Princeton: The College Called University

Resplendent in black and orange beanies, Princeton's freshman class traditionally marches off for an annual duel of rope with the sophomores. These tugs-of-war are usually hot, noisy jumbles with a good deal of strain on either side; unless the rope breaks, one group is clearly victorious. Between Harvard and Princeton there are now similar stresses. Academically, Princeton has attained many of the educational goals the new administration here is pulling toward. Socially, Harvard represents to Princeton students undergraduate life as it should be. These strains between the schools constitute a quiet tugging on ideas and customs; the outcome will not be clear-cut but a compromise.

Nassau's strong emphasis on the humanities over the sciences is much to the liking of Massachusetts Hall. Appealing also is the primary attention Princeton devotes to the College, often at the expense of its graduate schools. And through its history, Princeton has held some vestiges of the religious observance which Harvard has shucked so thoroughly.

To the south, however, the Princeton undergraduate views Cambridge with longing, though for reasons quite apart from educational policy. The Princeton Charlies are distressed with what they term "creeping asceticism" on the campus. Citing the car-ban, which forbids undergraduates to keep automobiles, and the "No Sex After Seven" rule which hustles women guests from dormitories at dusk, the Princetonian notes a discomforting similarity between his existence and that of a monk. The graduate school versus college question will, of course, be settled in top-level conferences in the Ivy League. The "creeping asceticism" versus "Charlieism" problem is being discussed somewhat lower in the academic hierarchy, with much of the heat of a genuine tug-of-war. In any event, the sides are now chosen and the battle begun.

University A Misnomer

In most people's minds the word "Princeton" immediately conjures up the words Harvard and Yale, forming a picture of a triumverate of the traditional "Big Three Universities." This is a basic misconception which stems from the misnomer--"Princeton University." It is not a university in anything like the sense in which Harvard and Yale are. Of course, if by university one means only an undergraduate college with graduate schools, then Princeton's Graduate School (of arts and sciences) and its schools of Engineering, Architecture, and International and Public Affairs put it over the line. But if what is meant is an educational community which subsumes the whole range of man's knowledge and in which the highest reaches of scholarship are developed within and between each of the many fields of learning, then Princeton hardly qualifies. Lacking a Law School, a Medical School, a Business School or schools of Education, Drama or Divinity, Princeton University, as such, is a phantasm.

Understandably enough, Princeton has never been quite sure whether or not it wants to admit this fact. At times officials have insisted that it is as much of a university as anyplace else; other times, they have admitted that it is not a university in quite the accepted sense, adding, however, that they never really wanted it to be anyway. President Harold W. Dodds expressed such an attitude when he said, "We shall continue to stress the college as the element which alone gives meaning to a university. We shall uphold the banner of the general as the only safe foundation for the particular. We shall strive for quality rather than quantity; we have no illusions of grandeur that bigness will satisfy. We shall resist the pressure to be large in numbers, for we believe that we can best serve our democracy by remaining small."

Dodds admits that "personally I'd like to have a small but good Law School. I'm afraid that it would call for such a large endowment that we'll never get one." He added, however, that he is quite firm in his belief that Princeton has no need for any other schools. Talking with administrative officers and faculty members at Princeton one runs into this latter attitude over and over again. They are quick to point out the relative sizes of their college--2800--and their graduate schools--500--and quick to say they wouldn't want it any other way. "We have consistently and purposely kept our institution in these proportions one official says, "because we are essentially a liberal arts school. Our emphasis is on the core philosophy of education and we feel that the core is in a small liberal arts college. We have no interest in spreading out our school. All that has been done since the war has been in the line of strengthening our existing facilities and staff."

An indication of how deeply this philosophy is embedded at Princeton is the attitude of Hugh Taylor, dean of the Graduate School, who would be most likely to emphasize graduate in relation to college work. On the contrary, however, Taylor is a fervent believer in the subordination of the graduate schools and is quite critical of what he termed the "dominance of the graduate at Harvard."

Community of Scholars

Taylor also emphasizes the unity of the graduate schools and the college at Princeton. The only separation of the two is the sheer physical isolation of the Graduate College. Otherwise, they are "one single educational community of scholars, masters and disciples." None of the four graduate schools have a separate faculty as do the graduate schools at Harvard. Every member of the University faculty spends the large part of his time teaching in the college. "Some people look down their noses at undergraduate courses, but not at Princeton. It's a real distinction to teach the undergraduate here," Taylor says.

Asked whether the small size of the graduate schools does not hamper the education they can provide, Taylor says, "On the contrary, since we operate on a smaller group we can do a much more intensive job. The graduate schools here have chosen to compete with graduate schools elsewhere on the basis of quality of the student's education rather than the number of students turned out. We think we make as much or more contribution to the field of Chemistry with our eight or ten Ph.D.'s a year as say, Illinois can with its 80 to 100."

If the core of Princeton's educational system is the college, then the core of the college program is the humanities. "Here at Princeton," says Dodds, "the flight from the humanities has not occurred as it has elsewhere, Modern society has obviously been placing a premium on the scientific and technical aspects of learning and many universities have succumbed to this attitude. Here, the Humanists have never been defeatist. For this reason we feel a special obligation to them."

This obligation has been partially fulfilled by the initiation last February of a mammoth program under the direction of the Princeton Council in the Humanities. The program, says Dodds, is "designed to help the humanities keep pace with recent advances in the social and natural sciences. It will tend to correct what might have been an unfortunate imbalance." The program will not actually go into operation until the full $7,000,000 endowment is raised from foundations, but when the money is collected its income will be used to "raise and expand the general level of humanistic education." This will be done through the support of a group of Junior Fellows in the Humanities, the building up of inter-departmental programs, more publication in the humanistic area, and a number of new courses.

Even as of now the field of humanities is unquestionably the most popular at Princeton. Not only does it have the largest enrollment in its courses and the largest number of concentrators, but it has also rated highest in the Daily Princetonian's annual course and department evaluation issue for a number of years.

Part of the reason for the popularity of the humanities may stem from its suitability for Princeton's famed preceptorial system. This system, inaugurated in 1905 by President Woodrow Wilson, has been an essential part of all humanities and social science upperclass courses ever since. The precept is Princeton's version of Harvard's section meeting, but has proved exceptionally successful because of its small size and the calibre of the men teaching it. The ideal precept is five or six students, although some have recently been as large as eight or ten. This contrasts with the average Harvard section of 15 or 20. The more important aspect, however, is the array of teaching talent made available for precepts. Unlike the Harvard system of using graduate students and instructors for virtually all of its sections, the precepts are taught largely by men of professorial rank. Each man giving a course must himself lead three or four precepts a week.

Many faculty members consider the precept system the most important single aspect of Princeton education. E. Harris Harbison, Henry Charles Lea Professor of History, calls it the "ideal Socratic method in which the student does not learn by having it pounded into him but instead by working out the idea under the fire of his contemporaries." Harbison also emphasized the value of the intimate association of professor and pupil on the basis of fellow-students rather through the artificial system of lectures and recitations. Princeton's faculty is so sold on the precept, says Harbison, that it has become the "heart of the upperclass course," with the lectures and the reading secondary.

Restricted Courses

Another important aspect of the curriculum is the restriction of the amount of courses offered to students. A look at the Princeton catalogue shows that there are only about half the number of courses in corresponding departments at Harvard. The basis for this policy again goes back to Wilson who felt a need for a counterbalance to the free-elective system, originated at Harvard by President Eliot and spread through other universities. As Wilson saw it, Harvard under Eliot had performed the function of liberation, but had left education in disorder. Wilson decided that it was Princeton's job to take the lead in recoordination. The policy of the University ever since has been to allow the student to choose departments as he pleases but then to restrict his choice within the department by drastically limiting the number of courses available.

This restriction of courses, however, is not the restriction which seems to be bothering the Princetonians. Most seem to be pretty satisfied with their academic life; the gripes and dissent come up about other prohibitions entirely.

In the budding quiet of late April, Princeton was jolted by two major upheavels. One, the Joe Sugar riot, swept through the town, brought ill-feeling among townspeople for a time, and passed over. The second revolt crept into public notice in a relatively obscure way: through the mail columns of the Daily Princetonians.The writer of the original letter, name withheld by request, began the whole turor. "I'm sending my son to Williams," NWBR announced, "because by 1980 Princeton will be a glorified prep school, revered by 3000 grinds and namby-pambys . . . To make Princeton over into an intellectual haven, the little men in Nassan Hall have two things they must do. First they must keep the Princeton students here on campus. Second, they must give them nothing to do at Princeton except study."

Though stressing that nothing so heinous as an "intellectual haven" was intended the Dean's Office did not categorically deny the last charges Dean of the College. Francis B. Godolphin said that in his view, "Though there are no restrictions on leaving the campus you don't get full aspect of a Princeton education if you spend as much time as possible away from the University."

A freshman, agreeing with the Dean's stand, added ammunition to the ascetics' arsenal by writing: "It seems some people are more interested in the superficial outward graces that make up the educated Charlie and future man of the world. The ability to balance a drink at a party and be able to name a good scotch are very possibly attributes which every Charlie should know, but this is not the education that Princeton offers the applicant."

No Compensations

And so the controversy rages on. The Charlie blustering for Harvard's late parietal rules and automobile access, the ascetic reveling in the restrictions which bring the class together in the common pasttime of study. And it is the ascetic who seems to be winning--at least in the Dean's Office. "It is," one professor remarked, "a far cry from F. Scott Fitzgerald."

So far the controversy has not spread to the Admissions office; the Deans admit the most qualified applicants little knowing which type they're getting. William B. Craig, assistant Director of Admissions, emphasizes that policy in his office rarely changes. Just one decade ago, distribution in the entering classes was top-heavy with private school graduates. 80 per cent of the early 1940 classes were from prep schools; the figure is down now 55 per cent. "Many people, particularly our own graduates, think we are making special compensations for high school boys," Craig said. "This is not true."

Craig said that the Admissions office had no sympathy with a Princetonian editorial of last term which suggested that a screening committee weed out the applicants who would not benefit fully from a Princeton education. "It was very unfortunate publicity, of course," Craig said. "The Princetonian tried to weasel out of it by saying it was just one statement of current opinion run, because of lack of space, in the editorial column. It wasn't a very good weasel."

Upon admission to the college, the freshman is faced not only with the prohibitive list of "Thou shalt nots" but one important "Thou shalt." Every other week, the underclassman must rouse himself for church services. Compulsory chapel is one leg of what Dodds calls "a three-legged stool of religion." The Student Christian Association and the College's own Department of Religion are the other two braces of Princetonian program. A student can contract out of the compulsory chapel only by going to the Dean and saying that he is satisfied by no religious belief and cannot in conscience attend services.

One of the reasons for compulsory chapel, in addition to the feeling that religion is an important part of humanistic teachings, is the class unity it builds. Officials have different reasons for stressing solidarity among members of each class. Dodds sees the bond as a substitute for Harvard's House system which draws undergraduates together.

Dean Godolphin says that in the interest of promoting class spirit the Dean's Office is willing to make some concessions. Not only from a social standpoint is unity desirable, however. "Molding the class is partly to aid in the good, old tough job of fund raising," Godolphin says.

Whether it is due to class fellowship, compulsory chapel, or, most likely, to early indoctrination into the tradition, Princeton functions with efficiency and mutual trust under the honor system. Princetonians are proud of the success of the system in examinations.

Maybe the aura of loyalty and honor blinds the freshman to the supposedly barren nature of his life. At any rate, it is usually not until upperclass years that the Princeton first debates the merit of Charlie over Ascetic. When he does rebel, however, it seems to be with the energy of a closely-caged tiger. He wants his liquor, his car, and his Sex After Seven, and no assurances from the deans will convince him that abstinence is the best policy.

And so the pulling continues: from Cambridge a wishful tug toward Princeton's established emphases on College. Humanities, and Religion; from New Jersey, a hearty pull for the unrestricted life of the local college man