The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 59, No. 1, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 2, 1971 Page: 4 of 14
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Garside offers freshmen a "framework for thinking"
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The longer I reflected on one
mid-July version of the events
scheduled for you during these
past four days, the more trou-
bled I grew about the under-
lying assumptions of what we
call Freslhman Week. About the
title there can be little doubt:
it means simply that prior to
the inception of each academic
year, seven days are given over
entirely to Freshmen. Nor do I
think this (inappropriate. We
have, after all, worked and
waited for you since the last
degree was awarded in May.
At last you are here, and, dur-
ing' this one week, carefully se-
lected upperdclassmen, college
presidents, college masters, fa-
culty associates, deans, ad-
ministrative officers, the Presi-
dent himself, all in their sev-
eral competences, have been,
are, and will continue to exert
their best efforts on your be-
half.
You have begun to settle into
your colleges and to discover
the ambiguities of college living;
you have met, all too briefly,
the Master and his wife; just as
briefly you have discussed your
courses with your faculty ad-
visor; you have been introduced
to the mysteries of the library
and the amenities of the gym-
nasium; you have been con-
ducted on guided tours of the
campus, and led through empty
classrooms and laboratories;
you have been told where to go
and when, and wffbm to go to
and why; you have been photo-
graphed by amateurs in Ham-
man Hall and bankrupted by
professionals in the Allen Cen-
ter. And to this day, to these
ends, you have been kept alive
by the Food Service.
Ninety-six interminable and
exhausting hours have passed.
If, now, you feel dazed, bewild-
ered, uncertain, above all threat-
ened, and very vulnerable, I can-
not blame you, for in a complete-
ly new environment you have
been asked to- absorb enormous
quantities of completely new in-
formation, often in a completely
new- language, by completely
new people. Strangers in a
strange land, in some ways you
have become even strangers
to yourselves. We have tried
to show you how Rice University
functions from day to day, and
much of what we have asked
you to learn is, in fact, necessary
information. But it is informa-
tion, no more. In despite of
this out-pouring of intense and
well-intentioned attention, we
have, I suspect, ignored just
these questions which you really
have to ask of us, and which
you want so very much, so an-
xiously, to be discussed and an-
swered, if only partially. For
those much more difficult and
speculative questions of what
a university is, of how it stands
to society, of wfhat it expects
from you, and most importantly,
what you expect from it, there
has b*een, ironically enough, no
time. But if my reading of your
schedule is correct, with the con-
clusion of this address your
formal assignments end; Mon-
day is still far away, and the
weekend beckons. The days
between offer the possibility, at
least, of a freedom for reflection
on such questions Which has
thus far virtually been denied
you. What I propose to do,
therefore, fully aware, I assure
you, of the arrogance of such
an attempt, is very briefly to
suggest a framework for your
thinking.
II
The frame itself was sug-
gested to me by President Nixon
when, on July 3 of this year,
i
he inaugurated the Bicentennial
Eya, a period of five years from
that moment of proclamation
until July 4, 1976. He invited us
thereby to celebrate, and cele-
bration there surely will be, an
orgy of sentimental exaggera-
tion and unscrupled exploita-
tion from which even Americans
may finally recoil. But he in-
vited us also to look at our
country, and at ourselves as
citizens, to reflect on our past
intentions and present achieve-
ments, and the more seriously
we engage in such overdue self-
examination, the more I am per-
suaded that during the lustrum
to come, and the years beyond
it, we shall be participating in
perhaps the most profound
changes yet feeen in American
society.
With respect to our present
achievements, let us look' at
them in terms of1 some random
phrases culled from the pa-
triotic songs which we have al-
ways sung, and will sing, pre-
sumably with increasing fei-ver,
while we make procession to-
ward our two-hundredth birth-
day. How, for example, can we
possibly celebrate "the oceans
white with foam," when we
know that the foam is little
more than a vast accumulation
of detergent wastes? How can
we possibly say "I love thy
rocks ancf rills," when we know
^that they are fast disappear-
ing, destroyed and discarded by
strip mining? Here, to be
sure, for a century we have not
seen ''the rockets' red glare";
but hundreds of thousands of
civilians in Vietnam have seen
that fiery light for the last
time; for years now millions of
bombs have been "bursting in
air" over South-East Asia. And
to the grand final question of
our National Anthem, "O say
does that Star-spangled Banner
yet wave", we may answer, yes,
indeed it does; of course, we
cannot see it for the smog, but
it waves over Los Angeles and
New Yoj,-k; it waves now over
the magnificent natural desola-
ton of the moon; it waves, too,
over the terrible, man-made de-
solation of Cleveland, Detroit,
Chicago, and countless other un-
explored American cities. And it
waves still, arrogantly, over
Vietnam.
I need say no more. The con-
trast between words sung and
deeds done is so abrupt as to be
appalling, and now at last as a
nation we are appalled, truly
appalled at what we have done
and are doing to other lands and
other peoples, truly appalled at
what we have done and are do-
ing to our own land and our-
selves. Much more significant-
ly, however, these contrasts
throw into high and hideous re-
lief the fact that one of the
most prominent and pervasive
characteristics of our lives to-
day is violence.
IV
Now in asserting that I do
not mean simply or merely the
spoliation of the land. Neither
do I mean our slaughter of the
innocents on Asia nor the un-
concealed brutalities of every
day life in the United States.
That is violence in the familiar
sense of the word, a violence
immediately recognizable, the
violence of war"&rahcrime, what
the Oxford English Dictionary
defines as "the exercise of
physical force." But there is an-
other meaning to the word, and
although secondary in the Dic-
tionary, it is of primary im-
portance to my theme. Violence
may also mean, and I quote, an
"undue constraint applied to
some natural process so as to ly an extraordinary repudiation a single, simple question, put
vtwairnn^1 i+p /laiTAlAmMAM^1 ^ -C i-l_ t _ — C 1'^ A T J_ i • —
. prevent its free development or
exercise." That is not a violence
to the body; it is a violence to
the spirit. It need not be open;
more often than not it is hid-
den; and it is always bloodless.
It is a violence which while
ostensibly opening even the
highest political office to all,
guarantees success at the polls
at all but the lowest levels only
to men of enormous wealth or
those who would obligate them-
selves to such wealth.
It is a violence which, while
solemnly affirming for all the
right of free speech and indi-
vidual expression, tries too of-
ten and in too many places still
to suppress dissent and impose
conformity.
It is a violence which, while
piously insisting on equality of
opportunity for all, manages
skillfully to deny access to op-
portunity of every conceivable
variety to millions, especially
in our courts and schools.
It is a violence, above all,
wrought on people everywhere
by commercialism. For some
months past a billboard loomed
huge and portentous over Rich-
mond Avenue here in Houston
on which the following com-
mandment was inscribed: "Buy
your next car at Johnny Green's
Chevrolet and be happy." The
perversity and mendacity of
that exhortation sums up, for
me, the violence with which a
commerciailism out of control
continues to distort and destroy
our lives. We know very well
that we will not be happy, just
as we know very well that Su-
zuki won't beat boredom, and
that Listerine won't get us the
girl, even if we use it more
than twice a day, and so forth,
ad nauseam. Yet countless such
statements taunt and torture us
in magazines, on billboards, and
on television. It has been esti-
mated that by now, on the av-
erage, you will have spent be-
tween 15.000 and 20,000 hours
watching television; you will
have been exposed to between
a quarter and a half million
commercials, almost every one
of them telling you that as hu-
man beings your worth is to
be measured primarily, if not
exclusively, in material posses-
sions, in things, in what you
own now or can buy in the fu-
ture, regardless of your need
or capacity. Without these
things, you lack significant di-
mension; you are not the per-
son you could be, or should be.
Buy them, and you will be a
better person.
Every one of these insistent
demands points to a civilization
which blatantly values things
over people, and that priority,
too, reflects what I mean by
the hidden violence, for by it
violence is done to people ev-
erywhere, rich and poor alike.
It is no accident, therefore, that
in a recent survey by the Uni-
versity of Michigan institute for
Society Research interviewers
discovered that most Americans
thought thiat violence meant
acts against property, not peo-
ple.
If we put all these elements
together, look at them, closely
and honestly, and reflect at any
'length on the degree to which
they dominate what is currently
called the quality of our . life,
then there would seem to. be
little, if any, cause for celebra-
tion today.
V
That is rfct so, however. I
have darkened the picture and
underscored its excesses in or-
der to emphasize the fact that
we have been witnessing recent-
of this way of life. Again I do
not mean simply or merely our
response to the war in Vietnam,
although I do not intend to
minimize it; it is" one of the
most decisive, albeit sordid,
events in buy history. I mean
rather a repudiation of the hid-
den violence.
The most dramatic example,
of course, took place last
March when the SST was denied
further funds. The technological
wizardry of a superfluous plane
was finally rejected on the
grounds, not only th'at it just
was not needed, but also be-
cause it was potentially danger-
ous to the invironment, and,
ultimately, to people. In the
long war between machines and
men, it was a notable victory.
But similar instances abound,
less dramatic, to be sure, and
therefore less publicized, but no
less significant. With respect
to the land, all of us will be
able to enjoy the sands and the
ocean off Delaware now that
Governor Petersen has banned
new heavy industry from the
- entire coastline of the state. At
a far remove, in June the city
council passed a law making
Denver the first major city in
the nation to ban all intrusive
signs from its roadways and
buildings. And most quietly, but
in a way most importantly of
all, the Federal Communica-
tions Commission has recently
begun to insist upon an accu-
racy and an honesty in com-
mercials which has caused em-
barrassment and increasing
concern to advertising compan-
ies. What will become of them
if the truth must be told ?
I shall not try your patience
with more examples; they
exist; they increase; they are to
be found everywhere, occasion-
ally only in the finest of print;
but you must look for them and
take heart. Their surface mani-
festations are various, but fun-
damentally all of them, great
and small, individual events or
ongoing movements, are open-
ly, and directly -challenging our
present ways of thinking and
doing. A way of life has, I be-
lieve, exhausted itself, and
deeply felt alternatives at all
levels are emerging. Their ap-
pearance, and the possibility of
a radical transformation in our
values which it foreshadows is
what I mean by the revolution
within. And if, as I am per-
suaded, this revolution will con-
tinue, then we have much to
celebrate during the coming
years.
VI
Against this background of
change, let us turn, then, to
the universities. Gradually at
first, the more recently the
more rapidly, our major insti-
tutions of higher education
since the end of the Second
World War have been trans-
formed by what two disting-
uished sociologists have called
"the academic revolution." By
this, in brief, they mean two
things: first of all, the rise of
the faculties within the uni-
versities to unprecedented and
unparalled power, and second
the consequent emergence with-
in them of professionalism. Su-
perficially this development
would appear to have no bear-
ing on you, but I "shall argue
that it has been of decisive sig-
nificance for your university
careers. How you and your pre-
decessors have, in fact, been ad-
versely affected b£ this profes-
sionalism may be demonstrated
most succinctly by pointing to
the question: "how's your work
coming?" Five disarming words,
every day by one professor to
another, a question reiterated
on campuses throughout the
country. "How's your work
coming?" Let us ask ourselves,
what does the* question mean?
By "work" is meant always re-
search and writing in progress;
it suggests always the most re-
cent book or article or book re-
view which the professor has
written; it not infrequently may
mean the preparation of yet
another request to some* na-
tional or international founda-
tion for more money to support
more research and more writ-
ing to lengthen the list of the
professor's publications. But
"work" rarely means activity in
the classroom; it almost never
refers to the immensely diffi-
cult and demanding business of
teaching; and it has nothing
whatsoever to do with the many
complex problems involved in
communicating with and trying
to satisfy the intellectual needs
and aspirations of the under-
graduate.
"How's your work coming?"
means, furthermore, the near
disintegration of any genuine
academic community, precisely
because the career and the
status of the professor depend
less and less on the individual
institution. His sights are set
elsewhere, far beyond it, on his
professional guild, • to the dis-
tant company of those scholars
and scientists whom, he hopes,
will read what he has publish-
ed, and whenever he wishes, sup-
port his endeavors to move
some place else, more often
than not to an institution where
he can teach less and write
more. "How's your work com-
ing?" The question epitomizes
the professionalism of the pro-
fessors; it sums up as well the
disenfranchisement of the un-
dergraduate from what re-
mains of the academic com-
munity.
At this point please do not
misunderstand me. I am by no
means opposed to the practice
of scholarship, and I am wholly
committed to the intellectual
enterprise of the university.
But the professors have too
much come to regard education
as a matter primarily of train-
ing their scholarly successors.
That, as they understood it,
was the purpose of the univer-
sity. That, as they understood
it, was the ideal, to be realized
particularly, through the in-
crease and expansion of grad-
uate schools and the establish-
ment of specialized research
institutes. If the undergraduate
was to be involved at all, it
would be an involvement in
terms of pre-professional train-
ing. Anything less would repre-
sent, in the words of one of my
former colleagues at Yale, "a
lowering of standards." All
these developments, I cannot
deny, have been gratifying to
the professi'o nitself; they have
been admirably suited to its
perpetuation; they have con-
tributed mightily, in quantity
at least, to the advancement of
learning and the increase of
erudition. But from your point
of view, from the point of view
of millions of undergraduates,
they have had as little to do
with the improvement and en-
hancement of education as one
can possibly imagine. In this
regard, as one eminent scholar
in my own field has put it,
"higher education is now under
judgement by this standard,
and it has been found utterly
and profoundly wanting."
This lack of concern, this in-
(Continued on Page 5)
the rice thresher, September 2. 1971—page 4
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Freed, DeBow. The Rice Thresher (Houston, Tex.), Vol. 59, No. 1, Ed. 1 Thursday, September 2, 1971, newspaper, September 2, 1971; Houston, Texas. (https://texashistory.unt.edu/ark:/67531/metapth245108/m1/4/: accessed July 18, 2024), University of North Texas Libraries, The Portal to Texas History, https://texashistory.unt.edu.; crediting Rice University Woodson Research Center.