THE MODERN state makes order out of all things. Passion gives way to reason, chaos to structure. Play, to the extent there is such a thing, is to be regulated. Disneyland is the supreme expression of this ethic. In that pre-fabricated funland, the funhouse attendant can tell you exactly how long you will be waiting before you are allowed to enter. Even fun can be planned right down to the last second.

Disneyland can be an enjoyable place to visit, but the spirit which guides Disneyland--that play can be managed--is an invidious one. It's also a philosophy beginning to hold such sway over the minds of officials of the state that more spontaneous displays of public enjoyment are starting to seem dangerous.

This context helps explain why the MDC reacted with such seemingly unprovoked ire to the prospect of students celebrating on the banks of the Charles. What is a traditional celebration in the city now seems terrifying. There has been no increase in unruly behavior, no upturn in arrests. There has been a change in perception. That change has come about because of a new conception of what public events should be like. It is a pattern which can be traced across the country.

First, the Fourth of July celebration on The Mall in Washington, D.C. Recently, the traditional day-long concert featuring the Beach Boys and good deal of drinking was replaced by tame performances from the best musicians the armed services had to offer.

The police and public officials didn't want some 500,000 people drinking together right in front of the Capitol. Foremost among the complaints by the city government was that all those people made a big mess. Keep off the grass people, this is a city.

MORE RECENTLY, the aversion to public showings of spontaneous, uncontrolled fun has made its way into the lockerrooms of major league baseball. Last fall, victorious Mets players took the traditional clubhouse champagne party out onto the pitchers mound. The rulers of baseball didn't like that and plans already are underway to keep this year's dousing behind closed doors.

Ironically, today's baseball players are far more tame than those of old. The Babe thought nothing of bragging about his gluttony, nor did Mantle try to hide his drinking. But moments of true emotional celebration are no longer greeted with a smile. Spontaneous outbursts must be kept behind close doors; in public, good citizens behave with reserve. Consequently, it's deemed better to have the players brought onto a pre-built reception stage to recite truisms to the television cameras about the joys of victory.

CAMBRIDGE, THEN, is only the latest victim. Officials plan to put forth a massive showing of police force to deter excessive exuberance. If the intimidation fails, the Head of the Charles will become a memory.

For a long period in American history, public celebrations were rowdy and raucus. One means of citizens claiming public space was for them to have fun in it in a less than orderly way. Drink was an integral part of daily life, but even more importantly, those public occasions were by no means tame. Their purpose was to provide a chance for the public to come together as people having fun, rather than as citizens playing the part of observers in a well-planned event.

However, increasingly, public events in our country have become nothing more than examples of the fine art of crowd control. The celebrations have become homages to the state less than events for the people.

The 1984 Olympics was run impeccably. That is precisely the problem. Similarly, the Statute of Liberty celebration was a highly organized event, and Harvard's own 350th celebration showed the power of organizers to overpower the presence of their guests.

Spontaneous public events are going the way of the past, to be replaced by more official, better planned mass events. As they become the dominant from of public expression it is inevitable that the less rigid old-style from of public meeting will be viewed negatively. How else can one explain the MDC's vastly over blown fears of rampant hooliganism at the Head of the Charles.