Spring Break
Collaborating with others could actually solve problems
Alex McElroy
Issue date: 4/30/09 Section: Forum
Sunday, The New York Times ran an article by Mark C. Taylor proposing a dramatic shift in the current university system. In it, he argues against graduate programs, claiming that they encourage students to focus on subjects with little real-world demand, leaving them indebted to their education without a job market willing to replenish their pocket.
Taylor gives six steps for improvement, his most interesting being the combination of separate disciplines. In his new university, individual departments would transform into "problem-focused programs," where students from multiple backgrounds would unite to solve specific troubles.
But is this situation possible, or is it just Taylor's projection of Utopia University?
Sure, pooling intellectuals and assigning dilemmas is all well and good, but it sounds an awful lot like renegade superheroes ignoring past differences to unite and take down a powerful villain. In theory, it's great; not only will our most-educated have something to do with themselves, but they'll solve all those annoying crises pertaining to clean water and natural resources.
But can we really expect humans to forgo personal desires for the good of the future? It's in our nature to focus on what we believe in while leaving the problems of other disciplines to those in that specialty. Asking people to share what they've spent hours learning rings too close to socialism in our Freedemocratic nation.
Denying the importance of our own personal education, the tattoo of one's unique interest, would question one's exclusive existence. Haven't we been told our entire life that it's our humor, intellect or athletic ability that makes us a beautifully delicate and exceptional flower?
But therein lies the problem: we aren't beautifully delicate and exceptional flowers. Sure, our personalities are different - some jokes we find funnier than our friends do - but that has little to do with our potential.
The college process is the perfect example of education stimulated by ambivalence. How many of us have changed majors only to realize that our new focus still isn't what we want to do for the rest of our lives? The concentration next to my name has little in common with the dietetics degree that led me here.
Taylor gives six steps for improvement, his most interesting being the combination of separate disciplines. In his new university, individual departments would transform into "problem-focused programs," where students from multiple backgrounds would unite to solve specific troubles.
But is this situation possible, or is it just Taylor's projection of Utopia University?
Sure, pooling intellectuals and assigning dilemmas is all well and good, but it sounds an awful lot like renegade superheroes ignoring past differences to unite and take down a powerful villain. In theory, it's great; not only will our most-educated have something to do with themselves, but they'll solve all those annoying crises pertaining to clean water and natural resources.
But can we really expect humans to forgo personal desires for the good of the future? It's in our nature to focus on what we believe in while leaving the problems of other disciplines to those in that specialty. Asking people to share what they've spent hours learning rings too close to socialism in our Freedemocratic nation.
Denying the importance of our own personal education, the tattoo of one's unique interest, would question one's exclusive existence. Haven't we been told our entire life that it's our humor, intellect or athletic ability that makes us a beautifully delicate and exceptional flower?
But therein lies the problem: we aren't beautifully delicate and exceptional flowers. Sure, our personalities are different - some jokes we find funnier than our friends do - but that has little to do with our potential.
The college process is the perfect example of education stimulated by ambivalence. How many of us have changed majors only to realize that our new focus still isn't what we want to do for the rest of our lives? The concentration next to my name has little in common with the dietetics degree that led me here.
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