Philosophy

Friends,

In the early eighties, a man called Edward B. Fiske, then a reporter with The New York Times published a report called The New York Times Selective Guide to American Colleges, 1982-1983 (1982). At this time the United States had almost two thousand institutions calling themselves four-year colleges awarding bachelor's degrees. Fiske's operating premise seemed to have been that in a world in which the word 'institute' had lost its meaning, it was a fair bet that the words 'college' and 'university,' may have also lost their currency (1).

Fiske set out to identify the "best and most interesting" of American institutions of higher learning. He used a rating system of five to one stars. A school had to get at least one star to get on the list of worthwhile organizations of post secondary education. He rated things like academic quality, social activity, and "quality of life." Fiske's investigations led him to conclude that only 265 of the 2000, were even worthy of even one star (2). This left more than 1700 left unmentioned. We'll come back to those 1700 in a moment.

A lot of the 265 got only one or two stars. One of these that got two stars was Syracuse University. The result came, in part, from questionnaires filled out by students, as well as private interviews conducted with them. Fiske had to conclude:

"classes are large."

"registration is a mess."

"the library... is understocked."

"admission standards tend not to be very rigorous."

"varsity sports are big."

Also the opinion came back that too much teaching was done by graduate students (3). Pretty damning. But remember, Syracuse at least made the list of 265 worthy institutions of higher learning.

Where does this leave the other 1,728 other organizations calling themselves universities?

Paul Fussell wrote: "Educational opportunity" opened up by the process of verbal inflation, by promoting, that is, numerous normal schools, teacher's colleges, provincial "theological" seminaries, trade schools, business schools, and secretarial institutes to the name and status of "universities," thus conferring on them an identity they were by no means equipped to bear, or even understand... What was happening in the 1960s was simply an acceleration of a process normal in this country - inflation, hyperbole, bragging... Here it's as natural for every college to want to be a university as for every employee to want to be an "executive," and every executive a vice president" (4).

They were, no doubt, encouraged in this by an ocean of federal money. And by the way, this situation is not unlike what is happening today, as we speak almost. You may recall recently that New York missed out on millions of dollars of federal money because of the state's cap on the number of charter schools it allows. Both Governor Patterson and Mayor Bloomberg were very upset about this.

So, more than seventeen hundred schools calling themselves universities, with all that implies, were, in fact - and I suppose a great many still are - bloated secretarial and trade schools. Do you know what this is like?

Suppose you have a professional boxer. He's five-ten and his natural body type is such that he has always fought at the lightweight (135 lb), super lightweight or junior welterweight (140 lb), or, at most occasionally the welterweight (147 lb).

This fighter has had a long career, in both the amateurs and the pros. Golden Gloves champion, the whole routine. Having started in the pros as a young man in his early twenties, he has fought forty or fifty professional bouts and beaten everybody of significance. He's won several titles.

Now he is bored, not quite ready to retire. But he's tired of beating on this latest string of club fighters and journeymen they are now putting before him.

Suddenly our friend, let's call him Murray, becomes aware of a fighter everybody is saying is the next great thing. Sports writers and commentators are tripping over themselves praising him - let's call him Brotherman. They say Brotherman hits like George Foreman and dances like Fred Astaire, and so forth.

Brotherman has just won the undisputed cruiserweight (195 lb) title. People are saying that Brotherman might very well be the "best fighter pound-for-pound." Every professional boxer wants to be considered the best pound-for-pound.

Murray becomes a bit miffed at this. What about him? What about all he's accomplished? Why, he put the lightweight division on the map. And yet, he is intrigued at the same time.

Murray checks out Brotherman. Murray admits that the Brotherman is good; however Murray is sure he can take him. Brotherman is the only challenge still worthy of Murray's talents. Knocking out Brotherman and taking his cruiserweight unified title represents the biggest payday he will ever have. Even if he loses... but Murray won't lose, of course.

The deal is made and Murray starts training and packing on the pounds. The day of the fight comes and Murray drags a body that is more than fifty pounds heavier than he's ever been in his life to the center of the ring to stare at his opponent, Brotherman, who is looking down at him from an advantage of four inches, at six-two, looking comfortable at a chiseled 207 punds.

Murray acquits himself skillfully and courageously. But he's beaten decisively over nine rounds before Brotherman takes him out of the fight by landing a sinister left hook to the ribs.

Murray is on the canvass. Beating the count of ten is the least of his cares. He's just hoping his lungs don't explode.

Many things may be said in the post mortem of the fight.