Last week my wife and I had dinner with an old friend who’d come in from out of town for a rare visit. She’s a remarkable woman, with a long stint in broadcasting followed by the acquisition of an advanced degree at UC Berkeley, which led to her current vocation as hospice chaplain in a major west coast city. Warm, intelligent, inquisitive and urbane; she surprised me with her announcement that she was about to start her doctoral studies. Online. And not at a school I would’ve guessed.

Because she’s such a hands-on kind of person her decision to study online seemed unusual to me, but I was really interested why she didn’t choose to pursue her studies at one of the universities in her area. Surely they offered online courses. Why this school, with so many prestigious alternatives?

Ph.D. = Driver’s License?

She allowed that she knew the degree wouldn’t be held in the same regard as one from the brick and mortars in her region, but that cost and flexibility had been deciding factors. Further, she assured me, the Ph.D. she would earn would be sufficient for attaining the job she wanted. It was, she concluded, the same as a driver’s license. It didn’t matter where you studied for it as long as you got one.

Give them what they want

I’m fascinated by this commodification of higher education and its acceptance. At both the recent Sloan-C symposium in Carefree, Arizona and an enrollment management workshop a couple of weeks ago I heard a lot of discussion about how traditional student populations are declining, how the survival of educational institutions is dependent upon attracting and retaining non-traditional (usually adult) students, and how both Millennial and adult students demand educational opportunities and experiences that are decidedly consumer-based and market driven. Give them what they want or watch your college wither and die, keynote speakers declared.

It’s rough out there

I understand the pressures that inform a prospective student’s decisions on what, how and where to study: I’d love to be studying theology or literature for personal and spiritual growth, but I invest my school’s tuition waiver benefits in professional development courses. And I understand the need for institutions to adapt strategically. It’s rough out there in consumer society.

My friend’s decision was pragmatic; she’d pursued her ideals as a younger undergraduate and graduate student and was now positioning herself in a competitive marketplace. Higher education must also adapt and make practical, unsentimental strategic decisions to survive and prosper. I do not pretend to have any answers to how we do that without abusing our principles. But I like to think we stand for something greater than market share. That we take a position rather than seek one. And that we’re more than mere commodities.