All of Harvard, In a Time Capsule

What would we put in a Harvard time capsule?

That was the question on my mind after reading about the "New York Times Capsule" last Sunday. On the face of it, the concept of a millennial time capsule sounds simple enough: Create a vessel--sealed with late-20th century artifacts--with instructions that it should be opened no earlier than the year 3000.

But, as the editors of the Times explain, the project, which began several months ago, encountered two major problems.

First, what the heck goes in it? According to Times editor Jack Rosenthal, the goal of the project was "not to encapsulate all of civilization, but to try to offer our progeny a snapshot of what life was like back when three zeros clicked into place for the third millennium."

In this spirit, the paper's editors and writers have been entertaining suggestions from its readers, as well as canvassing smalltown Americans. (The final decision has yet to be made and the capsule won't be sealed until next spring). But even a "snapshot" of life, applied to the whole of human civilization, is pretty ambitious.

And so I thought I'd narrow the scope a bit: What would we put in a Harvard time capsule? Provided the University still exists in 1000 years--although there is a good chance that it won't--what kind of snapshot can we offer about undergraduate life at one of America's premiere educational institutions?

I posed this question to a number of students and received a variety of responses. Some of the more common: copies of this newspaper, ID cards, a blue book, a portrait of the University president (or, alternatively, a self-portrait, labeled "University president"), the Users Guide to the Ad Board, a shuttle schedule, a lock of hair (shellacked or otherwise) and at least half a dozen objects alluding to how much Yale sucks.

All in all, it's not a very good list. For one thing, these objects are meaningful only because they are placed in some greater social context. But once that context is forgotten, the objects lose their intended meaning.

In 1000 years our ancestors may hold up a carefully preserved final exam booklet, but may see the contents as gibberish. (In this case, the difference may not be so significant).

But unless some larger organization wishes to perform a more comprehensive survey, my guess is that this list is as good as any.

The second major challenge the Times faced was actually creating something that would last for a millennium--after all, that's an awfully long time. How can information be stored so that it will be readable in a thousand years? How can we insure the vessel won't be lost or destroyed? Possible solutions ranged from shooting the capsule into outer space to embedding the information in cockroach DNA.

In the end, the Times decided to place the artifacts in a structure resembling a giant fortune cookie. For preservation purposes, the artifacts will be suspended in thermal-gel insulation and the container will be filled with argon gas. Custody will be given to the Museum of Natural History.

Since neither argon gas nor thermal-gel is available for our use, I asked some students how they proposed to insure that the Class of 3000 would receive our gift.

Not surprisingly, most of the answers centered on burying the thing--either in the middle of the Yard, under the steps of Widener Library or beneath the banks of the Charles.

Others suggested that if such a capsule were created, we, like the Times, should give custody to some organization that will be around for the next 1000 years.

Given that the College itself is only a few centuries old, this method would be a crapshoot at best. Still, a custodian organization like the Undergraduate Council, with a track record of periodically losing and re-discovering things, might insure that the capsule remain undisturbed.

Finally, a few suggested that we put the thing into an object that the campus will hold as semi-sacred. This could be the base of the John Harvard statue, the tower of Memorial Hall or a metal mold resembling the Eudocimus albus (the North American ibis).

The upshot of all this is that a Harvard millennial capsule is probably a really bad idea. But that probably won't stop somebody from trying.

Richard S. Lee '01 is a social studies concentrator in Pforzheimer House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.