Real March Madness

Unlike Caesar, I survived the Ides of March. But then, I was not alone. I was joined by several hundred of my classmates who handed in (or will shortly hand in) their senior honors theses.

If you spent the past few weeks glued to Kentucky victory drive on your television sets, then you might have missed the real show, as weary students, bleary-eyed from reading and re-reading hundreds of pages, finally battled with their printers or with the staff at Kinko's to print final drafts in the early hours of the morning--or worse, in the early hours of the afternoon, praying that the machine would finish the job before department deadlines.

I knew it was time for me to hand in my work when I woke up that morning, panicked. I had neglected to place accents on my "detentes." Ca alors! I tore open my spring binders, despondent at the prospect of reprinting the two manuscripts, 137 pages each, that had kept me up near dawn feeding the printer the night before. I grew more desperate as my Microsoft Word failed to find any suitable candidates for "search and replace." But suddenly, an epiphany. My addled brain had conflated "detente" with "deterrence"--a good old American word, without all those French accents. The manuscript was safe, at least for a few moments, until I uncovered some real typos and my pulse raced again.

Now, two weeks later, I have convalesced over spring break. Reading books without colons in their titles has helped me to recover what wits I had prior to my thesis-slavery. Hearing my complaints--as well as the more serious horror stories of my classmates--might make some underclassmen and women question why so many students would voluntarily subject themselves to such bondage. Are Harvard students so vain as to assume these burdens voluntarily in pursuit of more accolades with which to validate ourselves? Knowing the foibles of Harvard students, you might be tempted to answer in the affirmative.

What makes this pursuit more absurd is that Harvard lavishes honors upon almost all of her students. "Cum Laude in General Studies," which has been transformed for the thin-skinned into the less euphemistic, "Cum Laude," offers more than 80 percent of the class the opportunity to snag honors without assuming any additional departmental burdens. There are real reasons to write a thesis. With the perspective of time (all two weeks of it), I find myself remembering fondly my final month, where I bled some 80 pages. The thesis stands before me now, not as some alien product of my labors but as a substantial project--a capstone (to borrow a cliche)--that I will take with me after graduation.

The honors thesis can be a way for some students to test out their interest in academic careers. It allows them to empathize with the hardships of creativity that plague both professors and graduate students. And it introduces them to the pleasures offered to those who pursue the theoretical life. For others, the thesis may be nothing more than an essay in self-overcoming, as students prove to themselves their ability to compose a substantial research effort. These students regard the thesis as a rite of passage that provides them with ample opportunity to marvel at their own erudition.

Those students now considering whether to write a thesis should think carefully. If you expect to proceed to graduate studies, then the thesis may be a prime way of testing your enthusiasm and showing your talents to potential schools. But if you are only looking for a line on the resume, remember that few potential employers can distinguish between the almost-gratuitous Cum Laude and an honors degree in your concentration.

A good thesis requires an extraordinary amount of blood, sweat and tears. But it is not the only path to distinction. Before steeling yourself to its chains, make sure your enthusiasm reflects a will to commit to weeks where you will focus on nothing but esoteric puzzles that will surely bore your roommates. And if you truly are mad north be northwest, submit to an experience whose rewards go far beyond the honors degree.

Steven A. Engel's column appears on