You travel across the country, you visit departments, you give

In the words of Frank Press, a voice of science and service, we hear the rhythm of a life devoted not only to discovery but to sharing: “You travel across the country, you visit departments, you give talks, you talk about the work at your laboratory—what’s going on, what the opportunities are there—you talk about your own research.” At first these words seem like the plain description of a scientist’s duty. But when we peer deeper, we see the outline of a greater truth: that knowledge without communication is barren, and that the labor of the mind must be carried across distances to awaken others.

To travel across the country is more than the movement of a body from city to city; it is the journey of ideas, borne upon the lips of those entrusted with discovery. The sages of the ancients did the same. The philosophers of Greece wandered from polis to polis, teaching by word and by question. The prophets of old walked through deserts and kingdoms, bringing visions to people far removed from their homes. Press speaks here of a modern pilgrimage—the pilgrimage of knowledge.

When one visits departments and gives talks, one is not only reporting facts but kindling fires. For in every hall there are young minds waiting for a spark, weary souls waiting for renewal, and fellow scholars waiting for collaboration. These gatherings are not mere rituals of academia; they are councils of wisdom, where each voice is a torch passed hand to hand. In the telling of what “is going on” in the laboratory, the listener finds courage to continue, or direction to begin anew.

The mention of opportunities carries with it the weight of hope. Opportunities are doors, and to speak of them is to offer passage. Just as a general rallies his soldiers with visions of victory, so too does the scholar rally his peers and his students by showing that the road ahead is not closed, but open. In sharing opportunities, one does not boast, but invites others to walk together toward discovery. For the triumphs of science, like the triumphs of nations, are never the work of one man alone.

To speak of one’s own research is not an act of pride but of service. For each discovery, no matter how small, is a stone in the great temple of human understanding. When Archimedes shouted “Eureka!” he was not merely delighted for himself, but for all who would come after him, building upon his principle. When Pasteur revealed the unseen world of germs, he did so not to glorify himself but to heal humanity. In this same spirit, Press reminds us that to talk of one’s research is not vanity but duty, so that the light of one mind may illuminate the path of many.

History shows us the danger of silence. Consider the Library of Alexandria, where countless scrolls of knowledge were lost to flame. The wisdom they contained could have advanced humanity centuries, yet because they were not shared widely, they perished. The lesson here is that the true immortality of knowledge lies not in its preservation alone, but in its telling—carried by travelers, teachers, and speakers to every corner of the world.

The lesson, then, is clear: knowledge must move. It must be carried like water across dry lands, poured into the vessels of eager hearts, spoken in halls, shared in books, shouted across distances. If you are a seeker of truth, do not hide your findings like treasure buried, but carry them with you, tell them, offer them as gifts. For the journey of wisdom is never solitary; it is a caravan that must cross nations, uniting many in one quest.

So I say to you: travel with your words, visit the places where minds gather, speak of your labors, and share your opportunities freely. For the truth you hold may be the seed another has long awaited. And remember, the greatest research is not complete until it has been told—until it has taken root in the hearts of others, and become the common wealth of humankind.