Everyone expected the legal academy to grapple with the fallout from an increasingly activist judiciary. We braced for more seismic shifts in Constitutional law, perhaps a new doctrine emerging from the Supreme Court’s latest pronouncements on church-state separation or presidential immunity. What we didn’t necessarily see coming was a legislative decree from a state legislature that could fundamentally alter the pedagogical landscape of higher education, forcing professors to curate content not just for rigor, but for religious palatability.
And so, Utah has delivered. A new law there permits students to sidestep course material that clashes with their “strongly held religious or personal beliefs.” If a student flags a conflict, and the request doesn’t fundamentally alter the course, instructors are legally compelled to offer an alternative assignment or exam. This isn’t about minor accommodations; it’s about carving out spaces where students can opt out of intellectual engagement altogether.
This entire kerfuffle, according to reporting, stems from a state representative’s daughter being tasked with writing a letter supporting LGBTQ+ rights. Her father, Representative Michael J. Petersen, stepped in, helping craft a “very, very bland” substitute. The experience, apparently, felt ripe for legislative intervention.
Look, the impulse to protect students from being forced into advocating against their will — Petersen’s initial framing — feels reasonable enough on its face. Compelling speech is a thorny issue. But this law, as written, risks far more than just ensuring academic neutrality. It flirts with the dangerous proposition of insulating students from any idea deemed “unsavory,” effectively prioritizing comfort over critical thinking. Higher education, at its core, is meant to expose students to new, even jarring, perspectives. That exposure isn’t about conversion; it’s about sharpening one’s own intellect by engaging with opposition.
The Unraveling of Law School Pedagogy?
Now, let’s talk about law school. This is where things get particularly interesting, and frankly, a bit terrifying. Consider a hypothetical Con Law final at the University of Utah’s law school. What if the exam requires students to analyze a hypothetical scenario banning interracial gay marriage? Do students now get to claim that grappling with landmark cases like Obergefell v. Hodges or Loving v. Virginia runs afoul of their religious beliefs about marriage, thus requiring an alternative assessment? Or imagine a student who genuinely believes the Dormant Commerce Clause is a sin. Must a professor redesign an entire unit because acknowledging its existence would violate their faith?
This isn’t a slippery slope; it’s a full-blown avalanche. The law, as interpreted, forces professors into an impossible bind: either comply with a potentially absurd accommodation, or risk legal reprisal. It’s a recipe for intellectual appeasement, where the pursuit of challenging legal concepts is sidelined in favor of student comfort.
One can’t help but picture law professors, clutching their well-worn syllabi, frantically consulting with religious leaders before assigning readings and exams. All to ensure no student experiences a moment of genuine intellectual friction. Wouldn’t want to disrupt the carefully curated bubble of belief.
The law requires faculty to make accommodations for courses that are part of the college’s general education requirement; it would be a hard sell for 1L Con Law or Crim Law courses to not fall under that category.
This law strikes me as less about safeguarding religious freedom and more about a misguided attempt to micromanage the educational experience. It bypasses the essential function of higher learning: to challenge, to question, and yes, sometimes to make students uncomfortable. The real danger here isn’t that students will be exposed to ideas they disagree with; it’s that they’ll be systematically shielded from the very intellectual friction that forges critical thinkers and, dare I say, effective lawyers.
There’s a historical parallel here, though perhaps less directly analogous. During the Cold War, certain academic circles grappled with how to handle controversial political ideologies in classrooms. The consensus, however imperfectly applied, was that engagement, even with abhorrent ideas, was necessary for a strong intellectual defense of one’s own principles. This Utah law seems to swing the pendulum in the opposite direction, towards an almost militant avoidance of dissonance.
Will This Chill Academic Freedom?
The implications for academic freedom are immense. If professors must constantly anticipate and accommodate potential “belief conflicts,
