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Listening to the ProfessoriateBurton R. ClarkPublished online: 09 Jul 2010.

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LISTENING PROFESSORIATE

TO THE by Burton R. Clark

he academic profession has long been a gathering of dispa- T rate fields. Even in the begin-

ning, some eight centuries ago in Bologna, Paris, and Oxford, the uni- versities were composites of law and medicine and theology and administra- tive training for state and church. Now within the academic estate there are molecular biology and high-energy physics and Renaissance literature and childhood learning and computer sci- ence, in a never-ending stream of spe- cialties within a wide array of disci- plines and professional areas of study.

Beginning in the last half of the nine- teenth century, the American system of higher education moved rapidly into a luxuriant garden of subjects, as Walter Metzger has pointed out, generous to a fault in admitting to the curriculum even the arts of the home and the bat- tlefield while expanding and subdivid- ing old fields of study at an accelerat-

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“We never cease hearing claims that professors should cling to a small set of shared values and otherwise get their act together, ”

writes Professor Clark in this special essay on the nature of America’s faculty. But “pieties ” about “integration ” ignore a

historical and contemporary reality: that the professoriate is inherently and ever-more fragmented.

ing pace, driven by a competition for scholars and students that was to inten- sify rather than lessen as the twentieth century wore on.

Today the academic profession stands as a plethora of disciplines, a widening array of subject affiliations, a host of subcultures that speak in strange tongues. Who can fathom an econometrician in full stride, let alone a biochemist or an ethnomethodologist newly tutored in linguistics and semiotics?

And subject-matter differentiation is but half the fragmentation of this key profession. Now no less important in the United States is the dispersion of academics among many types of insti- tutions in a system that is at once ex- tremely large, radically decentralized, and heavily influenced by the tradi- tions and status of private-sector uni- versities and colleges, a system compet- itive to the point where over-all change

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is determined more by the interactions of consumer, labor, and institutional markets than by concerted state action.

The profession is variously posi- tioned in research universities, “doc- toral-granting” universities, compre- hensive colleges, liberal arts colleges, community colleges-to point to just some of the main categories in the well- known Carnegie Classification-with much diversity among institutions within any of these arbitrary designa- tions. Even the best classifications leave aside significant public-private, religious, racial, regional, and pro- grammatic differences.

Institutionally, the profession is spread all over the map, dispersed in the educational equivalents of the big city and the farm, the ghetto and the well-to-do suburbs, the high hill over- looking the lovely valley and the dark- ened ravine next to the coal mine. Any- one who speaks of “the American aca- demic,” against a mental backdrop of “the college” or “the university,” is squeezing out all that is most interest- ing about the profession. The discipli- nary differences and the institutional divisions interact to ensure that disper- sion triumphs over central tendency, fragmentation over integration.

What then is the remaining character of academic culture in the United

his article is based on findings from a study in progress of the T American academic profession

being conducted by Burton R. Clark in association with Ernest Boyer and The Carnegie Foundation for the Advance- ment of Teaching. Field work for the study included interviews with 170 academics in six areas of study at six- teen institutions. The tentative title of the study to be published in mid-1986 by the Carnegie Foundation is The In- tellectual Enterprise: Academic Life in America.

Professor of Higher Education and Sociology and chairman of the Com- parative Higher Education Research Group at UCLA. He has also edited a volume of papers devoted to cross- national comparison of the academic profession, which is also scheduled for publication in 1986, with a projected title, The Academic Profession in Europe and America.

Burton Clark is the Allan M. Cartter

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States? How can we best understand it? Might we yet grasp its nature in a metaphor that would clear the mind even as it pointed to a confusing reality?

The UCLA study of the academic profession that has been underway since the summer of 1983 has sought to understand both the forces of fragmen- tation and the avenues of integration in the profession. In line with our percep- tion of a hugely differentiated matrix of disciplines and institutions, we have insisted from the beginning that ob- servers must be willing to disaggregate, and then disaggregate some more. No other profession, no other sector of so- ciety, puts such a premium on individ- uation and on creative divergence among institutions and persons. In- deed, the basic doctrines of freedom of research and freedom of teaching al- most sanctify individual differences in the doing of faculty work.

So, we went out to listen to over 170 academics in six fields of study in six- teen institutions that represented six types of institutions, to have them tell us in their own words in guided one- to two-hour conversations what their work was like, what authority they possessed, whether they identified with their disciplines and their employing institutions, and in general, the beliefs they held about their profession. Their accounts were indeed richly divergent, pointing to a wide range of subcul- tures. But in line with our commitment to study “the one” as well as “the many” we also sought the linkages that might knit up the profession’s unravel- ing sleeve.

Those links, I maintain, are only modestly found in “commonness” -in common socialization, common conditions of work and authority, and common values. Whoever generalizes about “the faculty” or “the professo- riate” does so on thin ice; a half mil- lion American faculty members proba- bly would view themselves as having little in common with one another. The stronger set of ties, across the institu- tions and fields, is found in the overlap among their special fields of discipli- nary work. Understanding American faculty requires a pluralistic interpreta- tion of how resilient sub-structures and sub-cultures form a larger whole, even as each tries to be a world unto itself.

S ome of the different worlds of research and teaching can be highlighted in simple fashion by

listening to several professors tell us about the core of their academic activ- ity and belief. Let us tune in on the tapes that recorded the comments of professors in three major sec- tors-leading universities, state col- leges, and community colleges-as they responded to our queries about what they valued most in their work and what they found most pleasurable in their professional lives. This highly abbreviated coverage leaves aside the hundreds of private liberal arts colleges as well as the second- and third-level universities.

The university professor. In the lead- ing universities, especially in such re- source-rich fields as physics, biology, medicine, and business, professors often teach as little as one course at a time and that, more often than not, at the graduate level. Life is centered in research, with light teaching following in its trail. The professors take pleasure from the traditions and recognized strengths of their own disciplines as well as from the perceived high quality of faculty and students in their institu- tions. Respondents told us they never get bored, since they are surrounded by many stimulating people and feel heav- ily involved in their research and the collegial connections that go with it. The interviews frequently tapped a great depth of excitement, as when a professor of physics was asked what it was about “doing physics” that gave him the most pleasure:

. . . that’s actually the best thing of it all-it’s to be good enough to be a part of it. Even if you’re not the best, and you don’t d o quite as well as you thought. To be good enough to be a part of it, and to be thought about when peo- ple think about getting together and hav- ing a meeting and getting together and doing this. I mean, that’s the most fun of everything . . . I can’t even share that with my wife! There is nobody you can share that with except somebody who has done it . . . that’s why my grant is important. I just couldn’t see them otherwise. I cannot pay for these things out of my pocket. I don’t have that kind of money. And if they ever cut my travel off, boy I’m telling you. . . . I guess you asked if there was any reason why I’d leave academia. I would be desperate then. I’d sell something. Start spending

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my own money-because I’m not miss- ing that.

. . . You know, just talking about it makes me want to get on the phone and arrange a trip! That’s something that cannot be done by anybody else in other fields. I mean I can go anywhere I want to go! I just get on the phone and say “ I ’ m going t o h a p p e n t o be there”-which is just a story, I’m just going to go!-“Now you come up with some money and 1’11 pay the difference out of my grant and you know we’re go- ing to go out some place and drink a good bottle of wine that night, and I’m going to give you a great talk.”

And you know, there is nothing in the world ;hat will touch it! I mean I hear about all these high rollers and all their things, but they don’t have any interest to me. They don’t know what it is to match wits with people whose wits are worth matching! . . . But, anyway, I like the profession, I guess, and all com- plaints are very small compared with that. So that’s my loyalty. . . . It’s that culture that helps. That’s the definition of it. That’s the whole thing.

This research professor expresses vividly the uncommon freedom in- volved in the “maneuvering time” that many respondents noted as a blessing of the academic role, particularly in the major universities. Also shining through his remarks is the confidence, even the arrogance, of the culture of physics. This professor may think of some others inside and outside of aca- demia as “high rollers,” but in the broad frame of the profession, he him- self is one, a walking expression of sal- aried entrepreneurship.

This high cosmopolitanism is even found in the upper reaches of the not- so-rich humanities, where a conference on structuralism one week in New York for the academic jet-set might be followed by a conference on poststruc- turalism the following week in Stock- holm or Bellagio-a hectic pace hilari- ously depicted by David Lodge in his recent book Small World.

At the top of the stairs, academic life txudes cosmopolitan excitement. In one’s specialty, according to the view From there, one runs with the best.

The state-college professor. We do not need to stray very far from the leading universities before teaching be- :omes a true “load,” jumping to :welve hours a week and leaving little Jr no time for research. In the public :omprehensive colleges, teaching is un-

1; i i ’

At the top of the stairs, academic life exudes cosmopolitan excitement. In one’s specialtx according to the view from there, one runs with the best.

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1 like the immediate rewards that you get from dealing with students-good, quick recognition.

dergraduate centered, with perhaps some master’s level instruction but not a Ph.D. student in sight. Pay is less than in the universities, and professors know they are in second- and third- level institutions, ones of “some status” in the institutional hierarchy.

Generally, the state college of today was a teachers college in the recent past and is now somewhere midstream be- tween that blighted shore and the promised land of university status. The midstream location may be nigh-per- manent, however, since existing uni- versities have already pre-empted the high ground on the far shore and state plans insist that the newcomers stay out of Ph.D. programs and away from major research. Some respondents referred to an inchoate institutional character-“the place has not come to terms with itself”-that confuses their own professional culture.

At the same time, the disciplinary connection is attenuated. Many prgfes- sors struggle hard to do some research and stay abreast of their disciplines, but are constrained by institutional conditions. As in the private liberal arts colleges, they individually teach across a broader spectrum of less ad- vanced courses than do the university specialists, with the research they can manage then often becoming more “horizontal” and less “vertical.” Travel monies are scarce, making it difficult to get to national meetings.

Identities and pleasures come to cen- ter in the teaching of undergraduates. When we asked what the faculty valued most, a representative answer was:

It has to be the students. I enjoy the stu- dents. I try to enter the classroom envi- ronment with a spirit of enthusiasm. I have been told that I do, and I take great pride in that.

I think the thing that is most valuable, if there is anything, is the relationship with the students. A lot of students in some ways are almost naive. They tend to be more open and non-critical than I think you would find at other places. It makes working with them easier in a way . . . comparing it t o [a nearby urban univer- sity], for instance. [There] some of the students were downright hostile. I have seen students walk out of classes while the person is lecturing. I don’t think that would happen here.

Or :

“Maneuvering time” in this college

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setting can allow a professor to throw his or her energies into an outside ac- tivity, as in the case of an environmen- tal activist:

I belong to 70 public interest groups of various kinds, subscribe to a half-dozen sources of information, I give to a half- dozen to a dozen political candidates each year, I am the editor of a regional exchange for [an environmental maga- zine] . . . and in the [environmental or- ganization] I have about 5 positions.”

Much involved in the “real world,” this professor felt he brought real is- sues back to the classroom, making his teaching something more than aca- demic. As citizen-activist, he was very thankful that “even though you have a heavy teaching load,” academic em- ployment “gives you far more discre- tionary time than just about any other occupation.” Things could have been better-‘‘I still wistfully dream on oc- casion about holding a position at a major university”-but he had been “improperly” socialized at “an earlier stage,” was not able to publish effec- tively, and was now “old and set.” For his own pleasure and sense of contribu- tion, he had filled to the brim the space in the cup of work that was left over af- ter his twelve hours a week in the classroom.

In all the non-research settings, ma- neuvering time includes the chance to do other-than-normal things in the summertime. An older state-college professor expressed it well:

If you ask me now what it was that did it, I think it was just that I like teaching and along with that, I should point out, the summer. I could do things in the summer. Sometimes I just had to work, but other times I could travel and other times I would sit on that porch and lean back and read all the periodicals that I wanted, you know, and it was very nice. It really was, and I realized there are very few people, except perhaps the rich, who have that much time. Only the professors in the major uni-

versities are encouraged by their insti- tutional cultures to play out the role of research cosmopolitan. All others, the vast majority, are situationally moti- vated to find their pleasures in other ways. At least they do not have to strain all summer to write several arti- cles or finish a book or wrap up the laboratory experiments that could not be done during the busy weeks of Sep-

tember to June. Their options in the use of summer discretionary time are often narrowed by the need to find in- come-producing work, but on occasion they can use the time to travel or just “sit on that porch and lean back and read all the periodicals,” cognizant that such control of time is a valuable resource possessed by few people in other occupations.

The community-college professor. Even more than state college profes- sors, community college instructors pointed in our interviews to the intrin- sic rewards of classroom instruction. They do not have upper-division stu- dents, let alone graduate students and research, placing them in a position of teaching mainly introductory materials to first-year, and a lesser number of second-year, classes. A life-time of this kind of work, with loads of 15 and sometimes even 18 and 21 hours, would seem like a nightmare to gradu- ate school professors. Yet, in the two- year institutions we heard about such rewards as “good, quick recognition” from students, of excitement even in introductory accounting:

I like performance, I really do. . . . I think the better I perform at educating, the better the students accept it. Ac- counting-could it be boring? To me it is not boring, to me it is challenging, it is fun, it is exciting. . . . I like it so much I feel my enthusiasm conveys [itselfl. I like to be up front, I like talking in front of people. . . . I like the ability to light a spark in someone and see that they like that, and to say that I helped that person make a decision because it was me, be- cause of what I gave to them and how I dealt with them, they liked what they are doing and maybe they have changed their careers because of it. . . . I like the immediate rewards that you get from dealing with students-good, quick recognition. At this level, too, there is “psychic

gratification” that somewhat makes up for weak financial rewards, as we heard from another respondent, who had previously been in the business world. When she was asked if she had ever considered leaving her teaching position, she said:

Right now I’m pretty enthusiastic about teaching. I think it is great. If I didn’t feel that it was fun and that I wasn’t get- ting that feeling of satisfaction out of being part of the community and con- tributing to the community, then I don’t

think that it would be worth doing. Ob- viously, we don’t get paid very much and you have to get psychic gratification to make up for that lack of financial re- wards. . . . I can’t imagine wanting to go back into a corporation full-time. I didn’t find it terribly satisfying. In other words, whether Time made $4.25 a share of $4.60, it doesn’t really matter to me, I don’t really care. The fundamental mis- sion of the organization is unimportant to me. And this mission is important to me.

More than in four-year colleges and universities, one finds in the commun- ity colleges some instructors who have previously served in business, the mili- tary, or the schools and find college teaching intrinsically more satisfying than their earlier work.

cademic satisfaction is in the eyes of the beholder. Respon- A dents in the different types of

institutions reported a variety of ways in which they coped with the demands of their jobs and managed to make in- trinsic rewards outweigh the depriva- tions of less-than-satisfactory pay and institutional arrangements of work and authority that often left much to be desired.

Most impressive is the resilience that comes from professors’ faith in their special fields and their own roles in them as teachers or researchers. Disci- plines and subject specialties are going concerns in their own right, each devel- oping in time a tradition, a social or- ganization, a reward system, and espe- cially an offering of professional status and dignity. Once internalized, a sub- ject becomes an inner faith.

The many subjects of academia pro- duce an endless number of churches and sects that are in turn subdivided still further by institutional settings that vary radically in character. Aca- demic groups set apart by subject and in part by type of institution become the unmeltable ethnics of higher educa- tion. One by one, they are very stub- born about their place in the sun. They root themselves in their basic operating units, the departments and profes- sional schools evolving considerably on their own terms. The over-all system becomes essentially bottom-heavy: it is not vulnerable to easy tipping by winds of change nor can it be steered by those who think there is a rhetorical helm.

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A m o n g disciplines

and among types of institutions, the

underlying division of labor, ever restless and not to

be stilled, is a more powerful trend that constantly chips

away at whatever academics still have in common.

When a national system of higher education and its main resident profes- sion contain over a half-million profes- sors scattered in innumerable disci- plines and specialties in over three thousand institutions, it is utopian to expect the system and the profession to be closely integrated by overarching common values.

We never cease hearing claims that professors should cling to a small set of shared values and otherwise get their act together so that, for one thing, all college students can return to a com- mon curriculum. Such claims have be- come virtually a requirement of high office, even a necessary rhetoric for na- tional commissions that seek sweeping reforms.

But the pieties of integration have little to do with the realities of frag- mentation. They ignore historical and contemporary dynamics that cause American higher education to be a wonder of variety. Subculturing con- tinues at a rapid pace, hard on the heels of a specialization that rewards aca- demics so handsomely and a differenti- ation of institutions one from another

12

that establishes viable niches in other- wise uncertain markets. Even multidis- ciplinary efforts become new special- ties, as in the case of a center for Japanese studies that soon takes on the cultural atmosphere of a Japan House.

Is the academic profession then sim- ply a name for a disorganized aggre- gate of specialists spread out in a mot- ley array of any and all institutions that choose to call themselves colleges or universities? We can note several sources of cultural integration that provide some semblance of “the one” among “the many.”

The first is the presence of several supreme fictions. Wherever we trav- eled in American academia, we found certain terms popping up when we asked whether members of the academic pro- fession shared a common set of profes- sional values. Faculty spoke of serving knowledge and understanding, fum- bling as best they could among such terms as “knowledge,” “informa- tion,” “intellectual curiosity,” “prob- lem so lv ing ,” “searching fo r answers,’ ’ “sophisticated analysis, ’ ’ and, especially, “understanding”-as

in “the whole idea is to understand,” and “striving for new understanding. . . It’s really why we are here.” “Under- standing” is a lodestone, a principle worth serving.

And if knowledge is to be served well, it must be handled honestly. The fullness of commitment to intellectual honesty as a second supreme fiction came out sharply when we asked about examples of serious violations of aca- demic norms: plagiarism, falsification, and unfair treatment of students were portrayed as very serious violations, even high crimes. Stealing ideas was portrayed as the worst violation, “un- pardonable,” even “analogous to mur- der,” since one was doing violence to the professional identity and value of another.

Notions of “academic freedom” serve as a third fiction, with personal freedom in teaching and/or research pointed to as an extremely attractive aspect of academic life, one that, like recognition, often serves in lieu of ma- terial rewards: “If it wasn’t for that, I certainly wouldn’t work for the salary that I get . . . the game wouldn’t be

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~

,

worth playing”; ‘‘I wouldn’t work in an institution where academic freedom was in jeopardy”; “it is a sine qua non for the university profession.”

Thus, there were some widely voiced norms and values that constitute a super ethos, even if in practice differ- ent specific meanings have to be worked out to fit the contexts and demands of the various academic locations.

A next arena for potential integra- tion is that produced by graduate school socialization. We were not able to trace this dimension as, effectively as we would have liked, but a good share of the teaching force in all the many in- stitutional and disciplinary locations have in common the years they spent in the cultures of the graduate schools of the top fifty to one hundred universi- ties that produce the great bulk of the Ph.D.’s and Ed.D.’s and a good share of those teaching with only a master’s degree.

Sometimes as undergraduates, but much more frequently as graduate stu- dents, academics are to some degree socialized into the manners and mores of a discipline or a professional area of

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study, possibly acquiring-if they did not have it before-a reverence for knowledge, intellectual honesty, and academic freedom at the same time that they learn to do physics or eco- nomics or history. But even this sociali- zation is clearly divided by discipline, and it weakens as most graduates go out to work in conditions quite unlike those of the graduate school.

Allied to graduate school socializa- tion as a mechanism of cultural inte- gration is the institutional hierarchy of American higher education that pro- vides some dominance of the core over the periphery. Professors in the institu- tions located at middle and lower levels of the hierarchy show a clear awareness of the dominant reward system of their individual disciplines and the profes- sion as a whole. They know who has highest status and why, that only re- search gives national visibility, that only acclaimed individual originality in re- search and scholarship brings the high- est recognition, and that the leading universities and the leading liberal arts colleges are the models of “first-rate- ness.” The rewards of that first-rate- ness are the magnets that generate the powerful pulls of academic drift, the upward emulation that has propelled hundreds of colleges toward university characteristics and standing.

There are, then, noticeable forces for integration within the academic profession. The important point, though, is that they do not add up to a strong centripetal force. Among disci- plines and among types of institutions, the underlying division of labor, ever restless and not to be stilled, is a more powerful trend that constantly chips away at whatever academics still have in common.

Our concepts of cultural integration in the profession need a different fo- cus. I believe that integration mainly comes not from commonness, but from overlapping connections among differences.

The value of “overlap” among spe- cialized segments has been caught best by scholars who have thought about the social organization of science. Mi- chael Polanyi has spoken of scientific specialties as “overlapping neighbor- hoods”; Diana Crane has pointed to “overlapping cultures”; and Donald

T. Campbell has likened academic spe- cialties to the overlapping scales of a fish. It is a long way in the subcultures of academe from physics and chemis- try to political science and sociology; but, as cultural communities, physics and chemistry overlap mathematics which connects to statistics, which both in turn link importantly to the hard social sciences of economics and psychology, which in turn shade into the softer disciplines of political sci- ence and sociology, fields that on their far side share members and perspec- tives with history and the humanities.

And so it is, too, not just in disci- plines but up and down the institu- tional chain: the many types of institu- tions do not operate as watertight com- partments but rather overlap one another in adjacent categories, often to the point of heavily confusing the ef- forts of classifiers to draw lines be- tween them. A fish-scale model of inte- gration has much to recommend it.

Integration in American academia comes primarily not from similarity of function, nor from common acquired values, nor from united membership in a grand corps. In a pluralist fashion, it comes from incremental overlap of narrow memberships and identities, with disciplines and institutions then serving in part as mediating institutions that tie individuals and small groups into the culture of the whole.

Some day we will understand better what pluralism means in the compos- ing of large complex sectors of society. A good place for academics to begin is in the study of their own house, a resi- dence so loosely constructed that one can imagine it as a sprawling mansion of many wings and hidden nooks and crannies. Or, even better, not as a house but as an unplanned city of innu- merable neighborhoods. Or, best yet, as an extremely heterogeneous society, a miniature of the extended diversity of groups that compose American society in the large.

If there is integration, it is largely unity in diversity, some slight family ties among the resilient many, with re- spect for differences and trust in the choices of others. The American aca- demic profession is built in the spirit of a great federal nation: e pluribus unum. 0

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