The Chronicle of Higher Education
January 27, 2015
 
 
 
January 26, 2015 
The Day the Purpose of College Changed
After February 28, 1967, the main reason to go was to get a  job

 
 
 
By Dan Berrett 
The governor had bad news: The state budget was in  crisis, and everyone 
needed to tighten their belts. 
High taxes threatened "economic ruin," said the newly elected Ronald 
Reagan.  Welfare stood to be curbed, the highway patrol had fat to trim. 
Everything would  be pared down; he’d start with his own office. 
California still boasted a system of public higher education that was the  
envy of the world. And on February 28, 1967, a month into his term, the  
Republican governor _assured  people_ 
(http://chronicle.com/items/biz/pdf/Reagan_press_conference_02-28-1967.pdf)  
that he wouldn’t do anything to harm it. 
"But," he added, "we do  believe that there are certain intellectual 
luxuries that perhaps we could do  without," for a little while at least. 
"Governor," a reporter asked, "what is an intellectual luxury?" 
Reagan described a four-credit course at the University of California at  
Davis on organizing demonstrations. "I figure that carrying a picket sign is  
sort of like, oh, a lot of things you pick up naturally," he said, "like  
learning how to swim by falling off the end of a dock." 
Whole academic programs in California and across the country he found  
similarly suspect. Taxpayers, he said, shouldn’t be "subsidizing intellectual  
curiosity." 
That phrase quickly brought Reagan scorn. The following week the Los  
Angeles Times editorial page warned that his budget cuts and "tampering"  with 
higher education threatened to create second-rate institutions. 
"If a university is not a place where intellectual curiosity is to be  
encouraged, and subsidized," the editors wrote, "then it is nothing." 
The Times was giving voice to the ideal of liberal education, in  which 
college is a vehicle for intellectual development, for cultivating a  flexible 
mind, and, no matter the focus of study, for fostering a broad set of  
knowledge and skills whose value is not always immediately apparent. 
Reagan was staking out a competing vision. Learning for learning’s sake 
might  be nice, but the rest of us shouldn’t have to pay for it. A higher 
education  should prepare students for jobs. 
Those two theories had long existed in uneasy equilibrium. On that day in  
1967, the balance started to tip toward utility in ways not even Reagan may 
have  anticipated. 
Sometimes, sea changes in attitude start small, gradually establishing  
assumptions until no one remembers thinking differently. This is how that  
happened to liberal education. It’s a story of events on campus and beyond: the 
 
oil embargo, the canon wars, federal fiscal policies, the fall of the 
Soviet  Union. On that day in 1967, Reagan crystalized what has since become  
conventional wisdom about college. In the early 1970s, nearly three-quarters of 
 freshmen said it was essential to them to develop a meaningful philosophy 
of  life. About a third felt the same about being very well off financially. 
Now  those fractions have flipped. 
The notion that a liberal education is of dubious value has become 
entrenched  in the popular imagination, even as its defenders argue the 
opposite. 
The  Association of American Colleges and Universities, liberal education’s 
chief  advocate, celebrates its _100th  anniversary_ 
(https://www.aacu.org/centennial)  this month. Its choices have shaped the 
story of liberal  
education, too. The group appears to be in fine shape, with a $10-million  
budget, 
more than 1,300 member colleges, and high-profile projects on  educational 
quality, funded by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, and  civic learning, 
commissioned by the U.S. Department of Education. But such  projects and 
respect on many campuses haven’t stopped the public from largely  dismissing 
the 
idea of liberal education. 
College is defined so narrowly and instrumentally now, AAC&U’s president,  
Carol Geary Schneider, has said, that it’s "ultimately dangerous both to  
democracy and to economic creativity." 
Once prized as a worthy pursuit for all, liberal education that day in 1967 
 became pointless, an indulgence, a joke.

 
 
 
It wasn’t always a punchline. Thomas Jefferson argued for increased access  
to liberal education—among white males. A broadly educated populace, he 
said,  would strengthen democracy. People "with genius and virtue should be 
rendered by  liberal education worthy to receive and able to guard the sacred 
deposit of the  rights and liberties of their fellow citizens," _he  wrote in 
1779._ 
(http://www.monticello.org/site/jefferson/bill-more-general-diffusion-knowledge)
  Such men wouldn’t be easily swayed by tyrants.  
Still, there were dissenters, Michael S. Roth notes in _Beyond the  
University: Why Liberal Education Matters._ 
(http://yalepress.yale.edu/book.asp?isbn=9780300175516)  Benjamin Franklin 
_mocked_ 
(http://archive.aacu.org/aacu_news/aacunews14/august14/perspectives.cfm)   
liberal education for focusing 
on the frivolous accouterments of privilege.  Harvard College’s students 
"learn little more than how to carry themselves  handsomely and enter a room 
genteely," Franklin wrote. When they graduated, they  remained "great 
blockheads as ever, only more proud and  self-conceited."

 
A century later, prominent thinkers were still striking a balance. Booker 
T.  Washington _believed_ 
(http://teachingamericanhistory.org/library/document/industrial-education-for-the-negro/)
   "knowledge must be harnessed to the 
things of real life" so that newly  emancipated black Americans could 
determine their own economic fates. W.E.B. Du  Bois sought to broaden what 
counted as real life, so that "the pursuit of  happiness wouldn’t be reduced to 
the pursuit of dollars," Mr. Roth writes. 
Du Bois lent grandeur to that vision in _The Souls  of Black Folk_ 
(http://www.bartleby.com/114/) : "The final product of our training must be 
neither 
a  psychologist nor a brickmason, but a man." 
Tensions between the two visions lingered into the 20th century. In 1942, a 
 consultant to what was then the Association of American Colleges worried 
that  institutions had "lost sight of the value of a liberal education" and 
that their  curricula had "deteriorated into a hodge-podge of training in 
technical  skills." 
Still, the prevailing consensus endorsed liberal education. A presidential  
commission _chartered by Harry S.  Truman_ 
(http://catalog.hathitrust.org/Record/001117586)  recommended in 1947 that 
colleges strive to more fully 
realize  democracy "in every phase of living," promote international 
understanding, and  deploy creative intelligence to solve social problems. 
College wasn
’t a way to  get a job or make a buck. 
For a long time, the pushback to that philosophy was productive. It forced  
higher education to be dynamic, to respond to conditions beyond campus, 
says Mr.  Roth, who is president of Wesleyan University and sits on the AAC&U 
board.  People understood that liberal learning served individuals, 
regardless of their  jobs, as well as society at large. That’s no longer true, 
he 
says. 
A farmer reading the classics or an industrial worker quoting Shakespeare 
was  at one time an honorable character. Today’s news stories lament 
bartenders with  chemistry degrees. "Where once these ‘incongruities’ might 
have 
been hailed as  signs of a healthy republic," Mr. Roth writes, "today they are 
more likely to be  cited as examples of a ‘wasted’—nonmonetized—
education." 
Reagan rose to power by highlighting how colleges  had veered dangerously 
away from mainstream values. He seized on campus unrest  at Berkeley to 
connect with voters who hadn’t gone to college but wanted their  kids to. But 
the 
buildings their tax dollars paid for were burning. 
The new governor didn’t spend time talking about the tension between  
Jefferson’s and Franklin’s visions. There was little political payoff in 
nuance. 
 Reagan, one of his campaign aides told The New York Times in 1970,  doesn’
t operate in shades of gray: "He lays it out there."
 
 
As his second term and the 1970s began, demographics, economic uncertainty, 
 and world events reinforced Reagan’s ideology. Two _philosophical shifts,_ 
(http://press.princeton.edu/titles/9542.html)   toward social 
egalitarianism and free-market orthodoxy, took hold. 
Higher education felt those shifts. Professorial authority diminished. The  
unraveling consensus on the curriculum accelerated. Colleges increasingly 
viewed  students as customers. Economic inequality and insecurity rose, as 
did the wage  premium of a college degree. And that became one of higher 
education’s main  selling points. 
The long postwar boom, for both the economy and for higher education, was  
ending, and the oil embargo, in 1973, further strained the economy. 
Enrollment  data showed students fleeing from the liberal arts, disciplines 
commonly 
 associated with a liberal education, and flocking to professional and  
pre-professional programs. 
Higher education became more of a buyer’s market. Overall enrollments  
dropped. As that trend continued, colleges sought out new customers, especially 
 
adults and first-generation students, many of whom wanted their investments 
to  pay off in jobs.
 
 
Liberal education felt the squeeze. The Association of American Colleges 
went  into the red as several cash-strapped colleges withdrew their 
membership. With  money tight, all of higher education looked for help from 
Washington. "Although  it may indeed be contrary to academic tradition, as it 
is 
distasteful to many of  us personally, the hour is overdue for us all to become 
more involved  politically," Frederic W. Ness _wrote as  the group’s 
president_ (http://chronicle.com/items/biz/pdf/Address_to_President_1973.pdf)  
in 
1973.
 
 
Many of the sector’s chief associations had long refrained from lobbying  
because _they found it  "vulgar,"_ 
(http://files.eric.ed.gov/fulltext/ED261642.pdf)  according to the 
higher-education scholar Harland G. Bloland.  
College leaders, he said, advocated not self-interest, but the dispassionate  
pursuit of knowledge. They spoke the language of liberal education. 
But after some cajoling from lawmakers, most of the higher-education  
associations shifted tactics. The lone holdout was the AAC. 
By 1976, it faced a crossroads. Five years earlier, it had set up a  
subsidiary group to represent independent colleges. But trying to be two things 
 
at once—a lobbyist for a particular type of institution and an advocate for  
liberal education in general—became untenable. So it spun off the National  
Association of Independent Colleges and Universities, a lobbying group for  
private institutions. Left behind was an AAC that would look after the  
curriculum and liberal education. 
On one hand, that gave it freedom and broad appeal. Schools of business and 
 engineering joined the fold. And not lobbying on behalf of liberal 
education  meant not inviting the federal government into curricular matters. 
"We’
ve been  able to be more forthright and direct about needed change in higher 
education,"  says Ms. Schneider, the group’s president, "because we never 
have to worry about  what the House of Representatives has to say about our 
recommendations." Still,  AAC&U has _worked  closely_ 
(http://chronicle.com/article/States-to-Colleges-Prove-Your/142651)  with 
several states’ 
higher-education departments. 
But not pressing for federal legislation has its minuses, says John R.  
Thelin, a professor of the history of higher education and public policy at the 
 University of Kentucky. AAC&U, like most of the big higher-education  
associations, is in Washington, where political power determines winners and  
losers. "AAC&U doesn’t see itself as a lobbying group," he says. "They see  it 
as a more subtle game." 
But being too subtle risks leaving you on the sidelines. 
By the time Reagan won the presidency, in 1980,  practical degrees had 
become the safe and popular choice. 
That year students were most likely to major in business. The _discipline’s 
 rise_ (http://nces.ed.gov/programs/digest/d12/tables/dt12_313.asp)  seemed 
inexorable. In the 1930s, around the time Reagan went to  college, about 8 
percent of students studied in "business and commerce." When he  was elected 
governor, that share was 12 percent. By the time he moved into the  White 
House, more students majored in business than anything else. It’s held  that 
top spot ever since. In the early 80s, _most freshmen said_ 
(http://www.heri.ucla.edu/cirpoverview.php)  they’d  chosen their college 
because they 
thought it would help them get a better job.  The previous top reason? Learning 
more about things that interested them. 
It was a rational response to changing federal policy. Under the Reagan  
administration, the maximum Pell Grant decreased by about a quarter. Student  
loans became a more common way to pay for college, even as the president 
made  their interest payments ineligible for tax deductions. As student debt 
rose, so  did the urgency of earning a living after graduation. 
Free-market ideas permeated higher education. "The curriculum has given way 
 to a marketplace philosophy," wrote the authors of _"Integrity  in the 
College Curriculum: A Report to the Academic Community,"_ 
(https://www.aacu.org/publications-research/publications/integrity-college-curriculum)
  
commissioned  by the AAC in 1985. "It is a supermarket where students are 
shoppers 
and  professors are merchants of learning."
 
Meanwhile, liberal learning floated from its traditional moorings. After 
the  associations’ split, the concept no longer resided so clearly with 
liberal-arts  colleges, and the next logical home, academic departments in the 
arts and  sciences, didn’t offer refuge for long. The fierce canon wars of the 
1980s  revealed little consensus on what belonged in the curriculum. How 
could anybody  defend a liberal education when no one could agree on what it 
was? 
The battles were especially passionate in the humanities, reflecting  
anxieties about demographic change in the country and on campuses, says Andrew  
Hartman, an associate professor of history at Illinois State University. 
Reagan  showed little interest in the canon wars, but he is often associated 
with a  strain of thought that grew out of the 1960s and gained strength when 
he was  president. It saw professors as idle elites antagonistic toward the 
values of  the white working class, says Mr. Hartman, author of the 
forthcoming _A War  for the Soul of America_ 
(http://press.uchicago.edu/ucp/books/book/chicago/W/bo20063403.html) . "Liberal 
education," he says, "gets wrapped 
up  in that." 
While the ideal of liberal education faded during that period, it survived. 
 The Sputnik crisis had justified a huge investment in education that 
lifted all  boats, says Catherine Liu, a professor of film and media studies at 
the  University of California at Irvine. Responding to the Soviet threat 
opened  opportunities for generations of middle-class Americans, argues Ms. 
Liu, 
author  of _The American Idyll: Academic  Antielitism as Cultural Critique_ 
(http://muse.jhu.edu/books/9781609380519) . "Liberal education was the 
great  dream of the postwar era," she says. 
But the conclusion of the Cold War ended that dream, she says, and a more  
instrumentalist view of college has become a point of bipartisan agreement.  
President Obama, she says, "sees education as a redistributive process" in 
which  "community and state colleges will teach vocational skills so people 
can get  jobs." 
Education once sought to develop people’s potential, says Ms. Liu. Now it’
s  all about training. "Training," she says, "is what you get through 
mindless  repetition." 
Liberal learning is now a luxury good, she says. "It’s become the education 
 of the 1 percent." 
If the definition and value of liberal education  are in doubt, so is the 
question of whom it’s for. 
Even Jefferson and Du Bois thought such a privilege should be limited—to  
those "endowed with genius and virtue" or belonging to the "talented tenth,"  
respectively. The AAC&U pushes a more expansive vision: that a liberal  
education is for everyone who seeks to make meaning in their lives and to  
participate in democracy.
 
"The purpose is broad knowledge that enables you to navigate the world you  
inherit, to develop powers of the mind to make reasoned judgments and 
cultivate  a sense of ethical responsibility, and to connect those goals to the 
world,"  says Ms. Schneider, the group’s president. 
Those objectives should not be restricted, she says, to liberal-arts 
majors.  They are useful for teachers and technicians. "We argued in 1915 and 
we’
re  arguing today that we need good citizens," she says. "A welder is a 
citizen,  too." 
That message appears to get some traction, at least on campus. Some deans 
of  colleges in practical fields tout their liberal-education approach. They 
want  engineers who can build a bridge and think about its effects on the 
environment  and surrounding community. Nurses should know how to draw blood 
and consider the  cultural influences that might keep patients from taking 
their medication. 
And for students in traditional academic disciplines, liberal learning can’
t  be purely theoretical. The AAC&U started the campaign _Liberal Education  
and America’s Promise_ (http://www.aacu.org/leap)  a decade ago to 
encourage students to learn by  tackling society’s "big questions." More than 
450 
campuses have signed on, and  this month the association said it would expand 
the campaign, pushing for every  student to complete a project involving 
field research, an internship, a  practicum, or community service. 
Such projects, the AAC&U argues, draw on the vital skills of critical  
thinking, writing, quantitative reasoning, and teamwork that liberal education  
cultivates. That’s what employers have consistently told the group they’re  
looking for in new hires, Ms. Schneider says. "They just didn’t use the 
words  ‘liberal education.’" 
Those words are often confused or conflated with "liberal arts," not  
necessarily a positive association. The word "liberal," the association  
acknowledges, has become _a  term of opprobrium_ 
(https://www.aacu.org/sites/default/files/files/about/strategicplan2013_17.pdf) 
. Recent _research_ 
(http://economics.virginia.edu/sites/economics.virginia.edu/files/ppHoxby_Turner.pdf)
   
in economics found that top students from low-income backgrounds reacted to 
the  term "liberal arts" with comments like "I am not liberal" and "I don’t 
like  learning useless things." 
When politicians mock particular disciplines, it doesn’t exactly bolster  
popular opinion of liberal education. "If you want to take gender studies,  
that’s fine, go to a private school," Pat McCrory, the Republican governor of 
 North Carolina, said on _a radio  show_ 
(http://media.townhall.com/townhall/bennett/GovMcCrory1.29.13.mp3)  a couple of 
years ago. "I don’t want to 
subsidize that if that’s not  going to get someone a job." In other words, it’
s an intellectual luxury. 
To people like Mr. McCrory, such luxuries are exclusively private goods. 
That  said, plenty of governors through the years have understood that a 
liberal  education also has a public benefit. 
One governor, dedicating a library at small Eureka College in 1967, made 
the  case. 
Standing in front of the new building, the speaker invoked the accumulated  
wisdom behind him. "The truth is," he said, "the answers to all the 
problems of  mankind, every one of them, even the most modern and the most 
complex, 
can be  found in this building." 
He grounded his remarks in sociological theory and sprinkled in references 
to  Aristotle, Plato, Socrates, and Maimonides, counseling students to read 
them  critically. Past democracies had become mobs when they didn’t 
adequately protect  minorities. Even the greats made mistakes. 
"One of mankind’s problems," the speaker said, "is we keep committing the  
same errors." 
His name was Ronald Reagan.

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