Presented at the Eloquence and Eminence Lecture Series, University of Wisconsin-Madison, 2 p.m., Sunday, November 9, 1997
This lecture is dedicated to the memory of my friend and colleague, Professor Sterling Fishman of the Department of Educational Policy Studies and the Department of History, who died on October 30. Sterling was not only a staunch defender of academic freedom but also a learned and compassionate teacher and scholar. Over the past summer we had discussed what I would be saying, and Sterling had very much looked forward to being here today.
The following quotations appear throughout the text of the paper. I present them here as a kind of Foreword because, read together, they capture the issues discussed in this lecture.
The university is the place to which a thousand schools make contributions; in which the intellect may safely range and speculate, sure to find its equal in some antagonist activity, and its judge in the tribunal of truth. It is a place where inquiry is pushed forward, and discoveries verified and perfected, and rashness rendered innocuous, and error exposed, by the collision of mind with mind, and knowledge with knowledge. [Emphasis added]
—-John Henry Newman, The Idea of a University (1854)WHATEVER MAY BE THE LIMITATIONS WHICH TRAMMEL INQUIRY ELSEWHERE, WE BELIEVE THAT THE GREAT STATE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN SHOULD EVER ENCOURAGE THAT CONTINUAL SIFTING AND WINNOWING BY WHICH ALONE THE TRUTH CAN BE FOUND. (TAKEN FROM A REPORT OF THE BOARD OF REGENTS IN 1984) MEMORIAL, CLASS OF 1910
—The “Sifting and Winnowing” plaque at the entrance to Bascom HallTeachers are entitled to full freedom in research and in the publication of the results, subject to the adequate performance of their other academic duties . . . Teachers are entitled to freedom in the classroom in discussing their subject, but they should be careful not to introduce into their teaching controversial matter which has no relation to their subject . . . College and university teachers are citizens, members of a learned profession, and officers of an educational institution. When they speak or write as citizens, they should be free from institutional censorship or discipline, but their special position in the community imposes special obligations. As scholars and educational officers, they should remember that the public may judge their profession and their institution by their utterances. Hence they should at all times be accurate, should exercise appropriate restraint, should show respect for the opinions of others, and should make every effort to indicate that they are not speaking for the institution.
—American Association of University Professors 1940 Statement of Principles of Academic Freedom and TenureNo one can follow the history of academic freedom in this country without wondering at the fact that any society, interested in the immediate goals of solidarity and self-preservation, should possess the vision to subsidize free criticism and inquiry, and without feeling that the academic freedom we still possess is one of the remarkable achievements of man. At the same time, one cannot but be appalled at the slender thread by which it hangs, at the wide discrepancies that exist among institutions with respect to its honoring and preservation; and one cannot but be disheartened by the cowardice and self-deception that frail men use who want to be both safe and free. With such conflicting evidence, perhaps individual temperament alone tips the balance toward confidence or despair.
—-Hofstadter and Metzger, The Development of Academic Freedom in the United States (1955)
Just three weeks ago in this very building I heard Philosophy Professor Lester Hunt describe to a special faculty-student committee his experience with the University of Wisconsin-Madison Faculty Speech Code. Briefly, a minority student complained to the campus Affirmative Action Office that Professor Hunt made numerous comments both in class and out of class that she regarded as demeaning to Native Americans. An investigation followed. Hearings were held. Eventually, the matter was dropped because it was determined that Professor Hunt did not do anything that would justify disciplinary action. In spite of the case’s resolution, the effects linger. Professor Hunt says that now he routinely finds himself censoring his remarks, both in class and in casual conversations with students, lest what he says might be misinterpreted. In addition, he is now much more careful about what he says when minority students are present. His behavior is quite understandable—-he does not want to go through another similar ordeal.
This event is expecially perplexing because it was only three years ago that the UW-Madison celebrated academic freedom, with a conference and a campus-wide Bascom Hill ceremony representing a recommitment to the principles of sifting and winnowing. The occasion was the 100th anniversary of the 1894 “trial” of Economics Professor, Richard T. Ely. Ely, a social reformer at heart, had been accused by the State Superintendent of Schools, who was also an ex-officio member of the Board of Regents, of advocating union boycotts, fomenting strikes, and teaching socialism. These accusations attracted national attention. They led the Board of Regents to conduct a well-publicized investigative hearing. The Board quickly concluded that the charges against Ely were without merit. Rather than leave it at that, the Board under the leadership of University of Wisconsin President, Charles Kendall Adams, issued its famous sifting and winnowing statement. That statement, now emblazoned on the Bascom Hall plaque, not only defended Ely but had the lasting influence of offering a simple but eloquent defense of academic freedom. The plaque reads as follows:
WHATEVER MAY BE THE LIMITATIONS WHICH TRAMMEL INQUIRY ELSEWHERE, WE BELIEVE THAT THE GREAT STATE UNIVERSITY OF WISCONSIN SHOULD EVER ENCOURAGE THAT CONTINUAL SIFTING AND WINNOWING BY WHICH ALONE THE TRUTH CAN BE FOUND. (TAKEN FROM A REPORT OF THE BOARD OF REGENTS IN 1984) MEMORIAL, CLASS OF 1910
Despite this support, Ely’s brush with possible dismissal affected him in a permanent and chilling way. Thereafter, he exercised much more care about what he said and where he said it. In effect, he practiced self-censorship.In some ways these two stories have a familiar ring—both involve academic freedom and both were resolved. Yet, the methods of handling them were dramatically different. In Ely’s case, the institution rose to the defense of the accused. In Hunt’s case, the charges were quietly dropped. What explains this difference? More basically, what is the meaning of academic freedom? What is a faculty speech code? Do academic freedom and the speech code conflict? If they do, is there some way of resolving that conflict? These are the questions I want to discuss.
Free inquiry is the essence of a university. At universities, scholars and students come together to engage in the process of creating, disseminating, synthesizing, and transferring knowledge. Central to that process is the intellectual engagement that occurs, among faculty and between faculty and students. The nature of that engagement is best described by John Henry Newman:
The university is the place to which a thousand schools make contributions; in which the intellect may safely range and speculate, sure to find its equal in some antagonist activity, and its judge in the tribunal of truth. It is a place where inquiry is pushed forward, and discoveries verified and perfected, and rashness rendered innocuous, and error exposed, by the collision of mind with mind, and knowledge with knowledge. [Emphasis added]
—-John Henry Newman, The Idea of a University (1854)
Without the “collision of mind with mind,” without freedom of inquiry, without the ability to discuss and confront controversial ideas, both old and new, the university becomes at best a hollow shell.
The concept of academic freedom that permits, and indeed guarantees, freedom of inquiry took shape slowly in this country. With the expansion of public universities in the 19th century, and the growing importance of both the sciences and the newly emerging social sciences, faculty members spoke out more frequently on controversial issues. Not infrequently, local citizens, the college board of trustees, or the college president took offense at particular pronouncements. This was followed by steps, invariably successful, to oust the offender. Several of our illustrious academic forebears suffered in exactly this fashion. UW economist John R. Commons, a student of Ely at the Johns Hopkins University, had run afoul of the conservatism of the president of Syracuse University. The same was true of another Ely student, UW sociologist E. A. Ross, who in a highly celebrated case had been fired by Stanford University.
Defending faculty from dismissal at the turn of the century proved to be difficult. Because economists were so often the victims, the American Economic Association took the lead among professional social science organizations in seeking ways to protect freedom of inquiry. Although it conducted investigations and issued reports, these efforts proved to be ineffectual. It was not until 1914 that concrete action was taken, led by Johns Hopkins University Philosophy Professor A. O. Lovejoy. Lovejoy, who had in 1900 resigned from Stanford University over the E. A. Ross dismissal, issued invitations to faculty at seven other universities, including the University of Wisconsin, to begin the work of establishing what became the American Association of University Professors. By 1915 the organization began its operations, which continue today. Over the years AAUP developed policy statements on academic freedom, tenure, and a host of related issues, thereby providing an informal infrastructure of rules and recommendations to help govern the academic enterprise.
The AAUP’s definition of academic freedom is best reflected in its 1940 Statement of Principles of Academic Freedom and Tenure. According to that statement, academic freedom means that:
Teachers are entitled to full freedom in research and in the publication of the results, subject to the adequate performance of their other academic duties . . . Teachers are entitled to freedom in the classroom in discussing their subject, but they should be careful not to introduce into their teaching controversial matter which has no relation to their subject . . . College and university teachers are citizens, members of a learned profession, and officers of an educational institution. When they speak or write as citizens, they should be free from institutional censorship or discipline, but their special position in the community imposes special obligations. As scholars and educational officers, they should remember that the public may judge their profession and their institution by their utterances. Hence they should at all times be accurate, should exercise appropriate restraint, should show respect for the opinions of others, and should make every effort to indicate that they are not speaking for the institution.
—AAUP 1940 Statement of Principles of Academic Freedom and Tenure
This statement, subscribed to by more than 150 learned societies and educational associations, not only defines academic freedom, academic tenure, and professional responsibility, but it also enumerates due process procedures for faculty who are threatened with discipline or dismissal. Institutions that violate due process procedures face censure by the AAUP.
It is worth noting the involvement of University of Wisconsin faculty in AAUP. Several early leaders of the AAUP came from Wisconsin, including Ely, Commons, and Ross. The 1940 Statement just mentioned was issued during the AAUP presidency of Professor Mark Ingraham, long-time UW-Madison Professor of Mathematics and Dean of the College of Letters and Science. The presidencies of English Professor Helen White in the 1950s and Political Science Professor David Fellman in the 1960s led to further clarifications of academic freedom and tenure issues.
Despite these advances in protecting academic freedom, considerable ground was lost in the years immediately following World War II when the threat of Communism loomed importantly in the public mind. Concerned that public universities harbored Communist intellectuals or sympathizers, many faculty and other public employees were required to sign loyalty oaths. These oaths required signers to attest their allegiance to the United States Constitution, their state constitution, or both. When California instituted its loyalty oath in 1949, faculty at the University of California, Berkeley, objected for a variety of moral, religious, and academic reasons. They objected most strenuously, of course, because the oath placed severe limits on academic freedom. The threat of being identified as disloyal, by an unwillingness to sign the oath, or by anonymous accusations of disloyalty, exerted a chilling effect on the classroom environment and led many faculty members to censor their own speech.
An even more chilling effect resulted from McCarthyism, which began in 1950, the year Wisconsin Senator Joseph McCarthy launched his effort to drive Communists and Communist sympathizers out of the federal government. You may recall McCarthy’s famous words: “I have here in my hand a list of 205—a list of names that were made known to the Secretary of State as being members of the Communist Party and who nevertheless are still working and shaping policy in the State Department.” McCarthy’s first victim was Johns Hopkins University Professor Owen Lattimore, a sinologist and director of the Walter Hines Page School of International Relations. Lattimore describes his harrowing experience in his book Ordeal by Slander (1950). He went through days of grueling hearings in Spring 1950, and found himself in a seeming endless process of refuting one charge only to face a new one. His situation became even more bleak when he was charged with perjury in 1952. In 1955, after a long series of court battles, Lattimore was finally convicted on several charges arising from minor discrepancies found in his long hours of testimony. Meanwhile, the Johns Hopkins faculty had risen quickly to his defense. The Hopkins Board of Trustees held firm even when faced with tremendous pressure from alumni, benefactors, and the general public, to fire Lattimore. The actions of both the faculty and Board were in keeping with the Hopkins tradition of academic freedom, a tradition going back to Johns Hopkins Professor A. O. Lovejoy’s to create the AAUP.
The toll these developments took is difficult for most of us to appreciate. I witnessed a glimpse of it when, as a graduate student at Johns Hopkins University, I attended a seminar on the history of China taught by Professor Lattimore. Lattimore had grown up in China, became an expert on Outer Mongolia, served for a time as a special assistant to Chiang Kai-Shek during World War II, and wrote extensively about U.S.-China policy. When I encountered Lattimore in early 1956, at a time when pressures to oust him were most intense, I was immediately struck by how he seemed to have aged. His shuffling walk, his pronounced nervous tic, and his beaten demeanor were in stark contrast to the mannerisms of a vibrant man of just a few years earlier. Though he never mentioned his encounters with McCarthy or the continued attacks on him, it was quite apparent that Lattimore had learned the importance of censoring his remarks both inside and outside the classroom.
Then, to my surprise, I too faced the loyalty oath. Accepting my first academic appointment at the University of California-Los Angeles in 1958 required my signing California’s loyalty oath. I hesitated. I came to UCLA with a keen appreciation for academic freedom based on Lattimore’s experience. That appreciation had been reinforced by one of my Johns Hopkins professors, economist Fritz Machlup, who had himself escaped from persecution in Europe, played a leading role in defending Lattimore, written several of the “best-ever” papers on academic freedom and tenure, and later served as president of AAUP. Although I preferred not to sign the California loyalty oath, I did sign. Why? Perhaps I fatally compromised my principles. By then, however, the loyalty oath issue rested in the courts, with a decision expected reasonably soon. Senator McCarthy had died and his reign of terror ended. I found an equally compelling rationale in that I had so frequently signed comparable oaths attesting to my loyalty in obtaining security clearances while in military service that it seemed foolish to object—I was loyal, and I felt free, and still do, to speak out on controversial issues.
What is the condition of academic freedom today, both generally and particularly here at UW-Madison? In a sense, academic freedom is healthier than ever. There are no external threats to academic freedom. Virtually all colleges and universities not only realize the theoretical importance of academic freedom and due process but have also incorporated these principles into their own rules and regulations.
In another sense, however, academic freedom is under serious challenge because of recent dramatic changes in both academe and the world it inhabits. Two academic freedom issues dominate. One, about which I will not speak, concerns the rules governing the ever growing number of what have come to be called university-business partnerships. There are many of them, ranging here at UW-Madison from the Reebok contract to questions of assigning intellectual property rights in jointly funded research projects. However, an examination of this complicated issue must be left for another day.
The other issue I want to address concerns the tensions among faculty, administrators, students, and the public over what constitutes appropriate speech and behavior. These concerns are quite different from those of the late 1940s and early 1950s. Then, the main threat to academic freedom came from outside the academy and was related to larger political concerns about the threat of communism, and to possible charges of disloyalty. No longer is there any external threat. Now, the threat is not from outside but from inside the academy, with contending views about what constitutes appropriate speech. This threat from within is an unprecedented development, one that many of us are still trying to understand.
An important starting pooint is speech codes. These codes—faculty speech codes and student speech codes— prohibit certain forms of speech both in the classroom and in out-of-class situations. Essentially, prohibited speech is that which “demeans” groups or individuals on the basis of their particular status: race, ethnicity, gender, disability, etc. The UW-Madison student speech code, adopted in 1989, received an early legal challenge in the federal courts, and in 1991 was found to be unconstitutional; no effort was made to overturn that court decision.
The UW-Madison faculty speech code, by contrast, though not yet contested in the courts, has come under strong criticism from faculty and students. These criticisms have been backed by several prominent campus speakers, including Harvard law professor Alan Dershowitz last year, and just ten days ago, Boston University economist Glen Loury. The latest attack is a forceful editorial in the November 7th issue of the Friday’s Badger Herald, which calls for abolishing the faculty speech code.
What prompts these criticisms by faculty and students? One group objects to any restrictions on free speech in the classroom and in the university setting. Another group, though also concerned about principles, is greatly disturbed by both accusations made against individual faculty members and by the chilling effect on classroom teaching and learning. Here are some examples of occurrences at UW-Madison.
- A professor is criticized for discussing differences in the brains of males and females.
- A professor finds himself criticized for using the word “hut” to describe the structures in which many Africans live.
- A professor is charged with not having treated women graduate students with “all due sensitivity.”
- A professor is criticized for introducing the concept of women’s preferences for particular kinds of work in explaining the extent of “wage discrimination” against females.
- A teaching assistant is reported for having used the term “Black” rather than “African American.”
While these examples may seem insignificant, they do reflect the situation here. Faculty are adapting by reigning in speech that could be out of bounds. Even more important, they are exercising ever greater care about what they say so as not to offend.
To deal with this mounting criticism, the University Committee last spring appointed a special committee to reexamine the Faculty Speech Code. That committee is now considering whether to abolish the code or to modify its provisions in order to clarify their intent and meaning. Two parts of that code are especially troubling.
One is Part III: “Repeated Demeaning Verbal and Other Expressive Behavior in Noninstructional Settings that is Harmful to Another’s Work or Study Performance or to the Work, Study, or Service Environment.” The big challenge here is knowing the meaning of the phrase “explicitly demean.” Nowhere is the word “deman” defined. My dictionaries define “demean” as follows: “to lower in status, conditions, reputation, or character; degrade, debase” (Websters Third Unabridged, 1971); “to debase as in dignity or social standing” (American Heritage, 3rd edition, 1992); “to lower in dignity or standard” (American College Dictionary (1966). The vagueness of these definitions provides little guidance to either faculty or students. And, what does the qualifier “explicitly” mean?
More important, how does a faculty member in the classroom know what “gestures, comments, or epithets are commonly considered by members of the group demeaned to be disparaging to that group” (A.1.)? How does a faculty member determine whether and what particular conduct [actually gestures, comments, or epithets] “seriously interferes with the work or study performance of the person(s) to whom the conduct is addressed or directed” (A.2.a.)? How does a faculty member determine whether and what particular conduct [actually gestures, comments, or epithets] “makes the work, study, or service environment hostile or intimidating, or demeaning to members of average sensibilities of the group demeaned” (A.2.b.)?
These unanswered questions point to the complexity of the code. As members of a research university, faculty should be asking whether existing research could answer these questions. If there is no research, it should be initiated. In other words, faculty members should apply the same truth seeking standards to institutional governance and prohibitions on speech that they apply to their everyday teaching and research activities. Of course, the lawyers contend that if they can only get the language right, the code will withstand Constitutional scrutiny, and all will be well. Perhaps, but will faculty be able to understand the code and receive from it the guidance they need to effectively carry out their teaching responsibilities?
The other difficult section is the even more important Part IV: “Demeaning Verbal and Other Expressive Behavior in Instructional Settings.” There is still no definition of “demeaning.” The definition of “instructional setting” is clear enough but the reason for excluding “advising and counseling situations” is baffling (A.1.). The term “expressive behavior” strikes me as vague (A.2.). In discussing protected expressive behavior (B.), the code states that “A faculty or academic staff member’s selection of instructional materials shall not be a basis for discipline unless an appropriate hearing or review finds that the faculty or staff member’s claim that the materials are germane to the subject of the course is clearly unreasonable” (1.a.). Parallel treatment applies to “expressive behavior constituting an opinion or statement germane to the subject matter of the course in which the behavior occurred; such behavior shall not be a basis for disciplinary action unless an appropriate hearing or review find that the faculty or academic staff member’s claim is clearly unreasonable.” (1.b.) What is the meaning of “clearly unreasonable”? With respect to what? What about material that is less than clearly unreasonable? And, what determines what is “germane to the subject of the course”?
A broader
question about the faculty speech code lies in evaluating its benefits and its costs. No conclusive evidence is available to answer that question. It is my understanding that relatively few complaints about demeaning expressive behavior in instructional settings have been lodged under the code. What does this mean? One interpretation is that there may never have been a significant problem and hence the speech code is superfluous. Another interpretation is that without the speech code many more cases would have been brought forward; in effect, the code effectively curtailed demeaning expressive behavior.
Whatever the answers to these questions, they say nothing about the chilling effect of a faculty speech code. By chilling effect, I mean the self-censoring by faculty in an effort to avoid even the most remote possibility of complaints being filed against them. This understandable exercise of self-censorship means that the faculty speech code, which is supposed to protect students, instead limits their freedom to learn. It does so by inhibiting the free discussion of ideas—“the collision of mind with mind”—that is essential to learning and truth seeking.
It is ironic that the faculty speech code both contradicts and supports faculty rights as they are set out in Chapter 8 of the document, Faculty Rights and Responsibilities. If in the words of the Board of Regents, establishing “those conditions which are indispensable for the flowering of the human mind” calls for regulating faculty speech, then a speech code may be justified. But, nobody has yet made that case effectively. On the other hand, if the University’s rules and regulations run counter to the belief expressed by the Board of Regents on behalf of the people of Wisconsin “that in serving a free society the scholar must himself be free,” then the faculty speech code clearly circumscribes that freedom.
Let me turn now to a related academic freedom issue. I begin with the situation of Professor Lino Graglia from the University of Texas Law School, whose recent comments on the academic competitiveness of minorities, specifically black and Mexican-American students, provoked a national outburst. Essentially, Graglia said that those cultures did not value educational success as much as other cultures. Such a statement, if wrong, could have been refuted by evidence. Graglia’s law school colleagues chastised him for what he said, but did not refute his statement.
More basically, Professor Graglia was taken to task for attempting to open discussion of an educational policy decision made several decades ago, namely, the policy of giving preferential admission status to minorities. This preferred status is accepted by most minorities and, it would appear, by many nonminority faculty and administrators at major and not so major universities, including this one. When faculty question a policy, such as diversity, they feel compelled to buttress their comments with evidence. While engaging in this questioning, faculty may inadvertently say things, as Professor Graglia seemingly did, that can be interpreted by minorities as offensive or demeaning, thereby creating an uncomfortable or even hostile learning environment. What many people fail to appreciate is that the effect of diversity programs, combined with faculty speech codes and their strictures against anything that smacks of demeaning language, may have heightened rather than blunted the sensitivities of everyone, particularly minorities. As a result, statements of fact can too easily be interpreted as demeaning and offensive. And, attempts to discuss sensitive educational policy issues come under attack.
I experienced a similar situation last year in questioning the University’s diversity policy, through a series of essays in the student and local newspapers, and also in the Faculty Senate. In speaking out, I thought of myself as a faculty member who is also an “officer of an educational institution,” to quote AAUP terminology from the 1940 Statement of Principles. I saw myself raising an issue of educational policy that needed to be discussed by the faculty. I tried to present my views in a reasoned manner, bolstered by factual evidence. What struck me most forcefully was the unwillingness of faculty and administrators to engage in an open examination of our diversity policy. Even more astounding was the unwillingness of faculty and administrators to tolerate such a discussion in the Faculty Senate, a body whose principal purpose is to discuss and establish educational policy. Indeed, faculty responsibility for determining educational policy is set out explicitly in the Wisconsin Statutes. Criticism that my actions indicated disloyalty to the institution proved to be especially disheartening. It caused me to wonder what happened to the hallowed concept of academic freedom, the principle of “sifting and winnowing” the Madison campus so recently celebrated.
These two problems—the speech code and the conduct of intramural policy discussions—have similar origins. They reflect the steady encroachment of employment law into higher education at the expense of academic freedom. I refer to the impact of Title VII of the 1964 Civil Rights Act and rules and guidelines that have evolved for dealing with sexual harassment and a hostile workplace. Speech codes build on that framework, by applying the model of employment law to educational institutions. They improperly extend the reach of employment law into the classroom, which is not a workplace. They also extend to higher education, without substantial modification, the monitoring and enforcement mechanisms appropriate to private sector employment. While there are obviously hierarchical employment relationships within colleges and universities, these relationships apply principally to nonteaching, nonresearch academic and classified staff. Faculty, on the other hand, play their roles as not only teachers and researchers but also in the language of the 1940 AAUP Statement of Principles, “officers” of their institutions. While it is true that students are graded by faculty members, the argument that faculty have power over their students, in the same sense as supervisors in other employment relationships, is fatally flawed. The faculty-student relationship is conditioned, albeit imperfectly, by the process of learning and the testing of ideas.
A related matter is faculty surrender of control over jurisdiction in speech code complaints. The University’s recently renamed Equity and Diversity Resource Center, formerly the Office of Affirmative Action and Compliance, views speech code cases as falling under Title VII rather than the Faculty Speech Code. What makes this claim intolerable is the multiple roles played by the Center. Students are told to register complaints with the Center; the Center investigates these complaints; and no doubt the Center makes recommendations to the Chancellor on these cases. This mixing of responsibilities for equal opportunity and affirmative action compliance undercuts the creditability of the process. The absence of major faculty involvement in these cases through faculty governance structure is even more astonishing. The nuanced distinctions between employment law and the traditions of academic freedom are too important to be treated so casually.
What conclusions emerge from this long discourse? Academic freedom and free speech are in jeopardy here on this campus and elsewhere because of the lethargy of faculty and administrators.
- Too many of us fail to understand the full meaning and significance of academic freedom.
- Too few of us are willing to publicly defend and fight for our most precious resource, academic freedom.
- Too few of us have attempted to stop the improper and unwarranted application of employment law to academe.
How then, do we assess the current state of academic freedom on this campus in light of the questions posed by Hofstader and Metzger?
No one can follow the history of academic freedom in this country without wondering at the fact that any society, interested in the immediate goals of solidarity and self-preservation, should possess the vision to subsidize free criticism and inquiry, and without feeling that the academic freedom we still possess is one of the remarkable achievements of man. At the same time, one cannot but be appalled at the slender thread by which it hangs, at the wide discrepancies that exist among institutions with respect to its honoring and preservation; and one cannot but be disheartened by the cowardice and self-deception that frail men use who want to be both safe and free. With such conflicting evidence, perhaps individual temperament alone tips the balance toward confidence or despair.
—-Hofstadter and Metzger, The Devepment of Academic Freedom in the United States (1955)
Should we experience a feeling of “confidence or despair”? Has there been a blurring of the vision supporting “free criticism and inquiry”? Is the “slender thread” of support for academic freedom within institutions weakening? Is there a growth of “cowardice and self-deception” that undercuts our commitment to academic freedom? I leave these questions for you to ponder.
In closing, let me say that academic freedom is and will always remain an elusive concept. Because of regular assaults against it, we must be constantly vigilant and determined in our efforts to preserve and strengthen our commitment to academic freedom. Indeed, we—faculty, administrators, and students—must regularly and consistently practice, in the words of the Bascom Hall plaque, “that continual and fearless sifting and winnowing by which alone the truth can be found.”