Dear Editor,
I read the article titled “The Logic of the Tenure Decision: In Dubio
Contra “Reum” that was published in the most recent issue of
PS. I am particularly interested in this discussion and
re-evaluation of tenure because it is a timely issue (within and outside of
academia) and because I have been personally and professionally involved in
the process at many levels for many years.
My view of the tenure process differs a great deal from that of Prof.
Weyland. Clearly those involved in the process are not all of one mind, and
any discussion of the issue that goes beyond a case-by-case scenario is
healthy. If anything, discussions such as these serve to illustrate one of
my main points of rebuttal. There is a great deal of disagreement about what
constitutes a strong tenure dossier.
Professor Weyland's main point is summed up in his title, “In Dubio
Contra ‘Reum’” (when in doubt, vote against), a derivation, as
he says, of the legal principle of justice, “in dubio pro reo” (when in
doubt, vote for the accused). For Professor Weyland, voting “for the
accused” when the tenure candidate's record is not clearly meritorious will
cause a variety of detriments to the department and to the institution. In
essence, a positive decision on a dubious case will lead to “low
productivity,” inertia, and general malaise, given that there is no going
back on the decision. A positive decision on tenure is one that will have
long-lasting consequences on virtually everyone involved.
As so often is the case, too often in my opinion, Professor Weyland frames
his discussion on the general concept of “productivity,” thus falling into
the misconception of many people not in the academy (especially legislators)
who see the university as a diploma mill: “Specifically, assistant
professors' performance is evaluated by their tenured colleages–that is,
their fellow producers. The voice of the ‘consumers,’ the students and the
readers of the assistant professors publications, is considered only
indirectly in this process” (357). Thus, Professor Weyland's general
premise, that the university is an institution that produces commodities for
“consumers,” is questionable at best and entirely off the mark at worst.
Suffice to say that many members of the academic community do not view their
work as akin to that of those on an assembly line. This is not to say that
the university is unrelated to the social fabric of a given community, or
that as an institution it is in some exalted category untouched by economic
forces. My criticism of Professor Weyland's conception and use of the word
“production” (many times in his article) to refer to what professors do is
that it is simple-minded and unquestioning. It is especially disheartening
to see that many of my colleagues working in institutions of higher learning
also contribute to the advancement of this misconception. It is not my
intention here to offer a more accurate, if not more interesting,
description of the uses of the university, but I would simply suggest that
Professor Weyland read Thorstein Veblen's The Higher Learning in
America, if he has not already; it is a remarkably timely book,
despite its having been written in 1918.
The other premise that I question in Professor Weyland's discussion is his
separation of the person coming up for tenure and the institution or
department that she/he represents. In his “logic,” a concept that Weyland
uses to describe his own reasoning (“I'm logical because I say I am”),
established professors have an “obligation to make impartial, objective
decisions on whether a tenure candidate has in fact sufficient professional
success.” “Misconceived notions of solidarity” and “bonds of collegiality”
blind the senior colleagues to lack of productivity on the part of their
junior faculty member. “When decision time arrives, they must suspend
wishful thinking” and judge dispassionately…” (359). Yet how is this
separation possible? How can a truly dispassionate objective decision be
rendered given all the variables that come into play, not only personal ones
but ideological and professional as well? Those of us who have been involved
in tenure cases know very well that when a candidate comes up for tenure,
there is a predisposition in favor or against; we are subject to a series of
often unrecognized factors that influence that predisposition. Given this
reality, we should do the opposite of what he suggests, not pretend to be
objective (because I think if we were honest we would agree that this is
impossible), but acknowledge our own biases and recognize that our favorable
or unfavorable predisposition may be rooted in something other than the
candidate's dossier. For this very reason, we should again do the opposite
of what Professor Weyland wants us to do. In order avoid the destruction of
a human being for an arbitrary reason, we need to err on the side of the
person. Indeed, the department and the institution are made up of human
beings working collectively; that department and that institution work best
when there is “solidarity” and encouragement. When Professor Weyland refers
to “misconceived notions of solidarity,” I wonder what he means. Is it our
task to work only as individuals? Does our work not relate to the work of
our colleagues? In my opinion, when colleagues work well together (both in
agreement and disagreement on certain issues), the department works for the
benefit of the community and for the society at large.
The general principles on which Professor Weyland's arguments are based are
not the only issues I found objectionable (with all due respect to a very
productive scholar). He seems not to put much stock in
the outside reviews of the candidate's dossier because these outside
reviewers “embrace strikingly different methods, theories, and approaches,”
and thus they cannot render objective decisions. But again, is this not a
good reason to err positively rather than negatively? Another idea advanced
by Professor Weyland is that books should be given less weight in decision
making than articles, because articles, he affirms, are judged with greater
objectivity—the chances of an arbitrarily positive evaluation of a book are
higher because it is likely that the evaluator may know the candidate
personally or that he/she is biased in favor of the candidate's specialty.
Indeed, we all know that there are different criteria for scholarly value
according to the discipline. Indeed, political science tends to give more
weight to articles than books, as do philosophy, linguistics, and
communications. But should a political scientist with 349 articles listed in
the CV question the work of a candidate in German literature because there
are only seven articles? I think perhaps even Professor Weyland would answer
no to my rhetorical question, yet again the tenure decision maker should
(must) keep disciplinary exigencies and conventions in mind, and defer to
those who know about those conventions. If I were to embrace my own
prejudices, I would deny the work of a political scientist with no books and
over 100 articles, all of which became outdated six months after they were
published, besides being poorly written (in my impeccable judgment).
Professor Weyland claims his criteria should be defined in “universalistic
terms,” but if he can find valid “universal” criteria that pertain to all
disciplines in a university, he's a better man than I. Indeed, virtually all
of his anecdotal evidence comes from political science. Professor Weyland
has engaged us all in what amounts to a turf battle, and that's not good for
anyone.
Another interesting point in Professor Weyland's article is that in periods
of dwindling budgets, faculty will vote to award tenure to a candidate for
fear of losing a position. For this very reason, then, institutions need to
assure departments that a negative tenure decision—I'd like to make it clear
that I don't think that everyone should get tenure—will not lead to such a
loss in personnel.
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Dear Editor,
I read the article titled “The Logic of the Tenure Decision: In Dubio Contra “Reum” that was published in the most recent issue of PS. I am particularly interested in this discussion and re-evaluation of tenure because it is a timely issue (within and outside of academia) and because I have been personally and professionally involved in the process at many levels for many years.
My view of the tenure process differs a great deal from that of Prof. Weyland. Clearly those involved in the process are not all of one mind, and any discussion of the issue that goes beyond a case-by-case scenario is healthy. If anything, discussions such as these serve to illustrate one of my main points of rebuttal. There is a great deal of disagreement about what constitutes a strong tenure dossier.
Professor Weyland's main point is summed up in his title, “In Dubio Contra ‘Reum’” (when in doubt, vote against), a derivation, as he says, of the legal principle of justice, “in dubio pro reo” (when in doubt, vote for the accused). For Professor Weyland, voting “for the accused” when the tenure candidate's record is not clearly meritorious will cause a variety of detriments to the department and to the institution. In essence, a positive decision on a dubious case will lead to “low productivity,” inertia, and general malaise, given that there is no going back on the decision. A positive decision on tenure is one that will have long-lasting consequences on virtually everyone involved.
As so often is the case, too often in my opinion, Professor Weyland frames his discussion on the general concept of “productivity,” thus falling into the misconception of many people not in the academy (especially legislators) who see the university as a diploma mill: “Specifically, assistant professors' performance is evaluated by their tenured colleages–that is, their fellow producers. The voice of the ‘consumers,’ the students and the readers of the assistant professors publications, is considered only indirectly in this process” (357). Thus, Professor Weyland's general premise, that the university is an institution that produces commodities for “consumers,” is questionable at best and entirely off the mark at worst. Suffice to say that many members of the academic community do not view their work as akin to that of those on an assembly line. This is not to say that the university is unrelated to the social fabric of a given community, or that as an institution it is in some exalted category untouched by economic forces. My criticism of Professor Weyland's conception and use of the word “production” (many times in his article) to refer to what professors do is that it is simple-minded and unquestioning. It is especially disheartening to see that many of my colleagues working in institutions of higher learning also contribute to the advancement of this misconception. It is not my intention here to offer a more accurate, if not more interesting, description of the uses of the university, but I would simply suggest that Professor Weyland read Thorstein Veblen's The Higher Learning in America, if he has not already; it is a remarkably timely book, despite its having been written in 1918.
The other premise that I question in Professor Weyland's discussion is his separation of the person coming up for tenure and the institution or department that she/he represents. In his “logic,” a concept that Weyland uses to describe his own reasoning (“I'm logical because I say I am”), established professors have an “obligation to make impartial, objective decisions on whether a tenure candidate has in fact sufficient professional success.” “Misconceived notions of solidarity” and “bonds of collegiality” blind the senior colleagues to lack of productivity on the part of their junior faculty member. “When decision time arrives, they must suspend wishful thinking” and judge dispassionately…” (359). Yet how is this separation possible? How can a truly dispassionate objective decision be rendered given all the variables that come into play, not only personal ones but ideological and professional as well? Those of us who have been involved in tenure cases know very well that when a candidate comes up for tenure, there is a predisposition in favor or against; we are subject to a series of often unrecognized factors that influence that predisposition. Given this reality, we should do the opposite of what he suggests, not pretend to be objective (because I think if we were honest we would agree that this is impossible), but acknowledge our own biases and recognize that our favorable or unfavorable predisposition may be rooted in something other than the candidate's dossier. For this very reason, we should again do the opposite of what Professor Weyland wants us to do. In order avoid the destruction of a human being for an arbitrary reason, we need to err on the side of the person. Indeed, the department and the institution are made up of human beings working collectively; that department and that institution work best when there is “solidarity” and encouragement. When Professor Weyland refers to “misconceived notions of solidarity,” I wonder what he means. Is it our task to work only as individuals? Does our work not relate to the work of our colleagues? In my opinion, when colleagues work well together (both in agreement and disagreement on certain issues), the department works for the benefit of the community and for the society at large.
The general principles on which Professor Weyland's arguments are based are not the only issues I found objectionable (with all due respect to a very productive scholar). He seems not to put much stock in the outside reviews of the candidate's dossier because these outside reviewers “embrace strikingly different methods, theories, and approaches,” and thus they cannot render objective decisions. But again, is this not a good reason to err positively rather than negatively? Another idea advanced by Professor Weyland is that books should be given less weight in decision making than articles, because articles, he affirms, are judged with greater objectivity—the chances of an arbitrarily positive evaluation of a book are higher because it is likely that the evaluator may know the candidate personally or that he/she is biased in favor of the candidate's specialty. Indeed, we all know that there are different criteria for scholarly value according to the discipline. Indeed, political science tends to give more weight to articles than books, as do philosophy, linguistics, and communications. But should a political scientist with 349 articles listed in the CV question the work of a candidate in German literature because there are only seven articles? I think perhaps even Professor Weyland would answer no to my rhetorical question, yet again the tenure decision maker should (must) keep disciplinary exigencies and conventions in mind, and defer to those who know about those conventions. If I were to embrace my own prejudices, I would deny the work of a political scientist with no books and over 100 articles, all of which became outdated six months after they were published, besides being poorly written (in my impeccable judgment). Professor Weyland claims his criteria should be defined in “universalistic terms,” but if he can find valid “universal” criteria that pertain to all disciplines in a university, he's a better man than I. Indeed, virtually all of his anecdotal evidence comes from political science. Professor Weyland has engaged us all in what amounts to a turf battle, and that's not good for anyone.
Another interesting point in Professor Weyland's article is that in periods of dwindling budgets, faculty will vote to award tenure to a candidate for fear of losing a position. For this very reason, then, institutions need to assure departments that a negative tenure decision—I'd like to make it clear that I don't think that everyone should get tenure—will not lead to such a loss in personnel.