* * *

Between Erikson's adolescent and the Commonwealth's responsible man stands Harvard University in all its flawless glory. She has stood for three hundred and twenty-five years and shows no sign of weakness. Time has given her a certain grace and even gentleness; she is too self assured not to be humble. But the adolescent freshman learns very quickly that if he wants to play her game, he must play by her rules.

For some Harvard men the sudden acquisition of responsibility--the responsibility to choose courses, to arrange his own finances, to keep his laundry clean, to discover friends, to choose a major, to decide what he will be for the rest of his life--is not the spark to academic action but to contemplation. Unless he is driven by a need to achieve (usually inspired by his parents), and unless he has the strength to persevere in his work while he follows his thoughts, he is likely to commit what will turn out to be academis suicide. (Of all colleges, Harvard grants the greatest freedom, and is therefore the cause of the deepest irresponsibility.)

If he is frightened enough to pass, his grades are still likely to fall far below his potential. His confrontation with the CRIMSON or the HDC or the Bick or Widener is likely to open a path of socially acceptable indifference to academic work, to help him form the habits that turn him into what Amherst calls a consistent "under-achiever."

"Why," he wants to know, "should I work at all?" He wants to know the "meaning" or "the intrinsic value" of his "General" Education courses, of the Physical Training Program, of work in general. Indifference breeds contempt. About what does his freshman advisor advise him? It is likely that the advisor won't know much about undergraduate courses and won't care much about undergraduates. And there is no reason for him to care; he is worried about writing a thesis, advancing academically, and getting married.

The student may feel he should begin to learn what a mature relationship with a female is. The complexities of the necessary self-flagellation and perhaps even experience are enough to keep him from treating Gen Ed A with all the seriousness it deserves.

His course papers begin to be late; he is overdrawn at the bank; his room starts to look like a laundry bin; overdue library books pile up in corners; study cards aren't handed in; he has given way to his suicidal urges.

If he doesn't actually fail out of school, he is still likely to have a series of interviews with a member of the Administration, probably a Freshman Dean or a Senior Tutor. It is unlikely that his interview will be especialy revealing:

"John, I've been looking over your record, and you must realize that your work isn't up to the standards we expected of you. . . ."

"Yes, sir."

"Well, what do you think the reasons are?"

"I don't know. I guess I've had a hard time getting adjusted."

"Do you think your work will improve?"

"Oh, I think so, sir."

"Well, remember, it may be a big help to talk your problems out. If there's any tutor you're close to, or if you'd like to see a psychiatrist . . ."