Wednesday was a good day for Harvard. Financial magnate John A. Paulson pledged a record $400 million to the School of Engineering and Applied Sciences, which will establish a permanent endowment as the school prepares for its move to new Allston facilities.

But the announcement was not without criticism. Author Malcolm Gladwell laid into Paulson’s choice to give to Harvard, tweeting: “It came down to helping the poor or giving the world’s richest university $400 mil it doesn’t need.” Dylan Matthews ’12, a former Crimson editor, wrote in Vox that giving to Ivy League schools altogether is “a gigantic, immoral waste of money.” Perhaps most surprising were the numerous criticisms by Harvard’s own students over social media—one on Facebook calling the university “literally the most undeserving [place] of this money.”

To their credit, Harvard’s $36 billion endowment, as the University continues its $6 billion capital campaign, is not in dire straits compared to other causes. Still, the logic of criticizing Paulson fails on two fronts.

The criticism first neglects the practical value of giving to SEAS. Engineering schools have historically proven pretty valuable to society. In the 1950s, Columbia’s engineering program yielded research that was the basis for the first mass production of antibiotics. In the 1970s, Stanford produced the first microprocessor, which paved the way for computing and communications breakthroughs that we take for granted. And in the past decade, MIT’s labs have given us the first biomedical prosthetic devices.

Precisely because of donations, whether small or eye-popping, universities have a unique capability to advance the public’s interests. Whether in medicine, renewable energy, infrastructure, or any other domain, Paulson’s gift makes it more likely that Harvard will become the next hotbed of innovation and pioneer the next breakthrough.

Furthermore, precisely because of donations, Harvard can serve a broader array of students. Detractors love to argue that Harvard is a bastion of privilege and that donations only benefit an elite echelon. But the reality is that about 60 percent of students receive financial aid and that, without generous gifts, Harvard would not be able to serve nearly as many low-income students. The only way to continue expanding the university’s demographics is by building on the endowment.

Earlier this year, Gerald L. Chan donated $350 million to the tune of zero criticism—largely because his donation was to the School of Public Health. The very term public health screams public good in a way that engineering and applied sciences simply doesn’t.

Critics forget that SEAS, and, indeed, each of Harvard’s schools, similarly contribute to larger society. The mission of SEAS explicitly pledges to “educate future engineers” so that they can “apply their discoveries to make a positive impact in the world.” As the school prepares to reshape itself with its move to Allston, there could not be a better time to further this cause.

The second reason Paulson’s critics are misguided is more fundamental and something Malcolm Gladwell must already know: the inherent value of higher education. American philosopher John Dewey said, “Education is not preparation for life; education is life itself.” Paulson said at the announcement ceremony, “There is nothing more important to improve humanity than education.”

Whether their endowments are $36 billion or $36 million, universities embody this human proclivity to be curious, exploratory, and innovative. This value is more abstract and less urgent than others. But because of education’s inherent worth, forgetting it altogether is its own crime.

There are countless causes beyond higher education. But by criticizing Paulson’s gift, Gladwell and others put forward a model for charity that is far too shortsighted. It asserts that if conditions don’t improve today, it is not worth giving. Unfortunately, this fast-paced mentality can only slow down the wheels of human progress in the long run.

By criticizing Paulson’s gift, one neglects both the practical and intrinsic value of his contribution. And perhaps more importantly, one forgets that he did not have to give in the first place.

Aaron J. Miller ’18 is a Crimson editorial writer living in Currier House.