The Mail: Second Look at Harvard College

To the Editors of the CRIMSON:

Harvard College purports to be an outstanding exemplar of liberal education. It promises to be a place where an understanding of human ways is transmitted from teacher to student, which reason is honored and used to criticize convention and prejudice.

But this is not the view of Harvard College which I have gained from four undergraduate years and four more years spent as section-man, freshman proctor, and freshman adviser. My impression of Harvard College is that of a place ruled by convention and prejudice, not reason. Two aspects of the educational process are noteworthy: first, the content of the courses taught by the Philosophy Department, with which I was associated. Although philosophy is potentially one of the most important subjects in a liberal education, the philosophy courses at Harvard fall far short of promoting humanistic values to any important degree.

No one can question the scholarly ability and intelligence of the Harvard faculty; unfortunately, faculty members seem to consider it bad taste to apply that intelligence to their duties as at least part-time teachers of under-graduates. The faculty are expected to be the cultivators of reason, but the use of reason, but the use of reason is evident all too seldom in their teaching practices. The lecture system shows this most flagrantly.

The Lecture

Almost every Harvard lecture consists of the instructor orally transmitting a predetermined body of information to the students. The instructor comes with more or less elaborate notes, usually written out. For about 50 minutes he speaks from these notes, while students passively listen and take notes mentally or on paper. Only in a small course may students ask in a small course may students ask questions, and then only at the cost of taking time from the instructor. Much of what the instructor says is lost to the student, and the greater the amount of material which deserves to be noted, the less is the chance that the student will note it all. Furthermore, after the lecture the student normally for gets almost everything the lecturer has said, until and unless he crams for an exam, after which he probably forgets it again.

The lecture system was justified in the time of Aquinas, when in many cases the only way to learn the doctrines of the master was to sit at the master's feet. Since that time, Gutenberg has invented the printing press, and recently even faster means have been found for duplicating the written word. These developments have entirely deprived the lecture system of its raison d'etre.

I am not implying that it is undesirable to transmit information from lecturer to student. Presumably, the instructor has something significant to say-and if he doesn't, that is no fault of the system. Nor do I mean to suggest that personal contact between teacher and student is undesirable--indeed, I believe the more such contact, the better. But the combination of personal contact and transmission of information, in a oral lecture, frustrates the best purposes of both. The oral lecture is neither the best way to transmit information, nor the best way to use teacher-student contact.

Improvements

A far better way to transmit information is that of writing and duplication. Why can't a lecturer compose moderately extensive notes, have these duplicated, and give a copy to each student? Class meetings could then he used for other things. Such a procedure would transmit information much more effectively than the present paper-mouth-ear-pen-paper route. Furthermore. It would allow the lecturer to tranmit as much information as he desires, not being restricted, as now, to the amount he can orally present in two or three hours per week over the period of a semester.

Once class meetings are freed from the tyranny of oral lectures, the instructor will be able to find out what kind of discussion is best for each particular class. It would be unwise in structor will be able to find out what kind of discussion is best for each particular class. It would be unwise in most cases to use class meetings for answering questions by students (which tend to be uninformed and superficial) or for discussions initiated by students (which are generally pointless.) However--to give just a few examples--meetings might well be used for any of the following purposes: 1) making sure students understand important points in the lecture, 2) holding discussions on topics which the instructor thinks important, or 3) amplifying points in the reading which prove to be difficult for the student.

Some claim that oral lectures are uniquely valuable because they are dramatic. Supposedly, a lecturer can inspire enthusiasm for the information transmitted by giving form to his material and displaying enthusiasm himself. But I cannot recall even a single lecture in which dramatic value was achieved to an appreciable degree. And even if an oral lecture should have great dramatic value, this would not necessarily outweigh the values achieved by alternative procedures. Furthermore, I question the assumption that arousing enthusiasm in students, per se, really is a value. For if the student becomes enthusiastic simply by imitating the instructor, this does nothing to train him to reason his own way toward an understanding of the importance of the material.

Classroom methodology could also be improved by using questions-and-answers for the purpose of teaching, as well as testing. It is well-known that students often learn from answering questions on examinations, but hour exams and finals are scanty teaching instrument. Why not incorporate the asking of insightful questions into the regular procedure? Specifically, the instructor might regularly assign questions which deal with fundamental aspects of the course material and which are designed to stimulate insight, but which can be--and are required to be--answered in a small number of words, ranging perhaps from 25 to 150 (An example, concerning Plato's Republic: "What is the relation between Plato's Theory of Forms and the necessity for a class of Philosopher-rules as described by Plato?"). The question could be used as the basis for class discussion, after the students had a few days in which to think out their answers. Such a question-and-answer procedure would not only guide students to the important aspects of the course material; it would also make learning an active exercise--as opposed to passive receptivity, or to mere expression by the student of his possibly superficial opinions.

These improvements may all he instituted without affecting in any way the basic structure of the College. Additional improvements, of a much more radical kind, could certainly be suggested. The ideal situation would probably be to give all instruction individually or in small groups; yet economic restrictions will always preclude this. So formal courses will always be with us; but they need not always he poor.

Still, the faults of the formal courses remain. No matter how gallantly the faculty attack convention and prejudice in their academic fields of interest, most of them are quite content to let convention and prejudice determine the way in which they conduct their own courses.

Philosophy

Criticism of course content can never be completely, but even if the manner of teaching were perfect, the content of Philosophy courses at Harvard would leave much to be desired from the point of view of liberal education. I talk only about Philosophy, because that is the only subject with which I have been closely acqainted. It may be that my conclusions apply also to other departments. I have the impression that they can be generalized a great deal, and still prove valid.

Philosophy could be one of the most humanistic of subjects; for it is, as traditionally conceived, the study par excellence of world views of the most profound kind, formed under varying cultural conditions and articulated to the highest degree. Traditional philosophical views have provided answers concerning a variety of issues related to general aspects of human nature and therefore relevant to every person's life: issues concerning the basis of an individual's felt obligation to others, the relations of the individual to his society, and so on. These philosophic issues, in other words, are humanistic ones. Most persons never find completely satisfactory answers concerning them. Even a perfectly wise man, we might suppose, though he would not be troubled by the issues, could not eliminate them from his life--form he would still have to live according to certain positions with regard to them.

In order to understand how the Harvard Philosophy Department stands on such issues, it is well to consider certain basic views of philosopher Ludwig Wittgenstein, who was the chief inspirer of that viewpoint known as linguistic analysis. This is for two reasons: because Wittgenstein's views have so influenced philosophy at Harvard, and because they illustrate so well the difference between humanistic issues and those technical issues with which the Harvard department is largely concerned. Wittgenstein's professed ultimate aim was to show that the traditional philosophical problems were really pseudo-problems; he wished to dissolve them by analysis of language. Not: He did not aim to solve the traditional problems; he aimed to dissolve them.

But the humanistic problems cannot be dissolved without dissolving human life itself. So Wittgenstein could not have been dealing with the humanistic issues of traditional philosophy. Rather, he was dealing with technical problems, i.e., problems which have no significant degree of relevance to understanding human nature or the human condition. Linguistic analysts, largely following Wittgenstein, seek most of all to speak about speaking; this leads to concern with technical issues only.

About half the members of the Harvard Philosophy Department subscribe to the viewpoint of linguistic analysis. Almost all the others may be described as analysis itself, but the term "analysis", as applied at Harvard, has a special implication; it implies that since only certain technical questions are appropriate for analytic treatment, only these questions can seriously be considered. For example, a typical Harvard philosophy professor would consider it quite proper to analyze Wittgenstein's notion of "criteria"" for use of words but he would not find it proper to analyze Sartre's use of the word "freedom." The various areas of philosophy comprise a hierarchy of sterility, and those subjects highest in the hierarchy are most respected at Harvard. Symbolic logic and philosophy and language are the areas most respected; epistemology, which borrows most from those two areas, is next. Metaphysic and ethics are permitted to the extent that they are amenable to the technical-analytic approach. The other areas receive what attention is left over.

An Alternative

It must not be assumed that the only alternative to this type of analytic philosophy is vague or ill-grounded thinking. Philosophy can be--can in many cases has been--hard-headed, logically competent, and humanistic. Philosophy is most valuable when, through analysis, it discriminates between features of human experience, and then, with the aid of imagination, recognizes what those features of experience signify concerning human nature and the human condition. Harvard philosophy either does not treat those features of experience which might be significant, or it refuses to use imagination to go beyond the superficial. Imagination seems to have no place in Harvard philosophy at all.

Speaking more specifically, of the 26 Philosophy courses open to undergraduates in the 1962-3 catalogue, I would categorize only four of them as being predominantly humanistic in orientation, with several others being on the borderline. Among the 22 100-group courses, most are systematic, i.e., organized around a specific subject. I would categorize these as follows: two humanistic, 11 technical, and one borderline. Among 100-group courses as a whole, Continental philosophy since the 17th century is represented almost entirely by one course on idealism, one on phenomenology, and one on Kant's epistomology, while Medieval philosophy is not represented at all.

Apart from the content of courses in one department or another, the concern of the College seems to be, in general, more with technical values than with humanistic values. According to the conception which seems prevalent among students--and to some extent among the faculty--the proper function of an instructor is not to enlighten the student about matters of human matters of human significance, but instead to be an expert on more or less technical questions within a narrow field. An instructor is usually known as an expert on logical empiricism, or 20th-century Indian nationalism, or whatever, and the courses be teaches are courses on his specialty or specialties. The material taught may have a significant amount of humanistic value, but also may not, especially if the instructor treats if from the point of view of a technician.

There seem to be few in the College who both want and are able to insure that a student's overall instruction is humanistically valuable. Those in position of responsibility usually appear to infer that because courses are given at Harvard, therefore they must be valuable. The logic of this inference is faulty: the results are regretable. "Enter to grow in wisdom" should be replaced, perhaps, by "Enter to increase in technical competence."

Pre-eminence of 100-group courses, as they are now constituted, seems to be one of he reasons why instructors treat course material from a technical viewpoint. These courses are meant for both undergraduates and graduate students. But in the great majority of cases, the subject-matter of a 100-group course is not meant for both groups, but rather is chosen primarily to aid the graduate student attain a technical mastery of the discipline.

Gen Ed

The taming of the General Education program is symptomatic of the pressures stiffing liberal education. The basic intent of that program is humanistic; but it never achieved the significance it deserves. Some of its elementary courses, in fact, are little more than departmental courses. Moreover, General Education courses are meant mainly for the uninitiated, and thus do not give the student opportunity to explore a field thoroughly. This opportunity can come only in the departments. Thus, even if the General Education program had the importance it deserves, it would not be adequate by itself to the task of humanistic education.

So in Philosophy, at least, liberal education suffers because of the selection of subject-matter to be studied. Here, as in matters of methodology. It seems fair to give an explanation in terms of the faculty's unwillingness to put reason to use, instead of yielding to convention or prejudice. For there is a great difference between the material which most scholars study and the material which is most appropriate for a liberal education; yet faculty members seem to assume uncritically that the current topics of advanced scholarly activity are the topics most suitable for undergraduate education.

The illiberal quality of Harvard education affects not only the value of that education. but also the attitudes of the students. The typical student comes to the College yearning for success above all, and success is defined for him by his educational superiors. If his course work deals with humanistic issues, and these are related to experience which he has had or at least can understand then the student will seek to deal successfully with these humanistic issues himself.

But when his instructors deal only with technical issues, this shows the student that success as defined academically--is purely the ability to deal well with these same issues. The student comes to believe that he must either devote himself to technical issues or else reject any definition of success presented by the academic world, and so detach himself from the academic machinery altogether. He comes to believe--and he is given some reason to believe that he must learn what is necessary to follow the vocation of being a college professor, or learn nothing. Such a student therefore chooses one or the other of these alternatives, depending on his needs, and tends to become either as academic conformist or a rebel.

Harvard College, therefore, seems to consist largely of a process of limited interaction between scholars and students. In which the scholars often ignore the humanistic values of liberal education, show a disregard of reason in their practices, and in fact do little but recreate their own kind among their students, while a group of disaffected undergraduates seek elsewhere for what they think Harvard should offer. Am I mistaken as to the purported aim of Harvard College? Is it really meant to be a trade school, despite all protestations to the contrary? Or should the Peace Corps send some real teachers to Cambridge?  Gordon L. Brumm '53

(Mr. Brumm was head section man in hum 5 for two years. Presently, he is employed by the Mitre Corporation.)