Cato and I

My last column but one, 'A Plan's Pitfalls,' generated a large correspondence that elicited from me promises to follow up on the great grade-inflation "debate." So even though it is old news, here it is.

I don't pretend to have too many lines from Lucan off by heart, but one I know for certain: "Victrix causa deis placuit, sed victa Catoni." This is a line remembered in various second-rate musical, dramatic, and visual monuments of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, and inscribed on the tombstones of various Romantic Big Losers of the same eras — including, I believe, that of General Robert E. Lee. It means, roughly, "The cause of the victors was pleasing to the gods, but that of the vanquished to Cato."

In the bloody Civil War of first century before Christ, Cato of Utica was a Roman general of obnoxious rectitude, fiercely loyal to the principles of the early Republic, who in 46 B.C.E. preferred suicide to submission to the political and military might of the proto-fascist putschist Julius Caesar. Despite two facts — that Cato was a pre-Christian Stoic, and that self-destruction is definitely a no-no in medieval Catholic theology — Dante was so overwhelmed by Cato's virtue that he made him the maitre d' of Purgatory! The so-called "Letters of Cato," a collection of political essays of republican and libertarian tendency published in eighteenth-century London, were widely admired by many of the founders of our nation.

Cato is my guy, too. One of my principal ceremonial roles on this campus is now and again to search out some lost cause, then to throw myself upon my sword in its quixotic defense, and then finally to utter a few expiring words into the outstretched microphone of the 'Prince' while the sand reddens with my blood. At Monday's big faculty "debate" on the grading proposals I was allowed only the sword, not the dying words. The whole meeting was carefully orchestrated by various deans, chairs and other Gnomes of Nassau, whose magical powers far exceed those of the Gnomes of Zurich. Indeed it was the G. Gnome himself who spontaneously moved to stifle further debate before President Tilghman had found an opportunity to recognize me or indeed most of the large number of people who were risking dislocated shoulders in their attempts to attract her attention.

Not that it would have made a Caton-picking bit of difference if she had. A college professor in the throes of conversion to high standards is a terrible thing to behold. The high standards of the faculty, having been dammed up all these years by obscure forces of laxity and mental slovenliness, suddenly broke through with the ferocity of the Johnstown Flood. Their power was probably irresistible.

Former president Robert Goheen used to give the following wise counsel: "Never be more than 80% right about any issue." I try to follow it when possible, however it may cut against the grain of my natural certitude, and going into the meeting I was no more than 75 percent against the proposals. It was only when it became apparent just how thoroughly the fix was in that the proportion of my opposition rose to 127 percent.

My final feeble Catonian gesture, an attempt to defend the exercise of unconstrained conscience through a secret ballot, fell before the superior forensic skills of the provost-elect, who thinks that secret ballots pertain not to healthy democracy but to morbid "speculation." Exciting days await us. I eagerly anticipate the next tenure discussion in the English Department, as we gather with our placards around the sundial.

But Jesus hates a sore loser. "Some natural tears I dropped, but wiped them soon." I take a Providential view, and therefore one serene and irenic. This whole thing, after all, was about percentages — how we could set the quota, or "expectation" of excellence, at 35 percent. There were 156 votes in favor of the proposal, and 84 against it, making a total of 240 faculty votes cast. Now oddly enough, 84 is exactly 35 percent of 240. Thus I reluctantly have to admit that despite all my initial misgivings, the system has worked perfectly in its first test run. That is, exactly 35 percent of the faculty earned a grade of A. At the same time I am morally certain that of the 65 percent of my colleagues failing to demonstrate "excellence," there were many — probably even very many — bunched together in a glutinous mass toward the very top of the B+.