In a recent letter to university Vice Chancellors, Conservative Member of Parliament, and government whip, Chris Heaton-Harris, asked UK universities for the names of professors lecturing on European affairs, with particular reference to Brexit. In an article for the Times Higher Education on 24^th October titled ‘Heaton-Harris letter: academics don’t use lectures to promote their Brexit opinions’, Professor Janet Beer – Vice Chancellor of the University of Liverpool, and President of Universities UK – responded vigorously, arguing that ‘Academics are not using lecture halls or seminars to promote their personal opinions, on Brexit or other issues’ (https://www.timeshighereducation.com/blog/heaton-harris-letter-academics-dont-use-lectures-promote-their-brexit-opinions).

Professor Beer’s response seems to express disquiet at the idea that academics would use lectures and seminars with students to promote their own personal opinions on anything. A university education, claims Beer,  has a particular responsibility to protect ‘independence in academic study’ (https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2017/oct/24/universities-brexit-mccarthyism-chris-heaton-harris-free-speech-integral). But why the anxiety over the idea of promoting personal opinions, as if this poses a challenge to independence in academic study (whatever that means)? Perhaps the angst felt here comes from the negative associations that are often associated with the idea of ideas being ‘promoted’. While the etymology of the word – in the Latin promovere meaning simply to move forward, or advance, does not suggest anything untoward, the commonplace idea of ‘promotion’ is ineluctably connoted with monetary advantage, whether thought of in terms of the job market, or in terms of payment for position, as with, for example, promoted content on social media. Promotion is something of a dirty word.

But what does it mean to promote ideas in academia, and should we avoid it to protect the independence of the lecture hall or the seminar room? Is avoidance of promotion a form of ‘intellectual cleanliness’, part of what it means to be a professional in contemporary higher education – one of the values that the academic should espouse, along with, for example, academic integrity? Against Beer, I would argue that promotion of ideas is axiomatic for the academic; to promote an idea is one of her foremost duties for her students. To promote an idea is to present it to those who will listen with conviction, vigour and sincerity. It is also to put oneself at stake in the presentation of the idea – to make oneself vulnerable (to critique, but perhaps even to ridicule or rejection). Promotion is a risky business; but it is the lifeblood of academia.

I was reminded of the idea of promotion as a bringing to attention of an idea, while re-reading a  classic work of ancient philosophy. In Plato’s Symposium, a group of friends – all notable individuals – gather together at a banquet, and decide to give extemporaneous speeches in praise of Love. Each encomium (a speech in praise of a person or thing) adumbrates a particular position – or, we might say, promotes a particular point of view. Phaedrus, the first guest to speak, promotes the position that Love causes some men to die for their beloved. Pausanias,  the legal expert  of the group, and who follows Phaedrus’ encomiun, introduces a distinction between a nobler and a baser kind of love. Agathon, however, critiques the previous speakers, arguing that they have made the mistake of congratulating mankind on the blessings of love, but at the same failing to give due praise to the god himself. In the promotion of these ideas by different participants, a kind of opening up is effected, one that should surely be at the very heart of a higher education. Perhaps this will allow us to re-think the pedagogical value of promotion.

Last week one of my philosophy of education doctoral students came to see me. She’s doing very well: writing, presenting at conferences, and is getting involved with the department through helping to a colleague’s research. She’d written something that she wanted to talk to me about. This wasn’t something that was necessarily related directly to her thesis, but was a topic about which she felt very strongly, and that she felt warranted some of her time to write. The topic matters little here. What was significant was the manner in which she presented the nearly 4 pages of A4 she brought to my office.

Commonly, students who come to my office for a tutorial (my undergraduates or taught postgraduates) or for supervision (my doctoral students) are coming with the express purpose of gaining feedback on work that that have sent to me previously for scrutiny. I tend to receive scripts by email, and either print them off and make hand-written notes, or often annotate them on screen. Both serve as prompts for us to discuss. But the important thing here is that student present written documents. I was expecting the same routine when my doctoral student popped in last week. She arrived clutching a few sides of A4. As I reached out to take it from her (perhaps feeling a mixture of anxiety and slight irritation at not having seen it before, and so feeling added pressure to give constructive feedback ‘on the spot’), she sat down. ‘I’d like to read it to you’, she said.

My thoughts turned to the fact that reading one’s work to an academic member of staff is still common practice in the so-called ‘Oxford Tutorial System’ (see Palfreyman 2008). But this was not Oxford. While from the students’ perspective, the Oxford tutorial is evolving from the 1:1 session where the student reads her essay to the don (see James Clark’s chapter in Palfreyman’s book), there is still a strong sense that the form of the Oxford tutorial is a means of delivering a liberal education – a ‘pedagogical gem’ (Palfreyman 2008: 9).

And so my student read her text, and as she did so, a number of things occurred to me. First, it’s hard to listen – not because the content is necessarily difficult to follow, but because listening demands a different kind of attention. Second, there’s a seriousness, and a responsibility that such listening demands. My whole demeanour is a kind of immediate feedback to the student – every slight frown; every turn of the head; every nod or half smile is significant for the student. Third, and this for me was the most important reflection, was that this is not just about my listening; it is about my being addressed.

Of course, there are plenty of ways in which life in academia involve a similar kind of oral presentation. We might say that lectures or presentations at conferences are pretty much the same kind of activity. But the key word here in these examples is presentation. To present something is merely to introduce something to someone, to display it, pass it over, or give as a gift. The etymology here suggests something unidirectional (a line of travel from presenter to audience). But to address someone is, I want to suggest, significantly different from simply presenting something to them. Implied in the idea of address is a reciprocity – a demand for a response. To be addressed is to be called upon. In listening to my student, I was not the passive recipient of her presentation of ideas; I was being addressed – called on for a response. This is the demand of the address.

These ideas of address, and the demand for a response, are found in the writings of the American philosopher, Stanley Cavell, and in particular, his (difficult) idea of passionate utterance. This chapter 7 in his 2005 book, Philosophy the Day After Tomorrow. The background to his notion of passionate utterance is in the ordinary language philosopher, J.L. Austin’s idea of the performative utterance (the kinds of statements that cannot be thought of in terms of truth or falsity, but are also not nonsense. In the performative utterance, something is performed in the saying of certain words: for example, ‘I name this ship the Queen Elizabeth’, or ‘I pronounce you man and wife’). Cavell finds that in these performative utterances, which are classified as such when they meet certain ‘rules’  (that Austin calls ‘felicity conditions’), the issue of passion or expression in speech, is avoided. So Cavell offers us the idea of the passionate utterance – statements in which the aim is not merely, or primarily to inform the listener of something. In passionate utterance, the aim is to ‘invite an exchange’ (Cavell 2005: 181).

The idea of exchange here suggests something different from the unidirectional aspects that I see as inherent to presentation. But I don’t think that it is an idea of reciprocity that is most important in Cavell’s notion of passionate utterance. Indeed, he highlights how the invitation to exchange that marks passionate utterance might be refused. Nor is it that the topic on which I am addressed need be one that arouses strong passions (Cavell suggests that “I’m bored” is an example of passionate utterance). It is more that in addressing someone – in inviting an exchange – you are also calling someone into relationship. Cavell puts it like this:  ‘In confronting [or addressing] you, I declare my standing with you, and single you out, demanding a response in kind from you…so making myself vulnerable to your rebuke [or refusal], thus staking our future’ (p. 185).

Cavell’s ideas are notoriously difficult, and this chapter on passionate utterance is no exception. But I think it’s worth bearing with in thinking about how our talking with each other might be more demanding – more intimate/challenging/rich/fulfilling/risky – even passionate, than the kind of (often), ritualised performance that marks the giving of (written) feedback.

In being invited to listen to my student’s paper, I was being invited into relationship with her, to be present with her and her ideas, and be confronted by them. We were staking our future together.

References:

Palfreyman, D., (2008), The Oxford Tutorial: “Thanks, you Taught Me how to Think”, 2^nd edition, Oxford: Oxford Centre for Higher Education Policy Studies.

Lost in Thought (or Phoebe at Onteora), Beckwith James Carroll,  1908.

Saying ‘No’ in an Age of Performance, Visibility, and Rankings (April 11 2017)

The word ‘university’ is etymologically related to ideas of wholeness, universality, and signals a community of masters and scholars. Implied in these ideas is a working together – a form of communion. But increasingly, the contemporary university is marked not by forms of working together, but rather of working against – at least in one’s research, outputs, and visibility. It is as if the academic is  in competition with her colleagues, not only in her field generally, but in her own institution. Of course, it is not the case of being nostalgic here, and harking back to some golden era of higher education when there was no such competition, and the academic life was one where everyone supported others unreservedly. Take the well-publicised, and very public disagreements, between the philosophers Jean-Paul Sartre, and Gabriel Marcel over the concept of freedom; this is just one of very many high profile examples. But it seems that the current culture of much higher education fosters a kind of working against other colleagues that is underpinned by an incessant drive to use metrics to rank – and to divide – colleagues.

This is not an issue at a local level only (with examples from the sector of rating and ranking staff in terms of everything from their social media use; public visibility in the press;  popularity with students, to their potential for income generation), but is also inscribed in national measures such as student satisfaction surveys, and  the Research and Teaching Excellence Frameworks.  What is privileged in this culture is one of performance – being seen to do things. This is not only the case in teaching and learning (where the academic must be seen to engage in research-informed teaching, and to be cognisant of, and implementing the latest, innovative pedagogic approaches), but also in research. She must be working in accordance with the Researcher Development Framework, demonstrating the requisite knowledge; displaying the appropriate skills and attributes, and performing consistently in terms of securing research funding, demonstrating impact, disseminating her findings through invited keynotes at international conferences etc.

Perhaps this paints a rather negative picture of what is expected of the academic. Her role is one that should rightly be judged in accordance with professional expectations. But there is something important at stake here in the relentless pressure that the drive for visibility, performance, and the highest rankings bring. It is the dilemma of when, and whether, to say ‘No’.

Once the academic, – keen to advance her career, to make a strong contribution to her students’ experience, and to her university and its community – begins to  have her work recognised (in peer-reviewed publications, through successful funding bids, and amongst her peers in her specialist field, then there are increasing calls on her time and energies to engage in a whole host of other activities. These include activities such as conference organisation; contribution of book chapters; journal reviewing; mentoring; committee membership; involvement in learned societies and so on. But how much is too much? When does she say ‘Yes’, and when, conversely, should she say ‘No’? Does refusal of invitations indicate nonchalance, or simply the stress of innumerable competing demands? How will refusal be seen by those monitoring, and managing the research activities in any institution? This is the difficult, liminal space of the early career researcher.

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Professional integrity (March 19 2017)

I’ve been thinking recently about the whole idea of professional integrity. Often, especially in universities, it’s thought of in relation to students, and in making sure that they comply with the academic conventions in their discipline. It’s to do with being honest; doing the right thing; with the principles and ethical behaviour for working. Of course, it also relates to academics: to ideas of the standards in the profession; of ways of acting, of doing the right thing, and of not doing other things. Student charters talk of acting with integrity, and many professional associations representing a range of different fields require their members to act with integrity. Few would seriously take issue with dictionary definitions of integrity such as ‘the quality of being honest and having strong moral principles’.

But is there something missing there, that the etymology of the word reveals? It’s clear that the idea of blamelessness and innocence is the 14th century root of the word (from the Latin, intergritatem. But integrity is also related to the Latin integer meaning ‘whole’, ‘intact’, or ‘complete’. This is interesting, especially in light of reading this, by Simone Buitendjik, Vice Provost of education at Imperial College, London, in the TES:

Carl Wieman, a Nobel prizewinning physicist and active-learning advocate from Stanford University, compares belief in the value of traditional lecturing to belief in bloodletting in an era of modern, evidenced-based medicine. Lecture theatres and classrooms, according to Wieman, should be places of interaction – where students can work with their professor and with fellow students to figure out problems – practising what they know, receiving feedback in real time, and actively engaging with the course material.

But what would it mean to do away with the (implied) archaic lecture, and to embrace the so-called ‘modern’, ‘evidence-based’ approaches to education. It certainly means this: doing away with academics’ integrity; with their ability to have at hand, and to drawn on, the entirety of available approaches to teaching and learning. As such, it is a fragmentation of pedagogy – a turning away from wholeness.

A lecture, again as the etymology suggests, is a form of address. Taken seriously, this means that those listening are presented with, and encounter, ideas. This space is far from a void; rather, it is a space of interaction, where the audience engages with the material. To be so addressed demands a response from me; a kind of thinking that asks whether the world as presented fits the way that I see the world, and whether I accept or reject what I have encountered (or whether I need to reflect further). Whatever my response, it is evidence of my active engagement with the course material that Carl Wieman advocates. The lecture, in this way, might be thought of in terms of the address that philosopher Stanley Cavell calls ‘passionate utterance’ in his book, Philosophy the Day After Tomorrow.  A passionate utterance is for Cavell, an invitation to a form of exchange, one in which the speaker provokes the words of another. But it is different from other forms of utterance in terms of its invitation to respond; such an invitation is made without knowing its effects, whether the invitation (to engage) will be accepted, postponed or rejected, and what the consequences of this might be.

With one eye on the Teaching Excellence Framework in British universities, let us do the soul-searching that Buitendjik calls for, and not strip academics further of their professional integrity.’

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Saying ‘No’ in an Age of Performance, Visibility, and Rankings (April 11 2017)

The word ‘university’ is etymologically related to ideas of wholeness, universality, and signals a community of masters and scholars. Implied in these ideas is a working together – a form of communion. But increasingly, the contemporary university is marked not by forms of working together, but rather of working against – at least in one’s research, outputs, and visibility. It is as if the academic is  in competition with her colleagues, not only in her field generally, but in her own institution. Of course, it is not the case of being nostalgic here, and harking back to some golden era of higher education when there was no such competition, and the academic life was one where everyone supported others unreservedly. Take the well-publicised, and very public disagreements, between the philosophers Jean-Paul Sartre, and Gabriel Marcel over the concept of freedom; this is just one of very many high profile examples. But it seems that the current culture of much higher education fosters a kind of working against other colleagues that is underpinned by an incessant drive to use metrics to rank – and to divide – colleagues.

This is not an issue at a local level only (with examples from the sector of rating and ranking staff in terms of everything from their social media use; public visibility in the press;  popularity with students, to their potential for income generation), but is also inscribed in national measures such as student satisfaction surveys, and  the Research and Teaching Excellence Frameworks.  What is privileged in this culture is one of performance – being seen to do things. This is not only the case in teaching and learning (where the academic must be seen to engage in research-informed teaching, and to be cognisant of, and implementing the latest, innovative pedagogic approaches), but also in research. She must be working in accordance with the Researcher Development Framework, demonstrating the requisite knowledge; displaying the appropriate skills and attributes, and performing consistently in terms of securing research funding, demonstrating impact, disseminating her findings through invited keynotes at international conferences etc.

Perhaps this paints a rather negative picture of what is expected of the academic. Her role is one that should rightly be judged in accordance with professional expectations. But there is something important at stake here in the relentless pressure that the drive for visibility, performance, and the highest rankings bring. It is the dilemma of when, and whether, to say ‘No’.

Once the academic, – keen to advance her career, to make a strong contribution to her students’ experience, and to her university and its community – begins to  have her work recognised (in peer-reviewed publications, through successful funding bids, and amongst her peers in her specialist field, then there are increasing calls on her time and energies to engage in a whole host of other activities. These include activities such as conference organisation; contribution of book chapters; journal reviewing; mentoring; committee membership; involvement in learned societies and so on. But how much is too much? When does she say ‘Yes’, and when, conversely, should she say ‘No’? Does refusal of invitations indicate nonchalance, or simply the stress of innumerable competing demands? How will refusal be seen by those monitoring, and managing the research activities in any institution? This is the difficult, liminal space of the early career researcher.

I’ve been thinking recently about notions of academic integrity (in connection with ideas of integers, and wholeness), and the fragmentation of pedagogy in Higher Education (in connection with the pathologization of, for example, the lecture). These ideas came about from reading Gabriel Marcel’s (1950) work, The Mystery of Being. In the chapter, ‘The Broken World’, Marcel writes about the reduction of the self to such an extent that there cannot be sustained ‘any practical distinction between myself and the abstract individual all of whose “particulars” can be contained on the few sheets of an official dossier’. This, he suggests, leads to a ‘strange reduction of a personality to an official identity’ (p. 29). To what extent might these ideas be thought to reflect the contemporary academic? Is she part of Marcel’s administrative machine, and if so, how can she protest against such a broken world in a way that expresses her freedom (as Marcel understands it)? And how does she express her pedagogical freedom?

I am on the organising committee for this important, and highly relevant conference to be held in Aarhus, Denmark, in November 2017. If you are interested in ideas about the purposes and future of the university, then do join us for this conference:

The Purpose of the Future University
Philosophy of Higher Education Conference

Whether your interest in higher education research is motivated by philosophy, anthropology, sociology, psychology or another discipline, and if you share a concern for the purpose of the future university, then this conference is for you.

The conference will take place November 6th-8th, 2017, at Aarhus University, in the city of Aarhus, Denmark. The conference begins on Monday November 6th with a welcome reception, and ends on Wednesday afternoon November 8th.

The conference will play an important role in the joint international endeavour of developing and strengthening the discussions about the purpose and role of the university as an institution.The conference will, therefore, be central to the formation of an initiative to establish a lasting joint international academic venture into the philosophy of higher education.We encourage a multigenerational host of participants including PhD students, and newer and experienced researchers and scholars.

Conference themes

Drawing on recent notions such as critical thinking, creativity, ethics and social conscience, the conference brings together academics whose concern is with the role of the university in and for society. Neoliberalism and the audit culture have threatened to reduce the purpose of the university as an institution in the 21st century, putting the university into a legitimation crisis. Given that the future is unpredictable and that the world is connected in ways that were unimaginable just two decades ago, we ask:

• How can the university as an institution and the academics who work in it help to ensure that students are nurtured and adequately prepared for an active role as citizens in a world in which societal, environmental and cultural challenges are shared?
• How is knowledge to be understood in the context of the contemporary university?
• How might the university’s responsibilities towards society be construed, not least for a world that is yet to come?
• What does it mean to be a university today and in the future? Does the university’s own being call for particular actions and different modes of thinking?

We invite submissions that address the following:

– Knowledge, critical thinking, and higher education epistemologies;
– Globalisation and socio-political agendas and their connection to national and local
institutional and professional contexts;
– Entrepreneurship, agency, and the formation of students;
– Higher education curriculum and teaching and learning practices.

Important deadlines and registration:

To keep discussion vibrant and to invite for collaborative thinking and learning, we encourage participants to submit their work-in-progress, and thus not finished papers. We welcome individual paper presentations, symposia, and workshops.

All submission must be made by April 3rd 2017. Submissions made after this date will not be considered. Submissions must be made through the website.

Abstracts for individual papers and workshops should not exceed 1000 words in length, including up to 5 indicative references.

For working papers, presenters will have 20 minutes to present their work, followed by 10
minutes for questions, comments, and discussion in plenum.

A symposium consists of 3-4 contributors, including the convener of the symposium. Each contributor writes a short outline not exceeding 600 words and including 3-4 indicative references, and the convener has responsibility for writing a general introduction to the symposium of 100 words. The convener should submit the introduction together with the contributors’ outlines. These will not be accepted individually.

After April 3rd all proposals will be reviewed by the conference reviewer panel, and you will receive notice whether your proposal is accepted for presentation at the conference no later than June 5th, 2017, so that you will have ample time to arrange for travel and accommodation.

Registration:

Registration opens from April 3rd and closing date for registration is August 1st, 2017.
All registration happens through the conference website. The registration fee for the conference is €250 and includes participation in the evening reception
on Monday 6th November and participation in the conference Tuesday 7th and
Wednesday 8th November including refreshments in the breaks and lunches on Tuesday
and Wednesday. There is a conference dinner on Tuesday 7th November, which participants may register for and pay separately from the registration. The conference dinner will cost €50 and can be booked online.

Accommodation and transport:

It is possible to find accommodation in Aarhus city centre, which is quite close to the venue (1-2 km). We suggest that you book one of the recommend hotels, which will appear on the website. Aarhus airport (Tirstrup) is linked with a number of European cities, but some of you will need to fly to Aarhus via Copenhagen Airport (Kastrup), or arrive in Billund Airport (a local airport) and go to Aarhus by bus from there.

Organising committee and network:

The conference is a joint international project initiated by the steering group: Associate
Professor Søren S.E. Bengtsen (Aarhus University), Associate Professor Sarah Robinson
(Aarhus University), Professor Wesley Shumar (Drexel University, USA), and Reader in Philosophy of Education, Amanda Fulford (Leeds Trinity University).

I’m interested in the idea of engagement in Higher Education. What does it mean to be engaged in your learning. Do lecturers have to be engaged in their teaching, and is this different from simply being engaging? These ideas came from a presentation about ‘engaged singing’ at the 50th Philosophy of Education Society of Great Britain Conference at New College, Oxford, last week. How might an opera singer demonstrate to her voice coach that she is engaged with her audience? Can she? Or is all that we can see that she engages her audience?