Dear Graduates,
Today, we gather to celebrate your achievements – and the perseverance and determination that have brought you to this moment. I also extend my sincere thanks to your parents and families for their encouragement and support; to our faculty, who guided and inspired you; to our staff who stood beside you; and our distinguished guests who join us in celebration.
We are living in an extraordinary time. Artificial intelligence, robotics, quantum technologies, biotechnology, and deep-tech advances are shaping a new world order. They promise greater convenience, longer lives, and a future once impossible to imagine. In many ways, they place you – scientists and engineers – at the very center of our future. And yet, we must reflect on what we may be missing. As you leave our campus today, I gently tug at your sleeves to call attention to one thing: Look beyond yourselves. Move past the narrow, self-centered view often associated with people in STEM. In simpler terms, learn to live with empathy and care.
Nearly four hundred years ago, the English Anglican priest and poet John Donne wrote these words in his Meditation XVII:
No man is an island, entire of itself.
Every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.
If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less.
Any man’s death diminishes me, for I am involved in mankind.
Therefore, never send to know for whom the bell tolls,
It tolls for thee.
The opening line, “No man is an island,” is widely known. And we also recognize the final line, “For whom the bell tolls,” later used by Ernest Hemingway as the title of his novel. Donne reminds us that when the church bell rings for someone’s death, there is no need to ask who has died. Because we are all connected, any loss is, in a way, our own.
In a highly competitive society, it’s easy to see others only as rivals. But life is not a race to be won. Each of us is part of something larger. To recognize the pain and needs of others – and to respond with compassion – is one of life’s deepest truths. Let me share a few examples with you.
When the American writer Pearl Buck visited rural Korea in late autumn, she noticed persimmons left hanging on trees. Curious, she was told they were “magpie food,” for birds to eat through the winter. She later said what moved her most about Korea was not the royal tombs or historic sites, but that very spirit of Koreans—a kindness that extends even to mere creatures. The Old Testament carries a similar message, instructing people not to gather fallen grain at harvest, so that the poor may take what remains.
I was reminded of another story shortly after I arrived at POSTECH. I heard of students, even after finishing their exams, chose not to leave the room right away—out of considerateness for others struggling to finish. It was a small gesture, but a deeply human one.
The story I wish to share most, however, comes from a personal story I read long ago. An American woman described growing up as a wealthy family in a poor neighborhood. Her mother often borrowed trivial items—salt or old newspapers—from neighbors. Years later, shortly before her mother’s passing, she finally asked why. Her mother explained that by borrowing small, unimportant things, she created a sense of debt, so that when those neighbors later faced hunger, they could accept flour or eggs with less shame. That is the heart of true consideration for others. It cannot be taught in a classroom, but it is something I hope you carry with you as you leave this campus today.
Dear graduates, I hope you will lead the future of science and technology with the knowledge and expertise you have refined here. But remember this: technology alone cannot transform the world. Real change begins when we care for those less fortunate than ourselves. With great hope and confidence in the bright and beautiful world you will help create, I congratulate you on your graduation.
