A Cauldron of Empty Metaphors

Last Friday, under a perfect Cantabridgian sky (magically arranged, of course), academically distinguished men and women garbed in hooded, harlequin robes marched down the middle aisle of Tercentary Theatre to crown a new leader. As the parade began, masses of eager students and onlookers clustered in the audience around flags emblazoned with their Houses to join in the festivities. There was an exchange of silver keys, and the President sat in a magical chair that conferred great power upon him. Meanwhile, a redbrick gate outside carefully concealed the proceedings from the oblivious Muggle passersby.

I am, of course, speaking of Harvard, not Hogwarts.

The similarities between our President Lawrence H. Summers’ inauguration and a Harry Potter fairytale are abundant, though harmless. Unless we consider the ominous shadow of he-who-must-not be-named that extended over the festivities. As our very own Dumbledore said, “We meet now in the shadow of the terrible and tragic events of September 11th—And so, in our present struggle, we do our part, we carry that torch [of truth]—We will prevail in this struggle.”

And thus, our fearless leader began the unfortunate myth of the good forces of Veritas against the unnamed evil of ignorance.

With these words, Summers fell into the same pitfall to which we have all succumbed recently: he lapsed into the simplistic, black and white thinking of fairytales which has engulfed our country. This view, provoked by our emotional response to Sept. 11, is that there is good and evil in the world, and right now, the forces of good—America, Harvard—must rise up to quash evil in a grand battle of mythic proportions.

I suppose that Harvard, the personified “torch of truth,” will smoke the evildoers out of their caves with our good deeds and commitment to public service at home, while our professors grab broomsticks to shoot at Osama with lightning bolts.

With the President of the United States calling bin Laden “the Evil One,” and the president of our university reinvoking the metaphor of Harvard as the “Torch of Truth,” we must ask ourselves, to what end do these metaphors serve? When the media renames the events of Sept. 11 a second “Day of Infamy,” what is the effect on our thoughts and discourse?

They certainly do not draw our attention to an unexamined issue—it was all too clear that bin Laden’s spectre was all around us on Friday when the audience collectively flinched as several planes (didn’t they seem particularly noisy?) flew low overhead during the speech. Nor have they complicated our understanding of Sept. 11—Bush’s subtle diction need only remind us of the sort of rhetoric we hear today.

These problems are not intrinsic to metaphors themselves. Metaphors can, and do, help us understand the tragic events around us. But they should be designed to enhance our perception—to jog us out of our complacent and simplistic emotional response. They should not encourage us to sit idly intellectually, grinding the world’s problems into a mush we won’t have to chew before swallowing.

The current poor use of metaphors is a real cause for concern. As George Orwell writes in his essay “Politics and the English Language,” “It [the English language] becomes ugly and inaccurate because our throughts are foolish, but the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts.” Orwell’s point is well-taken in today’s climate; the sloppy speech of our leaders fails to spur independent thought.

Our simplistic representations of good and evil prevent us from deepening our understanding of the issues we will all be facing in the near future. Summers’ speech provides a prime example. By framing his otherwise provocative vision of Harvard as a “global University” immediately after introducing it as the “Torch of Truth,” Summers takes something away from his message. Should our professors “whisper in the ear of a President,” if they so choose? Absolutely. Should they continue “establishing legal foundations for civil society in distant lands?” No question. Harvard professors are the leading intellectuals of our day, and as such they should use that knowledge for good, practical purposes. But, no one—I think Summers included—really expects Harvard to contribute to a mythic battle against the evil Taliban. Saying so cheapens the way we think about Sept. 11.

The times ahead require more complex analysis than pitching life in black and white, good and evil, truth and falsehood. The problems in the world today are no fairy tale, and Osama bin Laden is not Voldemort. We need new metaphors.

Robert J. Fenster ’03 is a biology concentrator in Eliot House. His column appears on alternate Wednesdays.