There are aspects of Dartmouth and its culture that have so far endured the test of time. And then there are those that have faded away, even when they once seemed as permanent as the College itself. Those two centuries of all-maleness? Jim Yong Kim's long and illustrious tenure as College President? Old Blitz? (Disclaimer: this one was admittedly before my time, but ask a '13 about it and you'll likely suffocate in their nostalgia.) All proof that longevity isn't always so predictable.
Predictability, however, becomes irrelevant if you have the opportunity to witness and survive the end of the world. An apocalypse, of course, would obviously be the simplest way to end arguments about whether the Greek system really is the most firmly entrenched institution of this campus. So say that the Mayans got it right. What else about Dartmouth would still be here to give them a run for their money?
Let's start with some physical parts of Dartmouth that are in for the long haul. The Bema is a fairly obvious one. Think about it how exactly does one destroy a Big Empty Meeting Area? By putting something in it? That sculpture that looks suspiciously like a pile of rocks outside of McNutt is another structure that doesn't appear to be going anywhere anytime soon. In case you were wondering, it's actually an "inuksuk" built (stacked?) by artist Peter Irniq to mimic the human form. These were traditionally used in Inuit culture to mark the best routes for travelers. I'm not sure how functional just one would be, but they look really, really heavy.
The College itself might not exist anymore, but certain lines of red tape would probably remain indefinitely. One example would be the Registrar's rule on not being able to withdraw from a class within 10 days of the end of the term except in cases of extreme emergency. If you've ever tried to do this, you probably know that few things that actually happen to real people in real life qualify. Would an apocalypse be urgent enough? Don't count on it.
FoCo's dumb rules on getting a meal to-go are another prime example. Maybe I'm the only one who is reprimanded for this at least weekly, but I prefer my chicken nuggets to not be soaked in maple yogurt. Our only other option for sustenance might be spearfishing in the river, and we still wouldn't be allowed to "graze during the collection process" (Read the sign. Yes, it actually says that.) Or use the paper cups for anything other than beverages.
As an educational institution, it would only be natural for a part of Dartmouth's academic culture to survive a global shake-up. Anyone who has spent time in the 1902 Room after the rest of the library has closed can probably attest to its atmosphere of extreme isolation from the rest of the world. I am confident that this would continue in the face of an apocalypse. Lock yourself in there, and nothing will touch you, partially because even the dumbest zombies can recognize a grim scene when they see one. The rest of humanity could be engulfed in chaos, but all you'll be singularly focused on your term paper's word count and due date.
On another somewhat academic note, the world would probably end before the D-Plan does. No matter what our tour guides are trained to tell 15-year-olds and their parents on campus visits, part of the logic behind our quarter system is the insufficient housing on campus. After a global catastrophe, it's unlikely that this problem would get any better. Plan your off-terms to other desolate corners of the universe accordingly.
The Ledyard Challenge would also probably still be around, just with different stakes. Rather than fearing arrest for public indecency, the classic Dartmouth feat would take on a survival-of-the-fittest mentality. Like the Hunger Games, but less cinematically appealing. We just might have to adapt the rules slightly to work with the post-apocalyptic terrain.
Everyone could die, computers could cease to exist, the College could be erased from the consciousness of mankind and Dartmouth Daily Updates would still be sent. In fact, everyone could die, and the number of people who actually read them wouldn't change.
In many ways, contemplating the most eternal aspects of Dartmouth as an institution, culture and way of life could be an outlet for reflection on what the College means to us. Cliches about the everlasting nature of knowledge and our commitment to community and progress might even seem fitting at the dawn of a new year that some were convinced wouldn't happen.
But this is The Mirror. So instead, I'll leave you with the real lesson worth learning from the Mayans and their calendar: just because you don't finish something doesn't mean the world is over. Happy 13W.
