Redefining Higher Education

How Self-Direction Can Save Colleges

Melvyn L. Fein

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2022
• ISBN:
  9781351494403
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Education
• Subtopic: Education General

Higher education is in trouble. Commentators of all stripes bemoan escalating costs and diminishing quality. Solutions have been offered from all quarters, but tend to be piecemeal and all too often ideological. In this tough-minded look at the history, current climate, and future of university education in the United States, Melvyn L. Fein re-examines the mission of higher education and outlines what institutions can do to better prepare students for an ever more complex techno-commercial society. Fein argues that students must have the opportunity to explore and discover what works for them, and that the most important tool for institutions of higher education is self-direction. Professors must be allowed to teach in their own ways, bringing their own experience into the classroom. Since university missions differ, both universities and professors need the freedom to make decisions independently. The imminent need is for a "democratic elite" consisting of self-directed leaders who possess technical and social expertise, as well as personal motivation. The tools for change are appropriate curricula, communities of learners, and a genuine marketplace of ideas. While there is no magic bullet, Fein contends that we can and should build on the achievements of the past so as to evolve more responsive educational institutions-those that promote merit, responsibility, and universalism.

1The Bubble

DOI: 10.4324/9781315128160-1

A Bubble?

The bookstores are filled with tomes describing the problem (Selingo, 2013). Both the Chronicle of Higher Education and Inside Higher Education routinely publish articles that warn of the impending debacle. The National Association of Scholars and many other professional organizations make dire predictions about what will occur if there is no reform (Marks, 2012). John Leo’s blog, “Minding the Campus,” as well as dozens of other Internet postings, keep tabs on the foibles and failures of the contemporary university. Even the lay media have taken to printing stories that suggest American colleges are in deep trouble.

So widespread have forecasts of academic doom become that the predicament has received a name. It is called the “bubble” in emulation of the dot.com and housing bubbles (Barone, 2011, 2013; Agresto, 2011; Shaw, 2011; Reynolds, 2012). Just as Internet stocks rose to perilously high heights and then fell with a thundering crash, and just as housing prices increased to dizzying levels only to recede more quickly, so higher education is expected experience a sharp decline following years of giddy growth. Pundits on both sides of the political aisle worry that the amazing expansion in college enrollments cannot be sustained and that if it isn’t, the nation will suffer. Should this occur, they fear that the expertise needed to support our economy will deteriorate and that an entire generation of Americans may be robbed of an opportunity to engage in upward mobility. If so, our nation will be poorer and less democratic than the American dream has traditionally promised.

The housing bubble left millions of people shaken. These individuals expected investments in their residences to pay off handsomely. No matter how much they expended on the initial purchase, the risk would eventually provide a profit over and above their outlay. Nor would the buyers have to worry about meeting mortgage obligations. With the economy roaring ahead, rising incomes would continually outstrip interest rates. Yet we know what happened. Too many people took on commitments they could not meet and when they defaulted, the financial system collapsed. Many thousands of houses went into foreclosure, and the declining market value of millions of others wiped out the savings of innocent bystanders. So bad were the losses that the economy went into a tailspin. Unemployment climbed to heights not seen since the Great Depression, and it became clear that years would need to go by before the lost ground was recovered.

No wonder that people grow nervous when contemplating another bubble (Shaw, 2011). It is therefore no surprise that they seek solutions to the dangers they suspect are lurking around the corner (Taylor, 2010). But is it true? Is higher education riding for a fall? Have enrollments risen faster than the current institutions—or the nation—can bear (National Center for Educational Statistics, 2001)? Moreover, if our colleges and universities do crumble, will dire effects ripple through the community?

Maybe, however, people are merely recoiling from the uncertainties inherent in change. Perhaps they have allowed their anxieties to get the best of them because they cannot predict the future. Certainly colleges are not what they once were. The number of institutions of higher learning has escalated far beyond its historic peaks. At the moment, there are well over four thousand. Furthermore, far more students are attending college than previously. Nor are they studying what their parents and grandparents did. So what does this mean? Do these developments indicate that higher education will not be able to cope with the challenges? Are they evidence that our universities are failing?

Predictions of doom are nothing new. Ever since their inception, people have fretted about the impending collapse of American colleges. Today we take pride in how soon after the arrival of European settlers higher education took root on our shores. But it was a fragile beginning. Harvard University may have grown into a powerhouse, yet it started by teaching a few dozen scholars. The Puritans, who launched the college in an effort to provide themselves with well-educated ministers, could only manage a pale imitation of the established universities they left behind in England. John Harvard, himself no scholar, had the misfortune of dying young. He lent his name to the new academy, not because of his pedagogic achioevements but by virtue of willing it his modest library. Yet despite this generosity, neither he nor the school’s faculty could do much more than keep its doors open during the formative years.

Small numbers of enrollees trooped to Harvard, as they did to Yale, William and Mary, and what later became Princeton, not because these outposts were bastions of scholarship but because there was no viable alternative. In many ways, we moderns would not recognize these institutions. Most of us, for instance, would be surprised to discover that their unexceptional student bodies were even more unruly than those of contemporary universities. Still, these citadels of learning hung on despite the downbeat predictions. Indeed, during the early part of the nineteenth century, a host of tinier colleges sprang up like mushrooms. Most of these were also sponsored by religious denominations in hopes of providing their members with sound leadership and economic opportunity. Even so, many were so brittle that large numbers closed their doors.

Nonetheless, by the middle of the nineteenth century the idea that higher education was noble had been firmly established in America. So romantically were colleges regarded that eventually there was sufficient congressional support to pass the Morrill Act. Such well-known institutions as Cornell, MIT, and Ohio State got their start this way (Christy and Williamson, 1990). Yet in the beginning, these land-grant colleges were also fragile affairs. Their goal of fostering agriculture and mechanics was honorable, but in practice they were distrusted. As a result, students were disinclined to enroll. The upshot was that many folded into more traditional universities.

Meanwhile, places like Harvard and Yale gained reputations as playgrounds for the spoiled scions of the rich. Parents, such as those of William Randolph Hearst (Nasaw, 2000), sent their sons in the hopes of instilling social polish. What they got instead was networking opportunities. Most enrollees preferred to party rather than study. As far as they were concerned, a “gentleman’s C” was good enough. Actually, studying was reserved for the few nobodies who depended on what they learned to later earn a living.

It was only toward the end of the nineteenth century that Johns Hopkins led the way toward the modern research university by emulating developments then taking place in Germany. Thankfully, Harvard also began to institute the reforms, such as allowing students to take electives, that saved it from irrelevancy (Thelin, 2011). We today know that these correctives worked, but observers at the time bemoaned the problems with higher education as loudly as does the current generation. Furthermore, such schools as existed were barely able to survive on student tuition; hence, many depended on the contributions of local communities and well-heeled benefactors.

Eventually, as the economy grew, colleges adjusted to fit a new set of realities. Instead of teaching Latin and Greek, they began to provide instruction in the sciences and modern languages. It was at this point that the humanities and social sciences, which many moderns regard as the hallmark of higher education, began to acquire their present shape. This, however, did not certify the progressive reputation of these institutions so much as a concurrent innovation. Football had entered the nation’s collective psyche as emblematic of a collegiate education—with Harvard and Yale more broadly regarded as sport powerhouses than academic strongholds.

By the 1920s, the image of the collegian was that of a raccoon-coat-wearing, jalopy-driving, hip-pocket flask-drinking rowdy who was more concerned with celebrating when his team won a championship than reading books. Nor was he ashamed to carouse with the growing numbers of co-eds then making their appearance on campus. College had become cool—yet not a place that encouraged serious learning. Naturally, this too worried those concerned about the fate of higher education. Was this sort of frolicking really meaningful?

Soon, other shocks, albeit of a different order, traumatized the universities. First World War II required them to adjust their curricula so as to prepare soldiers for the technical demands of modern warfare. Happily, this was managed with aplomb. Then there was the influx of millions of a different sort of student following the end of hostilities. With the implementation of the GI Bill, hordes of middle- and workingclass men and women decided to pursue a college degree. Not familiar with the pleasure-seeking ways of the upper classes, and serious about improving their economic prospects, they speedily settled into studying with a vengeance.

Once more, commentators fussed about whether universities had the resources to cope. Yet these fears too proved overdrawn. Not long thereafter, the children of newly professionalized parents descended onto campuses. Having been told from the cradle that they would be going to a university, the experience seemed natural to these middleclass students. Accordingly, it was at this point that the modern university came into being. It was now that the numbers of students, including women, began to approach their current proportions. Where higher education had once been reserved for a select elite, it came to be regarded as the birthright of any person who sought social mobility. This soon included the children of the poor.

Mind you, apprehensions about the viability of universities lingered (Bosquet and Nelson, 2008; Delbanco, 2012). Having proved that they could cope with higher enrollments, the new question was whether they could teach the appropriate lessons. After the Soviets launched the first Sputnik, the fear arose that American colleges did not have the wherewithal to train the scientists to keep up with a technologically sophisticated adversary. The response was to direct greater funds to larger numbers of colleges and graduate schools. The federal government literally dumped billions of dollars into campus-based research projects, while additional billions in student loans enabled the financially disadvantaged to earn a degree.

So here we stand with our colleges and universities having expanded to a degree their founders could not have envisaged. One might imagine that this would be cause for celebration, yet we humans, being what we are, have fresh doubts. Today we are again concerned that we have reached an impasse. Have we risen to such heights that we cannot sustain the achievements bequeathed us by earlier generations? Can we build upon the foundation currently in place?

Exactly what has, or is, liable to go wrong is in dispute. After all, few observers evaluate the contemporary scene with the identical yardsticks (Fukuyama, 1995, 1999). Nor do they harbor the same hopes. Nonetheless, many share common anxieties. Having witnessed too many bubbles, they are terrified of a new one. Accordingly, they worry about a shapeless catastrophe. The question is, are they right? Should we be alarmed because a series of shocks are about to swamp our leaky skiff? One thing is certain: the changes will continue. The real issue is, what these will be.

Towards a “Self-Directed” University

Whether or not we are facing imminent disaster, there can be little question that the times are in flux. There can also be little doubt that the answers to our current challenges will differ from those inaugurated by our ancestors. Just as they made alterations as their world became more industrialized, so we have to adjust to a post-industrial world. The question is, what will this world look like and what sorts of demands will it make of higher education? Fortunately, while the future cannot be known in its entirity, it is possible to make educated guesses about its general outlines.

To begin with, ours is a mass techno-commercial society. We are surrounded by hundreds of millions of strangers upon whom we depend for survival. These others, most of whom we never meet, provide the food, clothing, shelter, and protection that enable us to live comfortably. Indeed, without their assistance we would literally starve. But how can we be sure that these others will continue to deliver what is needed? Can we, in fact, trust them to supply the essential goods and services? Are we right to be certain that they are the sorts of persons who have the skills and the motivation to keep doing this over the long haul?

Much of our confidence rests upon how well these others are prepared to fulfill the responsibilities assigned them. If they learn what they need to know and internalize a desire to perform the required tasks competently, our fears may be allayed. As important, if those who supervise the activities of these people are similarly knowledgeable and motivated, there is a better chance that the complex occupations upon which we rely will be successfully executed. In short, we require many individuals—many more than in the past—who are prepared to exercise expert leadership in a host of challenging endeavors. As a consequence, we likewise need an effective means of grooming these leaders for the duties they will assume.

As it happens, our colleges and universities are on the front line of readying young adults to undertake leadership roles. It is these institutions upon which we rely to instill the kinds of knowledge and determination these positions demand. The shorthand way to describe what is needed is “professionalization.” Professionals are self-motivated experts in the complex specialities upon which techno-commercial societies depend. They are the sorts of persons who are capable of making the difficult decisions needed to direct and coordinate the enormously complicated pursuits that keep our market-based economies and democratically organized governments functioning.

But in order to become professionalized, individuals must undergo a rigorous socialization. There is a great deal of information to be absorbed and many arduous skills to be mastered. Yet there is something more. Professionalized leaders need to be proficient decision makers. They must frequently make independent choices within environments of uncertainty. As a consequence, they must be capable of skillful discretion. If others are to be governed by what they decide, these persons must have the courage to make ambiguous choices, the wisdom to make these prudently, and the integrity to correct the inevitable errors. These abilities may be summed up by describing such persons as “self-directed.” They are self-starters who possess the personal qualities needed to exercise intelligent initiative without having to resort to detailed directions from adminstrative superiors.

Grooming such individuals is itself a challenging mission; nevertheless, it is the central task of contemporary higher education. Because the need for professionalization has expanded exponentially, not just elite institutions (such as those of the Ivy League) but many less select schools are now charged with promoting self-direction. For the latter in particular, this may include fostering social mobility. Individuals whose families of origin did not prepare them to exercise discretion must be assisted in growing into the sorts of individuals capable of it. This is no easy feat; still and all, it can be accomplished by schools that are aware of this mission and adjust their programs accordingly.

Fortunately, what is needed to make our colleges and universities more effective in achieving this goal does not imply a drastic overhaul. In many ways, today’s academies have already been evolving in this direction. Confronted with students, parents, and politicians demanding the fruits of professionalization (even if these pressure groups are only dimly aware of its specifics), schools have developed much of the machinery to promote it. Peter Wood and Michael Toscano (2013) of the National Association of Scholars have succinctly put what until recently has been the direction higher education defined itself as pursuing. They describe this aim as “a complex forstering of knowledge, motivations, character, skills, attitudes, and commitments.” Still, there have been missteps. A lack of clarity about the nature of self-direction has impeded efforts to instill its constituents. Accordingly, higher education needs to refocus its exertions. Those seeking reform must therefore alter their perspective so as to facilitate its most vital objectives. As such, they must worry less about promoting novel pedigogical techniques and more about understanding the social context in which they operate.

A useful analogy has been provided by the All-Star baseball player Ken Harrelson. In his current role as an announcer for the Chicago White Sox, he often explains that what converted him from a journeyman hitter into an outstanding one was a change in attitude rather than in mechanics. As long as he went to the plate worrying about where his hands were positioned, his batting average was pathetic. But when he switched to thinking in terms of what he intended to do, what the pitcher intended to do, and what the context of the moment demanded, he quickly led the league in runs-batted-in. Educational planners, if they are to be credible, would benefit from a similar mental adjustment. In their case, it is the larger social context, the one requiring self-direction, that must be appreciated. Specific pedagogical methodologies, while they are not irrelevant, are secondary. It is in being professionalized and being comfortable with encouraging professionalization that academics—and those counseling them—will have their most constructive impact.

But first it is necessary to investigate the nature of the problems confronting contemporary higher education. There is, it turns out, not one problem but a tangle of related problems. Nor are all of these consistent. Moreover, because different commentators have different objectives, how they evaluate these snags varies. By the same token, their recommendations for reform are typically contingent on a variety of values and competences. Pundits frequently support improvements in accord with their personal beliefs and abilities. It is therefore necessary to review the range of proposals before sorting through them to determine the most advantageous. This sorting process itself is contingent upon clarifying the mission of higher education, which in turn is best achieved by reviewing the history of such endeavors. It develops that advanced forms of education have long concentrated on preparing social elites for leadership positions. What has been taught, however, has differed with the nature of the society and its needs.

Only at this point will we be able to turn our analysis to examining the sorts of knowledge and skills our society requires. The closer inspection of these made when we arrive at chapter four will quickly reveal that small preindustrial societies, industrial ones, and our post-industrial one make different demands. With respect to colleges and universities, the most crucial of these confronting us follows from the changeover from a bureaucratic form of organization to a professionalized one. It develops that to a large extent, the challenges bedeviling contemporary academies derive from a failure to make this transition. Still mired in bureaucratic forms of governance, schools, often unintentionally, hobble efforts to expand self-motivated expertise. This then is the larger picture that must be kept in mind when addressing the college bubble.

All of this is preamble to scrutinizing the nature of self-direction so as to identify how best to implement it in our colleges and universities. What sorts of specialized knowledge do their curricula need to emphasize? And how do these schools go about instilling the appropriate forms of motivation? Much of what is in place need not be ...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Half Title
• Title
• Copyright
• Contents
• Preface
• 1 The Bubble
• 2 All the World’s a Nail
• 3 The Mission of Higher Education
• 4 A Professionalized Society
• 5 Self-Direction
• 6 A Self-Directed Curriculum
• 7 Self-Directed Students
• 8 Self-Directed Faculties
• 9 An Evolutionary Perspective
• Bibliography
• Index