What Mission Statements Reveal

Most people have an intuitive sense that political polarization is about a lot more than positions on political issues. How you feel about immigration, abortion, or gun control—not to mention gender, capitalism, and American history—obviously says a lot about who you are. But so does whether you drive a Prius or a pickup truck, prefer Whole Foods to Walmart, or would rather watch Modern Family or NCIS. 

Language, too, is steeped in worldview. Years ago, the linguist George Lakoff argued that political discourse is rooted in fundamental conceptions of family life that shape how we speak: Liberal speech hovers around the idea of a “nurturing parent” (“care,” “empathy,” and so on), whereas conservative talk revolves around the theme of the “strict father” (“discipline,” “personal responsibility,” etc.). Word choice and phrasing may be as decisive in conveying an outlook on the world as who we vote for or what candidates we “like” on social media.

In many ways, the quest for overt political bias, while important, misses the point. Few institutions in society are as saturated in language as universities. A significant majority of those who are employed by or attend universities are part of what might be called the “symbolic economy.” Yet, in our current, highly contentious debates about the relationship between universities and politics, we tend to focus on overt political positions. Does a university take a particular stand on an issue? Do professors openly support a particular cause or even a candidate? Does a class or program overtly advance a specific ideology?

University culture is steeped in beliefs and assumptions that operate below the radar of explicit partisan politics. In many ways, the quest for overt political bias, while important, misses the point. University culture is steeped in beliefs and assumptions that are embedded in an academic discourse that operates below the radar of explicit partisan politics. One way to gauge these implicit beliefs and assumptions is to examine that strange genre of administrative-speak that is the university mission statement.

Admittedly, mission statements exemplify academic discourse at its most inconsequential. Graham Hillard’s description of these peculiar documents is spot-on: “Committee-generated and loved by none, they sit awkwardly on webpages and internal reports, awaiting readers to justify their mean existence.” Yet it is precisely the conventional character of these statements that makes them revealing: They are excellent indicators of the norms and truisms that shape academic common sense.

The most striking characteristic of university mission statements, especially if one reads a large number at once, is their remarkable conformity. No time more than when a university sets out to define its core identity does it seem just like every other institution. When one tries to reverse-engineer a mission statement, it is hard to shake the notion that there must be a list of keywords from which they are required to draw, with each institution making its own choices, mad lib-like, in how to arrange them.

For instance, reading a trove of mission statements, it becomes apparent that everyone believes that education must instill “creativity.” “Rote learning is us” is found in no mission statements, ever. Lest “creativity” sound too artsy, some institutions emphasize its interdisciplinary character. Carnegie Mellon defines it as “our openness to new ideas and forms of expression, intellectual curiosity, willingness to take risks and entrepreneurial spirit.” If that sounds insufficiently civic-minded, the New School University is quick to point out that creativity also means “a desire to challenge the status quo.”

Most universities also like to define their mission not just intellectually but morally—although the moral commitments they articulate are decidedly generic. For instance, everyone likes “integrity.” Duke University’s admissions department (it has its own mission statement) places “integrity” just behind “creativity” in its list of values, while Hendrix College’s list puts “integrity” right before “service” and “joy” (no less). When discussing ethics, some universities shift genres, abandoning the style of a statement in favor of that of a testimonial. Texas A&M professes that its commitment to “integrity” means: “We are trustworthy and honest with ourselves and others. […] We operate with the highest ethical standards in all we do.” While signaling their virtue, few institutions take a pass on embracing “excellence.” After all, who has a problem with excellence? The ever-chipper Aggies declare: “We are dedicated to excel in what we do and say we will do.” Miami University makes a similar point but prefers the first-person singular to the first-person plural: “I perform each task with the highest level of quality.” With Lake Wobegon-like faith that everyone can be above average, they add: “I exceed the expectations of everyone I serve.”

Another set of words that feature prominently in mission statements consists of “empathy,” “compassion,” and related terms. Miami University expects its community to “listen to others with empathy and understanding.” To be sure the message gets through, Oakwood University (Ala.) piles on as many synonyms as it can muster: In addition to “compassion,” it also promotes “manifest sympathy, empathy, care, and concern in our dealings with others.” The point of empathy seems thus that understanding is not simply intellectual but also ethical and emotional. It dovetails with “service,” another mission-statement buzzword, particularly when service is construed as altruistic. Texas A&M prizes “selfless service,” while UNC-Chapel Hill defines service as “put[ting] others first.”

One reason university mission statements are so mind-numbingly similar is that they rely on a core vocabulary. One reason university mission statements are so mind-numbingly similar is that they rely on a core vocabulary that is polyvalent. Take the case of “empathy.” Blending social justice and pedagogical truisms, Carnegie Mellon states that “empathy and compassion” reflect a “focus on improving the human condition and on the personal development of the members of our community.” Yet Lee University employs the same vocabulary in a quite different register, describing how its educational goals are rooted in “a Christian framework of empathy, compassion, and service to others.” Some religious institutions proclaim theological ideals in ways that are easily palatable to the dominant academic idiom. Hendrix College notes that its campus motto—and hence its mission—is rooted in Ephesians 4:13, “Till we all come in the unity of the faith and of the knowledge of the Son of God, unto a perfect man.” In Hendrix’s mission statement, however, Paul’s teleios anthropos has become “the whole person.” “Improving the human condition,” indeed.

While the inclusion of these terms is no doubt a deliberate choice, they fit seamlessly into the keywords that comprise the current academic orthodoxy. Many campuses, of course, have mission statements that include language that alludes to more specific positions on major public issues. UNC-Chapel Hill cites “diversity”—that is, “cross[ing] boundaries and be[ing] inclusive”—as one of its values. Hampshire College stresses “sustainability”—“an approach to living that honors our obligation to the future”—as does Texas A&M (and many others). The important thing to note, however, is that, while the inclusion of these terms is no doubt a deliberate choice, they fit seamlessly into the keywords that comprise the current academic orthodoxy. To be creative, for instance, means to break out of the mold and realize that there are multiple ways of thinking—to embrace, in short, a kind of mental diversity. Wesleyan makes this connection when it asserts: “The University seeks to build a diverse, energetic community of students, faculty, and staff who think critically and creatively.” And if, like UNC-Chapel Hill, you define “diversity” as “cross[ing] boundaries,” you have already made it synonymous with creativity.

In a similar vein, “empathy” makes sense only within a context characterized by “diversity”: The reason empathy rises to the level of an imperative is presumably because conditions of diversity make it difficult. Duke Admissions draws a straight line between the two concepts: “We expect respect across differences and recognize our responsibility to practice empathy, to appreciate diverse perspectives and cultures, and to develop the capacity to solve problems that transcend borders.” While “sustainability” does not fit quite so neatly into the conventional nostrums (poor Carnegie Mellon could come up with no better justification for it than the claim that it is central to their “approach to responsible financial planning”), it also overlaps with the emphasis on “innovation” (a kissing cousin of “creativity”) and “selfless service.”

Institutions with reputations for having more conservative cultures in many cases do not fundamentally deviate from the academic common sense embodied in so many mission statements. The reason no doubt has to do with the fact that they do not find this discourse overly constraining—it is general and consensual enough that it does not inherently exclude intimations of less progressive preferences along the margins. Texas A&M touts “selfless service,” “excellence,” and “integrity” but throws in the conservative-coded “loyalty” to keep things interesting. Auburn encourages “meaningful change” and “active social responsibility” but evens things out by espousing a “strong work ethic” and the importance of “build[ing] moral character.”

By the same token, institutions strongly associated with progressive attitudes also do not employ language that deviates significantly from conventional academic common sense. Admittedly, this is because they are already on their home turf, given all the mainstream progressive assumptions baked into standard academic discourse. But it is notable that, at such institutions, there is no effort to top appeals to empathy and creativity with invocations of, say, postcolonialism or quotes from Judith Butler (defending, one imagines, the “whole person”). The University of California at Santa Cruz—a pedagogical and ideological vanguard—rallies behind the decidedly tepid goal of “lead[ing] at the intersection of innovation and social justice.” Its mission statement adds: “By challenging conventional thinking through our collaborative interdisciplinary approach and distinction as an inclusive learning environment, we will advance the spectrum of knowledge and develop sustainable solutions to the challenges of our time.” With revolutionaries like this, who needs trustees and provosts?

With revolutionaries like this, who needs trustees and provosts? Yet it is crucial to recognize that, in this sea of academic common sense, outliers do exist. Unsurprisingly, what defines them is less their overt political positions or ideological stances (even if, in some instances, these are pronounced) than the unconventional nature and sheer novelty of their educational vision. Far from embracing generic conceptions of creativity and diversity, Hillsdale College, for instance, declares “itself a trustee of our Western philosophical and theological inheritance tracing to Athens and Jerusalem.” While celebrating the liberal arts as a “gateway to the future,” the college’s statement also says they provide a “window on the past” consisting of “timeless truths about the human condition,” a legacy that its faculty are dedicated to preserving for “future generations.” While boasting of its “cosmopolitan” student body, Hillsdale declares that it “values the merit of each unique individual, rather than succumbing to the dehumanizing, discriminatory trend of so-called ‘social justice’ and ‘multicultural diversity,’ which judges individuals not as individuals, but as members of a group.”

It is important to reflect on the shared assumptions that currently underlie higher education’s mission. In a completely different register, St. John’s College contends that its rigorous liberal-arts program seeks to “bring about an awareness of the forms that are embodied in combinations of words and in numbers so that they become means of understanding.” Neither Hillsdale nor St. John’s refers to “excellence” with the kind of hollow verbiage with which ChatGPT now fills so many students’ essays. They do not need to invent empty categories because they have a distinct educational vision. The absence of most of the elements of conventional academic common sense from their statements is evidence of their deviation from the norm—in short, their originality.

What most mission statements reveal, all told, is an academic common sense in which many more explicitly (and often progressive) political positions are couched but that, at the same time, is pervasive precisely because of its banality—its ability to be all things to all “stakeholders.” While people of different political views may consider it necessary to ensure that universities do not become institutions existing primarily to promote a political agenda, it is just as important to reflect on the shared assumptions that currently underlie higher education’s mission—and the fundamental confusion about the nature of that mission they lay bare.

Michael C. Behrent is a professor of history at Appalachian State University.