A Parting Shot

Each June the President of Harvard University welcomes the members of the graduating class into "the fellowship of educated men." Some of the young men who face him undoubtedly are qualified to join that elite group, but on the whole the President's welcome must be more wish than fact. There is little to guarantee that even a conscientious student will become educated during four years at Harvard.

In fact, despite endless University propaganda to the contrary, it often seems that the University has only a casual interest in educating undergraduates. Although educated men do receive degrees every Commencement, they probably would have learned what they did at Harvard in any college. Harvard did not necessarily "make" them.

Harvard's self-assurance is therefore maddening. In the pamphlet Information About Harvard College, prospective freshmen are told that at Harvard, "teaching and research, college and university, march together." Extolling the Harvard "virtue" of a small college within a large university, the book warns students away from Big Bad Universities, which inevitably have the evils of "mass education, lack of concern for the undergraduate, lack of interest in the objectives of a liberal education and infrequent meaningful contacts between teacher and students." That sounds suspiciously like a description of Harvard College.

President Pusey's recent report on the past decade of the University is a revealing document. Page after page sings of the great growth of the University; everything has increased--in numbers. Endowment is up, enrollment is up, faculty hiring and salaries are up, course offerings are up, tuition is up, buildings are going up. These achievements are impressive and desirable, but they are not good in themselves. Harvard's physical growth has not been matched by similar advances in undergraduate education. The undergraduate too often is easily lost in his new buildings and ignored by his prestigious, highly paid professors.

The mere assembling of professors, students and buildings does not produce educated men; but in recent years the College has shown a tendency to rely on spontaneous interaction and to drift along on old formulas, making only those repairs which are absolutely necessary. The College's prime concern in its own judgement, is the "liberal education of undergraduates," but it fails to stand behind its rhetoric. The Doty Committee, for instance, which should be studying the concept, worth and substance of general education as well as its techniques, seems to be concentrating on ways to renovate a program--not a college.

Evidence of weakness in the Harvard System is abundant. In far too many courses lecture attendance is poor and the score for sections even worse. Year after year, Confidential Guide questionnaires report that "the whole is the reading list." Many students, and not just the bright ones, find they can at least pass courses with only a few days of reading before the exam.

The high degree of professionalism in extra-curricular activities is made possible partially by the abilities of the students but primarily by the small amount of time required by studies. This is another indication of the failure of Harvard's formal education to hold the attention of students. The demands that organizations make on member's time are enormous; leaders of the major undergraduate activities usually spend 40 to 60 hours a week on their organization. The athlete, long a symbol of the conflict of time between classes and activities, practices three or four hours daily during season and often has more time to give to studies than students involved in other organizations. But while their academic marks suffer, a large majority of students do commit themselves to heavy organizational responsibilities because formal education in the College is not demanding or challenging. They are seduced by activities only because they are bored, and because they can learn more in the organizations.

In particular, the organizations often do a much better job of training in the basic skills of reading, writing, and thinking, which is what liberal education is all about. And, necessarily, the organizations devoted to these do only an inefficient job. They cannot really replace the College, and thus the College's abdication of responsibility is a serious matter.

Even though the average Harvard student reads a great deal, it is hard to say whether he reads well. Certainly the glib generalizations requested on most exams do not constitute a proper test. It can be said with more certainty, however, that the average Harvard student does not learn to write.

Judging from the initial essays of freshmen competing for the CRIMSON, few students enter Harvard with any writing ability. The fact that juniors in the competitions seldom can write much better indicates a colossal failure of the College to assist its students with the fundamentals, let alone the nuances, of education. Section men report similar incompetence though they rarely seem to do very much about it; this may be because many cannot write well themselves. The English language suffers some of its worse mutilations in scholarly works.

If the College were able to demand writing ability as a pre-requisite for admission its casual approach to the subject might be justified But since even the annual expenditure of $150,000 a year on recruiting and admissions fails to produce 1200 men fully acquainted with the language, the College's complacency is inexcusable, General Education Ahf is only a half-hearted attack on the problem, and after that there is practically nothing.

As writing is generally considered an important part of thinking and learning, the current method of teaching the humanities and social sciences is clearly inadequate. Natural science departments require their students to learn the language of the field and the techniques of investigation. Social science and humanities students should be given the same vigorous preparation.

Harvard's dedication to such preparation, however, is less than total. Some basic policies, particularly the practice of appointing men for scholarly, not teaching, excellence, seems antithetical to undergraduate education. It is not that scholars cannot instruct, but that men who are not hired to teach usually do not. There is no incentive. Even if more teachers were allowed and encouraged on the Faculty, though, present techniques and institutions would not be sufficient. Methods of instruction must be revised, and the idea of a university community recaptured.

The lecture system as a means of conveying information is a tedious anachronism made finally obsolete by the invention of paperback books. In most cases (with the major exception of some natural sciences courses), time spent in lectures is a waste both for the instructor and the student. Mimeographed transcripts of lectures--which rarely change anyway--would give the student more information in less time. It would be foolish, of course, to dispense entirely with lectures, as some professors are superb showmen with clear inspirational value. But by making lectures one of the College's major contributions to formal education, too much emphasis is placed on acting ability. And only a few men say more in lectures than in books..

This is not, however, an argument for more sections of the prevailing genre. The Visiting Overseers Committee found teaching in many sections "uninspired" and "weak"; Dean Ford's proposal to increase the number of sections will do little to advance education unless their quality is also improved.

There is a natural lack of rapport between the graduate student pursuing an academic discipline and the undergraduate seeking general knowledge, especially when the graduate is primarily concerned with his doctorate. The loose structure of courses, with monstrous reading lists best read a week before the exam, aggravates the situation. Instead, students might write critical analyses of about ten significant books or the equivalent. These papers, which need not be lengthy, could then be the basis of worthwhile discussion and useful individual criticism.

Another part of the Harvard System, the House, also suffers from stagnation. The administration's fear of permitting freedom to move off campus is a good indication of trouble. A CRIMSON poll last year also disclosed considerable unhappiness with the House System.

Irrational parietal rules are not the only reason for discontent. For many, the Houses have become just dormitories and meal factories; there is little sense of community. Houses are too large, resident tutors too often just graduate students pursuing their doctorates in isolation and non-resident professors more absent than senators. Most important, there is little education conducted in the Houses. The opportunities presented by the tutorial system are insufficiently exploited.

Despite the handicaps, some Harvard students do, of course, get an education primarily through advantageous use of the freedom allowed by the University and the opportunity to live with intelligent people. But while the University's passivity promotes strong organizations and individual initiative this same attitude is not suitable for the chore of formal education. President, 1962-63