The Self-Assertion of Harvard University

It is trite to look at Commencement as a beginning, and dishonest too. For while the word itself implies the inauguration of something new, Commencement is, to speak plainly, the end of an education.

As an ending, Commencement is then an appropriate time to sit back and reflect, not on where we are going, but on just what we have been doing for these past four years. For most of us, today marks the end of our time at Harvard, and even for those who will relate to the school at a graduate or professional level, this remains the end of those undergraduate days.

To ask what we have been doing here is to ask what Harvard, as an institution, means to those of us who will graduate today. The answer, of course, will depend upon the experiences of each student, yet it is enough to pose such a question to recognize the common experiences that we celebrate today.

Harvard "boosters" sometimes lament a lack of school spirit among students, but in reality, there is no shortage of school pride. The very name, Harvard, is at once a badge and an embarrassment in conversation, because speaking it places us in the uncomfortable position of boasting. When people ask where we attend college, "a school in Boston" is a common response for the humble.

Such bashfulness reflects the high esteem in which Harvard is held by the world-at-large. To be admitted here is itself a great honor because it recognizes the achievements and talents of our teenage years. And in graduating from this 360-year-old University, we carry with us associations that other people have with its greatness.

John Harvard migrated to Massachusetts in 1636, the 29th year of his life. Married but childless, he died of consumption only two years later, leaving half his estate to a newly-founded college. As the Biblical proverb would have it, so long as Harvard lived, he lived alone. But in dying he brought forth great fruit.

The story of John Harvard's life is itself a parable. For while history does not record any extraordinary deeds on his part, his ordinary generosity in supporting a place of education has brought his name to be honored time and again through the contributions of the University's students and faculty to our country and to the world.

If some Puritan colony of the 17th century had to determine which of their number would find his name immortalized, I doubt anyone would have picked an obscure member of the clergy named John Harvard. After all, it is always the great leaders, the John Winthrops, who claim the headlines of their day. But John Harvard's name has gone onto greatness through its association with this University.

Harvard's prestige may rest upon its role in producing the political, intellectual and business leaders of tomorrow, yet the essence of our education is wrongly conceived when taken in such an instrumental fashion. Harvard's sons and daughters may go on to great things, yet the University cannot take credit for their talents, which were prerequisites for admission to the College. It is likely most would achieve on their own, even if they had never set foot within Harvard's gates.

The greatness of the University may not lie in the success of its children, but that is not to say we have been wasting our time. Our four years here at Harvard have immersed us in a remarkable community dedicated to the questioning spirit and the love of truth that are the hallmarks of the University.

Many administrators will tell you about the diversity of Harvard's campus. And to a certain extent that is true. Students bring a diversity of interests, talents and backgrounds that enrich the Harvard educational experience. But in its essence, Harvard's community is unified through the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake--the questioning of the world around us as the highest expression of our humanity.

The essence of Harvard University lies not in the history or the walls of the institution itself, with all of the imperfections that brick is heir to, but in what William James called "the invisible Harvard," the one "in the souls of her more truth-seeking and independent and often very solitary sons."

Such a portrait of the Harvard community may be more of an ideal than a reality, for Harvard undoubtedly means many different things to many of its students. And while Harvard's essence may lie in the expression of its ideals, for some, and perhaps for too many, the Harvard degree is an instrument to a paycheck.

While there is nothing ignoble in pursuing life in the marketplace, it is those money-seeking students who have the most to lose from passing by the "invisible Harvard," for it may be their last chance to practice their intellectual endeavors outside the demands of the profit incentive.

The pragmatic bent of our society strives to place a value on knowledge, to demand that theory come to the service of praxis. But Harvard's liberal arts curriculum denies this point of view, arguing that the value of an education does not lie solely in the practical skills one takes away from it.

Very little of the coursework we have studied here will make a direct contribution to our chosen professions, and very little will substantially increase our material worth. Yet our essential humanity depends upon our regarding ourselves as something other than productive machines, a luxury the marketplace does not afford us.

The Commencement that we celebrate today is for many of us the end of an education, but Harvard will have failed in its mission if for any of us it is truly the end. Our Harvard education over the past few years, even when we did not recognize it, sought to stamp upon our characters the love of truth, which is the fundamental value of our civilization.

The greatness of the University lies in its ability to impart unto us an understanding, not of the use of theory for praxis, but of the service of praxis to the questioning spirit that is inseparable from the spiritual development of ourselves and of our society.

Steven A. Engel '96 was associate editorial chair of The Crimson in 1995.

Our humanity depends upon our regarding ourselves as something other than machines.