| POLICIES FOR KNOWLEDGE By Professor Paul Stirling INTRODUCTION THIS CONFERENCE AND THIS PAPER A meeting of virtually all the Heads of the Universities of three allied countries is far more than simply an academic conference. The aims are not easy to define exhaustlively. but they are certainly multiple. It is an opportunity to take stock of successes, to reflect on policies, to share insights, to establish links and friendships, to increase awareness of the achievements and the problems of other universities and other countries, to face up to immediate and long term dilemmas and puzzles and to think out solutions and policies. Yet all these aims can be subsumed under a single rubric. This august and distinguished gathering will have justified the time and effort of the participants themselves, - and, may I add, of our gracious Turkish hosts and the CENTO organisers,— if the Universities which you all honour by your pre-eminent role in them are in some real sense better Universities because you have all met here together. One of the most important purposes of the Conference is to address ourselves to the theme set by the Standing Committees—University Research and Socio-Economic Development. And here again, the primary purpose is not to advance knowledge by elegant papers to be published in due course, but so to influence each other that, by and large, and in all three countries, university research contributes more effectively to development than it would have done without this conference. The immense difficulties of establishing rapidly and effectively, modern universities, which were necessarily based initially on foreign models, were greatly increased by the scarcity of resources in the nations which they were intended to serve. To aim my paper at analysis of some of the problems that have arisen is necessarily to imply |
| shortcomings. So may I begin by declaring that everywhere I found striking achievements, enthusiastic staff, hardworking and competently taught students. It is itself a remarkable tribute to all three nations that this Conference of more than forty University heads is taking place. Our theme is creativity. If this conference is to prove creative itself, then we must face up to problems. I have included in this paper a number of topics germane to the conference theme, I begin with three practical matters. I give, by request, a brief account of British practice; I make some comments based on impressions gathered during my pre-Conference tour in 1974; and I discuss in particular the problems of overseas training and overseas teachers. I then move to a more theoretical level, not in order to escape from practical issues to a more rarified atmosphere, but on the contrary because questions about definition, about social causes and effects, about the aim and purposes of creating and transmitting knowledge have harsh practical implications for policy. UNIVERSITlES AND RESEARCH IN BRITAIN It would be quite impossible to do more, in a few paragraphs about British Universities and the research in them, than to make a few specific points. For the last four hundred years, and more especially for the last two hundred, scientific advances and technical innovations have been one major and quite indispensable factor, in Britain’s achievements and relative prosperity, as they have in the other nation states of Northern Europe and North America. Yet universities played a relatively minor part in creating and in disseminating this knowledge until the second half of the nineteenth Century. In 1800, we had only Oxford and Cambridge in England and four, rather better, universities in Scotland, mainly devoted to religious and classical studies. Not even medicine and law were taught at Oxford. By 1900, the total universities and university colleges was about 19 with about 2,000 staff and some 20,000 students, |
| in a population of about 38 million. Science, engineering and medicine were well established. But there was still no clear career structure, and the influence and pre-eminence of Oxford and Cambridge remained strong. Development continued slowly, until by 1939 we had some 21 universities, with some 50,000 students with over 8,000 staff. During this period a career structure emerged, and publication grew in importance as a measure of professional competence. Since 1950, growth has been rapid, and a national salary scale has been introduced. In 1919, the University Grants Commission was established. This body receives an annual grant from the Treasury and shares it out among the universities, after consultation with them. This grant rose from just over £2 million in 1938 to £581 million in 1976-7, and naturally the direct influence of government, and the size and complexity of the UGC have increased to match. In 1975 we had 263,242 students in 42 universities, with a total staff of 30,336 (U.K. Population - 56 million). By the Second World War, research had become a contractual obligation of all university staff. To enter a contract to increase the stock of human knowledge is on reflection rather strange, and reflects the optimism and the naivety of the universities' rulers—both internal and external. But it is as much part of the informal norms and self-identity of the profession as it is of the written rules. British universities exercise autonomy in the appointment of staff, though for senior appointments outside assessors are normally consulted. Each university makes its own rules; a few appointed teachers do not even hold first degrees; and certainly many do not have higher degrees. Posts are advertised publicly, and given to the most able and suitable candidate in the judgement of a small appointing committee. Virtually all scientists, in practice, do now have doctorates, and most other teachers have doctorates, or publications. But there are no hard and fast rules. Once in, a teacher's promotion is decided locally, except |
| again for outside assessors at senior levels, and depends fairly heavily on publication. Teaching and administrative prowess are also relevant, and for some fifteen years or so there has been talk of giving more weight to teaching and less to research, but so far with little effect. In theory, research is completely at the discretion of the teacher. In practice, research interests are influenced by what is going on among colleagues, by public concerns and fashions, and by the availability of finance and facilities where these are relevant. The output in addition to the total stored and coded 'knowledge' available in print is vast; and the rate of these additions is accelerating rapidly.(2) Much, but of course not all, of this output is ephemeral, wrong, bad, boring, pointless. But this huge output of second rate research is a necessary part of the system. Waste is inevitable. In the first place, no one can be sure which new facts and which new ideas will turn out to be important. To attempt to suppress or eliminate the second rate would be, inevitably, to suppress some which is first rate, and some which though second rate is nevertheless significant. Secondly, the army of second rate researchers forms a critical, experienced audience to which all academics address themselves. It is this audience of communicating and experienced scientists and scholars who act as judges and selectors,—who decide what to take seriously and what to ignore. It is they who provide the stimulus to effort, the ideas and suggestions, and who make or break reputations. The waste is not after all wasteful. I am arguing here a point to which I attach great importance. The existence of a stream of creative activity in any academic discipline depends on the existence of a group of professionals in that subject, who provide each other with the format and informal sanctions to effort, and who act as evaluators to keep up standards and sort out the ephemeral and the silly from the serious contributions. The majority who do not themselves make striking contributions, are nevertheless important as colleagues, audience, critics, judges, sources of ideas and disseminators to those who do. One slightly bizarre fact about the total research output of |