T.C.U.’s great moment on the field last weekend coincides
with a low off the field: It said it would erect a statue of Coach Gary
Patterson. There are no statues on the T.C.U. campus of scientists, writers or
philosophers, but generations of students will be expected to venerate a jock.
It’s bad enough when large public universities present themselves as sports
meccas first, educational institutions second. Now this worldview is spreading
to a midsized private college at T.C.U., which has 209 staff members in its
athletic department versus 43 staff members in its history department.
Per
Wikipedia, TCU was founded in 1873 by brothers Addison
and Randolph Clark. They “nourished a
vision for an institution of higher education that would be Christian in
character, but non-sectarian in spirit and intellectually open-minded.” TCU’s claim to fame, some 140-odd years
later, is its sports program. More specifically, it’s famous for its football
team.
In addition to Coach Gary Patterson, three other men are
enshrined in bronze on campus: the
aforementioned Clark brothers and philanthropist Charles Tandy. As noted, by Easterbrook, there are no
statues of scholars. More tellingly,
there are no statues of religious leaders either.
Unfortunately, this appears to be but a totem of a larger
problem.
J.F. Sargent, writing in
Cracked’s inimitable style, points out:
Varsity sports are fucking a big, bloody hole right in the
center of the American education system, and laughing the entire time. If we
did away with all varsity sports -- yes,
all of it, today -- the world would be a better place. I'm serious, why do
we play sports in college at all? What's the fucking purpose? Aren't those
supposed to be schools? Aren't we supposed to be teaching people about the real
world?
"But sports bring in money!" you spit desperately
at your computer screen. No, they don't: Sports teams are actually massive
financial drains on their colleges, with only 10 percent turning a profit. Most
colleges end up more like the University of Michigan, which lost $7 million
over two seasons.
"But that's good for the college's prestige!" you
cry deliriously, flapping your elbows like bird wings and rubbing peanut butter
on your exposed chest (it's so easy
to make you sound ridiculous when I'm describing you, and also you're
fictional). Ah yes, you poor fool, you've fallen directly into my trap: Sports
have no correlation with academic prestige. Ivy League schools consistently
suck at sports, refusing to award scholarships for athletics or compromise academic
standards, and that's never stopped them from being Ivy League fucking schools. So sports are less a source of prestige and more of an alternative to it. So unless you can
tell me how the $450 million spent renovating this stadium at Texas A&M
University wouldn't have been better directed toward, say, the faculty or
academic resources, I'll just stick with the fact that college sports are awful
and can go to hell.
Sargent’s point that schools use sports as an alternative
source for social prestige is brilliant.
In fact, it makes perfect sense in light of the American social order.
Intellectual elitism, by its nature, is rare and difficult
to attain. Less than 3% of the
population will be significantly smarter than average (i.e. at least two
standard deviations smarter than average).
Less than 18% will be generally smarter than average (i.e. at least one
standard deviation smarter than average).
Additionally, intellectually accomplishments aren’t easily understood by
the less intelligent. In turn, the less
intelligent are less inclined to celebrate intellectual accomplishments due to
their inaccessibility, thus making intelligence less socially prestigious than
more easily understood status markers, like wealth, beauty and athleticism.
Thus, it should come as no surprise that as college
enrollment has radically increased in America, schools have dumbed down their
curricula, lowered their admission standards, and have used employment
placement and sports accomplishment as their two main tools for recruiting new
students since dollar signs and final scores are more readily understood by the
less intelligent (i.e. common) than, say, the meaning of being a national merit
scholarship winner. The dumbing down of
education is really the result of democratizing education. It could never be the case that most people
would possess an elite intelligence, and thus it was inevitable that expanding the
offer of a college education to the masses would result in an institutional
transformation that would bring colleges in alignment with the main concerns of
the masses: money and sports.
TCU, and institutions of higher learning in general, provide
us with a fascinating word of warning.
Institutions are but fragile shells. They are more likely to be
transformed than be transformative, especially when those in charge of an
institution forget this very simple truth:
an institution is a reflection of its members.
If you allow a large number of commoners to join a college,
the college will soon reflect the interests and passions of the commoners. If you allow hedonists to join your school en masse, it will soon develop a
reputation for being a party school. If
you only allow those who are intellectually-minded and serious about pursuing a
higher education, you will maintain your reputation as an institution of higher
learning.
There are many implications to be drawn from this, two of
which stand out from the rest.
First, if you wish to establish an institution that will
function exactly as you intend, you must be extremely selective about who is
allowed to join it. In short, people
matter. It’s not enough for someone to
be technically competent at filling a role.
They must also have a very similar set of beliefs, desires, goals and aims
as you. They must share an identity with
you, your system, and your goals.
Orthodoxy is as important as orthopraxy.
Second, you must have an exit strategy. There are only two good options: shut it down or train your replacement. Shutting it down is self-explanatory; I won’t
belabor the point. If you wish for your
institution to continue on even after you can no longer run it, you must pick
someone who is committed and trustworthy to replace you. Not only that, you must train him to be as
much like you as he can. You must make
him your disciple and, most importantly, emphasize to him that he is to do the
same when it is his time to step down, and so on ad inifinitum.
I suspect that a lot good institutions fail because the
founders of the institutions did not take pains to establish a strong tradition
for their successors to follow and imprint on the subsequent generations. They failed to establish and maintain a strong
institutional identity that transforms those who join it. Because they could not change others, others changed
them.