Consequently, we second-guess the motives of those who spend "too much" time on academics: Students who incessantly ask questions in lecture are brown-nosers, pre-meds who study on weekends are anal, gov-jocks who thrive on the Federalist papers are future political wannabe's. Academic earnestness is often meet with scathing criticisms of social climbing. The oft-repeated statement that "Harvard would be so much better if we didn't have classes" is a pithy reflection of our ironic attitude.

In our Houses, there is a noticeable chasm between those who sincerely share a sense of House community and those who bitterly remain on the outside. Those in the former group also happen to spend their time organizing House events or serving on House committees. These students are genuine in their House love because their House and extracurricular circles seamlessly coincide.

But for those on the outside--the ironists--there is a nagging skepticism of whether the idea of a House can work at all. In the face of randomization, and most recently, the reduction of blocking group sizes, Houses have become superficial mixing grounds before trotting off to a club meeting.

"The great fear of the ironist," writes Purdy, "is being caught out having staked a good part of his all on a false hope." In some sense, our earnestness for extracurricular achievement has sapped our zeal for academic and House life.

Devoting time to those activities and pursuits we have chosen is a safe bet. But at the same time, this makes it harder to embrace a House we did not choose or an academic course of study that, practically speaking, means little compared to the weight of a Harvard diploma. Ignoring these hopes completely--hopes which may or may not turn out to be false--signifies the ironist's triumph.

Richard S. Lee '01 is a social studies concentrator in Pforzheimer House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.