The term academic freedom refers to something that scholars supposedly hold sacred: the right to question and to profess a position that may not agree with prevalent thought, policy, practice, or tradition. For academic freedom to function, the institution employing the scholar must also respect the principle of academic freedom. The implications are that no matter how seemingly unorthodox the scholar's position, the institution must follow the idea penned by Voltaire, "I disapprove of what you say, but I defend to the death your right to say it" (Bartlett, 1947, p. 1053). Of course, this does not mean that scholars can ignore laws of libel and slander (holding someone up to hatred, ridicule, and contempt), nor does it mean that scholars can behave in a reckless manner, the equivalent of yelling "fire" in a crowded room when in fact there is no fire at all.
Although some institutions challenged the definition of academic
freedom in the nineteenth century through intimidation and
censure, the principle has come under the heaviest attack during
the twentieth century (Horn, 1999). Two notable examples are the
cases of Edward C. Tolman, a professor of psychology at the University
of California, and Revilo P. Oliver, a professor of classics at
the University of Illinois. Both were remarkably different scholars
with widely different research interests. Apart from their academic
differences, Tolman was an avowed pacifist who spoke against war,
and who opposed the entry of the United States into the Second
World War (Hergenhahn & Olson, 1997). Oliver espoused racist
and extreme right-wing views, had been decorated by Mussolini
and was a founding member of the John Birch society (Rahn, 1999).
Individuals within the universities that employed these two endeavoured
to cast them out of the community of scholars, not because they
were poor teachers, or because they did research of poor quality.
They were ostracized because their views were contrary to what
was considered "politically correct" at the time. Following
America's entry into World War II, Tolman was dismissed for not
signing a loyalty oath, because he contended that doing so would
impinge on his academic freedom (Hergenhahn & Olson, 1997).
He was reinstated eventually, after the initial hysteria surrounding
the United States' entry into World War II subsided. In the mid-1960s,
because of Oliver's increasing publicity of his political views
and inflammatory racist ideas, there were calls within the University
of Illinois for his dismissal. After considering Oliver's extreme
views, his record as an excellent scholar and teacher, and the
principle of academic freedom, the Board of Trustees voted 8-1
against proceeding with dismissal (Rahn, 1999). Rahn also notes
that the Editor of the student newspaper at the University of
Illinois, Roger Ebert (who later became a well-known film critic
who appears on television) wrote that it is only a strong society
that could permit Oliver such freedom. It can be argued further
that the political views of these two scholars had nothing to
do with their competence as scholars and as educators, especially
as there was no evidence that either advocated their views to
their students in class. This point was realized by Stephen Leacock
in 1933, who at the time was a department head at McGill University
in Montreal, when he recommended the retention of an individual
who was alleged to be a communist sympathizer. His name was Eugene
Forsey, and he later became a Senator in Canada. Although Leacock
did not think highly of Forsey's teaching and ideas, he maintained
that if Forsey were dismissed, he would become a martyr as few
would believe that he would be dismissed for any reason other
than for his political views (Horn, 1999).
Nevertheless, there are those who suggest that what comprises
academic freedom should be defined narrowly, or dispensed with
altogether as an anachronism from an earlier time. It is contended
that some scholars use academic freedom as a justification to
conduct research and to teach in ways that are contrary to current
social views. In simple terms, the behaviour and ideas of such
scholars are "wrong". For example, Heald (1997) wrote,
"academic freedom is used to defend the right to continue
to teach those forms of academic discourse that perpetuate and
justify the centering of white, western, masculinist thinking"
(p. 116). While it may seem seductive to stamp out those views
that are abhorrent to a majority of people at a particular time,
often such facile solutions raise more problems than they solve.
By not permitting different views, no matter how inherently "wrong"
they seem to be at a given moment, do we not imply that such views
are more powerful than those deemed "correct", because
the "correct" views cannot stand up to criticism? Also,
what is considered to be proper and improper is often fluid, as
demonstrated by the case of Edward Tolman.
In another vein, most scholarly institutions encourage scholars
to seek and obtain outside funding for research projects. Funding
is sometimes provided by corporations that wish the scholar to
evaluate a particular product or method. In light of calls for
narrowing the definition of academic freedom, what should be done
about the scholar who ascertains that a product being studied
is harmful to people? Because the corporation is footing the bill
for the research, should they have the last word as to whether
or not the findings are made public? If such a Faustian bargain
is struck, and the corporation decides to claim that the product
is safe, then proceeds to market it, is it appropriate in possible
subsequent legal action for scholars to rely upon the Nuremburg
defense, "I was only following orders," as was used
by many high-ranking Nazis?
This is not idle speculation. A few years ago, such a case arose
in Canada, when Dr. Nancy Olivieri, a researcher associated with
the University of Toronto and the Hospital for Sick Children,
found that a drug she was under contract to test was harmful to
some patients. Although Olivieri felt duly bound to reveal her
research findings, the company producing the drug endeavoured
to prevent her from doing so, and it also had her removed from
the research project. In spite of her claim to academic freedom,
the hospital did not provide her with legal assistance, and it
was only after protests from other physicians and the public,
that the hospital began to investigate the matter further ("Research
ethics", 1998). Perhaps through ignorance, or perhaps purposely,
the hospital appointed an investigative committee that was chaired
by a physician who had previous dealings with the drug company
("Dr. Nancy Olivieri", 1999). By this juncture, considerable
attention was focused on the incident, both from within academe,
and from the public, with the result that when the committee recommended
further action against Olivieri, the biased and questionable practices
of the committee were exposed and condemned. As in the case of
Edward Tolman, the trampling of Olivieri's academic freedom was
finally recognized, and she was vindicated, reinstated, and promised
legal assistance by the hospital, should it be required ("Text
of Olivieri", 1999).
Is it appropriate for an academic institution to act against a
scholar who criticizes a corporation or organization that is presently
on friendly terms with that institution, for fear of losing those
friendly terms? In other words, do institutional or corporate
considerations outweigh the principle of academic freedom? I believe
that they do not. Yet although the issue of preserving and practicing
academic freedom is of interest to many scholars, some of my colleagues
have said that they could not care less about academic freedom.
Their reasons for maintaining this position fall into two general
categories, typified by the statements, "I want to do research
that is appreciated and valued by the administration", or
"I just want to be left alone so that I can do my job without
putting my family's welfare at risk", thus implying that
for them, academic freedom does not exist. Perhaps, then, the
greatest danger to academic freedom does not come from scholars
who advocate extreme or heretical views, or even those who assert
their right to academic freedom, but from those who are apathetic,
cowardly or who would prefer to leave the issue to someone else.
If scholars abrogate their responsibility for the practice and
defense of academic freedom, then who assumes that responsibility?
George H. Buck
References
Bartlett, J. (1947). Familiar quotations (11th ed.). Boston, MA: Little, Brown and Company.
Dr. Nancy Olivieri. (1999). Athabasca University Faculty Association Newsletter, 2(2).
Retrieved August 28, 2001, from http://aufa.ab.ca/newsletter/991020.htm#nancy
Heald, S. (1997). Testosterone leadership: Hegemonic masculinity, masculine protest,
and 'crisis' in the universities. In R.W. Nelson (Ed.), Inside Canadian universities:
Another day at the plant. Kingston, ON: Cedarcreek Publications.
Hergenhahn, B.R., & Olson, M.H. (1997). An introduction to theories of learning (5th ed.).
Upper Saddle River, NJ: Prentice-Hall.
Horn, M. (1999). Academic freedom in Canada: A history. Toronto, ON: University of Toronto Press.
Rahn, K.A. (1999). Biography of Revilo P. Oliver. Retrieved August 28, 2001,
from http://karws.gso.uri.edu/JFK/The_critics/Oliver/Oliverbio.html
Research ethics vs. corporate interests: Investigator's disclosure fuels ethics debate. (1998).
CAUT Bulletin, 45(7) 1, 6.
Text of Olivieri/HSC Agreement. (1999). Retrieved August 28, 2001, from
http://www.utfa.utoronto.ca/html/press/html/olivieri.agreement.htm
Copyright © AJER, the Faculty of Education, and the University
of Alberta, 2001.
Last revised: November 12, 2001.
Designed by G.H. Buck