The function of higher education is twofold: the development of competent citizens and the training of a skilled workforce. This is the socio-economic dogma of higher education. It is driving the funding by governments, the strategic plans at universities and colleges, and the decisions of secondary school graduates.

It might come as a surprise to the critics of a liberal arts education, but contents-free learning does not exist. When you learn to read, you must read something. When you learn to think critically, you must think critically about something. When you learn to calculate, you must calculate something.

Consequently, adhering to the dogma, we use our expertise not only to teach the students subject knowledge but also transferable cognitive skills (communication, independent judgement, problem solving, memorisation) and transferable behavioural traits (respect, perseverance, integrity, confidence).

Of course, most students will forget most of the subject knowledge. As B.F. Skinner wrote in 1964: “Education is what survives when what has been learned has been forgotten.” If we do our job well, what survives are transferable cognitive skills and transferable behavioural traits.

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Is this good enough? No. Generally speaking, “the stakeholders” are not happy.

Students complain that we fail to accommodate their preferences and personal situations. Graduates complain that we fail to teach the knowledge and skills necessary to succeed in the labour market. Employers complain that we fail to produce the workers they need.

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Universities and colleges have responded. And we have tried to please everyone.

And so, the positive-thinking doctrine to lull students into the belief that they can be whatever they want to be. And so, short-lived fads (portfolios, “the guide on the side”) and long-lived delusions (learning styles, the reversed classroom) from teaching and learning specialists in their elusive search for “best practices”. And so, kindergarten-level “experiential learning” exercises with glass beads, pipe cleaners and swimming pool noodles. And so, badges for task completions to reinforce good behaviour, like training animals.

And so, too, micro-testing, the breaking of grades into tiny pieces of pseudo-achievements and the abolishment of the retention of substantial amounts of information. And so, grade inflation, because we don’t want to ruin a student’s future or receive poor student evaluations of our teaching. And so, , not far from giving academic credit for a drunken chat in a bar about, say, Justin Trudeau (political science) or hockey (sports management).

And so, “student success centres” and whole professions whose function it is to beget success in the unprepared and the uninterested. And so, compressed academic terms, because we would not want to waste valuable student time on their higher education. And so, career centres to teach students how to write resumés and cover letters, how to prepare for job interviews and how to keep their jobs once they have them.

It is easy to see that our collective actions are often in direct conflict with the socio-economic dogma. We treat students neither as fellow citizens nor as future professionals. We treat them as confused children.

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And how have things worked out for us?

At the beginning of every semester, I ask the students whether, given the choice, they would go through the regular motions of the course, with lectures, learning and exams, or take a C up front. In some of my courses, more than half choose option two.

When I ask how many read for enjoyment, play a musical instrument or follow the news, the count is usually zero. When I ask the dimensions of a square kilometre, some students believe the answer is 10 metres by 10 metres. When I ask about the speed of light, utter silence. When I ask what caused the extinction of dinosaurs, some students believe it was humans. (I am not joking.)

Even at the end of my courses, half the students still cannot give a proper definition of the subject they just spent a whole semester on, cannot identify the criteria that make them trust information and cannot calculate the average of five numbers. (Again, I am not joking.)  

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I conclude that most students lack curiosity about the world. They don’t want to become the “critical thinkers” most of us want to make them. They don’t want hard courses that challenge them. They don’t want to experience a serious confrontation between their belief systems and those of others. And they don’t understand the importance of transferable cognitive skills in the labour market.

They just want a quick academic credential and then get on with making some money.

As Kurt Vonnegut put it more eloquently in 1990: “The lesson I myself learned over and over again when teaching at the college...was the uselessness of information to most people, except as entertainment. If facts weren’t funny or scary, or couldn’t make you rich, the heck with them.”

I do not know whether treating students as adults would alone be enough to cure their lack of interest and indolence. I don’t know whether it would produce more competent citizens and better-skilled professionals. But it is a cheap experiment to do and worth a try.

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Michael Baumann is a faculty member at a Canadian university. Before that, he spent a lost decade as a mid-level university bureaucrat. In 2003, he returned his PhD in protest to the University of British Columbia.