A 2014 article entitled Don’t Send Your Kid to the Ivy League by William Deresiewicz (an Ivy grad and faculty member) argued that “[o]ur system of elite education manufactures young people who are . . . great at what they’re doing but with no idea why they’re doing it.” Students at “prestigious institutions,” it claimed, are always concerned about the “return on investment” of their college education, yet few understand what the “return” is supposed to be. It concluded that parents should send their kids to second-tier schools that “have retained their allegiance to real educational values.”
My personal observations validate Deresiewicz’s diagnosis. Princeton students are (generally) preoccupied with the “return on investment” of their education, excessively concerning themselves with internship interviews or the next P-Set. And yet, many intuitively understand that their “return” could be more, even much more, than just a job in finance or consulting. For instance, I’ve heard multiple students express their wish for extra time to absorb themselves in their readings rather than just skim enough pages to make a good comment or two in precept. They desire more from their time at Princeton than just getting the grades and the job.
Princeton offers critical ingredients for a robust education but often does a poor job of empowering students to understand the “return” they can expect from their education. This is the consequence of providing a nonsectarian education while encouraging a culture that inhibits the development of an intellectual life.
Because Princeton gives students access to world-renowned minds, generous financial aid, post-grad opportunities, state-of-the-art facilities, and rigorous courses, a technical analysis validates its annual ranking as the number one undergraduate university in the world. The low student-to–Nobel Laureate ratio is only one of Princeton’s unique offerings. Princeton students are treated like thoroughbreds and trained to be the fastest out of the gate.
But however grand and wonderful Princeton’s student resources are, they don’t answer the question “to what end?” A Princeton education can be used for good or bad. For example, Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Maria Rissa (class of 1986) and authoritarian dictator Syngman Rhee (class of 1910) used their Princeton educations in very different ways. Ultimately, an answer to this question is required for a student to feel a sense of fulfillment and direction.
As human beings, we yearn for meaning, and where meaning is lacking, our personal fulfillment wanes and we’re prone to becoming directionless. For some, religion provides meaning through a rich moral code that, when followed, guarantees reward. Utilitarianism and other secular philosophies also provide guides for individual action. These moral frameworks do more than just provide meaning – they provide direction. The Christian motivated by charity chooses to work in a refugee camp; the hedonistic utilitarian driven by a desire to maximize happiness chooses a career in public health. In contrast, the graduate who has not adopted a moral tradition is more likely to stumble into a profession – whether one of these or something else.
That’s not to say that religious or utilitarian students have their lives planned out and can describe exactly how they’ll use their Princeton education (I certainly couldn’t!), but these students may feel meaningful direction in their studies and career goals.
As a nonsectarian university, Princeton doesn’t make religious or ideological demands of its students, who are allowed to choose to adopt a moral code or not. Therefore, students are left to their own devices to find direction that may have been otherwise provided had they attended a Catholic or Jewish university. I won’t attempt a lengthy discussion on the merits of a nonsectarian education, but it certainly puts more responsibility on the student to discern the meaning and end of their individual education. Unfortunately, Princeton’s academic culture, reinforced by the university itself, does not promote the personal discovery of direction; instead, it prioritizes the hustle for internships, fellowships, and prestige.
A friend recently commented on how many businesses could have been started, inventions patented, and poetic stanzas written in the time Princeton students spend looking for summer internships. I can relate, having spent as much time working on securing my summer plans as on any single class. For most students, free time is spent networking, looking for internships, or making sure they’re doing something “productive”; summer plans are a central topic of conversation in the dining halls. For some, this is motivated by pressure from parents; for others the pressure is internal. Either way, certainly, the insatiable hustle for the next resume bullet permeates Princeton’s academic culture.
While this may be the natural consequence of housing 4,700 high-achieving undergraduates in a small New Jersey town, Princeton does little to minimize the often corrosive effects of the hustle culture that has oversaturated our academic environment. Career-fair advertisements and resume workshops provided by the Career Development Center are the subjects of some of the first emails that incoming freshmen receive. And yet, for all the options presented to Princeton students, they’re not taught how to decide which path is right for them. Yes, Princeton prides itself on teaching its students how to think, but that “thinking” is usually attached to an assignment or a grade, the experience tainted by pressure from peers, professors, and parents. The university is quick to promote the practical uses of our education but slow to promote habits that build fulfillment and a sense of direction. For Princeton students to find these after graduation, they must learn and be encouraged to develop an intellectual life.
In her book Lost in Thought: The Hidden Pleasures of an Intellectual Life, Zena Hitz outlined the importance and fulfillment of developing what she calls an intellectual life. Hitz argued that a rich life is a life rich in thought. Human beings, she contended, long for something that exceeds the “merely material or the merely social.” The intellectual life provides meaning to education and direction to its application by creating a refuge from the world where you can consider your deepest thoughts and feelings, free from the “power plays and careless judgments of social life.”
Before coming to Princeton or garnering international fame, Albert Einstein worked in a patent office. It was there, far from any laboratory, that Einstein wrote his seminal papers on the photoelectric effect, Brownian motion, and the theory of special relativity. Those ideas turned the physics world on its head, and calling someone an Einstein has become a compliment of their intelligence. Einstein called the patent office “that worldly cloister where I hatched my most beautiful ideas.”
Einstein’s “worldly cloister” gave him a refuge where he could pursue his natural curiosities without undue pressure from colleagues. Unless they frequent the eating club named Cloister Inn, for a Princeton student to find their own worldly cloisters where they routinely take refuge to deeply consider what they have read or learned can be difficult. Princeton students are typically overschedulers (that’s how they had the resumes to get in), and this tendency persists in their college lifestyles.
Even for students who find direction in a moral tradition, a personal cloister is essential to the search for meaning amid the hustle of University life. The truth-seeking process, to which Princeton has been publicly committed, requires both diligent effort in studying and intentional consideration of what’s been studied. Without the latter, the student becomes like an ice cream merchant who, despite buying and selling sweets all day, never tries the creamy dessert.
Because of its personal nature, developing an intellectual life is something that Princeton cannot do for its students – but it certainly could encourage it. In my three years at Princeton, I have yet to see a poster for a “place to ponder” or even a simple reminder to feast upon the ideas around us. Instead, “study halls” and tips on how to read quickly are advertised on the bulletin board of every residential college. While these latter resources are helpful in the quest for good grades, they incentivize students to hustle on, forget what was already tested, and begin working on the next P-Set.
Despite the hustle culture, it’s possible for students to develop a direction-giving intellectual life. For example, a friend of mine makes a habit of journaling at the Princeton battlefield. There he finds his worldly cloister, and he credits that habit with aiding his direction-seeking pursuits. Personally, I use walks from my dorm to class and the gym as quiet time to ponder.
Once Princeton students understand that the university does not optimize for “meaning,” they can begin searching for their “return” in both moral codes (like religion) and the development of an intellectual life. For this reason, I break with Deresiewicz’s conclusion and would happily send my kids to Princeton . . . that is, if they understand what the university can, and cannot, offer.
The above is an opinion contribution and reflects the author’s views alone.
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