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Commercialisation of education:

The ethical dimension

by Simon Longstaff

It is just over a decade since I first encountered Ronald Bartlett's (i) compelling thesis that higher education should be directed towards securing the end of a more open society.

In developing his argument, Bartlett sought to identify the various understandings, epistemological and sociological, that were 'undermining' higher education and its capacity to contribute to the open society that he envisages.

Bartlett's work explores a number of competing ideas of the university and of its role in society. Of the many fine distinctions drawn by Bartlett, I wish to mention but two. On the one hand, he introduces us to the 'traditional' idea of the university as an independent, self-governing assembly of scholars engaged in the disinterested pursuit of knowledge, essentially for its own sake. On the other hand, there is the modern idea of the university as a site of production. Indeed, Bartlett argues that with the rise of the 'knowledge economy' (where knowledge has become a productive force in its own right) there is “not just an accommodation between higher education and industry (in Galbraith's terminology), but an incorporation of higher education into the central framework of modern society” (ii). Knowledge becomes a 'commodity", its value determined solely by the market.

Looking back, I suspect that the pre-modern 'ideal' of the university was deeply compromised in practice. Although apparently open to all, without distinction of rank or fortune, the medieval universities still had to contend with the influence of the Roman Catholic Church. Still yet to be troubled by the Protestant schism, the Church effectively monopolised the transmission of knowledge.

Although there were real and significant differences in character and purpose between the earliest, European universities of Bologna and Paris, the Church effectively defined the canon of what might be known legitimately. Then there was the influence of the 'good and the great' whose wealth and power was indispensable in the establishment of new foundations. Their patronage rarely came without strings attached. And this established a pattern for the future. In later centuries, even the most liberally endowed colleges and universities rarely refused an invitation to remodel themselves in line with the dictates of the powerful.

While it is true that some individuals were tenacious in their commitment to the principles of autonomy and the independent pursuit of truth, their personal courage was often in stark contrast to the practice of the majority who more readily accommodated the epistemological prerogatives of power.

Now, I have ventured into this brief commentary on the pre-modern university for two reasons. First, I want to suggest that much of the nostalgia surrounding the place of universities in society is misplaced. If there ever was a 'golden age', then it probably occurred during the post-war period of 1950 to 1975 when state funding was generous, academics had tenure and the sector was expanding. A brief time, indeed.

However, my second point is that despite the many failures, in practice, to realise the ancient ideal of the university, we should remember that, for a long time, the ideal was widely agreed to be worth aiming for – a standard against which one might be judged to have succeeded or failed.

It is against this background that I think we need to consider the ethical issues associated with what has been called the 'commercialisation' of higher education. By 'commercialisation', I refer to a specific tendency to think of institutions of higher education as a kind of commercial enterprise in which the sale of goods and services provides the funds necessary for the institution to survive and even grow.

Understood in this way, 'commercialisation' encompasses the activities of both for-profit and non-profit organisations – with the emphasis being on the means by which income is generated, rather than the amount.

I do not wish to suggest that there is anything inherently unethical about institutions of higher education selling goods and services. Education can be (and often is) sold in an ethical manner. For example, a number of private universities and schools, around the world, operate without any form of government assistance, are funded by fees and remain free from any suggestion that they are acting unethically.

Of course it could be argued that education is the kind of good that should be available to all irrespective of one's ability to pay. The existence of a free, public education system, open to all, would satisfy this requirement while still allowing private providers the option to sell their particular service – a thing that they might choose to do without being found to have acted unethically per se.

However, once an institution ventures into the marketplace to sell its wares, then it will, of course, have to contend with a variety of fluctuations capable of presenting serious ethical challenges. For example, I think that one can reasonably assume that a 'commercial' institution is subject to the most fundamental discipline of the market – either adapt to meet the changing demands of the market or go out of business.

The trouble is that the market is virtually unconstrained in the type and quality of the demands that it might make. So, it is at least conceivable that the market might begin to demand services of a kind that are educationally questionable – perhaps of little or no intrinsic value, perhaps developing knowledge, skills and understanding of a kind likely to damage the individual or society.

For example, we might imagine the market demanding a limited form of training for its workers – just sufficient to equip them to do their jobs and yet remain docile and compliant (a seemingly fanciful suggestion until you realise that this was a fairly explicit aim for public education in Britain in the aftermath of the Industrial Revolution).

This, then, is the first of the ethical challenges presented by commercialisation. To what extent is the 'commercialised' institution free to deny the market what it demands – especially in those cases where the demands are themselves inconsistent with the proper aims of education?

One response to this question might be to say that there is nothing in the structure of the free market requiring people to offer goods and services of a particular kind. As such, there is ample opportunity for principled and conscientious trading and those inclined only to offer 'good education' should feel free to do so. If nobody wants to buy, then so be it.

It would be wonderful if life presented such apparently painless options. In reality, if you are totally dependent on the market, then it is extremely hard to resist its disciplines. Thus, the lingering truth in the old saying about “he who pays the piper”. Few people have the 'luxury' of offering only what they prefer when the consequences of doing so may be penury.

Indeed, this issue is related to a second ethical concern that is often raised in discussions about the commercialisation of higher education; namely, that appropriate standards might be compromised in the interest of meeting the expectations of a sub-set of actors within the market.

For example, I am aware of occasional allegations claiming that admission standards have been varied in order to facilitate the enrolment of fee-paying students. Some people fear that the drift towards commercialisation will create a two-tiered system with the principle of merit being progressively trumped by the weight of money. Perhaps more damaging has been the allegation that academics may have been (subtly) pressured to reconsider the assessment of fee-paying students that are initially assessed as having failed a course.

Allegations, such as these, have been strongly denied by those in control of our institutions of higher education. If ever proven to be true, then the damage to the reputation of Australian education would be immense. The qualifications of all graduates from Australian universities would be degraded if ever it were believed to be true that it was possible, in Australia, to buy something more than the opportunity to earn a degree.

However, we would be mistaken to think that the possibility of damage to the reputation of Australian education is a deciding factor when it comes to the ethical issue at stake here. The suggestion that academics might be put under pressure to amend their assessments is ethically questionable – even if the fact of it was never revealed; irrespective of its impact on wider public opinion. If such conduct were ever to occur then it would seem to contradict one of the defining ideals of academic life – the unconstrained and honest exercise of judgement.

Even the 'thinnest' conception of truth requires that this principle be applied in practice. While an organisation could choose to deny this principle, in doing so it would lose any legitimate claim to call itself a university. Language may be elastic – but not infinitely so.

The ancient ideal of the university as a place of learning, for its own sake, supported the practice of scholars interested in 'useless learning'. In the past, the standing of a scholar was unrelated to the extent to which his learning was able to be market-friendly and apt for commercialisation. Instead a scholar was allowed to follow lines of enquiry defined by the subject of her study and the interests and capacity of her mind. Although serendipity often played a role, one was often free to follow the 'natural' lines of research and to 'play' with ideas, approaches and so on. That is, there was often an integrity of enquiry in which genuine interest was married to the opportunity to blaze a new path.

The commercial imperative tends to restrict this opportunity by imposing its own logic, of return on investment, to a research program. The ethical challenge in this can be quite subtle. It is not that 'pure' research is given up in favour of 'applied'. Rather, the ethical question bites at the level of the individual academic who may be required to compromise the integrity of his research program – simply in order to satisfy a commercial 'investor' in higher education. It could be argued that maintaining the integrity of one's academic interests is a luxury no longer able to be afforded. This may turn out to be so. However, that fact would not remove the ethical challenge that, perhaps, it would be better if this were not so.

Critics of 'commercialisation' argue that the drive for the dollar puts academics in a position where their disinterested judgement can be compromised in order to meet the expectations of the market. The warning is properly made.

However, it should not be so selective in its target. More things than mere money can compromise the ideal of 'disinterested judgement'. The need to protect the orthodoxy of a discipline, to quash a rival, to reward an ally, to advance the interests of oneself or the institution, the need to court the favourable opinion of the 'good and the great' – each of these factors is capable of influencing judgement at the academic coalface. Anything that compromises judgement is open to question – and not just the commercial imperative.

This leads me to reflect on how it is that I came to be invited to write this piece in the first place. Why is this article not being written by somebody employed in a university? There are many people who are closer to the issues and better able to canvass them here. Unfortunately, there is a perception that anyone writing from within the world of higher education might be compromised, in some way, if they were to write about the matters I have tried to address. Even this small thing is, I think, significant.

There are many other ethical issues that could be mentioned. Some of them touch on questions common to any enterprise engaged in commerce. For example, to what extent does the organisation recognise that it has a wider obligation to the society in which it operates and to its 'stakeholders'? Are the means employed by the organisation, in the pursuit of its commercial objectives, consistent with the application of an explicit ethical framework of values and principles – and so on?

However, I suspect that most of the ethical issues faced by universities arise irrespective of whether they are commercialised or not. Governments can be as inflexible and unthinking in their demands as any wealthy benefactor or market.

I have attempted to raise a few questions about the commercialisation of higher education. How one answers these questions depends on what you believe to be the purpose, the idea of higher education. It may simply be prejudice on my part; however, I am profoundly uncomfortable with the idea of all knowledge being treated as a commodity and universities as sites of production. Such ideas seem to sacrifice too much of the possibility that our institutions of higher education might stand for things of value that have no price.

I have no fundamental objection to the idea of a free market. Nor do I hold it to be impossible to sell knowledge by ethical means. Universities serve us best when they are free to engage in a constructively critical dialogue with the dominant ideas and themes of any time.

For me, the very success of the market is reason enough for us to be wary of allowing it to define the character of our universities, lest it coopt them into a world of affluent silence.

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