Search Results

The triumph of meritocracy at Harvard had social as well as academic and intellectual consequences. It changed the ethnocultural and class structures of both the faculty and the student body. Jews in particular became a substantial, accepted part of the Harvard scene. And in more complex and ambivalent ways, Catholics, women, and African Americans gained in numbers, impact, and visibility. After World War II, meritocratic principles substantially overrode anti- Semitism in the admission of students and the appointment and promotion of faculty. An inquiry into the religious identification of Harvard College students in the mid-1950s revealed that 52 percent identified themselves as Protestants (about 15 percent of these Episcopalian), 12 percent as Catholics, 15 percent as Jews; 20 percent claimed no religious affiliation. Residual discrimination against Jewish applicants arguably lurked within an admissions policy that sought a Harvard class as diverse as possible in geographical origin, social background, and nonacademic talents. But the 1956 admission rate to Harvard from strongly Jewish feeder schools was (with the glaring exceptions of New York City’s Stuyvesant and Erasmus high schools) not too far below the overall Harvard acceptance rate of 43.3 percent of applicants. (Though it may be assumed that the academic record of these candidates was well above the norm.) After World War II, anti-Catholicism like anti-Semitism retreated to the margins of respectability. The religiously inclined Pusey had an ecumenical sympathy for Catholics, substantially reciprocated. And Catholics themselves became more ready to send their sons to Harvard. JFK’s election to the presidency in particular gave the University a cachet among them that all but obliterated the suspicion-ridden past. Catholic undergraduates, substantially greater in numbers than in the prewar years, felt more at home by the 1950s. In 1960 a Catholic Student Center opened adjacent to the campus, with Cardinal Cushing’s encouragement and assistance. The Current, a Catholic student magazine, concluded in the spring of 1963: “we are convinced that Catholics belong at Harvard.”

What place did Harvard College have in the modern University, with its expansive central administration, research-driven faculty, ambitious and high-powered professional schools? A much more important one than this litany of potential threats might suggest. The College remained the most conspicuous and prestigious part of the University. It produced the most generous donors; it outclassed its rivals in attracting the most sought-after students; it exemplified Harvard in the public mind. And it shared in the worldly ambience of the late-twentieth-century University. For decades, Harvard College admissions was a battleground over who would be accepted and on what grounds access would be granted. The admission of Jews was a touchstone issue in the conflict between the Brahmin and meritocratic impulses from the 1920s to the 1950s. Then another problem came to the fore: how to choose a freshman class from a swelling number of qualified applicants. As selection became ever more complex and arcane, the sheer size and quality of the applicant pool enabled the dean of admissions and his staff, rather than the faculty, to define the terms of entry. The result was that classes were crafted to be outstanding in more than purely academic-intellectual terms. Intellectual superstars were a small group of near-certain admits. After that, a solid level of academic ability set an admissions floor, above which character, extracurricular activities, artistic or athletic talent, “legacy” status, and geographical diversity figured in the admissions gene pool. After the 1960s, diversity came to embrace race and gender. Chase Peterson, who was dean of admissions during the tumultuous years from 1967 to 1972, thought that during his time the criteria for selection broadened to include tenacity, perseverance, having learned something deeply and well, social generosity, intellectual openness, and strength of character. A statement on admissions desiderata in the 1990s included “honesty, fairness, compassion, altruism, leadership, and initiative” and stressed: “We place great value in a candidate’s capacity to move beyond the limits of personal achievement to involvement in the life of the community at large.” One of Dean of Admissions Wilbur Bender’s 1950s ideal admits, a “Scandinavian farm boy who skates beautifully,” had better have headed his local skating club or taught skating to inner-city youth if he hoped to get into Harvard at the century’s end.