A moderate is cautious about University withdrawal: "Students have little conception of what might happen..."

MOST STUDENTS don't have to wrack their brains when they gripe about Harvard. They complain--often nonchalantly--about parietal rules, course requirements, restrictions on off-campus living, the inaccessability of many professors, the long march from Radcliffe and the Houses to the Yard, and a thousand other things.

Every so often a few activists get together, talk to some sympathetic Faculty members, and organize apathetic students to press for changes in Harvard's rules and procedures. Sometimes, as in the case of the parietals extension late last year, this works quite well. More impressive, because it concerned political matters. Collective student pressure--mobilized through a petition circulated in the spring of 1966--helped force the Faculty to make a surprising, if futile, attempt to take a position on the military draft last winter.

In almost every case, effective student insurgents at Harvard have rejected the tactic of mass civil disobedience. Yet the obstructive sit-in in Mallinckrodt two weeks ago, and the Faculty response to the students involved, seem to have provoked a more tortured, mind-bending reappraisal of university policies than Mem Church rallies, student government, and long-winded petitions ever have.

At first, most Faculty and students, including myself, chose merely to condemn the demonstration against Dow's presence at Harvard as a brutal infraction of free speech and movement within the University. This issue, of course, has been resolved by the Faculty vote to place almost one-fourth of the demonstrators on probation. But in the mean-time, it has become clear that much more was involved than the staunch defense of a few time-honored freedoms.

For some of the demonstrators sat-in not so much out of frustration at their inability to help end the war, but out of an honest conviction that the University should avoid connections with firms and government agencies linked to the U.S. war effort. These students--and a few Faculty members--are morally outraged by what some term "University complicity with genocide."

It is easy to take offense at this choice of words. No one likes to be told that his employer or his teachers are implicated in the mass murder of a people who pose little threat to this nation's security or economic interests. Nor is it much comfort to embrace the notion that the U.S. is engaged in the holier tasks of "nation-building" and preventing a bloodier conflict with Red China. Most people at Harvard, even those who affect a "tough-minded" outlook on American activities abroad, cannot help but be shaken by the tag of "murderer."

There are a few who take solace in the observation that hyperbole is fashionable in and out of radical political cirles these days. Convinced that the University has dealt properly and efficaciously with the demonstrators, they will slink back to their offices and libraries hoping they can get on with their work without any further intrusions.

But if the aftermath of the sit-in means anything, more than a few Faculty and students will spend at least a little time in the next few months thinking about the more serious issue raised in the crammed Mallinckrodt hallway. The Harvard community, in overwhelming opposition to President Johnson's policy in Vietnam, must evaluate in practical and philosophical terms the propriety of its financial and personal involvement with the government and its private contractors.

Most of us didn't worry about this much when President Kennedy was around. Actually, his reliance on the Faculty for official and informal advice was a source of pride--and complacency--in Cambridge. But his death, some of President Johnson's personal habits, and the Vietnam war made the community far more critical.

Now many students are wondering whether Harvard can be truly a "free market for ideas" while so many of the ideas in vogue on campus are the by-products of government and private grants for research and analysis. It is difficult to say whether this attitude is a bitter reaction to the war or symbolic of a far deeper malaise and concern over the position of a University in modern American society.

In either case, students and Faculty toying with the notion of ending Harvard's contacts with private bureaucracies and public governments know that they have their work cut out for them. They know that Harvard's ties to war machines and consumer industries are not limited to recruiting arrangements through the Departments and Office for Graduate and Career Plans.

The University has its own Research Contract Office which did $55 million worth of business with the government during the last fiscal year. Most of the money from Washington paid for individual professors' research into matters of concern to the Department of Health, Education, and Welfare. But some of this money, paid for research into issues of interest to government agencies dealing with foreign problems--the State Department, Defense Department, Agency for International Development, and Atomic Energy Commission.

All the research contracted by professors through the Research Contract Office, is unclassified and publishable. But there can be little doubt that some professors' work--even if the public sees it--contributes at least marginally to the decision-making process in Washington. In that town, politicians and bureaucrats, not idealistic academics, pull the most weight, and they can do what they want with the research they have sponsored.

The existence of the Research Contract Office, however, doesn't mean that individual professors can't do classified work for the government. And as long as a professor fulfills his commitments to his students and colleagues, he is free to do what he wants with his remaining time--and this could include analyzing documents for the Central Intelligence Agency or helping to plan bombing raids into North Vietnam. Except for prohibiting teachers from abusing students, the University places few restrictions on the use of its facilities. In fact, most Faculty members who do classified work would defend their right to do so by invoking "academic freedom."

By the same token, most of them have defended professors who advocate politically unpopular causes. The McCarthy era aside, one only has to look back to 1965 to remember the outcry that arose when Republican politicians called for the resignation of a Rutgers University professor who complimented the Vietcong in from of his students.

Unfortunately, the analogy may not be entirely valid. The Rutgers professor Eugene Genovese, one of the leading Marxist historians in America, was not doing any research for the National Liberation Front. His views on the war in Vietnam were shaped by his own theoretical outlook on revolution in underdeveloped societies, as well as his obvious revulsion at United States policy. On the other side of the coin, professors who spend a day each week in Washington, or part of their time on government research, may find their perspective slightly altered--if not warped--by their pre-occupation with "practical" matters. This, at least, is the argument of those who decry "University complicity." It is also an allegation of more moderate students who feel that the Economics Department overemphasizes problems of monetary and fiscal policy and gives short shrift to the tougher problem of redistributing goods more equitably in America.

In no way does this imply that students' views on the University's role in society depend wholly on their degree of alienation from the current drift of American public policy. Many students--and some Faculty agree with them--would like to see Harvard's course of study give more emphasis to matters of ethics, philosophy, and metaphysics.

Such disciplines, it is thought, should be of greater concern to college students than international politics, social theory, applied psychology, and economics. It is questionable, though whether a student who wishes to prepare for a quick ascension in any one of America's bureaucracies should have his studies so confined.

In any event, disentangling the universities, the corporations, and the government would be a difficult task. For as John Kenneth Galbraith as-tutely argues in The New Industrial State--and his observations are not particularly original in this respect--the twentieth century has witnessed a growing dependence of both politicians and businessmen on academic talent.

Professors who spend a day each week in Washington, or part of their time on government research, may find their perspective slightly altered-if not warped-by their pre-occupation with "practical" matters. . . . Many professors, even if they disagree with government policies, enjoy the chance to play some role in Washington affairs.

This relationship has deepened, because universities produced most of this nation's scientific innovations and discoveries, not to mention much of the analytic and theoretical social science that is indispensable to policy-makers. As this has occurred, and outside funds for research and development have flooded college communities, Galbraith claims, universities have already abdicated their traditional roles as the mainsprings of reasoned, sophisticated dissent in America.

But this is bitter and trivial consolation for many professors and students. Both firms and government agencies can afford to be selective about what ideas they choose to adapt to their needs--and how they adapt them. Thus, many professors find themselves whistling into the wind--and a smaller, but more disgruntled bunch must watch their contract research service long-range goals they abhor.

Despite the drawbacks of Harvard's involvement with the outside world, a large number of Faculty members seem to like things the way they are. Many professors, even if they disagree with government policies, enjoy the chance to play some role in Washington affairs.

As one government consultant based in Cambridge put it last year, "Aside from the fact that they need our expertise, we can--and do--always hope that some of our advice will be heeded. Of course, it's up to an individual whether he would rather sign petitions of protest or try to persuade the officials who make the decisions." This attitude is fairly widespread.

In addition, most students have little conception of what might happen should the Harvard Corporation decide to bar professors from doing research or consultant work for the government or private industry. Certainly, at least a few professors would seriously consider resigning from the Faculty.

At the heart of the problem, however, is the question of what role a University should play in an increasingly diverse society with institutions requiring finely honed academic expertise for their maintenance and growth. This is an issue for philosophers, politicians, technocrats, and hippies. It is also an issue with ramifications that transcend the exacerbated feelings of the 300 students who posed it in Mallinckrodt Hall two weeks ago.

In all probability, it will never be resolved to very many students' satisfaction. But it will now be discussed and painfully pondered at great length. This should remind people that Harvard effectively serves other purposes than mass murder.