In my 2018 book The Soul of a University, I posed two key questions for academia. First: What are we good at? This is a familiar question about academic excellence, which we are generally very proficient in responding to. Second: What are we good for? This is a question about our role in society, and it still seems to catch us by surprise.
Of course, we have long had a well-known response to the good-for question, which I call the invisible hand argument. Adam Smith argued that in an unfettered economy, supply will meet demand, as if directed by an invisible hand. Likewise, we claim that curiosity-driven research and the pursuit of knowledge for its own sake, if done well, will benefit society in the long run. Most of us believe this argument to be valid, and most of us can give many examples of such work which has led to valuable contributions to society.
Still, while the invisible hand argument is true, it cannot be the whole truth, and while it is necessary, it cannot be sufficient. It is really saying nothing more than that a strong response to the good-at question will suffice also as a response to the good-for question. This is a sentiment increasingly open to doubt. The invisible hand is slow in delivering and unpredictable in outcome. While it may bring many future benefits, it also fails to address many present needs. In particular, given the scope and urgency of the global challenges confronting civil society, it seems uncomfortably like an abdication of responsibility to leave their resolution to a ghostly hand.
My contention in the book was that it is time for us to devote at least as much time and attention to the good-for question as we have always spent on the good-at question. Now, a few years later, we can see that such a shift in academic thinking is indeed taking shape. Our understanding of the mission of higher education is changing, with increasing emphasis on the good-for question.
It is worth considering the evidence for such a change, and where its trajectory is leading us.
An obvious first example is the idea of civic engagement, which has become a standard part of academic practice. Introducing the ‘scholarship of engagement’ (in 1996) was Ernest L. Boyer’s last contribution to academia (see page 33), and it may outlast even his earlier and influential ‘four scholarships’ of creation, dissemination, application and integration of knowledge. By now both the theory and practice of engagement are well developed: there are many articles and books on the topic, conferences are held, national and international organisations have been established, and most universities have civic engagement as one of their management portfolios. We even, finally, seem to be rising above the false start of characterising engagement as a ‘third strand’ or ‘third mission’ of academic activity, having realised that it is not a separate activity, but rather the purposeful deployment for societal benefit of our research and teaching.
Still, the point of an engagement is that it shows a commitment to get married. In academia we’re not there yet, but we are moving in that direction: we have realised that we are in a relationship with society. Specifically (and this is my second example), beyond engagement there is the aim of responsiveness. It is all well and good to strive for more knowledge about, say, climate change – to gather data, to analyse the problem, to improve understanding – but what are we going to do about it? The same question arises for all 17 UN Sustainable Development Goals, and more generally for all locally manifested global challenges. Engagement cannot be an end in itself. It must be a means to an end, which is to help find solutions to the challenges faced by society. The COVID-19 pandemic is a case in point. By and large, universities worldwide responded swiftly, effectively and with a sense of moral purpose to the pandemic, deploying their academic expertise in many ways to help alleviate the problem. Surely we have the ability to do so for other global challenges as well?
My third example is the societal impact of academic work. When the idea of ‘research impact’ was first raised in the UK, many of us hoisted the usual red flags of caution. Impact, we opined, would be impossible to define, impossible to demonstrate, and impossible to evaluate. A decade or so later, many initial sceptics have become converts. It is impossible to read through some of the thousands of impact case studies now available online without getting a warm glow of satisfaction about a worthwhile contribution to society. Not to mention that the availability of all those case studies makes it much easier to generate what we are always looking for: funding.
So where is all this leading us? The examples above show that academia is increasingly taking the good-for question seriously, in its own right. Extrapolating from there, I would like to put forward the proposition that we are moving towards acceptance of a new principle, namely academic responsibility.
We have long spent much time and effort on formulating, justifying, defending and enhancing the principle of academic freedom. Let us continue to do so. But no freedom comes without responsibility, because unfettered freedom tends to undermine its own foundations. Why should we think that academic freedom is any different?
The examples above all illustrate implicit acceptance of responsibility towards society. For an explicit acceptance, consider the updated Magna Charta Universitatum. The original 1988 version gives a clear statement of classic academic values, beginning with institutional autonomy and academic freedom. 30-odd years later, the revised version commits to all the principles of the original version, but adds some more, first among which is the idea of responsibility:
Universities acknowledge that they have a responsibility to engage with and respond to the aspirations and challenges of the world and to the communities they serve, to benefit humanity and contribute to sustainability.
This is what I call academic responsibility, which I regard as the inescapable counterpart of academic freedom. A fuller exposition is given in my article in University World News, and in the YouTube clip of my keynote address to the Magna Charta Observatory (minutes 5:00 to 23:30).
Of course, there are risks and caveats in the adoption of the principle of academic responsibility. We should insist, for example, that a university retains the academic freedom to decide for itself where its own responsibilities lie, and how to respond to them. But that is a topic for another day.
Professor Chris Brink served as Vice-Chancellor of Newcastle University from 2007 till 2016. Prior to this he was Vice-Chancellor of Stellenbosch University in South Africa, Pro-Vice-Chancellor (Research) at the University of Wollongong in Australia, and Head of Mathematics at the University of Cape Town.
The Soul of a University: Why Excellence is not Enough by Chris Brinkis available on the Bristol University Press website. Order here for £11.99.
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