OPEN
QUESTION An alumni examination.
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f Harvard's business is research and teaching, its principal products are new knowledge and alumni—the latter presumably infused with some of the former but at any rate equipped with a questioning habit of mind. T h e editors of Harvard Magazine, when they began to plan this commemorative issue, were mindful of Samuel Eliot Morison's dictum that "in the long run, a college or university is known by her fruits. She will be judged by the character of her alumni." But how best were we to disclose the character of an alumni body, a conglomeration of some 234,136 individuals who have nothing to enrwine them but a common experience? At first we thought we would ask the alumni a single question, carefully crafted, and let their answers reveal their diversity in some of its many splendors. Hut we could think of no question that did justice to them all. So we posed this problem to a number of graduates: Ask yourself a question, one you think important or perhaps only interesting, and answer it—briefly; at least the question will be perfectly framed since you are asking it yourself. We received many replies, including this one from Stephen Booth '55, Ph.D. '64, who teaches at the University of California, Berkeley. "I've put a lot of time into asking myself questions and answering them. I turn out not to know any interesting questions for which I have 250-word answers. Just as I get my throat clear, the allotted words run out. For instance, I tried 'What should we call you?' 'Call me Ishmael,' I wrote. After
that brisk start, however, I began to wander sadly. There's this big fish, sec. . ." Our thanks to the following:
Anthony Lewis How has our perception of the world changed since I left Harvard College, in 1948? T h e question has infinite possible answers. But one, I think, strikes a fundamental chord. We feel a loss of control. Order unravels. Institutions lose their self-confidence. Reason itself—the belief that human problems have rational solutions—is under attack. In 1948 we were almost Victorian in our expectations of progress. Some things have gone well. The industrialized nations are a great deal richer. War between the great powers has been avoided for forty years. Scientific invention has accelerated. But those achievements have not brought security or individual tranquility. As I write, thousands of Americans have abandoned in fear their plans to travel abroad. Terrorism has us in its psychological grip. Around the world, millions have turned from politics to religious visions that we consider fanatic. But in our own country, too, religiosity is more intense than ever, seeking to impose sectarian beliefs on politics. Tolerance for differing ideas diminishes. Large groups want
power to tell us what to read, what to believe. Why? Is overpopulation having profound psychological effects? Has instant worldwide communication intensified longing and jealousy and hate? Have the Holocaust and the myriad tortures and cruelties of states since then lowered our threshold of humanity? I wish I knew. But I expect to go on believing in reason. Anthony Lewis '48 is a political columnist for the New York Times.
Phyllis Schlafly What is the biggest change that has come about in America since those happy days I spent at Harvard in the mid 1940s? I think it is our fundamental change in attitude and ideology. In the 1940s, the American people had faith in the ability of government to plan and manage our economy and solve our socio-economic problems but no faith that a free economy could cope with those challenges. Harvard led the way in teaching this ideology. It was then fashionable 'round the Harvard Yard to say that the United States had reached a "technological plateau" and could not expect any significant growth in our economy. In the mid 1980s, attitudes are almost S E P T E M B E R - O C T O B E R 1986
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