Communication

[We invite all men in the University to submit communications on subjects of timely Interest.]

To the Editors of the CRIMSON:

President Lowell's splendid address on "Competition in College" has turned the attention of every thinking Harvard man to some dangers of our elective system. The more we recognize these disadvantages, the more we ought to look-out that the system does not become burdened by new and superfluous dangers. I am sorry to see that a new harm connected with the election of courses is threatening in consequence of the postal card canvass of the Seniors which the Harvard Illustrated Magazine instituted and published the week before last.

When I first read it, I was amused and thought it good fun. But to my surprise I have discovered in talking with students who consulted me about their choice of courses for next that there are men who really consider this canvass report of favorite and regretted courses a guide for their election. Under these circumstances, it ought to be said with emphasis that taken seriously the canvass is misleading and dangerous.

What I have in mind may be pointed out by a reference to the courses in the philosophy department, because I know its details best. But I have convinced myself that the principle is the same in the other departments. The table of results contains sixty-two courses; they represent all the courses which any Senior counted among his three most favored or his three most regretted courses. They are ordered according to an arbitrary percentage of calculation which is supposed to bring out the degree of preference. It may be noted from the start that more than three fourths of the Seniors have refused to answer the inquiry, probably because they recognized the misleading character of this method. The philosophy department offers five introductory courses. Not a single one has the honor to be in the first half of this list of sixty-two courses. Does that really suggest that they belong to the least desirable offerings of the University and that a student would do better to choose courses among those higher on the list?

Among the lowest on the list, for instance, is the introductory logic by Professor Royce, which is only "regretted," and not "favored" by any one. Yet there is no university in the country which does not envy Harvard for this logical course. Those regretted points of the course result from the negative vote of perhaps five men, while the course was taken by one hundred and thirty-eight. On the other hand, it is not surprising that even the best logical course is not classed by any one among the three-most favored of his whole curriculum. The real triumph of the course lies in the fact that such a difficult course can attract a hundred and thirty-eight men. The fact that a few find out that logic is monotonous to them is absolutely insignificant. The elementary courses of Professor Palmer and Professor Santayana are also not favored by any one. This result is still more grotesque, since both men figure at the top of the list with the middle group courses. Professor Palmer's ethics is the course most favored in the whole University; but his elementary course on Greek philosophy is not favored by any one. Does it mean that the quality of the courses is different? Not at all. The one course is taken by about twenty men who are of course all seriously interested in ethics and like it very much, while the other course is taken by more than two hundred with no specialistic interests.

My own elementary course, Philosophy E, is taken every year by about three hundred and fifty men: About fifteen men report on it and of these some favor, some regret it. The editorial comment of the Illustrated asking the teachers "to do their best" made a deep impression on me. I asked myself: What can I do to live up to the demand of the Senior who wrote about the course "nothing to it," and the other who wrote "slept most of the time"? Two ways are wide open. Either I make the course so difficult in the first few weeks that only those who have a scholarly interest in psychology will take it. Then the number taking the course would be reduced to less than fifty men and it would be easy to take care that no one of them would regret it. Or I might make the course entertaining and adjust it to the level of the friend who "slept most of the time." In either case the course would beautifully climb up in the list of the canvass, but its chief purpose would be missed. My aim has been every year to bring psychology to as many men as there are seats in the largest hall of Emerson and yet to keep the course on a high scientific level so that the best men may get the most possible out of it.

In short, if a difficult theoretical subject like logic or psychology or history of philosophy is really to reach a large number of beginners, it would be absurd for the instructor to feel influenced by such negative votes, unless he knew the quality of the voter. Above all it would be dangerous for our elective system, if serious students were guided by such a commentary in the choice of their courses. There may be poor courses in the University, but the chances are great that this kind of canvassing with this kind of answering and tabulating entirely distorts the picture and works as a warning, just when encouragement would be in the highest interest of the University. If such a canvass became influential, we should rapidly come to a point where only the immediately "useful" courses would be well attended and all the other courses would be confined to the small number of undergraduates who specialize in the field. Some of us believe that just the opposite is desirable for college work