The assault on the humanities

Philosophy at Middlesex University under threat.

This week the Dean of the School of Arts and Education at Middlesex University announced, point blank, that the University is to close all of its philosophy programmes. In an email sent to staff, the reason given was "simply financial". The decision -- described by one academic blogger as "venal idiocy" -- has generated a growing online campaign, as did earlier efforts to cut into the intellectual fabric of UK universities at Kings College London and at Liverpool.

Given that this election campaign has been notable for a dearth of meaningful ideas, the timing of these latest cuts is as ironic as the act itself is cynical. British universities and our world-renowned arts and humanities departments in particular, are fundamental to a vibrant polity and society, and to the quality of debate within them. And yet they are increasingly under threat.

The philosophy department at Middlesex is a case in point. This is one of the leading lights of continental philosophy in this country, with an international reputation for furthering our understanding of the classics of European thought -- be it Kant or Hegel, Sartre or Badiou -- alongside a concern to re-appraise those works in light of present day political and ethical dilemmas.

It is, moreover, the highest Research Assessment Exercise-rated subject at Middlesex. Which means that even by the increasingly ridiculous standards used to measure and to monitor academic work in this country, the department is about as "relevant" as you could want philosophy to be. And as a former polytechnic that was holding its own alongside the Russell group of top twenty universities, one wonders quite what else such a department might have been expected to do.

There are some, of course, who think that academic departments ought primarily to be income-generating cash cows. I see no reason why this should be the case. But even so, Middlesex's philosophy department could hardly be said to have been slacking: of late, it appears to have been handing over more than half its own income, generated through teaching and research activity, to the university. Perhaps this is why the university's website trumpets the department's "lively and active research culture, with staff producing important and groundbreaking research, much of which features in the undergraduate course".

Was this just doublespeak? If Middlesex University really stands by what it says on their website, then they have no business closing such a department at all. They are strongly advised to reconsider.

As they do so, the rest of us have something to think about too: is such narrow-mindedness what the future holds for academic life in this country?

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Why relations between Theresa May and Philip Hammond became tense so quickly

The political imperative of controlling immigration is clashing with the economic imperative of maintaining growth. 

There is no relationship in government more important than that between the prime minister and the chancellor. When Theresa May entered No.10, she chose Philip Hammond, a dependable technocrat and long-standing ally who she had known since Oxford University. 

But relations between the pair have proved far tenser than anticipated. On Wednesday, Hammond suggested that students could be excluded from the net migration target. "We are having conversations within government about the most appropriate way to record and address net migration," he told the Treasury select committee. The Chancellor, in common with many others, has long regarded the inclusion of students as an obstacle to growth. 

The following day Hammond was publicly rebuked by No.10. "Our position on who is included in the figures has not changed, and we are categorically not reviewing whether or not students are included," a spokesman said (as I reported in advance, May believes that the public would see this move as "a fix"). 

This is not the only clash in May's first 100 days. Hammond was aggrieved by the Prime Minister's criticisms of loose monetary policy (which forced No.10 to state that it "respects the independence of the Bank of England") and is resisting tougher controls on foreign takeovers. The Chancellor has also struck a more sceptical tone on the UK's economic prospects. "It is clear to me that the British people did not vote on June 23 to become poorer," he declared in his conference speech, a signal that national prosperity must come before control of immigration. 

May and Hammond's relationship was never going to match the remarkable bond between David Cameron and George Osborne. But should relations worsen it risks becoming closer to that beween Gordon Brown and Alistair Darling. Like Hammond, Darling entered the Treasury as a calm technocrat and an ally of the PM. But the extraordinary circumstances of the financial crisis transformed him into a far more assertive figure.

In times of turmoil, there is an inevitable clash between political and economic priorities. As prime minister, Brown resisted talk of cuts for fear of the electoral consequences. But as chancellor, Darling was more concerned with the bottom line (backing a rise in VAT). By analogy, May is focused on the political imperative of controlling immigration, while Hammond is focused on the economic imperative of maintaining growth. If their relationship is to endure far tougher times they will soon need to find a middle way. 

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.