Rather than beginning with praise for blogging, Farrell begins with a story that illustrates one reason why blogging hasn't caught fire among academics. He describes the concerns of an untenured professor who had been blogging anonymously but who then let his identity slip. He had been trying to avoid real or imagined "invasions of his personal and professional life." Although tenured faculty have far less to put at risk if they blog, barring total implosions in which they reveal confidential information or write thoroughly inappropriate posts, untenured faculty, and tenured faculty who are seeking to change positions, face multiple disadvantages. First, writing about controversial topics can alienate senior faculty, administrators, and hiring committees. Second, time devoted to blogging probably eats away at time available for "traditional" scholarship.
After describing these impediments to blogging, Farrell concludes that it is an "enormous mistake" to "dismiss blogging as a bad idea altogether." He's right. Academic blogging provides all sorts of advantages. Faculty who blog can "debate ideas, swap views about their disciplines, and connect to a wider public." A few use blogs to air their gripes. Many, perhaps most, wrap the blog into their academic identities. As Farrell puts it so brilliantly, "For these academics, blogging isn't a hobby; it's an integral part of their scholarly identity. They may very well be the wave of the future." Blogging, he points out, are intellectually exciting. At least for now, they provide the academic with a forum for interchange free of the constraints afflicting academic endeavors in general, such as seeking grants, getting tenure, and competing for endowed chair positions. Farrell says:
Properly considered, the blogosphere represents the closest equivalent to the Republic of Letters that we have today. Academic blogs, like their 18th-century equivalent, are rife with feuds, displays of spleen, crotchets, fads, and nonsenses. As in the blogosphere more generally, there is a lot of dross. However, academic blogs also provide a carnival of ideas, a lively and exciting interchange of argument and debate that makes many scholarly conversations seem drab and desiccated in comparison. Over the next 10 years, blogs and bloglike forms of exchange are likely to transform how we think of ourselves as scholars.He focuses on law and philosophy to illustrate the extent to which academic blogging has taken hold. Using Dan Solove's statistics, he reports that 130 law professors have active blogs. That may be a bit understated, but it amounts to about one law professor at each law school. Wow, it is still lonely out here in the law school blogosphere.
Farrell then makes one of those bold statements that I appreciate: "In both of those disciplines, those who don't either blog or read and comment on others' blogs are cutting themselves out of an increasingly important set of discussions." Why is this happening? Farrell points out that although the "depth of thought" in blog posts may not approach that of traditional scholarship, a situation that I don't think blogging necessarily requires, the process of blogging brings to the communication of ideas a timeliness that is almost entirely lost in the traditional venues of peer-reviewed or student-edited journals. If he thinks this is a problem in academic publishing generally, consider the inadequacy of "traditional scholarship" to deal with developments in the world of taxation, where's yesterday's news becomes ancient history very quickly. It takes months, if not years, for another academic to have a response published in the traditional world. With blogging, responses are much more timely, and thus easier to process. Years ago, this sort of impact was predicted for the Internet and its progeny. Having been among those who foretold this change, it is gratifying to watch its emergence.
Farrell also notes that once a person has experienced the pace of blogging, a return to the "traditional" ways of communicating is difficult. Indeed. For me, it would be similar to driving a sports car and then going back to travel on horseback. Farrell then paraphrases John Holbo of the National University of Singapore, "the difference between academic publishing and blogging is reminiscent of 'one of those Star Trek or Twilight Zone episodes where it turns out there is another species sharing the same space with us, but so sped up or slowed down in time, relatively, that contact is almost impossible.'" Wow. This is almost as good as the article I threaten to write on the tax consequences of time travel.
The last of Farrell's points that interest me involve the impact of blogging on the present hierarchy of academia. His proposition that blogging can bring more attention to an adjunct professor or independent scholar who holds an interesting viewpoint than does "ponderous stodge regurgitated by the holder of an endowed chair at an Ivy League university" is magnificent not only in its vocabulary but in its reality. The playing field of rankings and rank are turned "topsy-turvy." Farrell's acknowledgment that blogging can bring academics an opportunity to converse with the "wider public" is perhaps more significant than it initially appears. Blogging may be the machine that brings down the ivy-covered walls that permit too many academics to live in a separate reality than do most people, just as the invention of cannon obsoleted the military advantages of castle walls. As Farrell writes, "This openness can be discomfiting to those who are attached to established rankings and rituals -- but it also means that blogospheric conversations, when they're good, have a vigor and a liveliness that most academic discussion lacks......Blogging democratizes the function of public intellectual."
Farrell's concluding paragraph nicely summarizes his thesis, one to which I subscribe:
Both group blogs and the many hundreds of individual academic blogs that have been created in the last three years are pioneering something new and exciting. They're the seeds of a collective conversation, which draws together different disciplines (sometimes through vigorous argument, sometimes through friendly interaction), which doesn't reproduce traditional academic distinctions of privilege and rank, and which connects academic debates to a broader arena of public discussion. It's not entirely surprising that academic blogs have provoked some fear and hostility; they represent a serious challenge to well-established patterns of behavior in the academy. Some academics view them as an unbecoming occupation for junior (and senior) scholars; in the words of Alex Halavais of the State University of New York at Buffalo, they seem "threatening to those who are established in academia, to financial interests, and to ... well, decorum." Not exactly dignified; a little undisciplined; carnivalesque. Sometimes signal, sometimes noise. But exactly because of this, they provide a kind of space for the exuberant debate of ideas, for connecting scholarship to the outside world, which we haven't had for a long while. We should embrace them wholeheartedly.We must remember that almost everyone who woke up the day after the printing press was invented carried on with their life thoroughly unaware of how much life had changed.
Having seemingly heaped praise on Henry Farrell, or at least having saluted his essay, I need to express some mild disagreement with several of his propositions. I'm going out on a limb, and surely cannot "prove" my position. So perhaps I'm simply questioning the seemingly absolute articulation Farrell gives to these perceptions.
First, Farrell states that blogging "some depth of thought" and that "it's difficult to state a complex thesis in the average blogpost." There is much to be said for these propositions at the moment, but I'm not ready to concede that it must be this way or must remain this way. A complex theses can be expressed in a blogpost, and if a sufficient number of academics begin doing so, the average academic blogpost will evolve to something more than a several paragraph observation. Readers of my blog know that many of my posts resemble short articles, especially when two or three addressing the same issue are combined. I'd like to think that neither I, nor other academic bloggers, are abandoning any portion of our thinking process when we blog. There are days when I invest several hours into composing a blog, reminding me of how my late colleague Dick Turkington impressed on me the need to invest time in composing an email reply to a student inquiry on a substantive topic because tossing an off-hand response, something known to happen in oral conversation with students, could backfire. After all, if others are reading a serious blog post, they will be quick with the criticism if they find error or sloppiness. The same critical eye that reads a printed journal page surely can read a blog post. Farrell, though, isn't wrong on his assertions. It is, of course, a time of transition, and transition often brings inefficiencies and discontinuities. It's just that I'd like to hold out hope that blogging need not be, or remain, constricted, and can provide a forum for thought no less deep than that found in traditional print journals.
Second, Farrell writes, "Few if any academics would want to describe their blogging as part of their academic publishing record (although they might reasonably count it toward public-service requirements). While blogging has real intellectual payoffs, it is not conventional academic writing and shouldn't be an academic's main focus if he or she wants to get tenure." There are two points here. Farrell is correct, that in today's academic world, blogging is not treated as conventional academic writing, and someone seeking tenure cannot ride a blog to the permanent faculty appointment. Somehow, though, that must change. Tenured faculty, who do not face similar risks, must take the lead and pave the way for the world of the mid-21st century when, at least in law, the idea that a third year law student stands as gate keeper to the academic careers of law faculty will have become a joyously discarded awful tradition. The day when untenured faculty can share their theses through a blog, receive comments from peers and the public, revise their thoughts, and make timely contributions to the on-going debate surrounding a particular topic will be a day when the academy surely could praise itself for having turned its currently inward-focused scholarship into a true public service. As to Farrell's other point, I offer myself as a person who describes my blogging as part of my academic publishing record. Of course, since much of my publishing consists of tax books that the academy insists on calling "monographs" for reasons I've never understood, it is easier for me to see "law scholarship" as something far wider than an article in a student-edited law journal. Not that I haven't done that sort of writing, when it was appropriate for what I had to say, but it isn't the center of my scholarship. Of course, that one of the other two bloggers on the faculty is the Dean helps. As does the fact that if Dan Solove's numbers are in the ballpark, as I think they are, Villanova has three bloggers, thrice the national average. Surely that should earn us a place in the U.S. News and World Report top 25. Just kidding. At least for the moment.
Third, Farrell predicts, " While blogging won't replace academic publishing, it builds a space for serious conversation around and between the more considered articles and monographs that we write." I truly hope he is wrong, and I suspect he wouldn't be all that upset if he were. Academic publishing must become "of the blog" and abandon its current process and form. At least in law, blogging opens the door, perhaps a back door, to the peer review that is so noticeably absent, especially when compared with other disciplines. Ironically, my writing that doesn't qualify as "scholarship" in the eyes of many of my law professor peers undergoes far more peer review, treating attorneys as peers, than does the "traditional scholarship" of my law faculty colleagues. Blogging encourages law reviews to say goodbye to paper products and move to a digital world. Not only will this move save money, a proposition that appeals to every Dean I know, but it will also resurrect for law students the opportunity to see their publishable work, denied publication because of cost constraints, made available to the public. Villanova led the way in this regard when it established the Villanova Tax Law Compendium, which for other reasons is hibernating deeply. As student-edited law journals become extinct, law students can turn their attention to their own serious academic blogging, as a few already do, rather than spend time finishing articles and cranking out footnotes for law faculty who leave too much of their writing to law students.
In addition to these three tweaks of Henry Farrell's essay, I want to add another notion that he doesn't highlight, though he gives it some attention. This is the issue of publicity. As he points out, academics like publicity, and struggle to find it, especially in the world outside of the academy. More importantly perhaps, especially in certain aspects of the operation of educational institutions, administrators delight in publicity of the right sort. Publicity helps with fund-raising. It helps with rankings. It helps with attracting quality students to enroll. No university or college administrator would turn a nose up at good publicity. My blogging, much like my other scholarship that doesn't show up in law school academic journals, reaches a far wider audience than does typical law review writing. I understand that the "quality" of the audience matters to many at least as much, if not more, than the "quantity," but if the quantity is sufficiently high, the quality will follow, if that is important. Without getting into the debate about the need to reach beyond other law faculty and judicial clerks, suffice it to say that a school's reputation, in any discipline, is enhanced when it is strengthened in all venues and not just within the bounds of a select few. In other words, administrators ought to be encouraging academic blogging, while, of course, being wise in their reaction to non-academic blogging by academic personnel.
I close with reaction to a quote from the same journal that published Henry Farrell's wonderful commentary. One of my colleagues passed me an email several weeks, in which he prefaced a quote from page A-46 of the September 2, 2005, edition of the Chronicle with the observation, "you will be startled by this." I was. The quote? "[C]omputer-based entertainment, like...blogging, [is] safer than some recreational activities...like drinking." A bit of research revealed that the quote came from an article on student computer addiction. Written by Elizabeth Farrell, who is not identified and who may or may not be related to Henry Farrell, the article points out that students who immerse themselves in fantasy on-line games struggle to cope with, and return to, reality. This is a genuine and serious problem. However, equating on-line gaming, on-line gambling, instant messaging, and "blogging," will do nothing to assist advocates of academic blogging in getting their message across to the uninformed. Worse, it will hinder that effort. The term "blogging" has become a word that needs an adjective to make it meaningful. There are all sorts of blogging, and the type of blogging that Elizabeth Farrell is trying to describe surely does not include the efforts of a student (or teacher) to publish a serious academic analysis of a topic.
Academic blogging will change academic scholarship, including legal scholarship. The number of faculty who blog is growing. A few deans and a few academics are beginning, sometimes grudgingly, to acknowledge not only the benefits of academic blogging to the institution and to the development of academic discussion, but also the nature of serious academic blogging as a form of scholarship that deserves attention, respect, and deference. I live for the day when a hiring committee, rather than asking, "has this candidate already published three articles in a traditional journal?" instead asks, "does this candidate have a blog, and what's its URL?" Maybe dean hiring committees will also make inquiries about the blogs of the applicants they are considering. "Can't be a dean without a blog" sounds good to me.