Author Archives: Peter Levine

Stanley Fish vs. civic engagement

Last Friday, Stanley Fish wrote an essay in the New York Times attacking the “Civic Responsibility of Higher Education” and everything that document stands for. Fish is a brilliant Milton critic, controversialist, and builder of academic empires. It’s said that he’s proud to be the model for Morris Zapp, the cigar-chomping, aphorism-dispensing, fast-car-driving, bed-hopping hero/villain of two David Lodge novels, whose ambitions include being the best paid English professor in the world and saying everything that can possibly be said about Jane Austen, so that everyone else will have to shut up about her. The “Civic Responsibility of Higher Education,” meanwhile, is a sober and idealistic statement of the university’s role in democracy, written by some distinguished members of my organization’s Advisory Board and signed by 528 college presidents.

Fish raises some valid concerns. Those of us who work to enhance the civic purposes of higher education must keep in mind the dangers of that enterprise. Colleges are not necessarily good at creating active citizens. Trying to motivate young people to be active in civil society and politics can undermine the search for truth. Scholars can squander their credibility by opining on issues beyond their competence. Tom Ehrlich, one of the authors of “The Civic Responsibility of Higher Education,” quotes a similar warning written by Judge Learned Hand in his magnificent style:

You cannot raise the standard against oppression, or leap into the breach to relieve injustice, and still keep an open mind to every disconcerting fact, or an open ear to the cold voice of doubt. I am satisfied that a scholar who tries to combine those parts sells his birthright for a mess of pottage; that, when the final count is made, it will be found that the impairment of his powers far outweighs any possible contribution to the causes he has espoused. If he is fit to serve in his calling at all, it is only because he has learned not to serve in any other, for his singleness of mind quickly evaporates in the fires of passions, however holy. (“The Spirit of Liberty,” p. 138)

This is a useful caution, yet I think Fish is wrong to defend the “Ivory Tower” and disparage civic education and engagement in universities. I’d like to respond to four major points in his essay.

1. Colleges should do just one job, the only one for which they are qualified: “performing academic work responsibly and at the highest level.” They should have but one goal: “the search for truth.”

A college that pursued only knowledge and that exclusively hired people qualified for pure scholarship would look like the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton or All Soul’s College, Oxford. It would resemble a university minus the professional schools and occupational training programs, the departments of performing and creative arts, the offices of cooperative extension and tech transfer, the chapels and chaplains, the student centers and dorms, the teaching hospitals and lab schools, the athletic teams and marching bands. Frankly, it wouldn’t admit undergraduates, because education is not itself the “search for truth.”

Such an institution might be a nice place to work, but it’s hard to see how it could be funded. Fish warns, “don’t surrender your academic obligations to the agenda of any non-academic constituency?parents, legislators, trustees or donors.” This sounds right until you realize that these “constituencies” pay our salaries, and they must believe that we are serving valuable purposes. At no time in our history have Americans been satisfied with knowledge as the main purpose of higher education. They’ve paid to train the clergy, to educate young people, to expand access to the middle class, and even to win bowl games, but not primarily to pursue the truth. Consequently, faculty and staff are not (and have never been) solely expert at scholarship and science. They have many other skills.

2. There is a fundamental difference between scholarly argument and what we conventionally call “politics”; and the two should never mix. For example, “a dispute between scholars [about welfare reform] will not be political in the everyday sense of the word, because each side will represent different academic approaches, not different partisan agendas.”

This is a difficult issue, and I’m not satisfied with my own thinking. There is–and should be–an important difference between discussions of policies and issues in the academy, on the one hand, and in the political arena, on the other. But it’s relatively hard to put your finger on the difference. It’s certainly not true that academics take different sides on political issues because of their different academic approaches–as if all those who favored welfare reform were statistical modelers and those who opposed it were ethnographers. Ideology is a major (and appropriate) part of academic debate, as Fish well knows. Conversely, debates in legislatures, courts, and regulatory agencies are not devoid of controversy about research methods.

So there must be a large gray area. Nevertheless, we want scholars to think somewhat differently from activists and politicians: to take a longer view, to be less influenced by immediate tactical concerns, to be less committed to parties, to be more openly engaged with their intellectual opponents, to offer more complex and nuanced views. These values are more attainable in academia than in politics, and we should protect them. Yet they are compatible with “civic engagement,” done right.

3. “Universities could engage in moral and civic education only by deciding in advance which of the competing views of morality and citizenship is the right one, and then devoting academic resources and energy to the task of realizing it. But that task would deform (by replacing) the true task of academic work: the search for truth and the dissemination of it through teaching.”

Here Fish ignores a form of civic education that’s compatible with the classical liberal belief in personal freedom. He assumes that civic education means herding students along particular paths. It can be something quite different: expanding the breadth of their choices as adults by helping them to experience various forms of political and civic participation (along with various forms of artistic creativity, scholarly inquiry, appreciation of nature, and spirituality). Unless young people are explicitly taught about citizenship, they will not be free to choose to be active citizens, because they will know little except consumerism, entertainment, and careerism.

4. There is a zero-sum relationship between scholarship and engagement. “Performing academic work responsibly and at the highest level is a job big enough for any scholar and for any institution. And, as I look around, it does not seem to me that we academics do that job so well that we can now take it upon ourselves to do everyone else’s job too. We should look to the practices in our own shop, narrowly conceived, before we set out to alter the entire world. …”

Fish is right about certain research programs in certain disciplines. If you’re a student of Milton, you might learn something relevant by participating in current debates about religion. But such participation is equally likely to distract you from your best sources of information, which are in the library. There is, however, such a thing as research that contributes important new methods and knowledge to its discipline as a result of close engagement with communities.

For example, I doubt that Elinor Ostrom and her colleagues at the University of Indiana could have made crucial contributions to the theory of collective action if they had not worked closely with people who manage ?common-pool resources? (forests, fisheries, irrigation systems, and grazing lands) on several continents. They have drawn advice and inspiration from these people even as they have provided technical assistance and derived generalizable lessons. Likewise, Jane Mansbridge?s discovery of regular norms in consensus-based democratic organizations arose from her close and collaborative work with such groups.

These examples of engaged scholarship epitomize the “search for truth.” They also provide a way to address a sense of alienation that professors often feel. Many of us enter the profession with idealistic motivations, but find that we only contribute incrementally to the knowledge of fellow specialists, with whom we interact sporadically at conferences or by email. Engaging with communities can be profoundly rejuvenating.

As a Dean, Fish has clashed with “members of Congress, Illinois state representatives and senators, the governor of Illinois, the governor’s budget director, and the governor-appointed Illinois Board of Higher Education.” He says that he views all these people as “ignorant, misinformed, demagogic, dishonest, [and] slipshod.” They simply refuse to leave scholars alone to pursue knowledge (at public expense.) This kind of relationship with the outside world must be downright exhausting for Fish. He might find that civic engagement is a relief.

intellectual roots of liberalism (continued)

Yesterday, I responded to a comment by Jacob T. Levy. He has since posted more (including a response to me)–and that’s just the tip of the iceberg. For a month now, influential bloggers have been discussing why liberals don’t seem to prize and utilize their own intellectual tradition as much modern conservatives do. The whole conversation was started in a critical vein by Jonah Golberg.

I think that what we call “liberalism” is not a coherent ideology. It is rather an effort to balance a set of conflicting principles. It combines majority rule, protection for individual rights against the state, a minimum level of welfare to be guaranteed by the government, pluralism and an independent civil society, individual choice, disciplined organizations (such as unions), prosperity (created by allowing the market to allocate investments), some redistribution via taxation, environmental protection, neutrality about the good life, and state sponsorship of scholarship, natural assets, and high culture. Does this combination amount to “intellectually flabby, feeling-based pragmatism”? Or is it defensible?

I think liberalism is highly defensible–indeed, preferable to any purer alternative. It’s the result of more than a century of problem-solving and “experiential learning” by a democratic people. We Americans decided that censorship is a problem, so we invented a solution: the modern First Amendment. We viewed poverty and early death as problems, so we invented Social Security and Medicaid. There’s been a constant cycle of identifying problems, proposing solutions, experimenting in the real world, and debating the results.

Libertarians want to set limits on this debate, perhaps even amend or reinterpret the Constitution to forbid popular state action. Marxists view public debate as badly distorted by inequality. They also see it as unnecessary, because their theory tells them what we need to do. In deliberate contrast to laissez-faire conservatives and Marxists, my heroes in the Progressive Era defined themselves as experimental democrats.

Pragmatism is not an adequate political theory. We can’t just do “what works” without having either (a) criteria for good outcomes, or (b) procedures for deciding what we value. If we opt for procedures, then they must reflect some principles or values other than pragmatism itself. Progressives like Jane Addams, John Dewey, Louis Brandeis, and Robert M. La Follette combined pragmatism with a strong commitment to political equality and freedom of debate.

Even if pragmatism isn’t adequate, it still teaches a very important lesson. As Dewey wrote:

There is no more an inherent sanctity in a church, trade-union, business corporation, or family institution than there is in the state. Their value is … to be measured by their consequences. The consequences vary with concrete conditions; hence at one time and place a large measure of state activity may be indicated and at another time a policy of quiescence and laissez-faire. … There is no antecedent universal proposition which can be laid down because of which the functions of a state should be limited or should be expanded. Their scope is something to be critically and experimentally determined. … The person who holds the doctrine of `individualism’ or `collectivism’ has his program determined for him in advance. It is not with him a matter of finding out the particular thing which needs to be done and the best way, under the circumstances, of doing it.

I think this kind of pragmatism is fundamental to the Progressive Era and the New Deal–what we call “liberalism.” If “liberals” are highly pragmatic, then it is no wonder that they rarely cite great theoretical works in making their arguments. Thus I disagree in part with Jacob Levy. He explains that conservatives and libertarians were forced to refine their theories because they were “shut out of power” for a half century, while the center-left could put its energy “into actually doing stuff in government or on the courts.” I think that “doing stuff” is the essence of what we Americans called “liberalism” during the 20th century. Progressives and New Dealers were pragmatic experimentalists even in periods (such as the twenties) when they were shut out of power. Meanwhile, the American center-right has been consistently concerned with political theory, because what we call “conservatism” is heavily influenced by classical liberalism, which is a coherent (if unrealistic) political theory.

(By the way, our terminology is a nightmare. Today’s conservatives are actually classical liberals, and modern liberals make Burkean conservative arguments in favor of preserving the welfare state.)

In a blog posting and an article in The American Prospect, Mark Schmitt (“the Decembrist”) lists some thinkers whom liberals should read today: Herbert Croly, John Dewey, Arthur Schlesinger, Jr., John Kenneth Galbraith, and Daniel Bell. [Revision, 4/28: I don’t think that Mark means this list to be a canon of the greatest liberal thinkers, nor is it a syllabus that liberals ought to work through; Mark simply offers a few examples to demonstrate that there are major historical thinkers on the center-left who continue to provoke constructive thinking. With that in mind, let me discuss his examples briefly …]

I’ve cited Dewey here. He’s a frustrating writer–vague just want you want him to be precise–but he epitomizes the spirit of experimentation and learning that is central to Progressive politics. Croly was influential mainly for arguing that America needed a strong federal government and a concomitant sense of national community. I don’t see Croly’s nationalism as essentially leftist; there have been Progressive proponents of localism as well as conservative centralizers (such as John Ashcroft). Therefore, as important as he was historically, I wouldn’t cite Croly as a great Progressive or expect today’s left to learn much from him. Schlesinger, Galbraith, and Bell are all concrete thinkers rather than abstract philosophers–a virtue, in my opinion.

Finally, Rawls has come up a lot in this conversation, starting here. Here’s my take. By the time Rawls wrote his Theory of Justice, liberals had engaged in 70 years of debate about the proper role of the state power in a modern economy. They had developed a miscellaneous set of institutions that were sometimes in fruitful conflict, ranging from an activist Supreme Court to an alphabet soup of regulatory agencies to the AFL-CIO. Rawls was like a rapporteur who observed the results of this long conversation and said, “This is what you mean, in essence.” His contribution was important, but it could never replace the history of experimentation and adjustment that had created a liberal society in the first place.

Finally, I’d like to say that my own complaint about modern progressivism is not its weak basis in political theory, but rather its flagging commitment to pragmatic experimentation. Such institutions as public schools and labor unions are starting to have “inherent sanctity” for liberals, which betrays the spirit of 20th century Progressivism.

liberalism’s great texts

Although I don’t usually blog on weekends, I can’t resist responding to Jacob Levy’s comments about why liberals don’t seem to understand–or care about–the intellectual tradition of their own movement.

I see modern liberalism as an eclectic mix of institutions and principles: an expansive First Amendment; cultural pluralism; public education; labor unions; welfare entitlements; a strong private sector; environmental protection; campaign finance reform; and more. After the fact, John Rawls managed to make all the ingredients of the modern liberal state appear to flow from a few fundamental principles. His effort was valiant and skillful, but it came too late to influence actual liberal institutions, which were already in decline. (As usual, the Owl of Minerva flew at dusk). Besides, Rawls did not identify the psychological and cultural roots of the institutions that he defended. Liberalism didn’t spring from abstract principles, but rather from experimentation, experience, accommodation, and compromise.

Libertarians constantly return to an impressive canon of major theorists, because libertarianism is the application of a few simple theoretical concepts to reality. Likewise with Marxists. Even Christian conservatives have modern theorists who help them to interpret their biblical sources. Modern liberalism is fundamentally different. It is pragmatic and eclectic rather than theoretical, and I think that is its great strength.

Moreover, liberals do have classic texts to which they constantly return for guidance and inspiration. These aren’t theoretical treatises, but rather chapters in the history of experimentation from Reconstruction through the Progressive Era and the New Deal to the Great Society. The “primary sources” of liberalism are speeches by leaders like FDR, JFK, and MLK Jr.; the biographies and autobiographies of Jane Addams, Robert M. La Follette, Eleanor Roosevelt, Fiorello LaGuardia, Ralph Bunche, Hubert Humphrey, and many more; and major judicial opinions. The “secondary sources” are histories of the Progressive Era, the New Deal, the Civil Rights Movement, and other efforts to push back Darwinian capitalism, Marxism, and ordinary bigotry. The importance of these “secondary sources,” by the way, means that historians, rather than political theorists, are often the most influential liberal authors.

why you should read the newspaper

We’re told that the President of the United States doesn’t read beyond the front page because he detects a hostile ideological bias in most reporting. He says:

My antennae are finely attuned …. I can figure out what so-called ‘news’ pieces are going to be full of opinion, as opposed to news. So I’m keenly aware of what’s in the papers, kind of the issue du jour. But I’m also aware of the facts. …. It can be a frustrating experience to pay attention to somebody’s false opinion or somebody’s characterization, which simply isn’t true.

Meanwhile, I have known many colleagues who think that all reporting and commentary in the “corporate” press is false and deliberately misleading. These leftists would be just as happy as Instapundit to see the word “lies” spray-painted across the New York Times.

I’m a consistent critic of the major newspapers myself–and TV news is beneath contempt. But I don’t see how you can be a responsible observer of the world unless you use the raw material that the mainstream press provides. Sometimes the quality of coverage is poor. But to reject it all is to walk in that “absolute night when all cows are black.” If you despise the most detailed sources of information, then you can make no distinctions except on the basis of your original prejudices.

Besides, sometimes we distrust the news because it’s uncomfortable stuff. Conservatives don’t like to read about incompetent Republican presidents or about the prevalence of poverty and racism. Liberals don’t like to read about the real failures of government and the real costs and limits of regulation. Centrists don’t like to read that there are legitimate arguments between right and left. Yet real progress comes from facing these difficult facts.

I’m increasingly worried about a kind of criticism that I suspect George Bush employs, along with many other Americans. Chris Betram puts it well: readers look for “symptomatic silences” and “accuse people of indifference or lack of balance for failing to mention some event or incident.”

It’s easy to play this game. You make up your own mind about what’s important (based on reading some news source) and then assess other publications–including editorial columns and blogs–to see whether they accord an appropriate amount of space to each story. I guess that’s an acceptable way to criticize newspapers that claim to report “all the news that’s fit to print” (or the equivalent). However, it should never be an excuse for failing to read the news. Even if a newspaper devotes the wrong amount of space to each item because of a systematic ideological bias, we can still get lots of information from reading it. To assume that other people will be miseducated because editors emphasize the wrong stories is to hold our fellow citizens in rather low regard.

For my own part, I can’t figure out how to assess charges of left-wing or right-wing bias in the press. There’s too much diversity in the coverage, and the political spectrum is too poorly defined today. [Follow up: see Jay Rosen’s latest post on the same subject.] I do detect a disturbing set of professional biases in favor of ….

conflict rather than consensus

deficits rather than assets

political strategy rather than policy

motives of political actors rather than quality of decisions

campaigns rather than government

federal government rather than states

government rather than civil society

the US rather than the rest of the world

These are problems, but they don’t excuse us from reading the news.

the Nuremberg defense

I have long supported the Nuremberg Doctrine: soldiers are individually responsible for war crimes, and following orders is no excuse. Nor is it an excuse to say that an action seemed acceptable and triggered no feelings of bad conscience. War often suppresses our conscience or turns it upside down, causing us to view mercy as a tempting form of weakness that we are obliged to avoid. Nevertheless, when we carry guns, operate prisons, or give orders, it is our responsibility to make sure that our conscience is working right. As Hannah Arendt observes, “politics is not like the nursery.” A person with a gun is not a child who knows that he is good if only he is obedient. One can follow orders without meaning to violate a law, and still be culpable.

However, I now see a complication. In the military, you are legally required to disobey illegal orders, but you are equally obligated to obey every legal command. A mistake in either direction can send you to a court martial. In civilian life, we have much more margin for error. If someone, even my boss, tells me to do something, I can say, “I don’t know if that’s legal (or moral), so I won’t do it.” Or I can make an arbitrary excuse to get out of doing something that I fear may be wrong. The worst that can happen to me if I avoid making a yes-or-no decision is losing my job. Because we have this leeway, we should be held fully accountable for participating in any illegal acts, even if we don’t understand the law or realize that we’re doing something wrong. It’s our responsibility to do the right thing, and if we’re not sure, we can duck the issue.

But soldiers are in a much tougher position. They must obey or disobey–immediately. It may be genuinely difficult to see that a grievous wrong is illegal under the hellish circumstances of war. Both historical evidence and experiments in social pyschology show that most people will do the wrong thing in hellish contexts. They will kill and maim other human beings out of duty, even though they don’t want to harm anyone. If most people will act this way, then I must assume that I would, too. And if I have no leeway, no opportunity to get myself out of the situation, then I am especially likely to make the wrong choice.

Thus it seems to me the rule ought to be: Don’t obey patently illegal orders. Indeed, this appears to be the legal standard. It is then a hard question whether the despicable acts committed at Abu Ghraib were obviously illegal. If the accused soldiers were free-lancing–deciding on their own to humiliate and abuse prisoners, and hiding their actions from their superiors–then they are guilty. If they were following orders, even vague ones, then I am open to a verdict of “not guilty,” as long as their commanders are held accountable.