David Brooks’ New York Times column “The Big Test” posed a gripping query: When we take it upon ourselves to change or even rebuild society, what knowledge — and by extension, what right — do we possess which our predecessors did not? This question takes on great relevance, I think, as we consider how to shape this centuries-old institution that has produced so many luminaries. We hear cries for change at Princeton all the time, but how do we decide what really needs changing?
I admit that the old adage “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” doesn’t fully fit, as the definition of “broke” varies from generation to generation. Past all-white, all-male graduating class compositions did not draw much protest; today, we would find such a student body makeup an abomination. The University cannot cease to evolve, and, clearly, Princeton’s “founding fathers” didn’t know everything.
At the same time, however, the old saying may have some merit. If we were to alter all those policies causing distress to the student body, we run the risk of being left with severed chains to that legacy which drew many of us here in the first place. In other words, if this University has done so well, clearly the founding fathers — or at least somebody over the years — knew something. A self-confessed bleeding-heart liberal, I haven’t always had the greatest reverence for tradition, but when I contrast the unceasing criticisms seen even in this paper with the awe we’ve all felt at some point in realizing we take classes in the same room in which F. Scott Fitzgerald ’17 sat, I am humbled, and my complaints diminished.
Perhaps we are too quick to complain of all that could be done to “improve” our situation. Looking to decisions which have historically drawn criticism — the institution of senior theses, the creation of the Wilson School, the precept system — and comparing past indignation to my feelings today, I wonder if some of the policies which ruffle my feathers — like grade deflation or particular distribution requirements — are in fact cornerstones of the Princeton experience and manifestations of principles which have made our school what it is. In our youthful haste for progress, it may well be that we have succumbed to arrogant nearsightedness.
We shoulder two interlinked burdens: the responsibility to uphold our legacy and the responsibility to be an example for social improvement and modesty (especially by being unafraid to alter our approaches). But in the absence of clear guidelines delineating how to chart and propagate change — “In 2009, you will have to introduce a new residential college,” “In 2012, demand for reversing the grade deflation policy will swell” — we are left to that nebulous, frustrating need for case-by-case, painstaking consideration. We must determine which decisions enhance or rightfully redirect Princeton’s mission and those that inefficiently detract from the essence of our intellectual excellence, constant exploration and unique cultural character. This essence and history must be carefully considered before we make our fervent cries for change.
So to return to my earlier question spurred by Mr. Brooks’s article — what knowledge do we have that our predecessors don’t — the best answer may be that we don’t have more knowledge, but we also don’t have less. Privy to an education granted through the mistakes of our predecessors, we must simultaneously remember that our actions too are fallible and will provide the same counter-example for our successors. This cannot paralyze us from action, nor should it liberate us to haphazardly change things at will. Instead, we must proceed, cautiously but not timidly, recalling that tradition has become tradition for a reason — and that, above all, commitment to Princetonian principles must triumph, whether through reform or retention.
Neha Goel is a sophomore from San Francisco. She can be reached at ngoel@princeton.edu.
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