lives in an old, yellow farmhouse on the high ridge of the Horseback Road, with fields sloping down to woods on either side. Each year he and his wife cultivate an extensive garden, a raspberry patch and a small apple orchard, as well as haying the fields. Before his arthritis became too severe, he tapped the trees every March. He has a master’s degree in English from the University of Maine and a master’s degree from Westminster Theological Seminary. He retired from teaching high school English some years ago, but continues to serve as an elder at his church and as the moderator for the town meetings. He sings in a barbershop chorus, plays piano and has memorized loads of poetry. He will leave a tremendous spiritual and philosophical inheritance to his children and grandchildren, as well as to his church and his town — and by extension, to his state and his country. He is invested in politics because he owns land and lives off that land, and he is highly and liberally educated. This is an incarnation of the Jeffersonian ideal, where the theoretical and the practical are joined to a beneficial whole, for the good of the individual, the family and the larger culture. These are the types of citizens we need.