“The increasing trend toward concentration in Economics…might at first appearances seem to indicate an increased desire on the part of college men to be well acquainted with modern affairs,” opined this page in December 1929. “But unfortunately many of these men are interested in Economics because they believe it to be an open sesame to a fortune.”

At Harvard College, some things never change.

In some four months, the men and women of the class of 2009 will be asked to declare a field of concentration. And, if recent history is any indication, more of them will choose to concentrate in economics than in any other field. The department has boasted a larger undergraduate membership than any other for the last five years; in November 2004 its lead over the government department—its nearest competitor—jumped to 137, from 91 in 2003.

Why do Harvard undergraduates gravitate in such large numbers toward economics? Is it a communal fascination with the theoretical work of Malthus and Ricardo, Smith, and Keynes? Could it be a deep interest in garnering the empirical skill set proffered by this empress of the social sciences before departing to a career of more abstractly conceived pursuits? Though I’ve yet to conduct a study on the question, I’d hazard that neither of these explanations is the correct one. I’m rather inclined to side with The Crimson Staff of 1929; most of the roughly 10 percent of Harvard undergrads who select economics as their field do so in preparation for a career in finance.

Some of these financially inclined economics concentrators have for years wondered aloud why Harvard refuses to offer undergraduate courses in business. Last week, their concerns made the front page of this newspaper, which reported in detail the plight of the 45 undergraduates who this semester made the twice-weekly trek to MIT to take “Corporate Financial Accounting and Reporting.” In the words of one such student, “it would be so much more convenient if Harvard offered an accounting course.”

I agree wholeheartedly with that sentiment; Harvard’s creation of an undergraduate accounting course would certainly convenience scores of students. But it would do so at a real cost. To offer such a vocationally oriented course at Harvard would be a blow to the liberal arts foundations of Harvard’s undergraduate program, which have been rightly protected in the face of moves toward pre-professional courses at peer institutions like Princeton, Columbia, and Yale (all of which now offer courses in accounting to their undergraduates).

Harvard does not and should not offer an accounting course for the same reason that it should not let its students major in musical or theatrical performance. The role of a college is to expose students to a breadth of fields and experiences, not to let them put themselves on a narrow-gauge track toward a specific career.

In criticising many of my peers’ concentration choices, I by no means intend to attack them as people. I would be lying if I were to claim that my own choice of field did not take into consideration my career goals and personal ambitions, however vaguely defined.

I would be very surprised, indeed, to find a student at this college who has not, at some point, encountered that little nagging voice in his head that asks, “How will this course/activity/job/trip look on my résumé?” It’s this subconscious paranoia—engendered, perhaps, by America’s über-competitive college admissions crapshoot—that compels hundreds of Harvardians to choose economics as their field of concentration each year.

So what is to be done? Harvard should not prevent its students from freely choosing a concentration, nor should it curtail cross-registration opportunities at neighboring schools.

The only acceptable course of action, then, is to preserve the status quo; make those students who want to study accounting schlep out to MIT to do so, and let aspiring performers get their training on their own time. A Harvard education is something special—as peer institutions yield to pressure from their students to offer courses in “pre” everything, this College insists that even those students who know their vocational destinies broaden their range of skills and experiences beyond those which are absolutely necessary for the rest of their lives. That, after all, is the most important difference between a real education and mere training.

As loose guidelines for graduate admissions and career placement continue to harden into requirements—ask any pre-med if you don’t believe me—Harvard should take advantage of its position as a leader in higher education to publicly repudiate the narrowing influence of vocational education. I sincerely doubt that recruiters and professional schools will stop hiring and accepting Harvard graduates as a consequence.

And as for the hundreds of freshmen set to choose economics as their concentration at the end of this semester? I’ll leave the final word on their decision to The Crimson Staff of 1930: “Colleges were founded to broaden the young man before he enters on his specialized life work. Thus men who concentrate in Economics to obtain direct preparation for business are under a necessarily narrowing influence and miss what college is supposed to give them.”

Life around here has changed in many ways since May 1930. But if there’s one thing that has stayed the same, it’s the wisdom of The Crimson Staff.

Of 1930, anyway.

Adam Goldenberg ’08 is a social studies concentrator in Winthrop House. His column appears regularly.