A document called “syllabus” persists, and is still distributed to prospective students at the start of each semester—but its function as a course plan has been minimized, if not entirely erased. First and foremost, it must satisfy a drove of bureaucratic needs, describing school policies, accreditation demands, regulatory matters, access to campus resources, health and safety guidelines, and more.
At colleges and universities everywhere, the syllabus has become a terms-of-service document.
During the same period in which courseware was completing its takeover, the faculty-student relationship changed. Tuition prices rose, and the student’s role became more like that of a conventional customer. I’ve seen conflicts over grades or late assignments inspire faculty to add greater detail and more contract riders to their syllabi. Concerns about mental health, accommodation, disability resources, gender identity/personal pronouns, classroom climate, harassment and sexual assault, and other matters gave rise to pages’ worth of boilerplate.
I mean, a symptom of the long decline of education into a business.
I keep the relevant scheduling and course plan information first, then after the real syllabus, I have tons of pages of that boilerplate text. I make it so that students can open the syllabus, see what they need quickly, and then leave without being bombarded by policies that they frankly don’t care about.
