The Financial Times, or the FT, recently exposed what they call the “Bermuda Triangle of talent” — the black hole of finance, consulting and corporate law jobs that swallow up the brightest minds of our generation.
But the FT missed one critical part: this isn’t just a problem at the Ivies and Oxbridge — it’s happening right here at Northeastern. And it’s so prevalent because the university has become a machine so efficient at producing professionals that it’s forgotten how to produce people.
I attended one of the best private high schools in America. Many of my friends have gone on to some of the most prestigious universities in the world — and I’ve lost count of the number that have already begun a descent down the corporate pipeline in spite of their once-grand plans to change the world for the better.
It’s hard to blame individuals. These jobs in the Triangle offer impressive salaries that justify the cost of university, exclusive social circles that promise belonging and luxury, and the challenge of solving incredibly complex problems (appealing to anyone with a competitive mindset for a T20).
But I wonder what happened to the people who, in their applications to top universities, said that they would change the world one day? Why hasn’t the world been changed?
Although the university doesn’t strive for the class and distinction of an Ivy League, it seems to me that Northeastern’s funneling of people into corporate STEM careers through the co-op program is just as effective, if not more, at contributing to this pipeline.
Northeastern markets itself as a leader in “global experiential learning” and rigorous academics, and after three semesters in Boston and one abroad, the university has delivered on that promise with a fascinating N.U.in program and difficult classes. But, somewhere along the lines of learning to be a competent and career-ready engineer, I’ve missed out on one of my favorite things from going to a private boarding school: a liberal arts education.
As a combined mechanical engineering and physics major, I’ll finish my five years at Northeastern having taken only two non-STEM classes: First Year Writing and Advanced Writing. I have space for a general elective, but it would be laughable not to take another physics course (more specialized in the area I’d be looking for work in).
Five years of university education, and I’ll graduate having never grappled with moral philosophy concepts, never analyzed literature that might strengthen my empathy and never studied history that could provide invaluable context for the problems I claim I want to solve. I’ll know everything about my job and nothing about the human condition — which I profess really means knowing nothing about anything at all.
This isn’t an accident; it’s by design. Investing in Northeastern requires an understanding that you’ll graduate as a professional who can hit the ground running with a return offer from your highest-paying co-op. You’ll have an optimized LinkedIn profile, networking skills and a whole set of cover letters that, on paper, will tailor you to each employer.
You’ll have mastered the ability to appear as someone while remaining a stranger to yourself — at least in the classroom. Any self-realization has occurred by your own means, on your own time.
Last spring, my introductory Cornerstone of Engineering class offered a handful of lectures to cover engineering ethics, all of which drew scattered attendance. It seemed many students reasoned that, because our professor wasn’t covering new SolidWorks material pertinent to our technical assignments, they’d prefer the extra free time.
And, because no large grade was deducted for missing those ethics classes, it sent the message that they weren’t worth attending at all.
I hope that the engineers who design and manufacture every aspect of our lives are competent, and I have no fear in the ability of myself and my peers to learn how to be engineers. But small anecdotes like this remind me that we’re more likely to get competent engineers than ethical ones, and probably not both.
Northeastern’s professional-first culture has shaped a generation of students who arrive at university carrying idealism but abandon it for pragmatism — and who can blame them? It feels like you must optimize every aspect of your life in a superficial manner for the chance at a co-op in mechanical engineering, much less a return offer, and I can only imagine the struggle for other majors as well.
Why spend six months of your precious time at a small firm with morals when the big leagues of defense and private sector manufacturing are calling? The very program designed to help us discover our passions has become a stepping stone toward surrendering them.
The tragedy runs deeper than individual career choices. Without exposure to literature, philosophy and history, how can we understand the moral weight of our professional decisions? Without being taught ethics (or choosing to skip those classes), how can we recognize when our work contributes to environmental destruction — or when our financial analysis enables predatory lending? Northeastern is producing technically competent graduates who lack direct instruction in the intellectual framework necessary to question how their abilities are used.
But please do not misunderstand me. I chose Northeastern with a full understanding of its pragmatism and deliberate STEM instruction. This institution isn’t pretending to teach within the framework of the liberal arts. I came here to study the sciences, and hopefully, as a result, I will find myself making an impact in the world of physics and engineering. But two years in, I wonder if there needs to be a slightly better balance.
Until Northeastern recognizes that professional success without moral development is a hollow and self-serving achievement, we’ll keep feeding our brightest minds to the corporate machine. The world doesn’t need more technically gifted analysts who can optimize quarterly earnings with flashy slide decks that no one will read. It needs more morally informed professionals who understand that some problems matter more than profit margins.
The graduation gown should represent more than technical mastery — it should symbolize the integration of competence and conscience, of knowledge and wisdom. When we need it the most, our brightest are graduating with half an education, and the world is paying the price.
Phil Warren is a second-year mechanical engineering and physics combined major. He can be reached at [email protected].
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