The Problem of Academic Freedom
Matt Reynolds
Issue date: 3/4/05 Section: Opinions
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William F. Buckley was right about academic freedom on college campuses. He was also wrong.
Buckley, the prolific conservative writer and recently retired editor of National Review, launched himself onto the scene back in 1951 with his first (of many) books: "God and Man at Yale."
The book, a scathing indictment of the Yale education from the perspective of a recent graduate, advanced two major themes. First, that the Yale professorate-or, more specifically, Yale's social science professors-were inculcating in their impressionable young students an unhealthy skepticism toward two pillars of American life, capitalism and Christianity. Corrosive enough in and of themselves, the atheistic and socialistic attitudes being propounded deviated sharply from the predominant attitudes of Yale's alumni, to whom Buckley ascribes much authority for the shaping of the college's curriculum.
The second, and more intriguing theme, deals with the idea-as entrenched now as it was then-of "academic freedom." This was the preferred defense of professors charged by Buckley with using their lectures to undermine Christianity and free market economics-you may not agree with what I teach, but woe to the man who tells me how to run my classroom. What made "God and Man at Yale" so explosive was that its author had the temerity not only to challenge Yale's devotion to academic freedom, but to repudiate it as a foundational principle of classroom interaction.
To be specific, Buckley makes two arguments about academic freedom. First, that absolute academic freedom doesn't exist at Yale. Second, and more controversial, that absolute academic freedom shouldn't exist at Yale.
(I should warn the reader that Buckley's arguments contain far more nuance and far more profundity than I can convey in this space. While I don't think I'm doing great violence to his positions, I'm also quite certain I can't do them perfect justice. Please, read the book for yourself. It's fascinating through and through.)
Buckley, the prolific conservative writer and recently retired editor of National Review, launched himself onto the scene back in 1951 with his first (of many) books: "God and Man at Yale."
The book, a scathing indictment of the Yale education from the perspective of a recent graduate, advanced two major themes. First, that the Yale professorate-or, more specifically, Yale's social science professors-were inculcating in their impressionable young students an unhealthy skepticism toward two pillars of American life, capitalism and Christianity. Corrosive enough in and of themselves, the atheistic and socialistic attitudes being propounded deviated sharply from the predominant attitudes of Yale's alumni, to whom Buckley ascribes much authority for the shaping of the college's curriculum.
The second, and more intriguing theme, deals with the idea-as entrenched now as it was then-of "academic freedom." This was the preferred defense of professors charged by Buckley with using their lectures to undermine Christianity and free market economics-you may not agree with what I teach, but woe to the man who tells me how to run my classroom. What made "God and Man at Yale" so explosive was that its author had the temerity not only to challenge Yale's devotion to academic freedom, but to repudiate it as a foundational principle of classroom interaction.
To be specific, Buckley makes two arguments about academic freedom. First, that absolute academic freedom doesn't exist at Yale. Second, and more controversial, that absolute academic freedom shouldn't exist at Yale.
(I should warn the reader that Buckley's arguments contain far more nuance and far more profundity than I can convey in this space. While I don't think I'm doing great violence to his positions, I'm also quite certain I can't do them perfect justice. Please, read the book for yourself. It's fascinating through and through.)
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