Our Higher Education

Last week, the New York Times argued that the scholar-athlete, who could perform as well in the classroom as on the field, is a relic of the past—and one to be sorely missed. Athletes, unlike fine musicians or writers, simply cannot “add to the intellectual and cultural stew that makes college campuses exciting.” (To be honest, I doubt I was accepted for this particular reason, either.) Pointing to data collected by James Shulman and William Bowen, the Times dismissed any contributions athletes might make at a school: they self-segregate themselves, they don’t perform as well in classes and, apparently worst of all, their performance on the field doesn’t even impact alumni donations anymore. Thus, good riddance.

The Times’ short-sightedness on this topic makes it understandable why they could dismiss athletes so incredibly easily. Their position overlooks all the unique, positive additions that athletics bring to a college environment, such as teamwork, diligence at improvement and perseverance toward goals. (In fact, it would do many of the ambitious students at this school well to practice the same sportsmanship so many athletes use to overcome slumps, errors and heartbreaking losses.)

Because a spot on the coach’s list has more sway than even legacy or racial minority, and because athletes’ GPA’s tend to dip a bit lower than the average student’s, Harvard is now poised to change its admission policies regarding athletes. But the answer is hardly to cut them out of the college. Rather, we should examine the not-so-startling results of Shulman and Bowen’s research and ask ourselves why we place so much emphasis on academic performance above all other types of accomplishment. By definition, a student eats, sleeps and passes a certain number of classes each semester to graduate; college is where, in the broadest sense, education takes place. Graduate schools will certainly look to our transcripts as an indication of how we performed in college. But for the most part—and especially in terms of our own personal growth during these four formative years—it is how we spend our time outside of the classroom, and who we spend our time with, that better illustrates our achievement and growth at school.

Although academic performance may be a part of our formal definition, it oftentimes has little to do with the meat and especially the heart of our college experiences. With a few granted exceptions, we are not defined by the four courses in which we enroll at the beginning of each semester, but rather by the people we see and the things we choose to do in the hours before and after those classes.

Although my official degree will read history and literature come June, my real education at Harvard took place at The Crimson. Nowhere else at school have I learned to argue, write, develop friendships, contend with egos and work along with others toward a specific goal. I am convinced these skills will come in more handy than the ability to critique Machiavelli or analyze Dreiser, as I am convinced that this is a large part of what I will remember from my time here. For others, their real education and growth will have taken place wherever they spent their time—dribbling down a soccer field, pipetting in a biology lab or strumming a guitar—and with whom they spent their time. For example, The Crimson’s Editorial Board—a slightly pretentious, left-leaning and rebellious motley crew—emboldened me, pushed me to the right of center and taught me how to work along with the most sundry of characters. Random first-year roommates forced us to live with characters completely unlike ourselves. A good friend shows us the meaning of loyalty and integrity. And a girlfriend can teach as much about literature to her boyfriend as any class would.

Our coursework is a necessary factor in our experience here. For many, though, it is a way of paying dues so that they may enjoy and pursue their real passions, which are just as much a part of their education. As such, many have already forgotten whatever material was learned just last semester. What sticks are our experiences with other people—in organizations, on teams, in friendships and in relationships. That, and not how we perform in sophomore tutorial, is what we will remember when we graduate. Our extra-curriculars are so much of a better account of our selves than our classes are that, stepping back, it seems odd that anyone would attempt to define so much of our character by sheer academic performance. What, exactly, can you tell about a person with a 15.0 GPA? That they have a strong work ethic and an uncanny ability to absorb facts?

Changing Harvard’s admission process regarding athletes could have nothing but a detrimental effect on the school. At the very least it will give the college a more homogeneously type-A student body, making it more competitive and less enriching than ever.

The Times fears that athletes damage and sacrifice the “identity and special mission of the liberal arts education.” Whatever that “special mission” may be, perhaps the editorial staff is a bit too stiff and dated to remember and appreciate the significance of collegiate life outside of the classroom. The experience of competing with an athletic team or playing in an orchestra or writing for a newspaper does not hamper our liberal arts education, but rather enhances and intensifies it.

Jordana R. Lewis ’02 is a history and literature concentrator in Eliot House. Her column appears on alternate Thursdays.