I was a student in Professor Harbison’s “Renaissance and Reformation” course in the early 1960s. I also had the good luck to be assigned to a preceptorial that met weekly in his office. Although Harbison was a very good lecturer, it was in the preceptorial that he excelled. I remember his asking us at the outset of one for them, “Does anyone here understand Martin Luther?” I was not inclined to raise my hand because the question seemed to be too open ended for me to risk making a fool of myself. And that’s what happened to the one who went first. Harbison knew Luther to be a man so unlike any of us that not even he could truly claim to fully “understand” him. For Harbison, Luther was both obsessed and terrified by the thought of eternal damnation. And, for much of his life, Luther felt damned. Harbison led us step by step to this conclusion by the end of the precept — not by telling us what to think but by eliminating one-by-one our various half-baked attempts to get an understanding of this 16th century man we may previously thought we understood.
But my most unforgettable Harbison memory was of his last “Ren and Ref” lecture. The format was known well in advance. He would place all the main characters of the Renaissance and the Reformation together in heaven and have them discuss what they had done and tried to do during their time on Earth: Erasmus, Luther, Calvin, and the Medici, all together in a concluding final scene. The McCosh lecture hall was fuller than usual with many who were not enrolled in the course, including grad students and professors.
In those days it was a custom at Princeton for students to applaud at the end of lectures that they found worthy of such a reaction. Harbison’s rarely received more than a polite smattering of applause. Almost all the students talking “Ren and Ref” were history majors, and they were much less demonstrative than outsiders. “Ren and Ref” was a serious course where the grading was known to be tough. Many avoided it for that reason.
Harbison began his last lecture by asking our permission that he might deliver it sitting down. There were persistent rumors that he was not in good health and, of course, no one objected. At the end, Harbison stood up to put on his overcoat, scarf, and hat. As he did, we all stood in place and the applause began. As he proceeded slowly down the aisle toward the exit at the rear of the lecture hall, the applause continued. As he descended the stairwell at the rear of the room, the applause continued. Then, as we all knew, he would pass by the open window (McCosh was always overheated) on his way to his office. The applause continued until he was out of earshot. Those who stood there applauding knew they would surely be late for lunch. No one left early.
I was a student in Professor Harbison’s “Renaissance and Reformation” course in the early 1960s. I also had the good luck to be assigned to a preceptorial that met weekly in his office. Although Harbison was a very good lecturer, it was in the preceptorial that he excelled. I remember his asking us at the outset of one for them, “Does anyone here understand Martin Luther?” I was not inclined to raise my hand because the question seemed to be too open ended for me to risk making a fool of myself. And that’s what happened to the one who went first. Harbison knew Luther to be a man so unlike any of us that not even he could truly claim to fully “understand” him. For Harbison, Luther was both obsessed and terrified by the thought of eternal damnation. And, for much of his life, Luther felt damned. Harbison led us step by step to this conclusion by the end of the precept — not by telling us what to think but by eliminating one-by-one our various half-baked attempts to get an understanding of this 16th century man we may previously thought we understood.
But my most unforgettable Harbison memory was of his last “Ren and Ref” lecture. The format was known well in advance. He would place all the main characters of the Renaissance and the Reformation together in heaven and have them discuss what they had done and tried to do during their time on Earth: Erasmus, Luther, Calvin, and the Medici, all together in a concluding final scene. The McCosh lecture hall was fuller than usual with many who were not enrolled in the course, including grad students and professors.
In those days it was a custom at Princeton for students to applaud at the end of lectures that they found worthy of such a reaction. Harbison’s rarely received more than a polite smattering of applause. Almost all the students talking “Ren and Ref” were history majors, and they were much less demonstrative than outsiders. “Ren and Ref” was a serious course where the grading was known to be tough. Many avoided it for that reason.
Harbison began his last lecture by asking our permission that he might deliver it sitting down. There were persistent rumors that he was not in good health and, of course, no one objected. At the end, Harbison stood up to put on his overcoat, scarf, and hat. As he did, we all stood in place and the applause began. As he proceeded slowly down the aisle toward the exit at the rear of the lecture hall, the applause continued. As he descended the stairwell at the rear of the room, the applause continued. Then, as we all knew, he would pass by the open window (McCosh was always overheated) on his way to his office. The applause continued until he was out of earshot. Those who stood there applauding knew they would surely be late for lunch. No one left early.