When former Karnataka Chief Minister Basavaraj Bommai declined an honorary doctorate from Haveri University, I sat up because it is an offer not many politicians would refuse. His reasoning, however, was simple: public service is its own reward, and an academic title is not the right instrument for honouring it.
There is merit in his reasoning. And, in a climate where such degrees are often conferred with generous frequency like wedding invitations, that restraint invites a serious conversation about what honorary doctorates were meant to be, and whether the gap between intention and practice has grown too wide to ignore.
Let us go back in history to understand where it started. European universities began granting degrees honoris causa in the late 15th century. One of the earliest recorded instances is from the University of Oxford, which conferred such a degree on Lionel Woodville around 1479. Historians have often interpreted this moment as reflecting not just recognition, but also the subtle interplay of influence and institutional advantage. Woodville, a man of considerable political standing, later became the university’s chancellor.
This complicates the comforting assumption that the dilution of honorary degrees is a modern problem. Even in their earliest use, such honours were not always insulated from power and patronage. By the time of Charles I of England, universities like Oxford were known to confer degrees in large numbers during politically turbulent periods like the English Civil War, sometimes rewarding loyalty as much as learning.
So, what is the problem with awarding doctoral degrees to all and sundry? Historical origins, however mixed, do not diminish the seriousness of the problem today. The real damage is not merely symbolic. It affects the credibility of the recognition itself.
A doctoral degree represents years of sustained intellectual labour. I say this despite the lacunae and lapses in the university system that undermine research rigour. In most cases, there is advanced study, original research and successful defence of a thesis. In many contexts, including India, this process often takes four to six years or more. It signifies that the individual has contributed, however modestly, to the expansion of knowledge.
But when the same title—Doctor—is conferred on individuals for achievements unrelated to scholarship, it can create confusion. In a society where the Dr prefix carries considerable social authority, the distinction between earned expertise and honorary recognition can become blurred. The concern is not that public figures are unworthy of recognition, but that the form of recognition may misrepresent the nature of their achievement.
What should we do? The answer is not abolition, but reform. When conferred with rigour and clarity, honorary degrees can still serve a meaningful purpose. The many degrees awarded to figures such as Nelson Mandela were not mere gestures of patronage; they were acknowledgments by academic communities that certain lives of public consequence resonate with the highest values of knowledge, justice, and dignity.
However, the problem arises when processes lack transparency or consistency. Critics have pointed to opaque selection procedures, limited institutional debate, or the perception that proximity to power plays a role in determining recipients. Whether or not such concerns apply universally, their persistence is enough to erode public trust.
Some countries avoid this ambiguity by clearly separating academic recognition from civic honour. France’s Légion d’honneur recognises distinguished service to the nation across civilian and military spheres through a graded system. The British Honours System follows a similar principle, rewarding contributions in public life. India, too, has a parallel structure in the Padma Awards, which recognise excellence in diverse fields. These honours carry prestige precisely because they do not borrow the vocabulary or symbolism of academic achievement. The question, then, is not whether society should honour excellence. It is whether universities are the appropriate institutions to confer such recognition as academic titles.
Reform need not be radical to be effective. Universities could adopt a clearer nomenclature, ensuring that honorary degrees are explicitly identified as such and not casually translated into the Dr prefix in public use. Greater clarity in how these are presented and used would help. Equally important is the process. Selection committees must be independent, the criteria must be publicly articulated, and institutional bodies such as academic councils or syndicates must play a meaningful role in the deliberations. Limiting the number of such awards each year could also help restore their seriousness.
Bommai’s refusal stands out because it is rare. It reflects an intuitive understanding that, to retain its meaning, honour must be proportionate and appropriate. Accepting a doctorate one has not earned does not necessarily diminish an individual, but it could dilute the value of the title itself. A university’s highest distinction should carry the weight of intellectual or moral excellence of an exceptional order.
Let me visualise this for you. Somewhere, a doctoral student is rewriting a chapter for the fourth time, or defending an argument before a panel that, in all probability, will show no mercy. That person deserves a title that still means something when they finally get to use it.
John J Kennedy | Former Professor and Dean, Christ (Deemed) University, Bengaluru
(Views are personal)
