The economic historian William J. Ashley taught at Harvard from 1892 to 1901. His observations regarding the tension between professors and junior staff’s desire to work for the advancement of science and scholarship and the core educational mission of universities have not lost their relevance 125 years after he shared his Harvard experience.
But there are many wonderful obiter dicta you will want to savor.
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C.V. from Harvard’s records
William James Ashley, B.A. Oxford 1881; M.A. Oxford 1885; M.Com. Birmingham (Eng.) 1902; Ph.D. Berlin 1910; Fellow Lincoln Coll. Oxford 1885; Prof. of Political Economy and Constitutional History, Toronto 1888-1892; Prof. of Economic History 1892-1901; Prof. of Commerce, Birmingham; Dean (Faculty of Commerce) Birmingham 1901-1902; Cor. Memb. Mass. Hist. Soc; Cor. Memb. Am. Acad.
Harvard University. Quinquennial catalogue of the officers and graduates 1636-1930, p. 42.
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Prof. William J. Ashley on academic administration and procedures at Harvard (1897)
[…] The peculiarity in the position of Harvard is that while the professorial ideal has definitely triumphed among the teaching body, the tutorial ideal is still cherished by the ‘constituency.’ Most of the professors care first of all for the advancement of science and scholarship; they prefer lectures to large audiences to the catechetical instruction of multiplied ‘sections,’ and they would leave students free to attend lectures or neglect them, at their own peril; they would pick out the abler men, and initiate them into the processes of investigation in small ‘research courses’ or ‘seminaries;’ and, to be perfectly frank, they are not greatly interested in the ordinary undergraduate. On the other hand the university constituency — represented, as I am told, by the Overseers — insists that the ordinary undergraduate shall be ‘looked after;’ that he shall not be allowed to ‘waste his time;’ that he shall be ‘pulled up’ by frequent examinations, and forced to do a certain minimum of work, whether he wants to or not. The result of this pressure has been the establishment of an elaborate machinery of periodical examination, the carrying on of a vaster bookkeeping for the registration of attendance and of grades than was ever before seen at any university, and the appointment of a legion of junior ‘instructors’ and assistants, to whom is assigned the drudgery of reading examination — books and conducting ‘conferences.’
So far as the professors are concerned, the arrangement is as favourable as can reasonably be expected. Of course they are all bound to lecture, and to lecture several times a week; they exercise a general supervision over the labours of their assistants; they guide the studies of advanced students; they conduct the examinations for honours and for higher degrees; they carry on a ceaseless correspondence; and each of them sits upon a couple of committees. But they are not absolutely compelled to undertake much drudging work in the way of instruction, and if they are careful of their time they can manage to find leisure for their own researches. As soon as a ‘course’ gets large, a benevolent Corporation will provide an assistant. The day is past when they were obliged, in the phrase of Lowell, ‘to double the parts of professor and tutor.’
But the soil of America is not as propitious as one could wish for the plant of academic leisure. It is a bustling atmosphere; and a professor needs some strength of mind to resist the temptation to be everlastingly doing something obvious. The sacred reserves of time and energy need to be jealously guarded, and there is more than one direction from which they are threatened. University administration occupies what would seem an unduly large number of men and an unduly large amount of time; it is worth while considering whether more executive authority should not be given to the deans. Then there is the never — ending stream of legislation, or rather of legislative discussion. I must confess that when I have listened, week after week, to Faculty debates, the phrase of Mark Pattison about Oxford has some times rung in my ears: ‘the tone as of a lively municipal borough.’ It would be unjust to apply it; for, after all, the measures under debate have been of far-reaching importance. Yet if any means could be devised to hasten the progress of business, it would be a welcome saving of time. Still another danger is the pecuniary temptation — hardly resistible by weak human nature — to repeat college lectures to the women students of Radcliffe. That some amount of repetition will do no harm to teachers of certain temperaments and in certain subjects may well be allowed, but that it is sometimes likely to exhaust the nervous energy which might better be devoted to other things can hardly be denied. The present Radcliffe system, to be sure, is but a makeshift, and an unsatisfactory one.
The ‘instructors’ and assistants, on their part, have little to grumble at, if they, in their turn, are wise in the use of their time. It is with them, usually, but a few years of drudgery, on the way to higher positions in Harvard or elsewhere; and it is well that a man should bear the yoke in his youth. Let him remember that his promotion will depend largely upon his showing the ability to do independent work; let him take care not to be so absorbed in the duties of his temporary position as to fail to produce some little bit of scholarly or scientific achievement for himself. I have occasionally thought that the university accepts the labours of men in the lower grades of the service with a rather step-motherly disregard for their futures.
Come now to the ‘students,’ or whose sake, certainly, Harvard College was founded, whatever may have been the case with English colleges, and whose presence casts upon those responsible for academic policy duties which they cannot escape, if they would. Grant that education and education as Jowett understood it, the training of character as well as mere instruction — is the main business of a university, what is to be said of the situation of affairs? That we do as much here for the average man as the Oxford tutorial system accomplishes, it would be idle to affirm. The introduction of the tutorial system, however, is out of the question: it needs the small college for its basis; it requires that the tutor should enjoy a prestige which we cannot give him; and it is still further shut out by ‘elective’ studies. Yet in its way the Harvard practice suffers from the same defects as the Oxford; it does too much for the men. Take the matter of examinations, for instance. Surely it would be better to relax the continuous pressure — which after all is not in any worthy sense effective — and to reinforce it instead at special points. It was the conviction, we are told, of Professor Freeman that ‘if examinations were necessary evils, they should be few, searching, and complete, not many and piecemeal.’ At present, there are so many ‘tests,’ of one sort or another, that no one examination sufficiently impresses the undergraduate mind. The kind of work done by a student who is so persistently held up by hour-examinations and conferences that he must be an abnormal fool to ‘fail’ at the end, cannot be regarded as really educational in any high sense of the word. By a great many men, the help showered upon them is regarded merely as the means of discovering just how little they can do, and still scrape through. To sweep away all examinations except the final annual one; to leave the student more to himself; to set a higher standard for passing, and ruthlessly reject those who do not reach it, would undoubtedly, in the long run, encourage a more manly spirit on the part of undergraduates, and a deeper respect for the university. This I say with the fuller confidence because, when I left Oxford, now (1900) some twelve years ago, I could see nothing but the evils of the examination system as it there affects students of promise. I am convinced that it would be possible and salutary in Harvard to add greatly to the awfulness of examination; and that much could be done in this direction without approaching within measurable distance of any results that need be feared.
From a natural distrust of examinations and a desire to encourage independent thought, it has of late become the practice to prescribe two or more theses during the progress of a ‘course.’ The result is that many a man has half a dozen or more theses to write during the year, for two or three different teachers. This undoubtedly ‘gets some work out of the men.’ But the too frequent consequence, with students who take their work seriously, especially with graduates, is that they have no time for anything but to get up their lectures and prepare their theses. Any parallel reading by the side of their lectures they find impracticable. But one of the best things a student can do is just to read intelligently. Certainly the graduate students, if not the undergraduates, would sometimes be the better for being left more to themselves.
These are, however, relatively minor matters. A good deal could be said about that cornerstone of Harvard academic policy, the ‘elective’ system. I must confess that I have hitherto failed to see the advantage of the completely elective plan (for any but exceptional students) over the plan of ‘groups,’ or ‘triposes,’ or ‘schools,’ with some degree of internal elasticity to suit particular tastes. That the elective system is an improvement on the old compulsory curriculum is likely enough; but I do not know that any great American university has ever yet fairly tried the group arrangement. Of all the educational agencies at Oxford, Oxford itself is the most potent.
That sweet city, with her dreaming spires;
She needs not June for beauty’s heightening.Harvard, indeed, is truly ‘fair’ at Commencement, and in the evening lights the Yard has always a sober dignity. But Harvard in the daytime sadly needs May or October for beauty’s heightening. The disadvantages of youth and climate may not be altogether surmountable; yet Cambridge surroundings could doubtless be made more comely and restful with comparatively little trouble. There must be a certain atrophy of the æsthetic sense when luxuriously furnished dormitories have no difficulty in securing tenants though they face rubbish dumps, when rowing-men can practise with equanimity beneath a coal-dealer’s mammoth advertisement, and when the crash and jangle of street-cars are permitted to destroy what little remains of the quiet of the Yard. What is to be desired for every student — most of all for those from homes of little cultivation — is that he should live in the presence of grace and beauty and stateliness. The lesson of good taste cannot be learnt from lectures, and is imbibed unconsciously. Here we must turn to our masters, the Corporation, and to the worshipful benefactors to come. Is all the thought taken that might be taken, all the pressure used that might be exerted, to increase the amenity of the neighbourhood? And, further, is it utopian to imagine that some benefactor will yet arise who will enable Harvard to imitate the noble example of Yale, and erect dormitories that shall delight the eye? Is it too much to hope that the university may soon be enriched with at least one more building such as Memorial Hall? For many a Harvard student his daily meals in Memorial Hall, in that ample space, beneath the glowing colours of the windows and surrounded by the pictures of the Harvard worthies of the past, constitute the most educative part of his university career, though he may not know it. Only half the students can now be brought within this silent influence. A second dining-hall, of like dignity, is perhaps the most urgent educational need of Harvard, and the need most easily supplied.[*]
[*I leave this sentence, for obvious reasons, in spite of the recent erection of Randall Hall. The desirability of a large infusion of other than immediately utilitarian elements in the policy of the Corporation is emphasised, I think, by the increasingly evident tendency towards social segregation in the student body. The English reader who desires to know more of the atmosphere of the greater American universities may be referred to Mr. Bliss Perry’s article on ‘The Life of a College Professor’ in Scribner’s Magazine for October 1897; while the American reader who is interested in Oxford may with advantage consult Mr. F. C. S. Schiller on ‘Philosophy at Oxford’ in the Educational Review for October 1899. ]
Source: W. J. Ashley, “Jowett and the University Ideal” in Surveys, Historic and Economics 1900, pp. 445-463. Originally published in Atlantic Monthly, July 1897.