James McKeen Cattell, Nicholas Murray Butler, and Academic ...

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fly leaf, “The American Association of University Professors versus Mr. Cattell”
that, among other things, attacked the AAUP for not “tak[ing] special interest in
me” and for not “offer[ing] to pay the cost of my law suits and to have assisted
me in every possible way.” 226 He never published it, however, and he soon
focused his energies on his brand-new Psychological Corporation.
Conclusions
Anyone looking for a hero in this episode in the history of American academia
would be hard pressed to find one, as even those who praise Seligman for his role
in creating the AAUPs Declaration must contend with his apparent “duplicit[y]”
and “perfidy” in his relations with Cattell. Cattell’s own actions certainly do not
inspire admiration, since (as this article has shown) they actually undermined his
colleagues’ academic freedom. And this account certainly reinforces the unflattering
portrait of Butler that led others to think of him as the dot on the letter I.
Perhaps the most straightforward conclusion available is that personal “eccentricities”—to
use the word that John Dewey used in defending Cattell before the other
members of the Committee of Nine—and other aspects of individual personalities
are among the most significant contingencies that help shape the flow of events
that attract historical attention. This conclusion is certainly one that most biographers
would readily accept.
Indeed, of all those appearing in this narrative, John Dewey, perhaps, comes
out the looking the best. To be sure, his support of American entry into World
War I has been denounced by critics of the “Warfare State.” 227 But Dewey’s
actions throughout this episode reflect both an admirably consistent personal
loyalty to an old friend and strong support for academic freedom as it was
understood in the late 1910s. That is, in May 1917, Dewey came to the defense
of Cattell and asked his other colleagues if “scholars should be retired because of
eccentricities.” His point, of course, was that to dismiss Cattell simply on account
of his idiosyncrasies would be personally unfair to him and, more generally,
would diminish academic freedom at Columbia. However, despite this stand, only
one month later he concluded that he had to join the rest of the Committee of Nine
to agree that “Cattell’s usefulness to the University is ended.” In doing so, he did
not support the trustees’ plans for summary dismissal; indeed, by quitting the
committee when Butler asked for Dana’s resignation he emphasized just how
seriously he disparaged them. Instead, his actions demonstrate his belief that
Cattell’s behavior represented much more than simple eccentricity or idiosyncrasy.
In his view, then, this behavior sharply undermined academic freedom at
Columbia, and Dewey simply could not tolerate such sabotage. Indeed, that
Dewey’s actions support this article’s historical thesis is, perhaps, the strongest
evidence of its value.
In addition, it is worth emphasizing that this article argues its thesis through
the relentless accumulation and presentation of details; that is, through the “thick
description” of “the fine texture of the past” noted earlier. Such an approach is
especially appropriate in writing about Cattell. After all, it was the continual
accretion of Cattell’s nastiness and personal attacks that diminished the cause of
academic freedom at Columbia and finally drove the trustees to act as they did.