What is para-academia?

Defining a niche

Josef Albers and his students at Black Mountain College, 1942. (source)

Note: since writing this post, I’ve launched The Lenox Institute for Advanced Study, a para-academic organization devoted to critical science and tech studies. Our inaugural course begins in fall 2026. Check out our first public announcement and our website, where you can sign up for updates.

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In September, I wrote about organizations that offer college-level classes and research opportunities, but have no direct ties to traditional universities. The Brooklyn Institute for Social Research; The Mimbres School for the Humanities; The New Centre for Research and Practice; Morbid Anatomy; The School for Poetic Computation; Weirdosphere; The Institute for Cultural Inquiry, and Acid Horizon Research Commons are all examples of this phenomenon, which some refer to as “para-academia.”

The name suggests a closer resemblance to traditional institutions than may be warranted. Maybe a new term will emerge, maybe not, but in any case some definitional work is necessary. Here, I’m considering how para-academia fits into the current landscape of adult educational services, including but not limited to traditional higher ed.

Para-ac schools don’t offer degrees, and most don’t have programs that culminate in certifications, licenses, continuing education credits, or microcredentials. The New Centre offers certificates of competency backed by their licensing structure (see here), and BISR offers Certificates for Critical Study that aren’t supported by any formal mechanism, at least as far as I can tell. While these credentials may carry weight in specific contexts, they don’t open nearly as many doors as degrees or qualifications that are more widely recognized.

Herein lies the main difference between academia and para-academia: participants in the latter aren’t trying to improve their career prospects. Their goals are different from those of the average college student. Para-ac students and traditional students may have the same intrinsic motivations, like the opportunity to learn about topics they love; acquire new skills; make friends, or work with particular faculty members. But without the boon to one’s earnings potential, enrollment at typical colleges would dry up quickly.

This means that para-ac’s closest competitor isn’t traditional academia, but other resources for intellectual enrichment that are squarely in the “intrinsic value” category. There’s no official data on this, but I’d guess that their biggest threat is the mass availability of scholarly content on platforms that support long-form media. If you don’t have sufficient income or time to commit to a class, there are always podcasts, Substacks, YouTube channels, etc.

In my earlier post, I positioned para-academia against trad academia, which is how some of these organizations present themselves. See BISR’s 2024 end-of-year appeal, in which they set up an opposition between the “critical university” (referring only to themselves) and the “traditional university.” This framing only makes sense if you’re idealistic about academia’s value, that is, if you see it in primarily intrinsic/unquantifiable terms (the life of the mind). I read the BISR appeal right when it came out, which was before I quit my job, and it bugged me a little bit. At the time, I was a professor at the kind of college that’s more representative of the typical American undergrad experience than the magical image that continues to be bought and sold among a fortunate economic minority, and which still reigns supreme in the popular imagination. Farmingdale State College is a low-prestige, vocationally oriented outpost of a state university system where students typically balance a heavy course load with full-time jobs and caregiver duties. For them, the value proposition of the college experience is very different from the one presupposed by BISR.

Let me be clear: the fact that colleges like Farmingdale are doing okay while bastions of “intrinsic-value” higher ed are in shambles (see: my alma mater) are part and parcel of the same politics. As BISR’s message suggests, para-academia really does serve as a refuge for the sort of teaching and learning that’s long been under siege by neoliberal interests, and whose total collapse appears to be a priority for Trump. But this doesn’t mean that para-academia is a meaningful substitute for going to college, at least on the student side of things. The two might be competing for funding, since Trump’s assault on higher ed is forcing universities to turn to private philanthropy to keep themselves afloat, and a number of para-ac schools have the same sponsorship model (many are 501(c)3s that depend on tax-deductible donations.) But the commodities they produce are fundamentally different, and I think the equivocation obscures as much as it reveals.

So, how should we think about these schools? On one view, they provide intellectual enrichment in the same sense that podcasts and newsletters do, but instead of cultivating parasocial relationships, they offer meaningful connection with other human beings. I think this is a big part of why people enroll, and it’s central to these orgs’ broader social impact: para-academia puts you in contact with others who share the same interests, including obscure topics. This makes it a fantastic catalyst for friendship at a time when people of all ages are reporting epidemic levels of loneliness. Para-ac doesn’t just give people a taste of the mythic trad academia experience, it can help them extend that experience through lasting relationships.

Because they’re voluntary, inherently social, welcoming to adults of all ages (not just under-35s), and not necessarily connected to one’s profession, para-academic orgs have a historical forebear in fraternal orders and service clubs, like the Freemasons, Odd Fellows, and Knights of Columbus. In the early twentieth century, these groups played a central role in the social lives of working adults. Their decline is part of a long story of social atomization that continues to this day. Para-academia serves many of the social needs they used to meet.

A more obvious point of comparison might be the kinds of hobbies that are currently popular. Some people like yoga; some people like fantasy football; some people like reading Stirner. Now Stirner readers have a place to meet other Stirner readers. (They will be better off for it.)

In terms of education quality, I think that trad academia is the closest cognate to para-academia. Anyone can start an organization that looks like a school, but if faculty have no real cred, it isn’t likely to fare very well as a business. The most successful para-ac schools I’ve seen all have highly qualified instructors and staff.

I don’t want to impose order on a phenomenon where order isn’t already present in some latent form, but I’ve been doing my due diligence, and I see it. Para-academia (or whatever we want to call it) is a particular sort of thing, with features that establish it on its own terms and set it apart from similar phenomena. Right now, it’s at the point where the task of conceptualizing it — finding the right words and frameworks to make it legible to various people — has a major determining influence on its future.

This is obviously not a complete account of the para-academic phenomenon, but I hope it’s somewhat useful. I owe a lot of this post to conversations I’ve had with students, faculty, and staff at para-ac schools. Some of it is drawn from my own experience as an affiliate faculty member of Acid Horizon Research Commons and Weirdosphere, although I’m not writing on behalf of or attempting to represent their views. Special shoutout to Shannon Nangle, who pointed out to me that para-academia and academia aren’t really business competitors.

If you have anything to add, I encourage you to comment or email me at emma.stamm@gmail.com. Thanks!