Princeton has never felt like a politically charged campus to me (with the grand exception of the appointment of Peter Singer), and I have enjoyed this since I have never been much of a politico. I don't know whether Princeton students are, in general, more indifferent to politics than their Ivy League counterparts — there certainly seem to be protests of all sorts happening at Harvard every day of the week. While I can't answer that question, I can say with assurance that my interest in politics has diminished over the past couple of years.
I can think of various reasons for this. First, Princeton is its own world, and it is too easy to pretend that at this point in my life the political world is not worth as much attention — the height of parochialism, I know, which, though I practice, I don't condone. I try to read the newspaper as much as possible, and in general I have a minimally acceptable grasp of current events (e.g. Shimon Peres: a guy involved in the disorganized and troubled government of Israel), but this is more out of habit than interest.
Second, I am so busy reading long-dead authors, studying institutions of long-departed cultures and arguing about long-debated paradoxes that contemporary events have become alien to me. The past is my present, and the present is in my past. Perhaps in the future, my knowledge of the past will shape my understanding of the present, but that has not and may not happen.
A third reason is that the more I learn in general — the more I am educated — the more pessimistic I become. One of Churchill's witty aphorisms was: "Be an optimist. There is not much use being anything else." This is probably true, but I haven't taken it to heart, either because I don't have the courage or because I'm no good at fooling myself. My temperament is much more along the lines of Schopenhauer's, who wrote these startling and haunting words: "Not the least of the torments which plague our existence is the constant pressure of time, which never lets us so much as draw breath but pursues us all like a taskmaster with a whip. It ceases to persecute only him it has delivered over to boredom," and "As a reliable compass for orienting yourself in life nothing is more useful than to accustom yourself to regarding this world as a place of atonement, a sort of penal colony." These are dire thoughts, and no doubt they are less true at Princeton than most places on Earth, but I might be willing to defend them anyway.
Perhaps this sort of outlook was why Churchill thought there is no use in being anything but an optimist — everything else is too dreary. While I wouldn't agree with that, this pessimistic stance toward life — which I have probably adopted by reading too much skeptical philosophy — may partially explain why I have no hope for politics. After all, if I have no hope for humanity in general; how can I think the machinery of politics will do anything but cause more harm?
Fourth and most importantly, the more I learn about politics, the more cynical I become. Take any polarizing issue in contemporary political debate: the hackneyed example I always use is abortion since people have killed each other over it. Both sides think the other is evil and stupid. Now, in my opinion, whenever you have two groups of people who can't even understand their opponents, then both sides can only be — at best — partially right. Aristotle used to examine the views of his predecessors so he could distill their partial truths — with a little help from his powerful mind — into more plausible positions. This has always struck me as a useful strategy, and I wonder why political junkies don't apply it to their own opinions more often. For instance, abortion: pro-life advocates are not saying anything objectionable when they insist that human life is precious, murder is bad and abortion ought to be avoided. At the same time, pro-choice advocates are not saying anything objectionable when they point out that the fetus is, after all, a part of the woman's body and she ought to have some say over what is done with it. I can't resolve the issue, but politics — ipso facto — tends to polarize political opponents and obscure the most reasonable positions. This frustrates me and encourages my diminishing interest in politics even when I know that it's one of the few tools we can use to change the world.
(Jeff Wolf is a philosophy major from Chevy Chase, MD. He can be reached at jeffwolf@princeton.edu)