Many faculty members consider the precept system the most important single aspect of Princeton education. E. Harris Harbison, Henry Charles Lea Professor of History, calls it the "ideal Socratic method in which the student does not learn by having it pounded into him but instead by working out the idea under the fire of his contemporaries." Harbison also emphasized the value of the intimate association of professor and pupil on the basis of fellow-students rather through the artificial system of lectures and recitations. Princeton's faculty is so sold on the precept, says Harbison, that it has become the "heart of the upperclass course," with the lectures and the reading secondary.

Restricted Courses

Another important aspect of the curriculum is the restriction of the amount of courses offered to students. A look at the Princeton catalogue shows that there are only about half the number of courses in corresponding departments at Harvard. The basis for this policy again goes back to Wilson who felt a need for a counterbalance to the free-elective system, originated at Harvard by President Eliot and spread through other universities. As Wilson saw it, Harvard under Eliot had performed the function of liberation, but had left education in disorder. Wilson decided that it was Princeton's job to take the lead in recoordination. The policy of the University ever since has been to allow the student to choose departments as he pleases but then to restrict his choice within the department by drastically limiting the number of courses available.

This restriction of courses, however, is not the restriction which seems to be bothering the Princetonians. Most seem to be pretty satisfied with their academic life; the gripes and dissent come up about other prohibitions entirely.

In the budding quiet of late April, Princeton was jolted by two major upheavels. One, the Joe Sugar riot, swept through the town, brought ill-feeling among townspeople for a time, and passed over. The second revolt crept into public notice in a relatively obscure way: through the mail columns of the Daily Princetonians.The writer of the original letter, name withheld by request, began the whole turor. "I'm sending my son to Williams," NWBR announced, "because by 1980 Princeton will be a glorified prep school, revered by 3000 grinds and namby-pambys . . . To make Princeton over into an intellectual haven, the little men in Nassan Hall have two things they must do. First they must keep the Princeton students here on campus. Second, they must give them nothing to do at Princeton except study."

Though stressing that nothing so heinous as an "intellectual haven" was intended the Dean's Office did not categorically deny the last charges Dean of the College. Francis B. Godolphin said that in his view, "Though there are no restrictions on leaving the campus you don't get full aspect of a Princeton education if you spend as much time as possible away from the University."

A freshman, agreeing with the Dean's stand, added ammunition to the ascetics' arsenal by writing: "It seems some people are more interested in the superficial outward graces that make up the educated Charlie and future man of the world. The ability to balance a drink at a party and be able to name a good scotch are very possibly attributes which every Charlie should know, but this is not the education that Princeton offers the applicant."

No Compensations

And so the controversy rages on. The Charlie blustering for Harvard's late parietal rules and automobile access, the ascetic reveling in the restrictions which bring the class together in the common pasttime of study. And it is the ascetic who seems to be winning--at least in the Dean's Office. "It is," one professor remarked, "a far cry from F. Scott Fitzgerald."

So far the controversy has not spread to the Admissions office; the Deans admit the most qualified applicants little knowing which type they're getting. William B. Craig, assistant Director of Admissions, emphasizes that policy in his office rarely changes. Just one decade ago, distribution in the entering classes was top-heavy with private school graduates. 80 per cent of the early 1940 classes were from prep schools; the figure is down now 55 per cent. "Many people, particularly our own graduates, think we are making special compensations for high school boys," Craig said. "This is not true."

Craig said that the Admissions office had no sympathy with a Princetonian editorial of last term which suggested that a screening committee weed out the applicants who would not benefit fully from a Princeton education. "It was very unfortunate publicity, of course," Craig said. "The Princetonian tried to weasel out of it by saying it was just one statement of current opinion run, because of lack of space, in the editorial column. It wasn't a very good weasel."

Upon admission to the college, the freshman is faced not only with the prohibitive list of "Thou shalt nots" but one important "Thou shalt." Every other week, the underclassman must rouse himself for church services. Compulsory chapel is one leg of what Dodds calls "a three-legged stool of religion." The Student Christian Association and the College's own Department of Religion are the other two braces of Princetonian program. A student can contract out of the compulsory chapel only by going to the Dean and saying that he is satisfied by no religious belief and cannot in conscience attend services.

One of the reasons for compulsory chapel, in addition to the feeling that religion is an important part of humanistic teachings, is the class unity it builds. Officials have different reasons for stressing solidarity among members of each class. Dodds sees the bond as a substitute for Harvard's House system which draws undergraduates together.

Dean Godolphin says that in the interest of promoting class spirit the Dean's Office is willing to make some concessions. Not only from a social standpoint is unity desirable, however. "Molding the class is partly to aid in the good, old tough job of fund raising," Godolphin says.

Whether it is due to class fellowship, compulsory chapel, or, most likely, to early indoctrination into the tradition, Princeton functions with efficiency and mutual trust under the honor system. Princetonians are proud of the success of the system in examinations.

Maybe the aura of loyalty and honor blinds the freshman to the supposedly barren nature of his life. At any rate, it is usually not until upperclass years that the Princeton first debates the merit of Charlie over Ascetic. When he does rebel, however, it seems to be with the energy of a closely-caged tiger. He wants his liquor, his car, and his Sex After Seven, and no assurances from the deans will convince him that abstinence is the best policy.

And so the pulling continues: from Cambridge a wishful tug toward Princeton's established emphases on College. Humanities, and Religion; from New Jersey, a hearty pull for the unrestricted life of the local college man