A Visit to Washington and Lee University – June 17, 2023
Lexington, Virginia, carries the weight of history in its bones. It’s a town where the past lingers in the air, thick as the summer heat that settled over me as I stepped onto the campus of Washington and Lee University. I had read about it, of course—the legacy of George Washington’s gift, the iron grip of Robert E. Lee’s influence, the storied honor system—but standing there, among the white-columned buildings and manicured lawns, felt different. This was not just history on a page; it was tangible, looming, undeniable.
First Impressions
The school’s setting is stunning. Nestled in the Shenandoah Valley, with the Blue Ridge Mountains framing the background, Washington and Lee feels like it belongs here—its red brick buildings and pristine white columns blending into the landscape as if they had always been part of it.
The architecture is a textbook of American ambition. The Greek Revival buildings of the Colonnade stand like sentinels, their symmetry and simplicity embodying the ideals of the young republic. Walking through the grounds, I could feel the weight of generations of students who had passed through before me—future judges, journalists, politicians, and generals.
Lee Chapel: The Shadow of the Past
If Washington’s name bought the school its future, Robert E. Lee’s presence cemented its identity. That presence is most strongly felt in Lee Chapel, the somber heart of the campus. Built in 1868 during his tenure as university president, it’s a quiet, unassuming structure—yet stepping inside feels like crossing into another era.
At the front of the chapel, reclining in marble, is the famous sculpture of Lee, posed in eternal rest, draped in the folds of his Confederate uniform. His final resting place lies beneath the chapel, in the crypt alongside his family. It is here that the contradictions of Washington and Lee University become most apparent. The institution prides itself on honor and leadership, yet one of its namesakes led a rebellion against the country that educated him. History is never simple, never clean.
I stood in the chapel for a while, watching visitors file in and out, whispering in hushed tones. Some stood in reverence, others in curiosity, perhaps even discomfort. The South clings to its ghosts, and here, those ghosts are carved in stone.
Walking Through History
Outside the chapel, I wandered the rest of campus, passing the Colonnade, the elegant Leyburn Library, and the imposing Washington Hall. Students were gone for the summer, so the campus had a hushed, almost eerie stillness. I could imagine the place bustling with energy in the fall—young men and women in blazers and dresses, the traditions of the past still alive in their daily rituals.
One of the most striking aspects of Washington and Lee is its honor system—a student-led code that dates back to Lee’s presidency. It’s a lofty ideal: students pledge not to lie, cheat, or steal, and violations can result in expulsion. In an age where academic dishonesty is a quiet epidemic, it’s remarkable that a school still holds its students to such a standard. But then again, honor is the university’s currency. Without it, Washington and Lee would just be another old Southern school with a complicated past.
Final Thoughts
As I left, I found myself reflecting on the duality of this place. It is beautiful yet burdened, proud yet controversial, deeply traditional yet inching toward change. To visit Washington and Lee is to confront history—not the sanitized, comfortable version, but the real, tangled mess of it.
Would I return? Perhaps. There’s something about Lexington, about this campus, that lingers. Maybe it’s the mountains. Maybe it’s the silence of the chapel. Maybe it’s the questions that remain unanswered.
Or maybe it’s just the pull of history itself, whispering, Come back. There’s more to see.