Getting Back at the Tyranny of the Majority

The NYTimes reports here on new programs at universities that are designed to allow for the study of conservative, or at least traditional, thought and scholarship. Frankly, I didn't realize that Plato was somehow acceptable to only one side of the aisle, but apparently "liberals" are allowing "conservatives" to introduce him in their classes, and even in summer reading programs.

I had to read Plato as a college freshman, but I didn't think anything of it; I had already read bits of him in Greek as a high school student. Of course I was aware that my high school, like any that still offers Latin from 8th through 12th grade and Greek from 9th through 12th, was inherently "conservative," but I just didn't make the ideological Plato connection.

The article mentions that some of these programs are also assigning passages from Tocqueville. That itself indicates the stark differences between modern American liberalism and Liberalism of the 19th century. Tocqueville, democrat (in the literal sense) that he was, did not of course endorse it unconditionally. One of its biggest dangers was the Tyranny of the Majority. He wrote, "I do not know any county where, in general, less independence of mind and genuine freedom of discussion reign than in America." (Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America, tr. Harvey Mansfield [I betray my academic backgound here], p. 244, Vol. I.2.7., U of Chicago Press, 2000.)

I would add to that quote, "and especially in American universities." Or, I would have added it at one point, but perhaps now we are moving in a direction where I would be speaking unfairly. Among the professors in my department, who are basically 100% "left-leaning" (some of the older ones are self-proclaimed Marxists), there might be a sense of horror at radically differing opinions, genuine shock that someone with a similar educational background could possibly be planning not to vote for a Democrat this fall. Among graduate students, while they are probably 85% "left-leaning" here, there is still some shock, but it is less pronounced. Maybe the first hacks are being made at that tyranny, established in the American academy several decades ago.

In any case, I think that this had better happen. Here we have this institution that prides itself as being a center for "free thought," etc, yet it does not in fact favor it. It favors freethinking on the assumption that once an individual is allowed to think for himself, he will inevitably reach the same conclusion as other freethinkers. How is this freedom? It is perhaps comparable to an individual who once belonged to a church, read Nietzsche or some other philosopher, and bailed, only to be horrified that his friend, who also read Nietzsche, continued to go to Sunday services. This demonstrates the subjectivity of personal reading and study, yet it somehow still surprises many when they learn that two people can read or watch the same thing and come to radically different conclusions.

I will close with another quote from Tocqueville, from the same page. Instead of politicians, though, let's apply it to non-tenured junior professors:

In America the majority draws a formidable circle around thought. Inside those limits, the writer is free; but unhappiness awaits him if he dares to leave them. It is not that he has to fear an auto-da-fé, but he is the butt of mortifications of all kinds and of persecutions every day. A political career is closed to him: he has offended the only power that has the capacity to open it up. Everything is refused him, even glory. Before publishing his opinions, he believed he had partisans; it seems to him that he no longer has any now that he has uncovered himself to all; for those who blame him express themselves openly, and those who think like him, without having his courage, keep silent and move away. He yields, he finally bends under the effort of each day and returns to silence as if he felt remorse for having spoken the truth.

This may be an extreme case, but I do think that it goes on. So in short, those new programs the NYTimes reports about? I'm all for 'em.

Elitist Oxbridge? Why not?

So, universities are not "engines for promoting social justice," says Cambridge Vice-Chancellor Alison Richard. At least so far as this piece indicates, she does not actually seem to be all that elitist. She says that universities have a responsibility to engage in the best scholarship that they can. She is concerned about the government meddling in university affairs, and with the implications of doing research based on industrial demands. She also says that she hopes that financial situations do not deter students from attending top schools.

I don't see what's wrong with that. Is an education from Oxford or Cambridge a basic right? I don't think so. If it were, then everyone would go, and being swamped by students of all degrees of academic ability, top universities would end up failing at their ultimate goals of turning out the best possible scholars and workers. Schools like that simply aren't for everyone.

And here is a solid response. Simon Jenkins defends this bizarre notion that universities be engines of education. What a shock!

But he also calls Richard into question. He suggests that she wants to have her cake and eat it too--take money from the government, but not answer for it.

Anyhow, one of his crucial lines is this: "So chaotic is government research funding that university staff do too much that is too trivial and curtail their prime duty, to teach the young."

Government funding. Read: Bureaucracy and waste.

Jenkins concludes by calling on Oxford and Cambridge to cut the bonds of government and go freelance, charging the actual tuition for what courses cost. If this is going to exlude some people, well, come up with a program to help them afford it, but make those who can afford more pay more. Or take loans, on the assumption that a degree from Oxbridge, like one from the Ivy League schools in the States, will land someone a job that will enable paying off those loans. One of my teachers in high school said that attendance at such a school is basically an investment, with expected payout through hiring post-diploma. Sure, loans are a hassle, but remember--we're talking about Oxbridge here, not a red-brick institution.

That's all on this subject for now, but I'm sure I'll discuss it again.

The Bayh-Dole Act and Commercialized Scholarship

Ah, this is a highly relevant article.

I know basically nothing about the 28-year-old act itself, but I can see how universities, strapped for cash, would jump at opportunities to bring in extra money by patenting their research. Unfortunately this is how the business of academia works. They need money somehow if they are to keep operating, and for small schools with relatively low endowments, a windfall from a particularly lucky discovery would certainly help to pay the bills.

But I agree with the author of the article that this undermines the goal of scholarship. Are we in this for the money? A professor I had as an undergraduate told me, when I said that I hoped to do what he does one day, "You won't get rich, but you'll be comfortable." The more competetive universities have to be, however, the less effective "comfort" can be. Universities start to find ways to pad that pillow a bit more so their presidents can sleep well, knowing that their institutions are fiscally secure. But does this foster that great pillar of the academy, that joy of the tenured senior faculty, "intellectual freedom"?

The more that universities have to push what is profitable, the less genuine freedom there is to pursue various intellectual fields. The humanities, for example, inevitably suffer because there is generally not a great deal of money to be made in, say, the publication of a scholarly book on ancient Rome. The discovery of a new medication would have more opportunities for extra income. And within the humanities, popular fields like Women's Studies garner extra attention from university administration because they attract the most excitement from the community. Money will be shifted to fields that are popular, cutting-edge, hip.

This does not mean that the popularity of a field is inherently detrimental--but to do what is popular because it pays the bills ends up giving short shrift to intellectually crucial subjects that happen not to be flashy. The Academy has then become slave to the Dollar, slave to the whims of fashion. Knowledge for its own sake dies; it becomes a means to a tangible end.

It is time to cut the chains.

A fitting inaugural

To begin this blog, which I intend to focus on the nature of academia and its role in society, I will use a passage from the opening chapter of Kinglsey Amis's excellent comic novel on the university experience, Lucky Jim. Dixon, the protagonist, is a sort of junior faculty member, trying his best to keep on the good side of a senior professor, Welch.

As Welch again seemed becalmed, even slowing further in his walk, Dixon relaxed at his side. He'd found his professor standing, surprisingly enough, in front of the Recent Additions shelf in the College Library, and they were now moving diagonally across a small lawn towards the front of the main building of the College. To look at, but not only to look at, they resembled some kind of variety act: Welsh tall and weedy, with limp whitening hair, Dixon on the short side, fair and round-faced, with an unusual breadth of shoulder that had never been accompanied by any special physical strength or skill. Despite this over-evident contrast between them, Dixon realized that their progress, deliberate and to all appearances thoughtful, must seem rather donnish to passing students. He and Welch might well be talking about history, and in the way history might be talked about in Oxford and Cambridge quadrangles. At moments like this Dixon came near to wishing that they really were. He held on to this thought until animaton abruptly gathered again and burst in the older man, so that he began speaking almost in a shout, with a tremolo imparted by unshared laughter...

Welch was talking yet again about his concert. How had he become Professor of History, even at a place like this? By published work? No. By extra good teaching? No in italics. Then how? As usual, Dixon shelved this question, telling himself that what mattered was that this man had decisive power over his future, at any rate until the next four or five weeks were up. Until then he must try to make Welch like him, and one way of doing that was, he supposed, to be present and conscious while Welch talked about concerts. But did Welch notice who else was there while he talked, and if he noticed did he remember, and if he remembered would it affect such thoughts as he had already?

Here's hoping it isn't this arbitrary. I wonder.

Until next time,
Baron