My desire to work usually follows the same pattern every semester. At the beginning I am attentive, I turn all my work in on time and am wary about falling behind with assignments. This slowly gives way to an understanding of just how much work I really need to do to get by. In the last few weeks of the semester I undergo a period of self-imposed psychosis: I spend hours lying prostrate on the floor rereading the same lines until finally—foolishly feeling analogous to Meursault from Camus’ The Stranger—I feel utterly indifferent to the obligations my college work demands of me.

I don’t delude myself into thinking that there is anything honorable about my current lack of enthusiasm in school. Like all people privileged enough to have always been assured a place in an educational institution, it is hard to truly understand the extent to which formal education is a blessing.

But my present state of mind makes me wonder what is preferable about a formal education in comparison to that of an autodidact—a self-educated individual.

In his autobiography, Malcolm X claims, “prison enabled me to study far more intensively than I would have if my life had gone differently and I had attended some college. I imagine that one of the biggest troubles with colleges is there are too many distractions, too much panty-raiding, fraternities, and boola-boola and all of that.” While Bowdoin may not have so much “panty-raiding” (unless it does and I’m simply not being invited), social, extracurricular, and narcotic distractions to academics generally abound in a college environment.

For some, the greatest education offered by a college lies in exactly those distractions, and the lessons that can be learned from other students. But in terms of academia, perhaps the most difficult aspect of reconciling institutional education with unhindered creative exploration is the larger educational framework in which professors must operate. By attending Bowdoin, we are expected to be taught certain skills that prepare us for graduate school and the highly structured discourse it entails. The act of simply going to a college seems to promote a sort of systematic method of thought, one that we learn to conform to in order to achieve the highest marks.

While this encourages a certain form of intellectual thought, it also methodizes the way students think. The variety of potential thought processes is normalized, and the comparative advantages from those methods of thinking are diminished. Would it not be most beneficial to the individual and to society as a whole if each student specialized his/her own form of thought fitting to how they learn best?

Letter grades make for a variety of motives for achieving high marks. It may be to reassure parents that their money is not going to waste at such an expensive institution. Some students undoubtedly are also interested in more utilitarian prospects. Despite the stigma surrounding liberal arts education, the money to be made from getting into the best graduate schools and entering lucrative professions is alluring. Mostly though, I think all of us have grown accustomed to grades acting as indicators of our aptitude and accomplishment.

In reality the accomplishment we feel is constructed by a system separate from our bodies; a standard of thought in which some may flourish best while others struggle to adapt.

Any seeker of wisdom and learning, as I think every Bowdoin fundamentally student is, would benefit from asking themselves, “Why am I at college?” What matters most to me about my education? Maybe what I’m really trying to say is that regardless of all the emails and pep talks we may receive at the end of the semester encouraging us to remain ardent in the face of final exams and essays, in the end it really doesn’t matter what grades you get. What counts is the effort we exert in the things we truly care about.


My desire to work usually follows the same pattern every semester. At the beginning I am attentive, I turn all my work in on time and am wary about falling behind with assignments. This slowly gives way to an understanding of just how much work I really need to do to get by. In the last few weeks of the semester I undergo a period of self-imposed psychosis: I spend hours lying prostrate on the floor rereading the same lines until finally—foolishly feeling analogous to Meursault from Camus’ The Stranger—I feel utterly indifferent to the obligations my college work demands of me.
I don’t delude myself into thinking that there is anything honorable about my current lack of enthusiasm in school. Like all people privileged enough to have always been assured a place in an educational institution, it is hard to truly understand the extent to which formal education is a blessing.
But my present state of mind makes me wonder what is preferable about a formal education in comparison to that of an autodidact—a self-educated individual.
In his autobiography, Malcolm X claims, “prison enabled me to study far more intensively than I would have if my life had gone differently and I had attended some college. I imagine that one of the biggest troubles with colleges is there are too many distractions, too much panty-raiding, fraternities, and boola-boola and all of that.” While Bowdoin may not have so much “panty-raiding” (unless it does and I’m simply not being invited), social, extracurricular, and narcotic distractions to academics generally abound in a college environment.
For some, the greatest education offered by a college lies in exactly those distractions, and the lessons that can be learned from other students. But in terms of academia, perhaps the most difficult aspect of reconciling institutional education with unhindered creative exploration is the larger educational framework in which professors must operate. By attending Bowdoin, we are expected to be taught certain skills that prepare us for graduate school and the highly structured discourse it entails. The act of simply going to a college seems to promote a sort of systematic method of thought, one that we learn to conform to in order to achieve the highest marks.
While this encourages a certain form of intellectual thought, it also methodizes the way students think. The variety of potential thought processes is normalized, and the comparative advantages from those methods of thinking are diminished. Would it not be most beneficial to the individual and to society as a whole if each student specialized his/her own form of thought fitting to how they learn best?
Letter grades make for a variety of motives for achieving high marks. It may be to reassure parents that their money is not going to waste at such an expensive institution. Some students undoubtedly are also interested in more utilitarian prospects. Despite the stigma surrounding liberal arts education, the money to be made from getting into the best graduate schools and entering lucrative professions is alluring. Mostly though, I think all of us have grown accustomed to grades acting as indicators of our aptitude and accomplishment.
In reality the accomplishment we feel is constructed by a system separate from our bodies; a standard of thought in which some may flourish best while others struggle to adapt.
Any seeker of wisdom and learning, as I think every Bowdoin fundamentally student is, would benefit from asking themselves, “Why am I at college?” What matters most to me about my education? Maybe what I’m really trying to say is that regardless of all the emails and pep talks we may receive at the end of the semester encouraging us to remain ardent in the face of final exams and essays, in the end it really doesn’t matter what grades you get. What counts is the effort we exert in the things we truly care about.