What is academic freedom in the classroom?

The most recent APA Newsletter on Teaching Philosophy has a provocative article by Lou Matz wherein he describes his denial of tenure at Xavier University. The basis of Matz' tenure denial was teaching-related: Matz taught material in an Introduction to Philosophy course that, in the judgment of his department colleagues, focused more on contemporary politics than on the core theoretical questions in ethics that his colleagues preferred. Matz then went through a series of appeals, claiming that his academic freedom was violated.


There's a great deal of detail in Matz' article, so I'd encourage everyone simply to read it. But I'd be interested in knowing people's thoughts about the central question here: What is academic freedom with respect to pedagogy? My sense is that academic freedom is conceptualized, first and foremost, in terms of research: what a faculty member may investigate, what methods are appropriate for investigation, how the findings are presented, etc. But what does academic freedom amount to in the classroom? Most discussions of pedagogical freedom seem mostly concerned with a professor's professional neutrality, which is really not about the professor's academic freedom, but students' academic freedom. Does academic freedom extend to instructors' choice of content or subject matter? Does it extend to instructors' pedagogical methods? Is Matz' contention that his academic freedom was violated credible?

Millennials and the ethical sensibility

Several months ago, I attended a presentation outlining the attributes of the generation of students that dominate today's universities, the so-called 'Millenials' or Generation Y (those born since 1980). The presenter (Michael Meeks from San Francisco State University) described a number of characteristics of this generation that can make higher education, at least in the ways it's typically organized and delivered, challenging for them. Some of these are familiar: a technology-induced desire for instant gratification; a general lack of written literacy; a delayed onset of maturity traceable in part to helicopter parents; a culture of relentless self-esteem boosting that leaves them ill-equipped to deal with the first confrontations with academic diversity, and at its worst, fosters a sense of entitlement or narcissism. These characteristics are doubly challenging for those of us teaching philosophy — a discipline that rewards patience, intellectual independence, humility, and strong verbal skills!

There was, however, one particular feature of Millennials that Meeks mentioned that got me thinking about teaching ethics, and in particular, the sort of sensibility needed for students to profit from the study of philosophical ethics. (I'll just call this 'the ethical sensibility'.)


Certain Millennial traits actually seem to be part of the ethical sensibility. Millennials are supposed to be socially conscious, and in my experience, this generally holds true. Most of the students I teach think it's important to be ethically good and are at least minimally sensitive to ethical considerations. Of course, every course has its cynics or moral skeptics, but they've been in the minority. On top of that, Millennials tend to be confident and optimistic, owing to their Boomer parents arranging an orderly and generous environment for them. It's hard to imagine students being motivated to think about ethical questions if they think that ethical problems are intractable or irresoluble.

But here's the flip side to their optimism: I've observed that Millennials are alarmed by the prospect of even apparent ethical dilemmas or conflicts. I gather that many of use ethical dilemmas and conflicts as teaching tools — as ways of illustrating theoretical differences, highlighting salient features of the issue under discussion, etc. But I've noted that students try their best to avoid having to make a difficult ethical choice. Some efforts along these lines are actually welcome. For example, students often respond to dilemmas or conflicts by asking for additional facts that (they hope) will dissolve the dilemma or conflict in question. This desire for a full empirical picture of the situation at hand is something I think we should encourage. At the same time, you can't just stipulate facts in order to avoid hard ethical analysis and deliberation. I can think of several exchanges with my students that have gone something like this:

CHOLBI: So Student, what do you think Mr. A should do in this situation?
STUDENT: If P is true, Mr. A should definitely X.
CHOLBI: P isn't true (Or: We don't know if P is true.)
STUDENT: I don't know (Or: (awkward silence))

I've also had students become angry or disengaged in response to this kind of dialectic, lashing out at me or at the subject matter because the facts just don't line up so as to yield simple resolutions to ethical dilemmas or conflicts.

I'm curious if others have had similar experiences and how the issue might be approached pedagogically. The Millennial sensibility is optimistic with respect to ethics: It's epistemologically optimistic, holding that even apparent conflicts and dilemmas dissolve with a dash of additional empirical facts. It's metaphysically optimistic in that it supposes that the world is normatively unified rather than fragmentary — that whatever the ethically right thing to do is leaves no residue or regrets. These are substantive methodological commitments, but I think students have to earn their right to these commitments by considering the possibility that such commitments are misguided — and to do that they have to take the ethical dilemmas and conflicts we propose to them at face value. The ethical sensibility necessary to profit from the study of philosophical ethics isn't hostile to Millennial optimism but it is not especially compatible with an uncritical optimism.

Or so it seems to me.

¬ (Ain't no cure for the sumertime blues)

It's midsummer, which for many people means we're out of the classroom until fall. But I thought it might be worthwhile to solicit suggestions about how to approach summer teaching, particularly the kind with the accelerated calendar where a quarter or a semester's worth of material is taught in about a month's time. I for one have had mixed experiences teaching accelerated summer courses. Some issues to think about:

• How does the student population change in summer and how should one's teaching change accordingly?
• Do you need to change your syllabus significantly to teach a summer version of a course?
• What other changes in course design (assignments, etc.) are prudent in summer courses?
• Are there any courses that work especially well in the summer? Any that work especially badly?
• Any tips about time management or (given the intense pace of summer courses) stress management?

Anybody with experience or ideas about this, please chime in.

The Job Market

A few thoughts from Brian Leiter for philosophy job-seekers are here: The Brewing Economic Meltdown and the Philosophy Profession

Ethical theory "casebook"

When I've taught ethical theory, I've found that students appreciate the various theories and their salient differences much more clearly when they have concrete examples of the theories in action. I imagine many of you have the same experience. So with that in mind, I'd like people's help in putting together an ethical theory "casebook." The idea is to gather up articles, etc., on particular practical topics that explicitly exemplify a given theoretical approach. Examples of things I have in mind are Hursthouse's "Virtue theory and abortion" or Mappes' piece on liberal Kantian sexual morality. So feel free to suggest article-theory pairs that you think might go in such a casebook. Thanks!

Assessing advising?

The assessment craze has penetrated so far on my campus that departments are now being asked to assess student advising. Has anyone out there ever done such a thing? What are the goals and how do you measure your success in meeting them? Any pointers would be most welcome.