Methods in Philosophy of

Education

This book introduces a variety of methodological approaches in philosophy

of education. Established researchers from various philosophical and national
backgrounds demonstrate the application of their methodologies by exam-
ining issues concerning children’s rights and education.
The diverse methods reflect current debates in philosophy of education
and demonstrate some of the specific contributions to educational sciences
which can be expected from the subject. The methods examined include:
analytic philosophy, reflective equilibrium, structuralism, deconstruc-
tionism, hermeneutics and antifoundationalism.
The demonstrations of methodological approaches will be of great
interest to both new and experienced researchers in the field, and readers
interested in children’s rights in education will find fresh light thrown upon
a number of topical issues.

Frieda Heyting is Professor and Chair of the Department of Philosophy and

History of Education at the Universiteit van Amsterdam, the Netherlands.
Her main fields of interest and publication are social philosophy of educa-
tion and epistemological questions in philosophy of education.

Dieter Lenzen is Professor of Philosophy of Education at the Institut für

Allgemeine Pädagogik (Institute for General Theory of Education), Freie
Universität Berlin, Germany. His many publications are in the fields of
theory of education and ‘Bildung’, historical anthropology of education,
system theory and radical constructivism and pedagogy, empirical school
research and educational scientific media reception research.

John White is Professor of Philosophy of Education at the Institute of

Education, University of London, where he has worked since 1965. His
interests are in interrelationships among educational aims and applications
to school curricula, especially in the areas of the arts, history, and personal
and social education.
Routledge International Studies in the Philosophy
of Education

1 Education and Work in Great 9 Lyotard: Just Education

Britain, Germany and Italy Edited by Pradeep A. Dhillon and Paul
Edited by A. Jobert, C. Marry, L. Tanguy Standish
and H. Rainbird
10 Derrida and Education
2 Education, Autonomy and Edited by Gert J. J. Biesta and Denise
Democratic Citizenship Egéa-Kuehne
Philosophy in a Changing World
Edited by David Bridges
11 Education, Work and Social
Capital
3 The Philosophy of Human Learning Towards a New Conception of Vocational
Edited by Christopher Winch Education
Christopher Winch
4 Education, Knowledge and Truth
Beyond the Postmodern Impasse 12 Philosophical Discussion in Moral
Edited by David Carr Education
The Community of Ethical Inquiry
Tim Sprod
5 Virtue Ethics and Moral Education
Edited by David Carr and Jan Steutel
13 Methods in Philosophy of
Education
6 Durkheim and Modern Education
Edited by Frieda Heyting, Dieter Lenzen and
Edited by Geoffrey Walford and W. S. F.
John White
Pickering

14 Life, Work and Learning

7 The Aims of Education
Practice in post modernity
Edited by Roger Marples
David Beckett and Paul Hager

8 Education in Morality
J. Mark Halstead and Terence H.
McLaughlin
Methods in Philosophy
of Education

Edited by Frieda Heyting, Dieter

Lenzen and John White

London and New York

First published 2001 by Routledge
11 New Fetter Lane, London EC4P 4EE

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada

by Routledge
29 West 35th Street, New York, NY 10001

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2002.

© 2001 Editorial material and selection, Frieda Heyting, Dieter
Lenzen and John White, individual contributions, the authors

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or

reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical,
or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including
photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or
retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

Library of Congress Cataloging in Publication Data

Methods in philosophy of education [edited by} Frieda Heyting,
Dieter Lenzen and John White
p. cm. - (Routledge international studies in the philosophy of
education)
includes bibliographical references
1. education - philosophy.

LB41 .M619 2001

370’.1-dc21 2001019112

ISBN 0–415–24260–6 (Print Edition)

ISBN 0-203-47112-1 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0-203-77936-3 (Adobe eReader Format)

Contents

Notes on contributors vii

Preface xi

1 Methodological traditions in philosophy of education:

introduction 1
FRIEDA HEYTING

2 An analytical perspective on education and children’s rights 13

J O H N W H I T E A N D PAT R I C I A W H I T E

3 Reflective equilibrium as a method of philosophy of education:

justifying an ethical conception of children’s sexual rights 30
BEN SPIECKER AND JAN STEUTEL

4 An analytic approach in philosophy of education: the case of

children’s rights 44
COLIN WRINGE

5 The problematic employment of Reason in philosophy of

Bildung and education 57
JÖRG RUHLOFF

6 Philosophy of education as foundational analysis and critique:

conflicting liberal views on the right to an education for
autonomy 73
G E R S N I K A N D W O U T E R VA N H A A F T E N

7 On the structuralist philosophy of education: an analysis of

the rights of the child 88
YVONNE EHRENSPECK AND DIETER LENZEN

8 Antifoundationalist foundational research: analysing

discourse on children’s rights to decide 108
FRIEDA HEYTING
vi Contents
9 How can philosophy of education be critical? How critical
can philosophy of education be? Deconstructive reflections
on children’s rights 125
G E RT B I E S TA

10 Children’s rights and education: a hermeneutic approach 144

A L F R E D L A N G E WA N D

11 Rights of children and future adults: a cultural educational

perspective 160
WILNA A.J. MEIJER

Index 176
Contributors

Gert Biesta is Senior Lecturer in the School of Education of the University

of Exeter, UK, and editor-in-chief of Studies in Philosophy and Education.
His main research interest is in educational theory and philosophy. Over
the past years, he has published on questions about education and
communication, both on the micro-level of the relationship between
education and the wider socio-political context. He takes his main inspi-
ration from pragmatism (Dewey, Mead) and post-structuralism (Foucault,
Derrida). He recently co-edited Derrida & Education (with Denise Egéa-
Kuehne, 2001) and co-authored Pragmatism and Educational Research (with
Nicholas C. Burbules, 2001).
Yvonne Ehrenspeck is Lecturer of Philosophy of Education at the Institut
für Allgemeine Pädagogik (Institute for General Theory of Education),
Freie Universität Berlin. Her main fields of interest are: aesthetics and
education; education and media; and philosophy of (educational) science.
She has published many articles and book chapters; one recent book is
Versprechungen des Ästhetischen: die Entstehung eines modernen Bildungsprojekts
(1997).
Frieda Heyting is Professor and Chair of the Department of Philosophy and
History of Education at the Institute of Education, Universiteit van
Amsterdam, the Netherlands. She is editor-in-chief of the Dutch educa-
tional journal Pedagogiek and co-editor in chief of the German Zeitschrift
für Erziehungswissenschaft. She co-edited Pädgogik und Pluralismus (with H.
E. Tenorth, 1994) and Educational Studies in Europe (with J. Koppen, D.
Lenzen and F. Thiel, 1997)). Her interests and publications are in the
fields of social philosophy of education and epistemological questions in
philosophy of education.
Alfred Langewand is Professor of General and Historical Pedagogy at the
University of Flensburg, Germany. His publications mainly concern
philosophy of education and ethics, theory of instruction, and the philo-
sophical and historical aspects of German idealistic philosophy and
pedagogy, especially Rousseau, Kant, Fichte, Herbart and Schleiermacher.
Methodology of historical research is also a field of interest. Among his
viii Contributors
publications are Moralische Verbindlichkeit oder Erziehung: Herbarts frühe
Subjektivitätskritik und die Entstehung des ethisch-edukativen Dilemmas
(1991); he recently co-edited Lokale Wissenschaftskulturen in der
Erziehungswissenschaft (with A. von Prondczynsky, 1999).
Dieter Lenzen is Professor of Philosophy of Education at the Institut für
Allgemeine Pädagogik (Institute for General Theory of Education), Freie
Universität Berlin, Germany. He is First Vice-president of the Freie
Universität Berlin and editor-in-chief of the Zeitschrift für
Erziehungswissenschaft. His many publications are in the fields of: theory of
education and ‘Bildung’; historical anthropology of education; system
theory and radical constructivism and pedagogy; empirical school
research; educational scientific media reception research. A recent book
on methodological issues is Handlung und Reflexion. Vom pädagogischen
Theoriedefizit zur reflexiven Erziehungswissenschaft (1996).
Wilna Meijer is Senior Lecturer in Philosophy of Education at the
University of Groningen, the Netherlands. Research interests include
testing and showing the viability of classical educational concepts for
reflecting actual educational issues, such as: environmental education;
literacy and literary education in a modern media context; religious
education and humanities education in the present Western European
multi-cultural and multi-religious societies. Her books include Stromingen
in de pedagogiek (1999, 3rd edn) and Perspectieven op mens en opvoeding (2000,
6th edn).
Jörg Ruhloff is Professor and Chair of the Institute of Philosophy and
History of Education at the University of Wuppertal, Germany. His main
field of research is the transcendental and sceptical philosophy of educa-
tion and its traditions (ancient world, Renaissance and Enlightenment.
Recently he published Skepsis und Widerstreit. Neue Beiträge zur skeptisch-
transzendentalkritischen Pädagogik (with W. Fischer, 1993) and co-edited
Deutsche Gegenwartspädagogik II, III (with M. Borrelli, 1996, 1998).
Ger Snik is Assistant Professor of Philosophy of Education at the Institute
of Philosophy and History of Education, University of Nijmegen, the
Netherlands. He has published many articles and chapters in books about
the relation between education and becoming a person, freedom of educa-
tion, and liberal and communitarian views in educational thinking. He
has also co-edited a book on critical thinking, Kritisch denken als opvoed-
ingsdoel (with A. W. van Haaften, 1995).
Ben Spiecker is Professor of Philosophy and History of Education at the
Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam, the Netherlands. His research interests lie
in the areas of moral, civic and sexual education. His many publications
include Philosophical Issues in Moral Education and Development (edited with
Roger Straughan, 1988) and Freedom and Indoctrination in Education
(edited with Roger Straughan, 1991).
 Contributors ix
Jan Steutel is Reader in Philosophy of Education at the Vrije Universiteit,
Amsterdam, the Netherlands. He is a member of the Board of the Journal
of Moral Education. His many publications and work in progress focus on
moral and civic education, in particular on the virtue approach to moral
education. Recently he edited (with David Carr) Virtue Ethics and Moral
Education (1999).
Wouter van Haaften is Professor and Chair of the Institute of Philosophy
and History of Education at the University of Nijmegen, the
Netherlands. He is also Chair of the Dutch graduate school in Philosophy
and History of Education. He has written books and many articles on
topics on the philosophy of education, philosophy and logic of develop-
ment, philosophy of language, on moral development, and relativism. He
recently co-edited Philosophy of Development: Reconstructing the Foundations of
Human Development and Education (with M. Korthals and Th. Wren,
1997), The University and the Knowledge Society (with P. Baggen and A.
Tellings, 1998), and Moral Sensibilities and Education, vol. I, The Preschool
Child, vol. II, The Schoolchild (with Th. Wren and A. Tellings, 1999,
2000).
John White is Professor of Philosophy of Education at the University of
London Institute of Education, UK, where he has worked since 1965. His
interests are in interrelationships among educational aims and applica-
tions to school curricula, especially in the areas of the arts, history, and
personal and social education. Recent books include Education and the End
of Work: A New Philosophy of Work and Learning (1997), Do Howard
Gardner’s Multiple Intelligences Add Up? (1998) and Will the New National
Curriculum Live Up to its Aims (with Steve Bramall, 2000).
Patricia White is Research Fellow in Philosophy of Education at the
University of London, Institute of Education, UK. Her recent publica-
tions include Civic Virtues and Public Schooling: Educating Citizens for a
Democratic Society (1996) and a four volume international collection of
work in philosophy of education, Philosophy of Education: Themes in the
Analytic Tradition, (1998) co-edited with Paul Hirst. She has written
many papers on ethical and political aspects of philosophy of education.
Colin Wringe is a Reader in Education at the University of Keele, UK, and
is currently Treasurer of the Philosophy of Education Society of Great
Britain. He has published widely in various areas of philosophy of educa-
tion. His books include Children’s Rights: A Philosophical Study (1985),
Democracy, Schooling and Political Education (1984) and Understanding
Educational Aims (1988). Recently, he has written a number of articles on
moral education and citizenship education.
Preface

In the fall of 1998, the Dutch graduate school for philosophy and history
of education (the Kohnstamm-netwerk) organised an international sympo-
sium in Amsterdam in order to discuss current methodological issues in
philosophy of education. The result was remarkable in several respects.
Methodological debates resulting from delivered papers showed liveliness
that participants had hardly experienced since critical theory disturbed the
peace of ‘positivist’ methodology in the 1970s. Despite the relative silence
in the past decades, papers and discussions gave evidence of substantial
renewal and progress in the field. However, at the same time, debates as
well as very lucid commentaries from participating PhD students made
clear that methodological views in philosophy of education still had to be
crystallised in some respects – even though philosophers of education
remain reluctant to commit themselves to fixed methodological rules for
good reason, as this volume demonstrates. A project to publish a book on
methods in philosophy of education seemed a good way forward.
Publication of such a book would also serve a second end. Participants
were impressed with the profusion of views and insights that philosophers
of education from different linguistic backgrounds – especially English
and German traditions – mutually had to offer. Despite the growing inter-
national character of the discipline, methodological approaches appear to
draw on different sources that have by no means run dry. The project could
thus give this mutual learning process a new impulse. The combination of
editors – from Berlin, London and Amsterdam – reflects this dimension of
the project. Contributors were selected to ensure a wide variety of
approaches.
In deciding to prepare a book on methods in philosophy of education,
we also bore in mind the opportunity to facilitate the training of new
researchers in the field. The above-mentioned inclination of philosophers
of education to keep their methodological options open excludes any
exclusively ‘technical’ kind of training and demands a specific blend of
reflection and practice. Contributors not only describe and justify a
certain approach, but also demonstrate its methods of working – thus
giving rise to reflection as well as exercise.
xii Preface
These three ingredients – to revive methodological discourse and
reflection, to make resources mutually available on an international level,
and to support newcomers to the field – provided the formula for this book.
Now that it’s finished, we look back on a period of inspiring and fruitful
cooperation, not only with contributing authors, but also with a wider circle
of colleagues. Those PhD students who commented on first drafts should be
especially mentioned here. We thank the Dutch Kohnstamm-netwerk for
providing the project with the necessary funds.

December 2000
Frieda Heyting
Dieter Lenzen
John White
1 Methodological traditions in
philosophy of education
Introduction

Frieda Heyting

Philosophical methods: to ascertain truth and to answer

questions
How do you do – or how should one do – philosophy of education, and why
should one do it that way? This question served as a guideline for an inter-
national project in philosophy of education. However, as it soon turned out,
debates would not result in an unequivocal answer to the question raised.
Unlike John Wilkinson, participants in the project would not be able to
provide their students with ‘an infallible recipe to make a great (…)
Philosopher of a numbskull’ (Wilkinson 1969: 153).
Debates rather confirmed the view that philosophy of education could
never be reduced to a technical know-how. However, the absence of a
univocal answer to the question about methods in philosophy of education
does not indicate that there are no answers at all. In fact – as the symposium
confirmed once again – the history of philosophy demonstrates an uninter-
rupted concern for methodical issues, resulting in a lot of judicious answers
to the question ‘how to do’ philosophy. However, as the acute commentaries
from the attending students demonstrated, each of these answers keeps
being open to question in certain respects. Against this background, a book
on current methodological insights in philosophy of education seemed
necessary.
Two major sources from which debates on philosophical methods seem to
stem match the two main functions methods should serve. Firstly, a method-
ical approach should ascertain verifiable truth of the results of its
application. Because philosophers – unlike empirical researchers – are not
inclined to simply adopt a specific view of what ‘true knowledge’ entails,
they tend to relate methodological considerations to fundamental epistemo-
logical questions. Therefore, differing opinions on methodological issues,
and consequently a plurality of methods, seem to be unavoidable.
Secondly, a methodical approach should ascertain verifiable answers to
specific questions. Which questions should be answered by philosophy of
education is not an established matter either. Philosophers of education,
being so closely related to a social practice, can hardly ignore this issue. A
2 Frieda Heyting
broad and historically persisting distinction could be made between
approaches aiming at knowledge of an objective world, and approaches
aiming at knowledge of a humanly perceived and experienced world. As can
be expected, all kinds of mixtures can occur. Furthermore, these considera-
tions as regards content are interrelated to the above-mentioned
epistemological ones. Consequently, authors were asked to apply their
methodological insights to a self-defined issue concerning children’s rights.
From those complex backgrounds, a variety of traditions in philosophy of
education arise. In this variety, certain national characteristics cannot be
denied, simply because philosophers from different countries draw from
different philosophical and scientific sources. At the same time, however,
these various approaches share the main issues, not only in the above-
mentioned formal sense, but also in a historical sense. Methodological
debates seem to get intensified during specific historical periods. One such
period followed the development and subsequent successes of the natural
sciences.
Today, philosophers seem to live through a period of intense discussions
as well, this time stemming from fundamental doubts on the relations
between scientific knowledge and reality. The accompanying methodolog-
ical concerns in philosophy of education seem to be activated by a growing –
and liberally appreciated – pluralism in modern Western societies as well.
This ‘globalisation’ of problems to be dealt with supports converging
tendencies of different traditions. Of course, intensifying international
exchanges also reinforce this process. The chapters that were brought
together in this book not only illustrate the – partly nationally coloured –
diversity and interplay of considerations concerning epistemology and
content, but their recent convergence as well.

An irreducible plurality
Attention to methods of philosophical inquiry goes back to the ancient
philosophers. For instance, Plato developed his dialectical method in various
ways in the course of his writings (cf. Matthews 1972). In his turn, Plato
developed those views partly in reaction to the methodological considera-
tions of the sophists. At the end of the classical period, the sceptic Sextus
Empiricus brought to perfection the sceptical method of setting up opposi-
tions – suspending judgement as long as opposing statements of equal
strength can be found (cf. Heyting and Mulder 1999). These few examples
already demonstrate a diversity of philosophical method. In the course of
history, this diversity would only increase.
The seventeenth century was a period of special importance to
philosophical-methodological deliberation, partly due to the rise of the
natural sciences and partly in reaction to the ‘sceptical crisis’ in philosophy
that had followed the translation of the works of Sextus Empiricus (Popkin
1979). René Descartes (1596–1650) ‘raised in this context, “outdoubted”
 Methodological traditions: introduction 3
his contemporaries in order to find a truth so certain that all of the most
extravagant suppositions of the skeptics could not shake it’ (Popkin 1980:
11). He wanted to demonstrate that ascertaining indubitable foundations,
from which the body of true knowledge could be further developed, would
be within reach. He published his Discours de la Méthode (1637), the second
part of which was written according to his four self-set methodological
rules, stating principles like ‘accept nothing as true which I did not clearly
recognize to be so’ and ‘divide each of the difficulties which I examined into
as many parts as possible’ (Williams 1978: 32). Considering these rules
hardly conclusive, Leibniz compared them with ‘the precepts of some
chemist; take what you need and do what you should, and you will get what
you want’ (Williams 1978: 32). However, Descartes had not intended such
mechanical recipes, wanting merely ‘to show in what way I have tried to
conduct my own (reason)’ (Williams 1978: 32). In Descartes’s methodolog-
ical rules skill on the one hand, and justified certainty on the other,
competed for priority.
This same quest for absolute certainty made David Hume (1711–1776)
appeal to the natural sciences that had become so extremely successful in the
eighteenth century. According to MacNabb (1967: 75), ‘Hume’s policy, both
in the Treatise (1739) and in the Enquiries (1748–51), was to apply the
Newtonian experimental method to the British empiricists’ investigations
into the powers and principles of the human mind’. Hume strictly held on
to his principles, that all ideas are derived from impressions of the senses,
and that all matters of fact are to be proved by inference from experience
(MacNabb 1967: 76). However, this approach forced Hume to give up so
many philosophical ideas passed down through the ages that his pursuit
could only end in scepticism, instead of true justified belief. His method-
ological rigorousness left him paralysed with respect to content, precisely
the kind of situation Descartes had tried to avoid, though in his turn
evoking much criticism from the profession.
These historical examples demonstrate two characteristics of methodolog-
ical debates in philosophy. Firstly, they are preoccupied with fighting
fundamental doubt, while at the same time evoking this very doubt.
Secondly, it seems impossible for philosophers to agree on methodological
questions even for a short time. A worldwide and enduring mainstream view
in matters of philosophical method is not in sight. As the work of Ludwig
Wittgenstein (1889–1951) suggests, both characteristics are interrelated.
Wittgenstein was interested in finding a philosophical method that could
guarantee justified and certain truth. For example, George Edward Moore
(1873–1958) recorded Wittgenstein’s remark in one of his lectures, of
having caused ‘a “kink” in the “development of human thought”…that a
“new method” had been discovered, as had happened when “chemistry was
developed out of alchemy”; and that it was now possible for the first time
that there should be “skillful philosophers”, though of course there had in
the past been “great philosophers” ’ (Moore 1959: 322). Unfortunately, as
4 Frieda Heyting
Moore also reports, Wittgenstein never expounded this method, but some
indications of what he had in mind can be found in his work.
Discussing linguistic analysis, Wittgenstein makes a sharp distinction
between the clarity achieved by refining or even completing ‘the system of
rules for the use of our words in unheard-of ways’, and the clarity he is
aiming at, which is ‘indeed complete clarity’ (Wittgenstein 1968: 133; original
emphasis). Though he thinks ‘an improvement in our terminology designed
to prevent misunderstandings in practice, is perfectly possible’ (Wittgenstein
1968: 132), this is not the ultimate goal he has in mind. In his view, ulti-
mately ‘the philosophical problems should completely disappear. The real
discovery is the one that (…) gives philosophy peace, so that it is no longer
tormented by questions which bring itself in question. – Instead, we now
demonstrate a method, by examples; and the series of methods can be broken
off. – Problems are solved (difficulties eliminated), not a single problem.
There is not a philosophical method, though there are indeed methods, like
different therapies’ (Wittgenstein 1968: 133; original emphasis).
According to Wittgenstein, solving a diversity of problems – corre-
sponding with a diversity of methods – lies well within reach, but solving
the problem of philosophy, finding absolute certainty, is still pending. This
situation has not changed to date. Wittgenstein’s distinction between
methods for solving problems and methods for solving ‘the’ problem could
also explain why agreement on methods seems so much easier in empirical
sciences than in philosophy. Referring to psychology, Wittgenstein observes,
that ‘the existence of the experimental method makes us think we have the
means of solving the problems which trouble us; though problem and
method pass one another by’ (Wittgenstein 1968: 232). Experimental
method undoubtedly solves a problem, or even a class of problems, but
considering experimental method a method to solve the problem of estab-
lishing absolute truth is beside the point.
In other words: as long as you are solving a problem – which empirical
research does – and as long as you take for granted a specific view of solving
the problem of establishing truth – which mainstream empirical research
also does – consensus within the profession seems largely reachable.
However, philosophers of education – as philosophers in general – are much
like Wittgenstein in that they cannot ignore the philosophical problem of
truth and certainty in developing and judging methods for solving specific
problems. The question, how to solve the problem of truth, constitutes their
final horizon. Any method to solve a problem in philosophy raises the ques-
tion of how, in which way and in what respect this method can be said to
represent the way to solve the problem. Philosophy is always ‘tormented by
questions which bring itself in question’, as Wittgenstein (1968: 133) states.
Such a situation seems to rule out any long-lasting consensus.
As the preceding paragraphs suggest, a book on how to do philosophy of
education is a book on methods in the plural. We decided to bring together
in a book a range of methodological considerations as can be found in
 Methodological traditions: introduction 5
contemporary European philosophy of education. By not only asking authors
‘how do you do philosophy of education?’, but also asking them why one
should do philosophy of education that way, we hoped to gain insight into
their ways of relating methods of solving ‘a’ problem to the overall back-
ground question of solving ‘the’ philosophical problem.
A diversity of approaches results, drawn from a wide variety of philosoph-
ical sources ranging from analytical philosophy – as is widespread in the
Anglo-Saxon world – and interpretative approaches owing more to
hermeneutic traditions from the European continent, to various post-
modern lines of reasoning. Each approach generates its own instantiation of
balancing claims of justification against ways of practising philosophy of
education. As balancing justification and practice can be done in a theoreti-
cally infinite number of ways, this collection does not make any claim to
completeness.
In view of completeness, we could have tried a categorisation, picking one
representative from each approach. However, such an approach would easily
evoke discussion on the quality of the categorisation instead of drawing
attention to practising philosophy of education, which was our primary
interest. From that perspective, the balancing of method and truth claims is
only one of the problems – albeit a major one – philosophers of education
encounter. A second dilemma of no less importance concerns balancing
method against considerations as regards content, a dilemma to be covered
in the next section.

Methodism versus particularism

Methods in philosophy of education should not only ascertain truth; they
should be guidelines to answer specific questions concerning the subject of
research. Producing ‘true justified belief’ – as knowledge is usually defined –
requires a combination of both dimensions. As we saw, the first dimension –
trying to attain true justified belief – will already cause enough trouble on
its own. Considering those problems, Quine even goes so far as to suggest
rejection of the very concept of knowledge. According to him, it seems
hardly possible to satisfy both conditions – justification and truth – at the
same time. One can have true belief on false grounds, and conversely ‘the
justification underlying a belief can be as reasonable and conclusive as you
please and yet be contravened by some circumstances that nobody could
reasonably have suspected’ (Quine 1987: 108f.). Quine therefore urges one
‘to accept the word “know” on a par with “big”, as a matter of degree. It
applies only to true beliefs, and only to pretty firm ones, but just how firm
or certain they have to be is a question, like how big something has to be to
qualify as big’ (Quine 1987: 109). Consequently, it is a matter of making a
decision as to what (kind of justification) we consider ‘reasonable and conclu-
sive’. This decision also depends on the question of knowledge about what
one wants to achieve.
6 Frieda Heyting
Consequently, questions of methods are stuck in the middle of considera-
tions concerning justification on the one hand, and considerations
concerning content on the other. Deciding on ‘reasonable justification’ also
requires an idea of the results one is aiming for. In view of similar problems,
Sosa (1986) distinguishes ‘methodist’ from ‘particularist’ approaches, the
first being strongly inclined to consider justification of decisive importance,
the second tending to give priority to content. Extreme methodism would
eventually ‘plunge us in a deep scepticism’, depriving us of ‘knowledge’ on
any subject, as Sosa demonstrates using the philosophy of Hume. One has
to pay a price for such ‘methodist’ use of criteria. It would become impos-
sible to prove any of the common-sense knowledge – let alone extend and
refine any part of it – and thus create a big gap between philosophy and
everyday problems. Particularism, on the other hand, would not resign
itself to such a situation. ‘If such criteria are incompatible with our enjoy-
ment of the rich body of knowledge that we commonly take for granted,
then as good particularists we hold on to the knowledge and reject the
criteria’ (Sosa 1986: 148). In practice, most philosophers can be situated
between both extremes.
Wilhelm Dilthey (1833–1911) made a close connection between methods
in philosophy and the kind of problems at stake. In a way, he intended a
supplement to the work of Immanuel Kant (1724–1804). Assuming the
truth of Newton’s physics and contemporary mathematics, Kant had formu-
lated the mental prerequisites of attaining this true knowledge. Dilthey
adopted Kant’s doctrine, that we can only know reality as the content of our
consciousness. Consequently, both philosophers considered it the task of
theory of knowledge to examine the knowing subject (cf. Rickman 1979:
52). However, Dilthey did not agree with Kant’s approach, which had
mainly focused on knowledge of nature. According to Dilthey, Kant’s results
could not be applied to knowledge of human reality. Considering them too
one-sided cognitivist and unhistorical, Dilthey rejected Kant’s a prioris as
proper preconditions for the study of human phenomena.
According to Dilthey, Kant’s ‘knowing subject’ could hardly be consid-
ered human. This brought him to his much-cited statement:

In den Adern des erkennenden Subjekts, das Locke, Hume und Kant konstru-
ierten, rinnt nicht wirkliches Blut, sondern der verdünnte Saft von Vernunft als
bloßer Denktätigkeit. (In the veins of the knowing subject, as it was
conceived by Locke, Hume, and Kant flows no real blood, but only the
diluted juice of reason, by way of thinking activity.)
(Dilthey 1973: xviii; cf. Rickman 1979).

According to Dilthey, the knowing subject was also to be provided with

feelings and a will. In addition, considering it a metaphysical construction,
Dilthey rejected Kant’s idea of ‘pure’ reason, and replaced it by historical
reason. The rules and principles of historical reason, as opposed to those of
 Methodological traditions: introduction 7
pure reason, are variable with time and circumstances. Accordingly, Dilthey
judges Kant’s a priori fixed and dead (cf. Keulartz 1994).
Human life, as the historical totality of experience, thus has primacy over
knowledge in all its forms. Where Dilthey makes a fundamental distinction
between natural sciences and human sciences, he does so because of the fact
that human beings relate differently to nature than to human phenomena,
thus knowing both in a different way. As we have direct access to the histor-
ical human world, nature can only be observed from the outside. For
Dilthey, this also results in a methodological difference between the two
types of sciences: ‘The natural sciences seek causal explanations of outer
experience through hypothetical generalisations. The human sciences aim at
an understanding (Verstehen) that articulates the typical structures of life
given in experience’ (Makkreel 1995: 203).
This primacy of life – and thus of practical interest – over knowledge
makes interpretation not something that can be ‘objectively’ done, but
something that people are involved in. Considering knowledge and interest
interwoven reminds the reader in certain respects of John Dewey. The point
is that practical interests condition interpretation (Gallagher 1992: 44).
This methodical characteristic is common to all branches of hermeneutics,
from Friedrich Schleiermacher’s (1768–1834) original version relating
discourse and understanding, Dilthey’s concern about the proper method for
the human sciences (Geisteswissenschaften), Martin Heidegger’s (1889–1976)
existential hermeneutics, to Hans-Georg Gadamer’s (1900–) more recent
concerns for illuminating what is omitted by the specific character of
written texts or culture in general, and Jürgen Habermas’ concern for
(un)distorted communication (cf. Gallagher 1992: 3f.).
These varieties of hermeneutics alone suffice to illustrate not only that
methods can be considered dependent on the nature of the questions to be
answered, but also that the way methods and questions are mutually related
cannot be easily and unequivocally settled. Like epistemological considera-
tions, the subject matter of philosophy of education and its expression in
ways of doing research remains open to debate today. For this reason, authors
were asked to apply their methodological views to a question of children’s
rights. This field seems interesting, not only because it currently evokes a
reasonable amount of attention. It also allows for a broad variety of questions
to be dealt with, leaving each author free to define his or her own specific
interests, as related to methodological issues. On the other hand, the field
seems just definite enough to make the chapters comparable as regards the
specific mutual relations between methodological considerations and issues
with respect to content.

Current topics as represented in this volume

Just as the rise of the natural sciences caused an intensified concern for
methodological considerations in the seventeenth and eighteenth
8 Frieda Heyting
centuries, late developments in the sciences seem to evoke a similar
concern now. A main presupposition of traditional epistemologies, which
seemed strongly supported by traditional natural sciences – that knowl-
edge could be identified in terms of its relationship to a mind-independent
reality – now seems open to question. ‘As science has become more and
more removed from common-sense beliefs and observable experience, or, to
use W.V.O. Quine’s terminology, as the recognised disparity between our
meager input and our torrential output has expanded, this assumption of
the determining role of nature has become increasingly implausible’
(Alcoff 1996: 6).
To many philosophers, this situation implies that one should consider
knowledge dependent upon the knower instead of upon mind-independent
reality (Alcoff 1996: 7). Consequently, questions of truth and justification
get a new impetus. For example, it causes Hacking’s ‘worry that whether
or not a proposition is, as it were, up for grabs as a candidate for being true
or false, depends on whether we have ways to reason about it’, and ‘that the
very candidates for truth or falsehood have no existence independent of the
styles of reasoning that settle what it is to be true of false in their domain’
(Hacking 1985: 145, 146). Not wanting to depend on conventions we
abide by and simply take for granted, Hacking looks for a more objective
kind of justification. Rorty, on the other hand, is one of those philosophers
who seem glad to swap objectivity for solidarity (Rorty 1991: 21ff.).
At the same time, educational problems attract a lot of attention in many
increasingly pluralist Western societies, as traditional ways of dealing with
them are losing their persuasiveness and perceived legitimacy. Against this
background, it seems an opportune moment to have a look at methodolog-
ical discourse in philosophy of education, as it can be expected to reflect new
problems in educational practice and epistemological developments in
philosophy as well. The combination of epistemological and practical uncer-
tainty will stimulate reconsideration of passed-down approaches as well as
the search for new and creative solutions.
The contributions to this volume achieve this in that they display a
variety of highly reflexive as well as practically engaged views of ‘how to do’
philosophy of education, as demonstrated using issues concerning children’s
rights. The subject of justification comes up in every chapter, ideas on this
topic serving as a guideline, sometimes positive, sometimes negative –
reacting to critically scrutinised other views – to explain the approach that is
under discussion. However, in none of the cases do authors lose sight of this
aim of justification, putting this problem behind them as if it were defi-
nitely solved, and translating this presumed solution into a strictly technical
method of doing philosophy of education. Methods are kept open to adapta-
tion to the kind of – justified – intended results.
Neither do methods constitute the subject of investigation in a mechan-
ical way. They rather constitute a frame for demarcating the kind of
problems to be dealt with. Many, if not all, contributions retain a vivid link
 Methodological traditions: introduction 9
to educational practice and ideas, more or less attuning them to criteria of
relevance and balancing methodical requirements against the requirements
of contributing to an improved educational practice. Though philosophers of
education show clear engagement with the field of education, practical views
are not taken for granted, but are in different ways analysed and opened up
for debate and alternative views. Rather than formulating final solutions,
philosophers of education from a broad variety of traditions at least seem
united in their awareness and appreciation of the possible legitimacy of
alternative views – which in its turn tends to evoke epistemological consid-
erations again.
All contributions in this volume give evidence of this complex equilibra-
tion of methodical clearness, epistemological justification and practical
relevance. As exemplification via children’s rights issues illustrates, this
results in a broad variety of problem definitions within this field, and a
matching variety of ways to philosophically deal with them and thereby
contribute to their approach in practice.
Clearly distancing themselves from any aspiration to develop ‘the’ logi-
cally perfect language, John and Patricia White concentrate on the
exploration of conceptual schemes – mutually related concepts – as
embedded in the language we already know and use on a daily basis.
Exploring meanings and interrelation of concepts of rights on the one hand,
and related concepts of law, morality, obligation, etc., on the other, their
‘connective analysis’ primarily aims at clarity of issues. John and Patricia
White apply their approach to the question who should have the right to
determine content and form of children’s education, insofar as they are not
themselves in a position to do so (Ch. 2).
Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel investigate the possibility of assessing the
justification of ethical beliefs, suggesting coherence as a criterion and ‘reflec-
tive equilibrium’ as a methodical approach. They also think one unavoidably
should start investigations with initial knowledge, this time initial moral
judgements on children’s rights in sexual education in general and
paedophilia in particular. They control the risk of confirming any prelimi-
nary prejudices – caused by starting with our initial moral judgements – by
seeking extra support in additional background theories (Ch. 3).
Colin Wringe combines clarification of concepts and questions of justifica-
tion by analytically establishing the kinds of claims being made in different
issues concerning children’s rights. Distinguishing children’s rights into
different kinds – such as legal rights, positive and negative rights of freedom,
and welfare rights – he demonstrates the implications of different justified
claims for different categories of rights. Like the authors of the former chap-
ters, he is aware that results might be related to the specific time and place of
the issue under investigation. He points out, however, that any more
profound enquiry should follow on this kind of preliminary analysis (Ch. 4).
Limitations of any methodical approach are explicitly discussed by Jörg
Ruhloff. Doubting whether philosophy of education can be developed into a
10 Frieda Heyting
technically executed activity, he stresses the aim of philosophy, to which any
way of doing philosophy of education should be adapted. Though advo-
cating a sceptical approach, the question how to prospectively develop
education and culture under prevailing conditions is not ignored in this
contribution, as it can in fact be considered an approach to culture and
education as well (Ch. 5).
Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften are primarily interested in the founda-
tions of education, i.e., those basic ideas and conceptual models that guide
educational theory and practice. Though such presuppositions are considered
historical and changeable, they are seen as delimiting our possible ways of
understanding, at least for the time being. Snik and Van Haaften thus relate
philosophy of education to known ways of thinking and conceptualising.
Presenting foundational analysis as a prerequisite for foundational critique,
they do not restrict practical relevance to clarification. An analysis of the
relations between conceptions of political liberalism and children’s rights in
education exemplifies their approach (Ch. 6).
Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen discuss the possibility of recon-
structing deep-structures – functioning as prejudicial structures – in
handed-down discourses. Like Snik and van Haaften, they stress the histor-
ical character of such discourse. By analysing the deep-structure of both the
1959 Declaration of the Rights of the Child and the 1989 Convention on the
Rights of the Child, and subsequently comparing them, they reveal just this
historical dimension. These authors also stress the impossibility of a tech-
nical approach to philosophy of education, relating the analytic process to
the investigator and his or her situation as well (Ch. 7).
Investigating the consequences of antifoundationalist epistemology for
foundational analysis, Frieda Heyting defines foundations not as funda-
mental ideas, but as taken-for-granted contexts. As participants in any
discourse seem to attune their assertions and arguments to the contextual
background beliefs they mutually assume, foundational analysis entails the
reconstruction of such implicitly functioning ‘game-boards’ on which
debates take place. Stressing the unavoidable perspectival character of
critique, but intending to avoid cultural relativism, she demonstrates her
approach in an analysis of academic publications of children’s rights in
medical decision making (Ch. 8).
Like many of the above-mentioned authors, Gert Biesta considers it the
main task of philosophy of education to call into question any views taken
for granted, thus emphasising its critical function. As most forms of critical
research depend on the application of criteria that are not themselves ques-
tioned, Biesta proposes a deconstructionist alternative. Stressing the aim of
revealing such preconceptions as to make possible our thought systems, he
thinks priority should be given to sensitivity instead of technical procedure.
This approach is instantiated by showing how the Convention of the Rights of
the Child relies on a typical modern Western conception of childhood, thus
leaving groups of children without protection of their rights (Ch. 9).
 Methodological traditions: introduction 11
Alfred Langewand raises doubts against methods – in a mechanical sense
– as applied to philosophical problems. He stresses the embedding of all
knowledge in daily human experience, and consequently he alerts us to the
impossibility of formulating methods that will invariably yield the same
results. He proposes an interpretative hermeneutic approach that is sensitive
to this embedment of knowledge, demonstrating it with an interpretative
analysis of the historicity of rationality in argumentation concerning chil-
dren’s rights (Ch. 10).
The practical embedding of knowledge is a keynote in Wilna Meijer’s
line of reasoning as well. Against this background, she suggests we should
link theory and history in our approach to philosophy of education.
Historical and cultural context being the arena in which educational action
is set, she considers culture not only as context but also as content of educa-
tion. Meijer applies her views to an analysis of environmental education,
resulting in a demonstration of the priority of children’s rights to develop
autonomous judgement over the aims of environmental policy in society
(Ch. 11).

References
Alcoff, L. M. (1996) Real Knowing. New Versions of the Coherence Theory, Ithaca:
Cornell University Press.
Dilthey, W. (1973) Gesammelte Schriften I, Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht.
Gallagher, S. (1992) Hermeneutics and Education, New York: State University of New
York Press.
Hacking, I. (1985) ‘Styles of Scientific Reasoning’, in H. Rajchman and C. West
(eds), Post-analytic Philosophy, New York: Columbia University Press.
Heyting, G. F. and Mulder, E. (1999) ‘Educating the sceptic: Sextus Empiricus and
Education’, Paedagogica Historica, 35 (2): 359–378.
Keulartz, J. (1994) ‘Inleiding’, in J. Keulartz (ed.), Wilhelm Dilthy. Kritiek van de
historische rede, Meppel: Boom.
MacNabb, D. G. C. (1967) ‘David Hume’, in P. Edwards (ed.), Encyclopedia of Philos-
ophy, vol. 4, New York: The Macmillan Press.
Makkreel, R. A. (1995) ‘Dilthey, Wilhelm’, in R. Audi (ed.), The Cambridge Dictio-
nary of Philosophy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Matthews, G. (1972) Plato’s Epistemology and Related Logical Problems, London: Faber
& Faber.
Moore, G. E. (1959) Philosophical Papers, London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd.
Popkin, R. H. (1979) The History of Scepticism. From Erasmus to Spinoza, Berkeley:
University of California Press.
—— (1980) The High Road to Pyrrhonism, San Diego: Austin Hill Press.
Quine, W. V. O. (1987) Quiddities. An Intermittently Philosophical Dictionary,
Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press.
Rickman, H. P. (1979) Wilhelm Dilthey. Pioneer of the Human Studies, London: Paul
Elek.
Rorty, R. (1991) Objectivity, Relativism, and Truth. Philosophical Papers, vol. 1,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
12 Frieda Heyting
Sosa, E. (1986) ‘The Raft and the Pyramid: Coherence versus Foundations in the
Theory of Knowledge’, in P. K. Moser (ed.), Readings in Contemporary Epistemology,
Savage: Rowman & Littlefield.
Wilkinson, J. (1969) ‘The Civilization of the Dialogue’, in T. Roszak (ed.), The
Dissenting Academy. Essays Criticizing the Teaching of the Humanities in American
Universities, Harmondworth: Penguin Books.
Williams, B. (1978) Descartes: The Project of Pure Enquiry, Atlantic Highlands, NJ:
Humanities Press.
Wittgenstein, L. (1968) Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe,
Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
2 An analytic perspective on
education and children’s
rights
John White and Patricia White

The analytic tradition in British philosophy of education

How and why each of us in this book approaches philosophy of education as
we do is bound to have a lot to do with the tradition of philosophising in
which we have been brought up. In the case of the present co-authors, this is
the so-called ‘analytic’ tradition of post-war British philosophy, partly influ-
enced as it was by the work of the later Wittgenstein (Hacker 1996). British
philosophy of education in its present form was propagated from this parent
stock when the analytic school of thought was in its full flowering, that is to
say in the early 1960s. The person responsible for this creation was Richard
Peters, who turned his energies towards philosophical issues in education
upon his appointment in 1962 to the chair of Philosophy of Education at
the University of London Institute of Education. This followed a distin-
guished earlier career in the Philosophy Department of Birkbeck College,
University of London, where he specialised in philosophy of psychology,
ethics and social philosophy. The present co-authors were both pupils of his
between 1960 and 1966 and in the mid-1960s joined him as colleagues in
the Philosophy of Education Department of the Institute of Education.
What do we mean by the ‘analytic’ tradition of post-war British philosophy?
In the next two sections we argue that the term ‘analytic’ needs careful delin-
eation, so as not to confuse the philosophical tradition we have in mind with,
first, an earlier ‘analytic’ movement, to which the later was partly a reaction;
and, secondly, certain stereotypes and misunderstandings of this later move-
ment. These stereotypes and misunderstandings have produced a misleading
picture not only of ‘analytic’ (or ‘Oxford’) philosophy in general, but also of
analytic philosophy of education in particular. Even today, forty years since
Richard Peters crossed the road from Birkbeck College to the Institute of
Education, the old misconceptions of the kind of work we do still exist.

Post-war analytic philosophy in Britain

The post-war ‘analytic’ school – largely based at Oxford – did not share the
preoccupations of the ‘analytic’ movement of the first half of the twentieth
14 John White and Patricia White
century – largely based at Cambridge – against which it reacted and of
which the leading figures were Russell and the Wittgenstein of the
Tractatus. Although an interest in language was a common thread, the later
school did not seek a logically perfect language from which the inadequacies
of the language we have would be absent. Neither did it understand the
‘analysis’ of language as a reduction to atomic elements. Nor did it see its
work on language as leading to discoveries about the structure of reality (cf.
Wittgenstein’s picture theory of meaning).
Although there were many differences in the philosophies of the post-war
analysts – e.g., Gilbert Ryle, John Austin, Peter Strawson and closer
followers of the later Wittgenstein like Elizabeth Anscombe, Peter Geach
and Peter Winch – these philosophers and others together built up a distinc-
tive form of philosophising of which the following were the leading features
(not all equally prominent in all contributors). Philosophy is an exploration
of conceptual schemes embedded in the language we know and use. It does
not reject this in favour of some more adequate language. The analysis in
which it engages is not reductive, but ‘connective’: it investigates how one
concept is connected – often in complex and ragged-ended ways – in a web
of other concepts with which it is logically related. This type of analytic
philosophy does not seek to discover new truths about the world: philosophy
is not, as for instance Russell believed, part of the same enterprise as science.
It gets to work on what we already understand, albeit often inchoately,
aiming at clarity in place of obscurity and confusion. A large part of this
confusion stems from misleading accounts of how our concepts are to be
understood, emanating from earlier, influential writings in philosophy and
elsewhere. One task of philosophy – for some philosophers the major task –
is therefore therapeutic, to free one’s thinking from the mental cramps
which these erroneous theories have inflicted on it. The work of the later
Wittgenstein, culminating in his Philosophical Investigations (1953), was a
powerful force in this reconceptualisation of the discipline, although the
independent contribution of the Oxford philosophers should not be over-
looked (Hacker 1996: ch. 6).
As an illustration of the points made in the last paragraph, we can take
work in the area of the philosophy of mind during this period. This was
conceived as connective analysis of mental concepts – e.g., mind itself,
consciousness, intentionality, dispositions and abilities, concepts, thought,
imagination, sensation, perception, memory, belief, agency, desire, motive,
intention, emotion. The aim was as perspicuous as possible an under-
standing of the web of mental concepts in all its complexity, doing justice to
its resistance to systemisation beyond certain points and exposing
misleading pictures of how the mind operates. Ryle’s The Concept of Mind
(1949) criticised the Cartesian notion of the mind as a non-physical
substance attached to a body and replaced it with a largely dispositional
account of intelligence, imagination, emotion and other concepts. Critics of
Ryle questioned the emphasis on overt behaviour in his analysis and the
 An analytic perspective 15
downplaying of consciousness. In the 1950s and 1960s detailed attention
was given to the ‘logical geography’ of the mental concepts, discussing, for
instance, the connections between sensation and perception, between percep-
tion and belief, between belief and motive, between motive and emotion,
and between emotion and sensation. An excellent and more up-to-date
example of this kind of work, which draws, however, on writings of this
earlier period, is Anthony Kenny’s The Metaphysics of Mind (1989).
This work in the philosophy of mind, as in other areas of philosophy, was
seen as a non-scientific enterprise. Unlike empirical psychology, it did not
aim at discovery of hitherto unknown facts about the way the mind works.
(We will come back to the relationship between philosophy and psychology
in a later section.) Philosophy of mind was conceived as a ‘second-order’
discipline, making clearer what we already dimly or implicitly understand.
We have a common-sense understanding, for instance, that we are afraid of
things, angry at things, proud of things, etc. What philosophy does here, as
a preliminary to a more profound analysis, is to hypothesise that emotions in
general are directed to objects (i.e., ‘intentional’ objects); and then tests that
claim by reference to such apparent counterexamples as objectless anxiety or
depression. Seeing that the conceptual schemes we use – in the area of the
mental as in other areas – are so central to our lives, constituting to a large
extent what we as individual persons are, this type of analytic philosophy,
including philosophy of mind not least, becomes closely associated with self-
knowledge.
This brief account of ‘analytic’ philosophy presents the recent ancestry of
the British school of philosophy of education. We will describe later how
this mode of philosophising has been applied to educational issues, but
something of its relevance should already be evident from what we have said
about the philosophy of mind, given the indispensability of clear thought
about the mental concepts in any overall account of education. The ‘connec-
tive analysis’, which we have illustrated in this area, was also pursued in
many other areas of philosophy which philosophers of education have been
able to harness to their purposes, including ethics, epistemology, aesthetics
and political philosophy. It is in this last area, and in the related area of legal
philosophy, that philosophers have investigated the concept of rights in
general, including its connections with other concepts such as obligation,
law, morality, liberty, welfare, personal autonomy and liberalism. In a later
section we will go into more detail about these links and about their bearing
on issues of children’s rights.

Misconceptions of analytic philosophy

Post-war ‘analytic’ philosophy, including analytic philosophy of educa-
tion, has often been represented, both by non-philosophers and
sometimes by philosophers working in other traditions, as a somewhat
trivial pursuit concerned with spelling out the meaning of words. We
16 John White and Patricia White
were recently at a committee meeting whose members were worrying over
how to define ‘a book’ in the cause of recording staff research output in
the field of education. Would something less than 80 pages count? Could
a book have just two chapters? Etc. etc. ‘We can’t get much further with
this one’ someone said. ‘This is clearly a problem for the philosophers.’
Fortunately we were ready with an answer. ‘We’d like to help’, one of us
replied, ‘but not yet awhile. You see, we’re still working on the concept
of the slate.’
Not only those outside the discipline see analytic philosophers as poor
relations of dictionary compilers. Take Bertrand Russell, for instance, on the
later Wittgenstein: ‘I have not found in Wittgenstein’s Investigations
anything that seemed to me interesting and I do not understand why a
whole school finds important wisdom in its pages…if it is true, philosophy
is, at best, a slight help to lexicographers, and at worst, an idle tea-table
amusement’ (Hacker 1996: 139).
Philosophers of education outside the analytic school have had similar
reactions to analytic philosophy of education, conveniently labelled ‘APE’
by Australian colleagues working within Marxist or Quinean frameworks.
Other critics, who equally deride the superficiality and parochiality of APE,
have found greater profundity in ‘continental’ philosophy, like that of
Heidegger, Gadamer or Merleau-Ponty. They would do well, though, to
heed Bernard Williams’ comment on the alleged contrast between ‘analytic’
and ‘continental’ philosophy: ‘This classification always involved a quite
bizarre conflation of the methodological and the topographical, as though
one classified cars into front-wheel drive and Japanese’ (Williams 1995:
66).
How sound is the charge of lexicographical triviality? Work in the
analytic tradition has often been labelled ‘ordinary language philosophy’. It
has been conceived as an exploration of the minutiae of word usage,
including, for example, the careful separation of the different ways in which
the same word is used in different contexts, and the laying out of minute
differences in the meanings of closely cognate words. If analytic philosophy
were just this, it would indeed be parochial, for it would be bounded by the
linguistic horizons of a single language – English in the case of ‘Oxford’
philosophy, although equally parochial philosophy could be done within,
say, the Dutch language or Japanese.
It is true that among the different strands which made up post-war philos-
ophy at Oxford, the approach of J. L. Austin did look in some detail at subtle
idiomatic distinctions, but (1) few of his colleagues followed him down this
road, and (2) Austin himself did not see this approach as the philosophical
method, but only as one method which might be fruitful in illuminating
certain philosophical issues, e.g., to do with responsibility (Hacker 1996: ch.
6). As this last remark implies, exploration of linguistic usage was not an end
in itself, but one means to a more important end, the understanding of philo-
sophically interesting concepts and their interrelationships.
 An analytic perspective 17
It is true that post-war analytic philosophy can be called ‘linguistic
philosophy’, but this need not carry with it any connotations of superfi-
ciality. The earlier analytic school of Russell and the Wittgenstein of the
Tractatus can also be called by the same name, given its interest in a logically
perfect language and in its basic propositions as a reflection of reality. The
later analytic school was equally preoccupied with language, but in a radi-
cally different fashion, as indicated earlier. It rejected the idea of a logically
perfect language in favour of the language we ordinarily use. For this reason,
one can understand, even if one does not accept, the appellation ‘ordinary
language philosophy’, which became attached to it. The term is misleading
however if thought to imply that any of the words we use in everyday trans-
actions are fair philosophical game. No philosopher would be riveted by the
concept of a book. The focus was on the investigation of the use of philosophi-
cally important concepts, on their function within wider conceptual schemes
and within language as a whole. ‘Use’ in this sense is a world away from
‘usage’ in the more parochial sense. Neither was analytic philosophy exclu-
sively concerned with the use of non-technical concepts, if ‘ordinary
language’ is taken as to be contrasted with ‘technical language’. Although, it
is true, much of its time was taken up with notions in everyday use like
knowledge, belief, ought, pain, cause, action. etc., it also puzzled over
esoteric terms like ‘entailment’ or ‘existential quantifier’.
We hope this does enough to remove familiar misconceptions about the
nature of analytic philosophy and therewith of analytic philosophy of educa-
tion. It is time, in any case, that we looked more closely at the latter in
pursuit of our main objective, that of showing ‘where we come from’, philo-
sophically speaking, in discussions of children’s rights.

Analytic philosophy of education

In the 1960s and early 1970s British philosophy of education under Peters’
direction applied analytic methodology in three ways. Firstly, it investigated
interconnections between concepts peculiar to education, which lay outside
the purview of general philosophy, although the work of Wittgenstein and
especially Ryle touched on them in places. These included the concepts of
education, teaching, training, learning, development and indoctrination
(see, for example, Peters 1967). Secondly, it sought to untangle conceptual
confusions and philosophically dubious claims embedded in influential
educational theories, e.g., the developmentalist child-centred theory of the
time (see, for example, Dearden 1968). Thirdly, it applied investigations of
certain concepts explored in general philosophy to educational issues. The
clarification of relevant mental concepts, for instance, illuminated practical
concerns about the development of the imagination or the education of the
emotions. Explorations of interconnections between knowledge, belief, truth
and evidence were harnessed to classroom-level issues of learning and the
curriculum. In the ethical area, work – by Peters himself, among others – on
18 John White and Patricia White
the meaning and justification of moral principles was applied to matters of
moral education and to aims and conceptions of education more generally
(see, for example, Peters 1966, 1981).
The fact that analytic philosophy of education had to connect with the
concerns of teachers and other educationalists gave it from the start a prac-
tical orientation not generally found in other branches of philosophy – even
ethics, which at that time was almost exclusively a second-order discipline
focusing on the use of very general moral concepts like ought, right and
good. From the late 1970s onwards, ethics broadened out to embrace more
practical concerns: its insights were applied to issues like war and peace,
abortion, the environment; and the range of concepts it investigated
extended to ‘thicker’ concepts like the concepts of the virtues and concepts
related to personal well-being. Ethics now included, along with its earlier
meta-ethical interests, normative and applied orientations. The interest of
this shift, as far as analytic philosophy of education is concerned, is: (1) that
this discipline was already moving in this more concrete direction from the
mid-1960s and can claim to have been, in fact, one of the first areas of
‘applied philosophy’ (Peters’ (1966) discussions of punishment in schools,
equality of educational opportunity and education for democracy are good
examples of early work of this sort); and (2) that the growth of
normative/applied ethics has brought philosophers of education closer, since
the 1980s, to the concerns of other philosophers.
A related way in which analytic philosophy in general has expanded its
horizons since the 1980s is the greater attention now paid, especially in
political philosophy, ethics and philosophy of the human sciences, to the
cultural frameworks to which concepts often belong. The work of Charles
Taylor (1985, 1989) on the concepts of self, human agency and liberty, of
Alasdair MacIntyre (1981) on the moral virtues and of Bernard Williams on
the notions of morality and obligation (Williams 1985) and shame and guilt
(Williams 1993) are prominent recent examples. Philosophy of education
has been profoundly influenced by this widening of focus within the analytic
paradigm, which has been reflected in its own work. Its approach to chil-
dren’s rights, as we shall see, is now informed by an awareness of the links
between this notion and contested perceptions of the meaning and value of
liberal culture.
In only one of the three areas mentioned above has work in philosophy of
education contracted since the 1960s. Much less attention is now paid to the
specifically educational concepts, like education, teaching, learning and
indoctrination. This may well be because the main articulations of these
concepts were well charted in those early days, so that there is little more to
say about them. In themselves, they perhaps do not go deep and their possible
ramifications with other concepts do not generate interesting philosophical
puzzles (unlike, say, the concepts of knowledge, truth or mind). This may
apply less to the concept of learning than to the other concepts mentioned.
In sum, analytic philosophy of education is still firmly bound to connec-
 An analytic perspective 19
tive analysis as its central methodology. Philosophers of education are as
interested as other philosophers in becoming clearer about such concepts as
knowledge, belief, morality, well-being, aesthetic experience, mind, motiva-
tion, democracy and equality. They tend to be less interested than many
general philosophers in concepts like negation, sensation, entailment or
personal identity, since these concepts are less directly relevant to matters of
educational objectives, policy or pedagogy. Analytic philosophers of educa-
tion have a more practical intent than many general philosophers – except
those also working in applied philosophy. They are interested in conceptual
clarification and in the exposure of confused or unfounded theories, not for
their own sake but because of the illumination they cast on educational poli-
cies and practices and – ultimately – because of the improvements in these
areas that this illumination can help to bring about. (For a recent survey of
the field, see White 1995.)
There is no one way of pursuing analytic philosophy of education. It
stretches between two poles: at one end, its parent discipline of philosophy,
at the other, educational policy and practice. Its general aim is to bring the
former to bear on the latter; but, naturally enough, some of its writings are
more philosophical than practical, and vice versa. There is no harm in that,
but there are dangers if the balance tilts too far one way or the other. Some
journal articles are virtually pieces of pure philosophy, whose applicability to
education is hard to see; others are close to policy recommendations and of
little philosophical interest. In other roles than ‘philosopher of education’
colleagues in our discipline can, of course, write general philosophy if they
want to, or put together policy documents. In their own role they need to
walk a difficult tightrope between the demands of philosophical depth and
practical pay off for education. The leading exponents of the discipline have
always done this.

Analytic philosophy of education and educational studies

Before we look at children’s rights in particular, a few words on the ques-
tion: what is the specific contribution of this type of philosophy of education
to educational studies, as compared with other sub-disciplines?
As stated earlier, like other branches of analytic philosophy, it is not
about the discovery of hitherto unknown facts, but about understanding
conceptual connections, including in this connections between concepts of
ethical values. Its central task is to achieve confusion-free maps of the whole
field of education, its aims, processes, cultural horizons, etc. It is different in
its non-empirical nature from the history of education and the empirical
parts of educational disciplines like psychology of education and sociology of
education. At certain points it touches all three of these other fields,
however. The history of educational ideas – about vocational education, for
instance, the curriculum, or intelligence testing – is enhanced by a philo-
sophical understanding of these issues, and vice versa.
20 John White and Patricia White
Recent philosophical interest in the cultural horizons of our concepts
brings philosophy of education closer both to general history and to soci-
ology, including sociology of education. The work of a general sociologist
like Anthony Giddens also overlaps at many points with work in the philos-
ophy of social science: it would be good to see this overlap reflected in
educational studies, where, in Britain at least, philosophers and sociologists
of education have tended to keep their activities in separate compartments.
There are similar overlaps with the work of conceptually and hermeneuti-
cally orientated psychologists and to a small extent psychologists of
education. But links between our area and theirs are, again, pitifully few, both
in general and in the field of education. This has much to do with the
attempts that have been made since the nineteenth century to free psychology
from the clutches of philosophy and to put it on an independent, scientific
footing. There are serious questions – philosophical questions – about how far
a science of the mind is conceptually possible. Philosophers of education who
raise such issues are not always popular among psychologists of education of a
more scientific bent. In our view, it is a pity that the two disciplines do not
work more closely together. No one should welcome confused ideas. If
philosophers and philosophers of education can sort out conceptual confu-
sions, as we believe they do, in, for instance, the theories of Freud, Piaget,
Chomsky and Skinner, or theories about artificial intelligence or the IQ,
psychologists should be the first to welcome this. To judge by the eclectic and
underconceptualised nature of standard textbooks in educational psychology,
that discipline would also benefit by cooperation with philosophers of educa-
tion in a mapping of the mental concepts so as to provide a more adequate
framework within which empirical studies can find their place.
So much for some of the relationships, actual and ideal, between analytic
philosophy of education and other educational disciplines. As a mapping
subject, it also has a special contribution to make to a conceptual overview
of educational studies as a whole (see Hirst 1983; Elliott 1987).

Children’s rights
The topic of children’s rights touches on the one hand issues of practical
educational policy and on the other fundamental issues at the heart of polit-
ical philosophy. At the policy end there is public concern and debate about a
number of questions raising issues of children’s rights. Anxiety about child
abuse involves, very basically, the child’s right not to be harmed. Discussions
of national curricula, common curricula, black studies and women’s studies
raise questions about the kind of education to which children have a right
and the nature of that right. Connectedly, who should have the right to
determine the child’s education, particularly in areas like religious education
and sex education, is vigorously debated and the claims of parents, the state,
educational experts and children themselves are subject to searching assess-
ment. ‘Rights talk’ is a familiar feature of the contemporary educational
 An analytic perspective 21
scene. Some see it as introducing a strident, conflictful ethos into what
could, and should, be a more harmonious resolution of differences. What
light can a philosophical perspective throw on the substantive issues and
also the meta-issue of the appropriateness of rights talk?

Rights and rights talk

We talked at the end of our section on the history and nature of analytic
philosophy of its mapping function. We need now to try to map the place of
rights and rights talk in our moral and political life.
Most familiarly, rights are a part of our legal vocabulary. As citizens,
employees, house buyers and sellers, tenants and landlords living under a
particular legal system we have rights. The nature and legitimacy of these
rights poses no philosophical problems. The relevant documents tell us what
they are, the procedures by which they were established and how they can be
changed.
So far, so good. But what about the case where particular rights do not
exist under a legal system? Did women not have the right to a vote before
the introduction of women’s suffrage? In this and other situations, the claim
of campaigners is that there is a moral right, which needs to be recognised as
a legal right. Indeed it can be argued that, underlying many rights
enshrined in law, like the right to a fair trial, are fundamental moral rights.
What is involved, then, in talking of moral rights? Rights here are to be
understood as legitimate claims. What is being asserted when it is claimed
that P has a right to do X is that others have a duty (at least) not to prevent
P from doing X, that this duty protects an interest of P’s and that P should
feel no embarrassment about insisting on the duty. Further, in a rights-based
approach to political matters, the focus is not on what might be for the
common good in a given community or on, say, the duties owed to the poor
and needy, but on the rights of the individual understood as legitimate
claims. A qualification is called for here though. Recently there has emerged
the demand for community rights, i.e., rights of minority communities
against majority communities. This demand is formally similar to that of
the rights of the individual against state authority, though there are compli-
cations, particularly in relation to education (see Callan 1997).
Looking at four objections to a rights-based approach to political matters
will both further clarify the notion of a right and point the way forward to
the kind of justification which can be offered for this feature of our moral
world.

1 It has been argued that rights is an egotistical notion which does not
fit well with the development of communal values and a sense of our
responsibilities to others. However, this is misconceived because, as the
above analysis of rights indicates, rights and responsibilities are correl-
ative. More than that, virtually all moral rights are reciprocal so that
22 John White and Patricia White
P’s right (e.g., not to be molested), which imposes a duty on Q, is also
Q’s right, which imposes a similar duty on P (though for a discussion of
exceptions, see Hart 1984: 81–82). Thus, there is an interlocking
network of rights and duties (cf. Houston 1992: 152–153).

2 Similarly, it has been argued that the moral focus should be on basic
needs rather than rights, but again this is misconceived. Rights can and
do protect basic human needs (Raz 1986). There can after all be rights
to food and shelter. This is however a controversial position. Some
would argue that the only legitimate rights are the so-called ‘liberty’
rights attached to citizenship, i.e., rights to religious toleration,
freedom from arbitrary arrest, free speech, the right to vote and so on.
Rights which require forbearance on the part of others rather than posi-
tive action and were conceived to protect individuals from the power of
an oppressive state. By contrast, it is argued that socio-economic rights,
or ‘welfare’ rights as they are sometimes called, are overdemanding and
perhaps even impossible to realise since they violate the principle ‘ought
implies can’ (see, e.g., Cranston 1967: 50–53).
Three points can be made about the second objection.
(a) The distinction between liberty and welfare rights is not as clear cut
as is being suggested. Liberty rights too require considerable
resources and positive action to keep them in place.
(b) It can be convincingly argued that welfare rights are necessary to
the realisation of liberty rights. More forcefully, it can be argued
that socio-economic needs are as important as any civil or political
liberties and disease and malnutrition should be as much matters of
concern as free speech if the point of rights is that they protect
important interests of the person.
(c) Finally, in the charge that welfare rights are overdemanding and that
in some cases, nationally or globally, we cannot satisfy them, Waldron
identifies the assumption that the existing distribution of resources is
to remain undisturbed. Thus, as he puts it, ‘the “ought” of human
rights is being frustrated less by the “can’t” of impracticability, than
the “won’t” of selfishness and greed’ (Waldron 1995: 580).

3 Another objection focuses on valuable feelings and attitudes, like love and
trust, which seem to be eroded by rights. Marital happiness, for instance,
is hardly secured when husband and wife insist on their rights. Also,
granting people enforceable rights seems to make trust redundant when
perhaps trust is essential to social life. However, we are not faced with an
either/or situation. Love and trust can exist in situations in which the
parties also have rights but do not need to assert them. And, importantly,
if love and trust break down at least the parties are left with justice (see
Houston 1992: 150; Kymlicka 1990: 167; Wolff 1996: 219).
 An analytic perspective 23
4 Linked particularly to objections 1 and 2 above is the view that the
peremptory and litigious nature of rights talk is not the appropriate
tone for a moral community. However several writers warn of the
dangers of being too quick to overthrow the language of self-assertion.
In a particularly compelling example, designed to convince the reader
that rights are ‘a most useful sort of moral furniture’, Feinberg (1980:
151) outlines Nowheresville, a society in which there is a moral code
and a general attitude of benevolence so that people act towards one
another much as they do in our society. There is a notion of personal
desert, though people cannot (i.e., they have no right to) complain if
they fail to get their just deserts, and there is a notion of duty, although
all duties are owed to a sovereign or god. Thus if I fail to carry out my
duties I am blameworthy because I have failed to respect the will of the
sovereign but I have not committed an offence against my fellows.
What Nowheresville lacks is a notion of rights. For Feinberg that makes
it irredeemably flawed:

Having rights enables us to ‘stand up like men’ [sic], to look others in

the eye, and to feel in some fundamental way the equal of anyone. To
think of oneself as the holder of rights is not to be unduly but properly
proud, to have that minimal self-respect that is necessary to be worthy
of the love and esteem of others. Indeed, respect for persons … may
simply be respect for their rights, so that there cannot be the one
without the other; and what is called ‘human dignity’ may simply be
the recognizable capacity to assert claims.
(Feinberg 1990: 151)

This, in Feinberg’s view, is what gives rights their supreme moral

importance. It is also what links rights to the idea of the liberal demo-
cratic state. For the political setting for such rights requires institutions
which embody a concern for the individual as a responsible moral agent
animated in his or her political conduct by principles of justice and
freedom. The manifold complexities of the relationship between rights
and notions of democracy can, however, only be gestured at here (cf.
Harrison 1993). Our earlier, brief discussion of the different attitudes to
liberty and welfare rights indicates something of this complicated rela-
tionship to broader and narrower conceptions of democracy. Certainly,
however, at the centre of any conception of democracy is the idea of a
citizen whose life is governed by his or her own thinking, feeling and
decision making and for whom it would be intolerable if his or her life
were to be subordinate to the shaping of the state or any other person,
and this is what the basic democratic rights safeguard. The precise char-
acter of the democratic polity will depend on what rights, in what
combination, are seen as basic – which liberty rights and/or welfare rights
and in what mix.
24 John White and Patricia White
Children’s rights, citizenship and education
So, given this broad sketch of rights and their place in our moral and polit-
ical world, what is there to be said about children’s rights?
The great philosopher of liberalism, Mill, and more recently H. L. A.
Hart would have said: not much. Mill famously excluded children and those
below the age of legal majority from the right to control over their own
affairs (Mill 1962: 73). Similarly Hart, who regards it as distinctive of rights
that they can be claimed, asserted, waived or forgone, would not extend
them to young children since they are unable to do any of these things (Hart
1984: 82). Neither, of course, would sanction the ill-treatment of children,
but Hart, and probably Mill, would not want to claim that children had a
right not to be harmed.
Partly in the wake of the ‘children’s liberation’ movements of the late
1960s and early 1970s, this denial of rights to children provoked consider-
able debate in philosophy of education in the 1970s and 1980s (see, e.g.,
Crittenden 1988; Harris 1982; Kleinig 1976; Scarre 1980; Schrag 1977;
Wringe 1981). Kleinig (1976: 10) suggests that the argument about chil-
dren being unable to claim, waive, etc. rights is not a particularly
compelling one, as this might apply to other (perhaps infirm or disabled)
citizens to whom we would not deny rights. Perhaps more central to the
idea of a right is the notion of the protection of important interests. These
children certainly do have and many of them (e.g., those involved in not
being harmed) are shared with adults. Thus, Kleinig concludes, for the most
part the welfare of children is identical with that of adults and there is no
reason why they should not be candidates for the possession of rights.
There is however a significant exception which exercises Kleinig and the
other contributors to this debate. This is the basic right to liberty, non-
interference with one’s plans and projects. Writers are agreed that babies and
very young children very obviously are not self-determined persons and so
do not qualify for the liberty rights which the status of being self-
determined brings with it, but differ on what follows from this.
Does this very lack of the ability to be self-determining provide part of
the grounds for a right to an education, which develops this ability so neces-
sary to flourishing in a democratic society? If so, what kind of education and
how much is required to meet this right (Haydon 1977; Snook and
Lankshear 1979: 29ff.)? If children do have a right to education, this gives
them a welfare right not normally possessed by adults. We take up this idea
of a right to education again in the next section.
Another line of thought has been: even if very young children do not
share adult rights to liberty and other associated civic rights, it does not
follow that all children do not share these. In this connection much ink and
energy has been expended on the adult/child distinction (Harris 1982; Scarre
1980; Schrag 1977). Is there some kind of watershed between the two or is
the passage from childhood to adulthood a more gradual process? Are some
children more mature and capable of being self-directed than some adults?
 An analytic perspective 25
What follows from this for the granting of citizenship rights? Writers vary
on this, some arguing for something like the status quo with a chronologi-
cally defined age for citizen status (Schrag), others arguing for the idea of
citizenship status for ‘all reasonably competent language-users’ (Harris). We
have simply highlighted a couple of the ideas in this once hotly debated area
and cannot do justice to the skill and subtlety of the argument and counter-
argument. These issues have lain dormant for a while but it seems to us that
they are highly relevant to the current debate about citizenship education in
the UK.

Children’s rights, parents’ rights and education

One major area of analytic work, then, has focused on the complex ethical
and political problems posed by the status of children in the political
community. This is paralleled by another connected major focus: the issue of
who should have the right to determine the form and content of children’s
education. Should it be the state? Parents? Children’s rights come into this
story in two ways. Firstly, as we saw earlier, some would argue for children’s
having a welfare right to education. Insofar as they are not themselves in a
position to determine what this education should consist in (and this itself is
a contested claim), who should protect their interests here and ensure that
their right to education is realised? Secondly, some would invoke at this
point a child’s right not to be formed into a mould prescribed by its alleged
protectors, whether political authorities, families, educational experts, or
whoever. We examine some of these issues below.
Amy Gutmann (1987) outlines the case in which the right to control
education is in the hands of the state. In what she terms a ‘family state’, like
Plato’s Republic, the state knows and establishes the good life for all its citi-
zens. The family state, however, will have to demonstrate that it can
satisfactorily establish what the objectively good life is for all its citizens. If
it can’t convincingly do this, and the philosophical track record here is not
promising, then it is in danger of imposing a life on some people at least,
which, according to their own moral view, is wrong. Thus the state’s claim
to have the moral authority to determine its citizens’ education looks inse-
cure.
In what Gutmann terms the ‘state of families’, the right to determine the
form and content of children’s education would rest with parents. The right
of parents to determine their children’s education is often defended as neces-
sary to the realisation of the parents’ autonomy. As Charles Fried bluntly
puts it: ‘The right to form one’s child’s values, one’s child’s life plan and the
right to lavish attention on the child are extensions of the basic right not to
be interfered with in doing these things for oneself’ (Fried 1978: 152). Here,
however, we run into potential conflict with the child’s autonomy. Why
should the autonomy of the parent be privileged over that of the child? Yet,
perhaps parents’ rights can be more adequately defended in a way, which
26 John White and Patricia White
focuses on the child’s good. The expression in loco parentis, for instance,
seems to make the assumption that parents are normally best placed to
determine what is in their children’s interests. They know their children
and, apart from exceptional cases, they have their children’s welfare at heart
in the way that no public body could. Even so though, the question still
arises as to whether what the parent judges to be in the child’s best interests
really is so.
We seem to have reached an impasse. Can it be avoided by the appeal to a
child’s right not to be moulded, mentioned above? There is little support
these days for the kind of child-centred ideology that has been used to back
this. On this view, it is nature, not social institutions like families and
states, which provides the direction to a child’s education. Education is
conceived as a process of development, with teachers as facilitators in
nature’s kindergarten rather than imposers of socially approved values. As we
mentioned in the earlier section on analytic philosophy of education in
general, the conceptual confusions in developmentalist doctrine have long
since been fully exposed. So no way out of the impasse here.
Another possible way forward is to re-examine the notion of the state. If
we have in mind, rather than Plato’s Republic, a democratic state, is it so
clear that we can dismiss the claims of the state to determine education? In a
pluralist democratic state citizens will have particular moral beliefs and may
well weight them differently from others, perhaps because of their allegiance
to minority religious or ethnic groups. As citizens, however, they subscribe to
the basic democratic principles of freedom and justice and to the institutions
which embody them, as well as being committed to refining and adapting
them to fit changing circumstances. Thus perhaps it can be argued that,
simply to preserve the political order which protects citizens’ rights to deter-
mine how they want to live, the state has a right to determine the education
of its youngest citizens so that they grow up to understand these principles
and their institutionalisation and are committed to live according to them.
Clearly this does not solve all the problems of the rights of parents from
ethnic and religious groups who have reasons to determine the education of
their children. At the very least, however, it establishes a framework in
which those claims and rights can be discussed and weighed in public
debate. This is exemplified by recent writers in this tradition (see, e.g.,
Callan 1985; McLaughlin 1984, 1985; Gardner 1988) who debate the
justice of the claims for separate educational provision for different groups
with careful attention to the fine detail of the cases advanced.

Conclusion
How well does the topic of children’s rights exemplify the points made
towards the beginning of this chapter about the methodology of analytic
philosophy of education? From one point of view, it belongs with issues which
were once topical in educational circles as a whole, but in which interest has
 An analytic perspective 27
now largely abated. As we said, the heyday of children’s rights occurred in the
children’s liberation movements of the late 1960s and 1970s. Muddled
thinking in this area, e.g., to do with overlooking relevant differences
between children and adults, engaged analytic philosophers of education in
the traditional negative task of their brand of philosophy, of exposing concep-
tual confusions. Once these problems were cleared up to most people’s
satisfaction, they disappeared from the agenda. But this is not to say that the
topic of children’s rights is moribund. As we have seen, the claim that chil-
dren have a right to education has led to discussions, which show no signs of
ceasing, about what that education should consist in and who should have the
right to determine its content. In other words, the weight now falls on these
traditional mainstream preoccupations of philosophy of education rather than
on children’ rights seen as a topic on its own. These discussions bring out very
well points we made earlier about the role of connected analysis in our tradi-
tion. We have made it clear how the concept of rights in general is connected
with such concepts as law, morality, obligation, welfare, liberty, liberalism.
Investigating children’s right to education in particular leads one into a closer
investigation into this same range of concepts, but now in the context of a
discussion of educational aims, as well as into other aims-related concepts.
Thus much contemporary writing revolves around the notions of the promo-
tion of autonomy, its connection with welfare or well-being, its connections
with moral education, the nature of morality and the place of rules and virtues
within it, the notions of liberal democracy, citizenship, the state, cultural
pluralism, communitarianism and nationality. Among other notions, which
also find their place in this web of interconnections, are educational aims to
do with the cultivation of knowledge, skills, abilities, aesthetic responsiveness
and preparation for work. Understanding how these and other ideas can be
related together in different ways forms a large part of the substance of
contemporary philosophy of education in the British analytical tradition. One
of the routes into this complex – and untidy – network is via reflection on the
child’s right to education.

Bibliography
Archard, D. (1993) Children: Rights and Childhood, London: Routledge.
Callan, E. (1985) ’McLaughlin on parental rights’, Journal of Philosophy of Education,
19 (1): 111–118.
—— (1997) Creating Citizens, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Cranston, M. (1967) ’Human Rights, Real and Supposed’, in D. D. Raphael (ed.)
Political Theory and the Rights of Man, London: Macmillan.
Crittenden, B. (1988) Parents, the State and the Right to Education, Melbourne:
Melbourne University Press.
Dearden, R. F. (1968) The Philosophy of Primary Education, London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul.
DfEE (Department for Education and Employment) (1997) Excellence in Schools,
London: HMSO.
28 John White and Patricia White
Elliott, J. (1987) ‘Educational theory, practical philosophy and educational research’,
British Journal of Educational Studies, XXXV (2): 149–169.
Feinberg, J. (1980) Rights, Justice and the Bounds of Liberty: Essays in Social Philosophy,
Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Fried, C. (1978) Right and Wrong, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Gardner, P. (1988) ‘Religious upbringing and the liberal ideal of religious
autonomy’, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 22 (1): 89–105.
Gutmann, A. (1987) Democratic Education, Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Hacker, P. M. S. (1996) Wittgenstein’s Place in Twentieth-century Analytic Philosophy,
Oxford: Blackwell.
Harris, J. (1982) ‘The Political Status of Children’, in Keith Graham (ed.), Contem-
porary Political Philosophy, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Harrison, R. (1993) Democracy, London: Routledge.
Hart, H. L. A. (1984) ‘Are There Any Natural Rights?’, in Jeremy Waldron (ed.),
Theories of Rights, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Haydon, G. (1977) ‘The right to education and compulsory schooling’, Educational
Philosophy and Theory, 9 (1) March: 1–15.
Hirst, P. H. (1983) ‘Educational Theory’, in P. H. Hirst (ed.), Educational Theory and
its Foundation Disciplines, London: Routledge.
Houston, B. (1992) ‘Are children’s rights wrong rights?’, Proceedings of the 48th
Annual Meeting of the Philosophy of Education Society, 48: 145–155.
Kenny, A. (1989) The Metaphysics of Mind, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Kleinig, J. (1976) ‘Mill, Children and Rights’, Educational Philosophy and Theory, 8
(1): 1–16.
Kymlicka, W. (1990) Contemporary Political Philosophy, Oxford, Clarendon Press.
Lomasky, L. E. (1987) Persons, Rights and the Moral Community, Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
MacIntyre, A (1981) After Virtue, London: Duckworth.
McLaughlin, T. H. (1984) ’Parental rights and the religious upbringing of children’,
Journal of Philosophy of Education, 18 (1): 75–83.
—— (1985) ’Religion, upbringing and liberal values: a rejoinder to Eamon Callan’,
Journal of Philosophy of Education, 19 (1): 119–127.
—— (1990) ‘Peter Gardner on religious upbringing and the liberal ideal of reli-
gious autonomy’, Journal of Philosophy of Education, 24 (1): 107–125.
Mill, J. S. (1962) ‘On Liberty’, in Utilitarianism, On Liberty, and Considerations on
Representative Government, London: J. M. Dent & Sons Ltd.
O’Neill, O. and Ruddick, W. (1979) Having Children: Philosophical and Legal Reflec-
tions on Parenthood, New York: Oxford University Press.
Peters, R. S. (1966) Ethics and Education, London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd.
—— (ed.) (1967) The Concept of Education, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
—— (1981) Moral Development and Moral Education, London: George Allen &
Unwin Ltd.
Raz, J. (1986) The Morality of Freedom, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Ryle, G. (1949) The Concept of Mind, London: Hutchinson.
Scarre, G. (1980) ‘Children and paternalism’, Philosophy, 55 (211): 117–124.
Schrag, F. (1977) ‘The child in the moral order’, Philosophy, 52 (200): 167–177.
Snook, I. and Lankshear, C. (1979) Education and Rights, Melbourne: Melbourne
University Press.
 An analytic perspective 29
Taylor, C. (1985) Philosophical Papers, vols I and II, Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
—— (1989) Sources of the Self, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Waldron, J. (1984) Theories of Rights, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
—— (1995) ‘Rights’, in R. E. Goodin and P. Pettit (eds), A Companion to Contempo-
rary Political Philosophy, Oxford: Blackwell.
Warnock, M. (1987) ‘Do human cells have rights?’, Bioethics, 1 (1): 1–14.
White, J. (1995) ‘Philosophy of Education’, in Ted Honderich (ed.), The Oxford
Companion to Philosophy, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Williams, B. (1985) Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy, London: Fontana.
—— (1993) Shame and Necessity, Berkeley: University of California Press.
—— (1995) Making Sense of Humanity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Wittgenstein, L. (1953) Philosophical Investigations, trans. G.E.M. Anscombe,
Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
Wolff, J. (1996) An Introduction to Political Philosophy, Oxford: OPUS.
Wringe, C. (1981) Children’s Rights: A Philosophical Study, London: Routledge &
Kegan Paul.
3 Reflective equilibrium as a
method of philosophy of
education
Justifying an ethical conception of
children’s sexual rights1
Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel

Introduction
Like so many other philosophers of education, we have tried to develop and
discuss ethical conceptions regarding educational topics, including topics in
the fields of civic education and sexual education. An ethical conception may
be defined as a theory in which ethical claims are made and defended, for
example, the claim that tolerance is a desirable or valuable trait of character,
or the claim that civic education should promote critical thinking, or the
claim that sexual activities should comply with the principle of mutual
consent, or the claim that paedophilia is morally wrong.
In everyday life, too, ethical beliefs are held, defended and criticised.
We may, however, assume some difference in quality between everyday and
philosophical ethical disputes. In philosophy, including philosophy of
education, the reflective attention that is paid to the justification of ethical
beliefs is much more sophisticated. Penetrating accounts are given of the
criteria that should guide us in assessing the reasons on which our ethical
claims are based. Accordingly, the practice of justifying ethical beliefs is
much more systematic, which means, among other things, that it is much
more methodical. A methodical way of doing things implies that certain
procedures are followed or particular methods applied. But which
methods, if any, should be observed in justifying ethical claims concerning
educational matters? And how could these methods themselves be justi-
fied?
Before going into these difficult questions we want to make clear that
we prefer the term ‘ethical’ to the term ‘moral’. The sphere of the ethical is
much broader than the sphere of the moral. In ethical thinking many eval-
uative notions are used that are not specifically moral. Take, for example,
‘admirable’, ‘excellent’, ‘advisable’ and ‘rational’. All these notions play an
important role in ethical discussions but none is tied to moral evaluation
in particular. Indeed, even central ethical terms like ‘virtue’ and ‘good’ are
often used in a non-moral way, for example, when we speak about self-
regarding traits like prudence and resourcefulness on one’s own behalf.
 Reflective equilibrium 31
Moreover, ethical evaluations often appeal to non-moral ideals of life or non-
moral conceptions of the good. Examples are the rather elitist intellectual
ideal of the educated person, or some purely aesthetic ideal, according to
which things like refined elegance, sophisticated sensibility and artistic
creation should be regarded as in themselves commanding our awe and
admiration.
There is another point that deserves some preliminary attention. The
ethical conceptions we are talking about are part of so-called substantive
ethics. It is important to distinguish substantive ethics from ethical episte-
mology, which is an area of meta-ethics. Ethical epistemology asks whether,
when and how substantive ethical beliefs can be justified or shown true.
Because we are interested in methods of justifying ethical beliefs, our reflec-
tions are part of ethical epistemology. But we shall illustrate our
meta-ethical views with some substantial claims, in particular with ethical
claims about children’s rights in the sphere of sexuality and with regard to
sexual development.

Justifying conceptions
First, a distinction has to be made between possible criteria and possible
methods of justification. If we are, in this context, discussing criteria of justi-
fication, we are talking about the conditions under which ethical claims are
justified or credible (or under which a person has good reasons for believing
some ethical claim). Methods on the other hand, must be conceived of as
means to find out whether or not ethical claims are justified or credible (or
whether or not a person has good reasons for believing such claims). The
idea is that following the methods will increase the chance that our ethical
beliefs will indeed meet the criteria. Suppose, for example, that an orthodox
Christian thinks that homosexual behaviour is morally wrong because it is
against the will of God. He adheres to the divine command theory and his
criterion of justification is that a moral belief is justified or credible if, and
only if, the belief is held or commanded by God. Possible methods of justifi-
cation would be appealing to the Scriptures (e.g., to Leviticus 18: 22),
consulting religious authorities, or any other procedure which puts him in
the best position to find out what God commands.
Meta-ethical discussions about the criteria of justified ethical beliefs are
dominated by two basic theories: foundationalism and coherentism. Not only
different versions but also different explanations of ethical foundationalism
have been proposed and defended. It could be maintained, however, that
every foundationalist holds the view that our ethical claims are justified if,
and only if, either: (1) they are part of an epistemically privileged class of
beliefs that are justified independently of any inferential relations with
other beliefs; or (2) they bear appropriate inferential relations to beliefs
that are part of the privileged class (Sayre-McCord 1996: 149). Given this
criterion of justification, the most obvious methods of justification will
32 Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel
consist in ways of showing (1) that certain beliefs are self-evident or based
on non-doxastic states, and (2) that other beliefs are inferentially (by
deduction or induction) connected with these foundational ones. Classical
moral intuitionism is an example of foundationalism (Sinnott-Armstrong
1996: 25–26). This theory is a version of moral realism, that is, an onto-
logical view that maintains that there are moral facts, not just moral
opinions. These moral facts, for example, the rightness of a certain type of
action, can be known by intuition. And such intuitions are taken as self-
evident moral beliefs from which non-fundamental moral judgements can
be derived.
The other dominant account of the criteria of justified ethical claims is
coherentism. How exactly coherentism should be defined is a matter of
controversy, but at least there seems to be consensus about its purist form,
which is also the most simple (Sayre-McCord 1996: 140, 151–152; Sher
1997: 146). Negatively, pure coherentism says that there is no privileged
subset of fundamental ethical beliefs. It denies the possibility of ethical
beliefs that are justified independently of any inferential relationship they
might have with other beliefs. Positively, it claims that whatever credibility
an ethical belief enjoys is due to its relationships with other beliefs, whether
ethical or non-ethical. Ethical beliefs are justified only if, and then to the
extent that, they cohere well with a coherent system of beliefs. Coherence is
not just a function of logical consistency but also a matter of connectedness
by inferential relations. A consistent set of ethical beliefs may be a collection
of mutually indifferent judgements. But a coherent set of ethical beliefs is a
network of mutually supporting claims.
In our view, pure coherentism cannot be regarded as an adequate account
of justified ethical claims. It is hard to see how coherence alone could yield
credibility, or how increased coherence of a set of beliefs could by itself make
the set more justified. Indeed, a mutually supportive network of ethical
claims could be created that would be fully unacceptable, for example, by
constructing a coherent set of ethical claims regarding sexual behaviour that
would violate our most deeply held moral convictions. To meet this objec-
tion, pure coherentism should be reformed into a more sophisticated version,
in particular by introducing so-called initially tenable beliefs (Elgin 1996:
13–15, 102–110; Griffin 1996: 11–18). Such beliefs do have a degree of
credibility independent of their inferential relations with other beliefs and
function as starting points for creating coherent ethical conceptions that are
credible.
Because pure and simple coherentism holds that no one belief starts with
greater credibility than any other, it is incompatible with introducing
initially tenable beliefs. But acknowledging such beliefs does not imply
embracing a version of foundationalism. Though initially tenable beliefs are
in some sense epistemically privileged, they function differently from foun-
dational beliefs (Elgin 1996: 110; Griffin 1996: 12). Unlike a foundational
belief, an initially tenable conviction is only a reasonable starting point and
 Reflective equilibrium 33
it can completely lose its credibility in the process of creating coherence.
Moreover, foundational beliefs cannot augment their original degree of cred-
ibility, whereas the credibility of initially tenable beliefs will be enhanced by
integrating them into a coherent set of beliefs.
Also, and in another respect, pure coherentism should be improved in
order to be acceptable. The sophisticated version of coherentism we are
inclined to defend not only introduces initially tenable beliefs but also
endorses the criterion of comprehensiveness. Other things being equal, a more
comprehensive coherent set of beliefs is more credible than a less compre-
hensive one. Suppose we construct an ethical view regarding human
sexuality, which integrates our relevant initially tenable convictions into a
coherent system. And suppose, too, that we have ethical conceptions
concerning several other topics, which are also coherent systems of beliefs in
which our initial commitments are aptly taken into account. Then the credi-
bility of our ethical view on human sexual interaction would be increased if
it could be integrated with those other views into a more comprehensive
coherent belief-set.
Our guess is that the criteria of justified ethical beliefs should be
explained in terms of the indicated sophisticated version of coherentism.
The more comprehensive and coherent an ethical conception is, and the
better it takes into account our initially tenable beliefs, the stronger is the
justification of its constituent parts. Given this compound criterion, which
methods of constructing an ethical conception would then be appropriate?
What kind of method should we comply with if we are striving for an
ethical conception that meets the standards of sophisticated coherentism?
We believe that the most suitable procedure of justifying our ethical beliefs
is the so-called method of reflective equilibrium (Rawls 1972: 19–21, 48–51,
1993: 8, 28, 45). The key idea underlying this method is ‘that we “test”
various parts of our system of moral beliefs against other beliefs we hold,
seeking coherence amongst the widest set of moral and non-moral beliefs by
revising and refining them at all levels’ (Daniels 1996: 2).
The method of reflective equilibrium consists of four major steps. To start
with, we are advised to articulate and collect our initial ethical judgements,
that is, our ethical intuitions regarding the object of ethical study that have
some initial credibility. For example, if we want to develop an ethical
conception concerning human sexual behaviour, a useful start would be to
collect and write down a rather extensive set of our initial ethical beliefs
concerning different aspects of sexual interaction. It is quite possible,
however, that some of these judgements – perhaps even many – should be
mistrusted because they were made under conditions which tend to distort
our ethical competency. Maybe we would not have made some of our initial
judgements if we had been better informed about the situation at hand, or
not excessively focused on our own interests, or less upset, frightened or
hasty. As is well known, syntactic theory is not based on all initial judge-
ments of grammaticality but only on grammatical performances that are
34 Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel
expressive of our syntactic competency. In a similar way, an ethical theory
should not be built on all initial ethical beliefs but only on ‘those judge-
ments in which our moral capacities are most likely to be displayed without
distortion’ (Rawls 1972: 47). Therefore – and this is the second step in the
method of reflective equilibrium – our initial beliefs need to be cleared of
judgements that are not made under conditions favourable to the exercise of
our ethical judgement competency. Moreover, we select only those initial
ethical beliefs in which we have the greatest confidence. In the first step we
articulate and collect our ethical intuitions that have some initial credibility,
but in the second step we reduce this set of preliminary beliefs to the subset
of our firmest convictions. Following Rawls (1972: 47–48), we shall call our
initial beliefs that survive this two-fold filtering process our considered ethical
judgements. So, if we want to construct an ethical theory of human sexuality,
the second step we should take is to select those initial judgements
regarding sexual behaviour which are made under favourable conditions and
which have the greatest initial credibility. The result is a set of considered
ethical judgements concerning human sexuality, which should be taken as
basic data for designing our ethical theory.
In a third step, we try to construct an ethical theory by explicating ethical
principles that account for our considered judgements. Suppose that one of
our considered judgements regarding human sexuality is that paedophilia is
morally wrong. Then we should raise questions like: ‘What are our implicit
reasons for considering paedophile behaviour morally impermissible?’ or
‘What exactly makes having sex with children morally reprehensible?’
Answering such questions will be tantamount to formulating moral princi-
ples that underlie our moral intuitions regarding paedophilia, for example,
the principle of mutual consent or the principle of non-exploitation
(Spiecker and Steutel 1997). Likewise, we try to give an account of other
considered judgements concerning sexual behaviour, until we have a moral
conception of human sexuality which gives a satisfactory justification of our
intuitive ideas.
It is important to notice that the third step may imply adjusting both the
suggested ethical principles and our considered ethical judgements. It is not
at all excluded that ethical principles that seem to be prima facie quite
tenable do have implications that violate some of our firmest ethical convic-
tions. Then we have to adjust those principles, possibly by revising them or
by rejecting them as indefensible, even if they give an adequate account of
some of our strongly held convictions. The general strategy is to figure out
what the implications of particular principles are, to consider if these impli-
cations are intuitively acceptable and to adjust the principles wherever
deemed necessary. However, conflicts between ethical principles and our
considered judgements may also lead us to revise the latter. It is true that we
sorted out our firmest convictions, but different from foundationalism’s
basic beliefs, they still are initially tenable beliefs only. Tensions between
ethical theory and our deeply held convictions are normally solved by
 Reflective equilibrium 35
revising the former. But our ethical intuitions may prove to be irregular, not
fully consistent and sometimes distorted, because of which they may lose
their initial credibility. In other words, taking the third step involves going
back and forth between our considered ethical judgements on the one side,
and the general ethical principles proposed to make sense of our considered
judgements on the other, adjusting both wherever appropriate, until eventu-
ally they fit together into one coherent ethical view. The result is a reflective
equilibrium between ethical intuitions and ethical principles: our intuitions
do support the principles and the principles do increase the initial tenability
of our intuitions (cf. Strike and Soltis 1998: 97–98).
The result of the third methodical step, the match between our consid-
ered ethical judgements and a set of ethical principles, is called narrow
reflective equilibrium. Reaching such a limited form of equilibrium after
due reflection, however important this step may be, is still not enough for
taking our ethical beliefs to be justified. According to the criterion of
comprehensiveness, also all kinds of other beliefs that have some inferential
bearing on our considered judgements and ethical principles should be taken
into account. With reference to Daniels (1996), we shall call such epistemi-
cally relevant beliefs background theories, which may be both ethical and
non-ethical. Just like our considered ethical judgements, background theo-
ries are no Archimedean points but can be revised in the light of other
beliefs. But they can also force us to break open our narrow reflective equi-
librium and to adapt and revise different parts of it, including some of our
considered convictions. Thus the criterion of comprehensiveness incites us to
take a fourth step: working back and forth among our considered judge-
ments, ethical principles and background theoretical considerations, making
adjustments wherever appropriate, until a so-called wide reflective equilib-
rium has been achieved.
We suggested above that the principle of mutual consent is one of the
moral principles that underlie our moral convictions regarding particular
forms of sexual behaviour. However, not only some of our considered moral
judgements are sustaining the indicated principle, also ethical background
considerations could increase its credibility. Elsewhere (Steutel and Spiecker
1997: 402) we argued that the principle of mutual consent can be justified
in terms of a Kantian ethical theory of the person, particularly the idea that
persons have intrinsic dignity because they are rational agents. This ethical
background theory supports the principle of mutual consent on grounds to
some degree independent of its match with the relevant considered judge-
ments.
Non-ethical background considerations are perhaps even more important
in the process of justifying our ethical beliefs. According to Sher (1992: 96),
justifying an ethical belief does not exclusively consists of showing it to
cohere well with other ethical beliefs, but also essentially involves appealing
to non-ethical views, especially to psychological, political and economic-
scientific theories. He rightly observes that we would be better not to set
36 Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel
any a priori limits on the kinds of non-ethical beliefs that may contribute to
the justification of ethical claims. For example, in our underpinning of the
intuition that paedophilia is morally reprehensible, we introduced as a scien-
tific background theory Finkelhor’s framework of trauma-causing factors in
the experience of sexual exploitation (Finkelhor et al. 1986). Moreover,
having some understanding of the social organisations and societal structures
in which ethical views are embedded is also important in the process of
justification (Williams 1985: 131). For example, the question can be raised
as to why in Ancient Greece sexual activities between adults and children
were not regarded as morally problematic. Another important reason for
introducing non-ethical beliefs is the requirement that our ethical views
must be able to stand the so-called feasibility test (Flanagan 1991: 31). We
have to make sure that living according to the ethical views we are
defending is possible for creatures like us. If the results of empirical research
show that our ethical theory aims far too high, we have to revise it and make
it more practicable.
To sum up, then, it may be stated that the method of reflective equilib-
rium contains four basic steps: (1) the collection of initial ethical
judgements; (2) filtering our initial judgements to arrive at considered
ethical judgements; (3) construing the best fit between our considered
judgements and ethical principles (narrow reflective equilibrium); and (4)
figuring out what the best fit is between our considered judgements, princi-
ples and background theories (wide reflective equilibrium). Now we shall
briefly focus on some methods of reflection on central concepts, which are,
in our view, essential parts of the overall method of reflective equilibrium.
After all, concepts play a crucial role in both developing and justifying
ethical conceptions.

Description and rescription

Before going into the procedures that we might observe in reflecting on
concepts, it is important to explain briefly the distinction between concepts
and ethical conceptions (cf. Steutel 1991: 86–89). If a concept (e.g., the
concept of a virtue) corresponds to a word (e.g., the term ‘virtue’), it is
roughly identical with the meaning of that word (e.g., the meaning of the
term ‘virtue’). And the meaning of a word is best conceived as a function of
semantic rules that lay down the correct use of the word in question (e.g., the
rule that the term ‘virtue’ is used correctly only if reference is made to a trait
of character that is for some important reason desirable or worth having). An
ethical conception, however, is a normative view about a particular topic or
subject (e.g., human virtues). Such a view is at least partly constituted by a
more or less coherent set of ethical principles (e.g., the principles that
generate important justifying reasons for regarding certain traits of character
as virtues).
Although concepts are rather different from ethical conceptions, they are
 Reflective equilibrium 37
quite easily mixed up, particularly if ethical principles are erroneously taken
as semantic rules. A famous example is R. S. Peters’ analysis of the concept
of education. For years, he defended the view that the development of all-
round knowledge and understanding should be considered a central
semantic criterion of ‘education’. In his last publications, however, he
frankly admits that his analysis has some serious flaws (Peters 1979: 466;
1983: 37, 41). However important the development of all-round knowledge
and understanding might be from an ethical point of view, he wrongly
regarded his explanation of this educational aim as a clarification of the
meaning of the term ‘education’: ‘What has happened is that an aim of
education has been taken as the aim and incorporated into the concept of
“education” ’ (Peters 1979: 481).
Elsewhere (Steutel 1988), we tried to elucidate a distinction between two
different forms of dealing with concepts, namely, the descriptive and rescriptive
approach. The methods of the former approach, which is normally called
conceptual analysis, are rather well known. When, for example, the claim is
made that the child, just like an adult person, is a sexual being, an analysis
of the concept of sexual desire can be called for. Perhaps the best thing to do
is to start with paradigmatic cases (examples of desires that are without any
doubt sexual ones – e.g., the yearning for physical contact for the sake of
orgasmic satisfaction) or, just the opposite, with contrary cases (examples of
desires that are definitely not sexual ones – e.g., a parent’s desire to cuddle
her baby). On the basis of these cases, semantic rules can be articulated that
actually govern the correct use of the term ‘sexual desire’ and that explain
why the term is applicable to the paradigmatic but not to the contrary
examples. Subsequently, we could trace so-called counter-examples, which, if
we find them, would force us to adjust our description of the semantic rules.
The method of conceptual analysis shows great structural resemblance to
the method of reflective equilibrium. What we are trying to do when
analysing a concept is go back and forth between our linguistic intuitions
and articulated semantic rules until all our beliefs concerning the applica-
tion of the corresponding term fit together into one coherent system.
Interpreted in this way, conceptual analysis looks very much like the method
of narrow reflective equilibrium. In both cases initial judgements are
filtered, resulting in a collection of considered judgements (respectively,
linguistic and ethical convictions). Then a set of rules or principles is
proposed (respectively, semantic and ethical standards) which systematises
the considered judgements in an economic way.
Nevertheless, important differences between the method of conceptual
analysis and the method of reflective equilibrium can be pointed out.
Conceptual analysis aims at explication and description, whereas reflective
equilibrium aims at justification and prescription. Consequently, in conceptual
analysis semantic rules should be adjusted to our filtered or considered
linguistic intuitions, whereas in reflective equilibrium our filtered ethical
intuitions may be adjusted to principles, and also, in case of wide reflective
38 Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel
equilibrium, to background theories. For example, the ethical principles of
an orthodox-christian view on sexuality are supported by religious back-
ground theories. Criticising these theories may lead to adjusting or
dismissing orthodox ethical principles, and, consequently, to a revision of
the considered judgements.
In analysing concepts as part of construing a coherent ethical conception,
our description of the semantic rules should be integrated in a wide reflective
equilibrium. How should we conceive of such a process of integration?
Normally, when developing an ethical conception, we take the results of
conceptual analysis as a starting point. By analysing the relevant concepts
we give a logical geography of the subject matter of the ethical conception
to be developed. For example, by analysing the concept of sexuality we
demarcate the sphere which should be the focus of ethical conceptions
regarding human sexuality. The ethical principles should, so to speak,
remain within the limits of the semantic rules. Therefore, the results of
conceptual analysis do not form another background theory, but could better
be typified as a foreground theory, that is, as a theory that opens up and
demarcates the logical space of our ethical investigations.
However, under particular circumstances the integration of semantic rules
in wide reflective equilibrium could also involve making some alterations.
Instead of taking the current semantic rules as fixed starting points, we
could also adjust them and introduce alternative semantic rules, thereby
creating substitutive concepts. Such a way of dealing with concepts is a form
of rescriptive analysis. As a rule, we should be rather reluctant about changing
prevailing semantic standards, in particular because such alterations often
create much confusion and misunderstanding. That’s why we usually inte-
grate the results of conceptual analysis into a wider reflective equilibrium
without amending them. But there can be pressing theoretical reasons for
considering current concepts inadequate and to replace them with ones that
are more adequate.
Another form of rescriptive analysis, which is almost indispensable for
developing an adequate ethical conception, may be called typing. In contrast
with the form of rescription explained in the preceding paragraph, typing
does not consist in substituting current semantic rules for other ones, but in
supplementing them with more specific rules, especially by making more
subtle distinctions or by introducing more refined classifications. Therefore,
typing goes hand in hand with introducing new concepts, and to express
these concepts often new terms (or new combinations of existing terms) are
created. An example is the distinction between positive and negative sexual
rights of children. An adequate explanation of the compounded concept of a
sexual right could be confined to a description of the current semantical
rules. But making and explaining the distinction between positive and
negative rights involves supplementing the current rules with more specific
ones. Our expectation is that this form of typing will be helpful in devel-
oping and justifying a moral conception of children’s sexual rights.
 Reflective equilibrium 39
Children’s sexual rights
In the context of this book, we are expected to exemplify the recommended
methods by applying them to the topic of children’s rights. In the
preceding, we illustrated our explanation of reflective equilibrium by refer-
ring repeatedly to the topic of human sexuality. Now we want to combine
these topics, by showing how the method of reflective equilibrium could be
helpful in developing a moral view on children’s sexual rights. Our explo-
ration will be rather tentative, just indicating how we might proceed and
what the results of our reflections might be.
Getting some clearness about the topic to be discussed would be a
sensible start to our philosophical undertaking. For how could we construe
an adequate moral theory if we are confused about its subject matter? For
example, is the object of our study confined to the child’s sexual behaviour
or do we also want to include sexual behaviour of other people towards the
child? And what exactly do we mean when we talk about sexual behaviour?
Is it logically possible for someone who is sexually immature to be one of the
agents in sexual interactions? If not, how could we properly speak of the
child’s sexual behaviour? Or are we only focusing on the growth of the child
into a sexually mature human being? It is hard to see how such questions
could be answered without carrying out some conceptual analysis. In partic-
ular we should offer some description of the semantic rules which govern the
correct use of terms like ‘sexual activity’ and ‘sexual desire’ (cf. Spiecker
1992; Soble 1998: 3–25). All these reflections will result in a ‘foreground’
theory in which the subject matter of the moral view we are supposed to
develop is defined and delineated.
After our preliminary conceptual clarifications we continue our philosoph-
ical inquiries by applying the methodical steps of reflective equilibrium.
First we try to register what our immediate moral responses are to the various
aspects of the topic defined, for example, to the child’s sexual behaviour, to
different forms of having sex with children, or, more generally, to the ways in
which adults deal with the child’s sexuality. The second step is to eliminate
initial judgements we are not confident of, or have made without adequate
information about the situation, or have made in a state of mind conducive to
moral error. The intuitions that survive this process of pruning are our
considered judgements. Some of the present writers’ deepest considered
convictions are that sex between adults and pre-pubescent children is morally
wrong, that sexual exploitation of children, including sexually mature chil-
dren, is morally reprehensible, that incest between the parent and the child is
morally detestable (Spiecker and Steutel 2000), as well as that mutilation of
female genital organs (clitoridectomy) is to be condemned, that parents
should not suppress the child’s persistent homosexual proclivity and that
boys and girls have essentially the same sexual rights.
The next step is to formulate moral principles that account for our
considered judgements, to explore the practical implications of those princi-
ples and to test the implications against our moral intuitions. Given the aim
40 Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel
of our investigations, the principles we are looking for should be construed
in terms of rights. But what kind of rights? In philosophy of law rights are
classified in various ways, according to different criteria, and in order to
introduce the relevant distinctions we need to do some typing. In particular
the distinction between positive and negative rights seems to be important
in the context of our enterprise (cf. De Ruyter 1993: 91). Negative rights
correspond to negative duties or prohibitions, that is, to duties to refrain
from certain actions (or to abstain from doing X). Normally negative duties
are universal, which means, roughly, that they apply to all human beings.
Positive rights correspond to positive duties or imperatives, that is, to duties
to perform certain actions (or to perform X). In general, positive duties are
specific, which means that they only apply to particular agencies or institu-
tions, or to persons who have a particular role, function or position.
Although we do acknowledge the possibility of positive sexual rights (cf.
Ives 1986), we want to confine our discussion to a brief presentation of three
negative rights that accommodate and systematise our considered judge-
ments quite well.
Firstly, the child has the right not to be sexually abused. On the basis of
empirical research it can be demonstrated that sexual abuse, including
sexual exploitation, can severely harm the child’s cognitive-emotional devel-
opment and therefore its sexual development as well (Finkelhor et al. 1986).
This right corresponds to the negative duty that everybody (and not only
parents and teachers) should abstain from sexually abusing children.
Secondly, the child has the right not to be obstructed regarding the
development of those physical powers that form the pre-conditions of sexual
development. This right, too, corresponds with a negative duty, namely, the
duty to refrain from impeding or stunting the growth of the physical equip-
ment needed for mature sexual functioning later in life. Accordingly, every
mutilation of the sexual organs that will seriously affect the development of
capacities for having sexual pleasure is forbidden.
Thirdly, the child has the right not to be impeded in developing and
practising its own conception of non-morally good sex. Different from sex
that is good in the moral sense, sex that is non-morally good is sex that is
pleasant, satisfying or fulfilling. What kinds of sexual activities people expe-
rience as being non-morally good may be rather divergent, ranging from
heterosexual to different forms of homosexual activities, from adventurous
and exciting sex to sex that is familiar and safe, from a one-night stand to
sex within a long-standing loving relationship. Corresponding with the
third right is the negative duty not to hinder the child in exploring and
developing its own sexual preferences and orientation. In this context Ives
speaks about ‘ensuring that children and young people have the right to
express their sexuality’ (Ives 1986: 152). Obviously, this does not imply that
parents or other educators never have to draw the line somewhere. Non-
morally good sex should remain within the boundaries of what is morally
permissible (cf. Steutel and Spiecker 1997).
 Reflective equilibrium 41
We believe that our considered judgements and the indicated negative
rights nicely fit together into one coherent moral view. With reference to the
criterion of comprehensiveness, however, we could make our moral beliefs
regarding children’s sexuality more credible by integrating them into a more
encompassing coherent belief-set. This could be done in two different ways.
The first way is to extend the attained narrow reflective equilibrium by
trying to justify the indicated negative rights in terms of moral principles
that are much wider in scope. For example, the right not to be sexually
abused could be justified by appealing to principles that cover all human
sexual interactions, in particular the principle of mutual consent and the
principle of non-exploitation (cf. Belliotti 1993: 195–205). Moreover, the
right of the child not to be impeded in developing and practising its own
conception of non-morally good sex could be interpreted as a specification of
the principle of liberty or non-interference, which applies to any human
interaction whatsoever (cf. Peters 1966: 179–192).
The second way is to take the methodical step from a narrow to a wide
reflective equilibrium by introducing background theories. In fact we
already made an appeal to some of those theories in our explanation and
justification of children’s sexual rights, for example, to the different classifi-
cations of rights in the philosophy of law, to the meta-ethical distinction
between the morally and the non-morally good, as well as to the results of
empirical research into the effects of child abuse on the child’s cognitive-
emotional development. Moreover, moral principles that are part of the
indicated narrow reflective equilibrium, like the principle of mutual consent
and the principle of liberty, seem to get epistemic support from a Kantian
background theory of the person. And last but not least we should make
sure that our moral view can stand the feasibility test, especially by demon-
strating that acting in accordance with the indicated rights and
corresponding duties is not excluded by psychological theories.
If we succeed in bringing all of these beliefs into wide reflective equilib-
rium, our moral view on children’s sexual rights will meet the criteria of
sophisticated coherentism and therefore may be regarded as justified.

Some concluding remarks

Our sketch of sophisticated coherentism and the method of reflective equi-
librium has been rather rough and global. We simply skipped all kinds of
interesting details and, what is worse, we did not go into the in-depth
discussions about weak points or possibly fatal flaws of the meta-ethical
position we defended (cf. Brandt 1979: 16–23; Siegel 1992; DePaul 1993;
Daniels 1996: 29–33). Neither did we try to elaborate our account by
confronting it with important recent views in the fields of ethics and moral-
educational research, in particular with so-called virtue ethics and the virtue
approach to moral education (Carr and Steutel 1999). For example, it would
be quite exciting to chart the relationships between considered ethical
42 Ben Spiecker and Jan Steutel
judgements and the judgements of the virtuous person, or to examine the
possibility of explaining the practical deliberations of the virtuous person in
terms of wide reflective equilibrium.
But however sketchy and incomplete our account has been, our conclu-
sion is that there are indeed important methods of philosophy of education.
If we have the intention of developing a justified ethical conception
concerning certain aspects of education, it is sensible to observe in a properly
integrated way both the method of reflective equilibrium and the indicated
methods of reflecting on concepts. However, one should not forget that
learning ‘how to do’ philosophy of education, and to do it properly, implies
much more than reading publications in ethical epistemology. More impor-
tant than getting theoretical information is being trained under
authoritative supervision.

Notes
1 The authors are grateful to Harvey Siegel for his critical comment and helpful
suggestions.

References
Belliotti, R. A. (1993) Good Sex: Perspectives on Sexual Ethics, Lawrence: University of
Kansas Press.
Brandt, R. B. (1979) A Theory of the Good and the Right, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Carr, D. and Steutel, J. (eds) (1999) Virtue Ethics and Moral Education, London/New
York: Routledge.
Daniels, N. (1996) Justice and Justification: Reflective Equilibrium in Theory and
Practice, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
De Ruyter, D. J. (1993) Met recht ingrijpend: Een pedagogisch criterium voor het opleggen
van hulp, Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam, PhD dissertation.
DePaul, M. R. (1993) Balance and Refinement: Beyond Coherence Methods of Moral
Inquiry, London/New York: Routledge.
Elgin, C. Z. (1996) Considered Judgement, Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Finkelhor, D., Araji, S., Baron, L., Browne, A., Peters, S. D. and Wyatt, G. E.
(1986) A Sourcebook on Child Sexual Abuse, Beverly Hills/London: Sage.
Flanagan, O. (1991) Varieties of Moral Personality: Ethics and Psychological Realism,
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Griffin, J. (1996) Value Judgement: Improving our Ethical Beliefs, Oxford: Oxford
University Press.
Ives, R. (1986) ‘Children’s Sexual Rights’, in B. Franklin (ed.), The Rights of
Children, Oxford: Blackwell.
Peters, R. S. (1966) Ethics and Education, London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd.
—— (1979) ‘Democratic values and educational aims’, Teachers College Record, 80
(3): 463–482.
—— (1983) ‘Philosophy of Education’, in P. H. Hirst (ed.), Educational Theory and
its Foundation Disciplines, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
Rawls, J. (1972) A Theory of Justice, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
—— (1993) Political Liberalism, New York: Columbia University Press.
 Reflective equilibrium 43
Sayre-McCord, G. (1996) ‘Coherentist Epistemology and Moral Theory’, in W.
Sinnott-Armstrong and M. Timmons (eds), Moral Knowledge? New Readings in
Moral Epistemology, New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Sher, G. (1992) ‘Knowing about Virtue’, in J. W. Chapman and W. A. Galston
(eds), Virtue. Nomos XXXIV: Yearbook of the American Society for Political and Legal
Philosophy, New York/London: New York University Press.
—— (1997) Beyond Neutrality: Perfectionism and Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
Siegel, H. (1992) ‘Justification by balance’, Philosophy and Phenomenological Research,
52 (1): 27–46.
Sinnott-Armstrong, W. (1996) ‘Moral Scepticism and Justification’, in W. Sinnott-
Armstrong and M. Timmons (eds), Moral Knowledge? New Readings in Moral
Epistemology, New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Soble, A. (1998) The Philosophy of Sex and Love, St. Paul: Paragon House.
Spiecker, B. (1992) ‘Sexual education and morality’, Journal of Moral Education, 21
(1): 67–76.
Spiecker, B. and Steutel, J. (1997) ‘Paedophilia, sexual desire and perversity’, Journal
of Moral Education, 26 (3): 331–342.
—— (2000) ‘A moral-philosophical perspective on paedophilia and incest’, Educa-
tional Philosophy and Theory, 32: 283–291.
Steutel, J. (1988) ‘Forms of reflection on central educational concepts’, Journal of
Philosophy of Education, 22 (2): 163–171.
—— (1991) ‘Konzepte und Konzeptionen: Zum Problem einer analytischen
Erziehungsphilosophie’, Zeitschrift für Pädagogik, 37 (1): 81–96.
Steutel, J. and Spiecker, B. (1997) ‘Good Sex as the Aim of Sexual Education’, in F.
Margonis (ed.), Philosophy of Education 1996, Urbana: University of Illinois.
Strike, K. and Soltis, J. F. (1998) The Teaching of Ethics, New York/London: Teachers
College Press.
Williams, B. (1985) Ethics and the Limits of Philosophy, London: Fontana/Collins.
4 An analytic approach in
philosophy of education
The case of children’s rights

Colin Wringe

Introduction
The purpose of this chapter is not primarily to claim particular rights for
children or to advance new arguments about the nature and justification of
children’s rights. This has been attempted at some length elsewhere
(Wringe 1981). My present purpose is, rather, to use the issue of children’s
rights as a case study to show how the philosophical method of carefully
unravelling concepts and the relationships between them may be helpful
in resolving substantive philosophical, not to say practical, misunder-
standings. From the above it will be clear that I am concerned with an
‘analytic’ approach to philosophy in the sense suggested by John and
Patricia White (Ch. 2 in this collection), rather than in the earlier sense of
searching for basic propositions supposedly corresponding to the nature of
reality. This chapter may therefore usefully be read in conjunction with
Chapter 2.
In taking an analytic approach to questions about children’s rights, one
is concerned first of all to establish the meaning and nature of the key
concepts involved, with a view to establishing the import of claims being
made and, in particular, exposing ambiguities which may lead to misun-
derstanding, and thus obstruct the progress of discussion. This, however,
is but a preliminary to two further and characteristic steps in the process
of analysis. These comprise an examination of the justification of the
claims being made, paying particular attention to the different modes of
justification which may be appropriate to different kinds of claims and,
finally, a consideration of the implications of such claims as may seem to
be justified in relation to particular institutions and practices, larger world
views or fundamental philosophical positions. In requiring us to give
attention to each of these characteristic tasks of analysis in turn, issues
surrounding children’s rights provide a particularly good example of a
topic in philosophy of education that is amenable to exploration along
these lines.
 The case of children’s rights 45
Meaning
As John and Patricia White point out, one of the more misguided criti-
cisms of so-called analytic philosophers has been that they are much taken
up with the meanings of words to the neglect of more fundamental philo-
sophical questions or attempts to confront the great intellectual issues of
our time. All too often, however, a failure to attend carefully and methodi-
cally to the tasks of clarifying meaning, justification and implication
referred to above may result in discussion proving abortive. People appear
to be talking past rather than to each other and discussion may become
acrimonious and even end in expostulations of anger and disbelief. This is
nowhere more evident than in discussions about the nature and status of
the rights of disempowered categories of human beings such as women,
black people, the economically disadvantaged and especially children. In
the course of such debates sincere misunderstandings may lead to mistaken
anxieties on the one side, or on the other that more is being demanded or
denied than is actually intended when particular rights claims are made or
rejected.
This was all too apparent in the discussion of those supposed personal
and political rights sometimes demanded for school students in the wake of
the 1968 disturbances on university campuses, the degree to which chil-
dren might legitimately be constrained and coerced in their own interests
as seen through adult eyes or claims that education is a right rather than a
branch of charitable social and economic welfare policy in return for which
recipients owe a duty of gratitude and deference. Such misunderstandings
may, indeed, have the result that, to many of a conservative disposition in
schools, the mere mention of rights in relation to the young, rather than
any particular rights claim made on their behalf, may function as a red rag
to a bull, while to those of a radical temper any demur with regard to
claims for basic political rights of freedom and equality on behalf of any
group whatsoever may be seen as a provocation to demonstration and
revolt. The first group have been inclined, on a number of grounds consid-
ered later, to assert that children are disqualified from having any rights at
all, while the second have represented the constraints and disciplines of
childhood in the rhetorical language of incarceration, torture and political
oppression. If such confrontational views have arisen in the past and even
continue to linger in some places this is largely because, when the rights of
children come up for discussion, the debate so often takes a wrong turn. If
we are asked ‘Well, do children have rights or not? Can we not have a
straight answer to a straight question for once?’, to answer simply ‘Yes’ or
‘No’ is likely to lead some to accuse us of licensing everything from
compulsory Latin verbs to paedophilia and infant mutilation or others to
envisage the terrifying prospect of a total breakdown of school and family
discipline with well-meaning adults being led away in chains for
presuming to criticise young ruffians’ conduct, appearance or school work.
Clearly enough, the proper response to the question ‘Do children have
46 Colin Wringe
rights?’ is the all too readily parodied response of the analytical philoso-
pher: ‘Well, it all depends on what you mean by rights’. This is not to sit
on the fence or indulge in equivocation but to insist that no sensible
answer can be given to this question until it is clear what kind of rights are
being discussed (for upon this will depend questions of justification) or
what else one’s answer is supposed to commit one to.
The process of clearing up confusions about the meaning of ‘rights’ began
well enough with Hobbes’ (1968) celebrated distinction between ‘lex’, by
which all are governed, and ‘jus’, which establishes what an individual may
do or have and may sometimes be limited by law, and sometimes not. This
correctly diagnoses the all important but all too often misunderstood rela-
tionship between rights and other moral concepts by establishing that rights
are primary and that law simply comprises those constraints we may be
presumed to accept for the sake of our security and well-being. Sadly the
situation is obfuscated by Bentham (1971), for whom the basic moral
concept is not mutual independence but utility, and who, in a significant
metaphor in this context, makes rights the ‘child’ of law, and therefore
subordinate to it. It is not, perhaps, too much of an exaggeration to say that
the issue of whether rights are fundamental to our moral understanding or
whether they are the derivatives, if not of law then at least of some form of
higher order moral principle, is at the root of many rights disputes,
including those relating to the rights of children.
We need waste little time in dealing with the objection, based on
Bentham’s claim that rights not derived from law are nonsense if not actu-
ally nonsense on stilts, that children cannot have the right to this or that
because the law of their country vouchsafes them no rights, forbids them to
do certain things or places them under the authority of certain adults. The
claim that even those laws which protect children from exploitation and
abuse or assure them certain benefits, including education, do not confer
rights because children may not claim those rights in court for themselves
(Sachs 1973) may make good sense in jurisprudence, but it does not answer
the concerns of those using it outside that particular, limited sphere. Legal
usage is not the central issue when it is claimed, for example, that children
have the right to choose their own companions, determine their own appear-
ance, exercise some control over their own education or have their
preferences (and not merely their best interests as determined by adults)
taken into consideration in custody suits.
The obvious but often overlooked distinction between legal and moral
rights may also prove misleading in the discussion of the moral rights of
children in other ways. There is certainly a usage according to which rights
are only truly rights once they are implemented. Thus someone might say:
‘A child born out of wedlock now has the right not to be stigmatised as ille-
gitimate’ even though we may also feel that such discrimination against a
child for something for which he or she was in no way responsible was
always an abuse of his or her rights. From this it is sometimes inferred that
 The case of children’s rights 47
the moral use of the term, especially in relation to rights not currently being
implemented, is a purely rhetorical or ‘manifesto’ (Feinberg 1973) use, so
that ‘All children have a right to education’ is interpreted to mean ‘All chil-
dren ought to have the right to education’. What was the clear denunciation
of a wrong being done to a substantial proportion of the world’s child popu-
lation urgently demanding attention hic et nunc is diluted to become one of a
number of possible policy recommendations which will no doubt need to be
addressed as and when other priorities allow.
In addition to misunderstandings arising from the view that the only
genuine rights are legal rights, supporters of the rights of children also have
to combat the assumption that, though the discourse of moral rights may
function independently of legal rights, it functions according to the same
logic. Ritchie uses deliberately parallel language in describing a legal right
as the ‘claim of an individual upon others recognised by the State’ (Ritchie
1916: 78) and a moral right as the ‘claim of an individual upon others
recognised by society, irrespective of its recognition by the State’ (Ritchie
1916: 79). A more sophisticated embodiment of this misunderstanding
appears in the until recently standard orthodoxy that a right was simply the
correlative of someone’s duty. Such an interpretation places upon the rights
advocate the onus of establishing by arguments consequentialist or deonto-
logical that someone, whom the rights advocate must also identify, has a
particular duty to permit or provide the necessary resources when it is
claimed that, for example, young people have a right to some say in the
matter of their personal appearance or, indeed, a right to education, food or
shelter when they are as yet unable to provide these things by their own
efforts. Both Kantian and utilitarian arguments for such rights on the part of
all individuals remain contentious. This, however, becomes irrelevant once it
is seen that, far from being the secondary derivatives of higher order moral
rules, rights, particularly our rights of freedom, are primary features of our
moral understanding, the natural corollaries of our mutual independence
and moral non-subordination to each other. This understanding places the
onus upon those who would restrict our rights to show that our intended
conduct in some way infringes the rights of others and makes it perfectly
clear why it is possible to reject some rights claims on behalf of children
while defending others.
As well as the above analysis of the differences between the very logics of
legal and moral rights, and between rights and more general moral rules, the
reply ‘It all depends what you mean…etc.’ also suggests that much confu-
sion and frustration may be avoided by distinguishing between claims to:

1 two different kinds of rights of freedom (positive: rights to do as one

chooses provided one does not infringe the rights of others; and nega-
tive: rights not to be interfered with, molested or harmed);
2 rights of participation in the making of decisions that affect one;
3 rights created by transactions or role relationships (‘special rights’);
48 Colin Wringe
4 welfare rights to receive from society certain things (including educa-
tion) that are required for a minimally acceptable level of well-being
when one cannot obtain these for oneself.

The drawing of such distinctions is, again, no self-indulgent exercise in

pedantry undertaken for its own sake, but a necessary preliminary to the
task of scrutinising particular rights claims, for these fall into one or another
of the above exhaustive categories, each of which calls for a different mode of
justification and, in consequence, is also subject to different modes of refuta-
tion. These differences are obscured and significant progress is rendered
impossible if we attempt to address the question ‘Do children have rights?’
or, indeed, ‘Do children have this right or that?’ without prior analysis of
the possible range of interpretations to which such claims may be subject.

Justification
To explore in detail the justifications appropriate to the various categories of
rights would, of course, be beyond the scope of the present chapter (cf.
Wringe 1981). The remarks that follow must, therefore, be seen as purely
indicative of the lines of inquiry opened up once an analysis of meaning has
been carried out, but virtually impossible to pursue at all if this process is
not first undertaken.

Legal rights
Little needs to be said about the justification of legal rights. Whether
someone has a legal right or not is to be settled by reference to regulation,
statute, case law or, ultimately, the courts. The existence of legal provision
for guidance, protection or welfare also justifies the moral right of children
to receive those things as a transactional right (see below) in view of the
expectation that they themselves will later be expected to obey the law. The
remainder of this section is exclusively concerned with children’s moral
rights.

Rights of freedom (positive)

One consequence of tracing out the links between concepts, claims and
arguments is to link particular disputes to more general and often long-
established bodies of enquiry. The identification of a particular category of
rights to, supposedly, do as we please provided we do not infringe the rights
of others alerts us precisely to the issue of whether we do, in fact, enter the
world without prior obligations of subordinacy to others. Hegelian and
communitarian moralists (Bradley 1876; MacIntyre 1981; Sandel 1982) may
point out that we enter a world in which a web of rights, obligations
customs, roles and statuses already exist, but we may ask whether we are
 The case of children’s rights 49
under obligation to accept arbitrary distinctions of gender, race or birth or
transactions entered into by our forebears to which we were not party,
particularly if they leave us at the bottom of the social pile. Following what
is now a clear and, indeed, well-trodden path of debate the defender of chil-
dren’s rights may argue that though physically powerless at birth we are as
yet subject to no moral obligations, even if as Locke (1960), Hobbes (1968)
and others suggest with some plausibility, we must be presumed to trade off
much of our original moral freedom in return for the very substantial advan-
tages of living in a society governed by morality and law. This is not to say
that we owe our parents a duty of absolute and permanent obedience, as
Hobbes claims on the supposed grounds that we must be presumed to
promise this at our birth on pain of instant destruction at their hands, for
the strong do not have the right to destroy the weak (Rousseau 1913) and in
any case the generational order of birth is arbitrary and may not be used to
establish relationships of moral subordinacy (Wringe 1992).
The defender of children’s positive rights of freedom is obliged to take
account of the point frequently made by critics of children’s rights (cf.
Kleinig 1976), namely that the exercise of rights of freedom entails the
capacity for rational choice. It is not clear whether the absence of rational
powers means that children do not have rights of freedom, or merely that
even though they have them, they are in no position to exercise them and,
indeed, benefit from a welfare right (see below) to firm guidance and, where
necessary, constraint to protect them from harm. Proper identification of this
‘incapacity’ argument and its justification, however, makes two things clear.
Firstly, we cannot suppose that young people need to have achieved ratio-
nality in all matters, and certainly not that they have reached a particular
formal age of responsibility such as 16 or 18 before they are entitled to
personal discretion in any matters at all. Secondly, insofar as children have
rights of freedom, these are subject to limitation in the same way as those of
adults, in that they are bound to respect rights of various categories
belonging to others. Adults, parents, teachers and others may be supposed to
have certain transactional and role-related rights (see below) in respect of
children in their charge and may also have legitimate social and professional
interests, which may be damaged by the conduct of their children or pupils.

Negative rights of freedom (rights not to be harmed)

Interest in rights of this kind centres on such questions as the punishment
and other forms of harsh treatment of children, invasions of their privacy,
their exploitation in industry, war and the sex industry as well as abuse in
more private contexts (Kent 1992; Krill 1992). The general justification of
rights of this kind resides in the fact that differences of power are morally
irrelevant and do not justify the infliction of pain or harm on others. Apart
from the obvious practical urgency of protecting rights of this kind, they are
of particular relevance to the theoretical issue of whether, in general, children
50 Colin Wringe
can be said to have rights or not. Whatever virtue may reside in the argu-
ment that children’s positive rights of freedom are limited by their
incomplete rationality, no such disqualification can conceivably apply in the
case of negative rights. One does not have to be rational in the slightest
degree to have the right not to be abused or hurt.
If negative and positive rights of freedom differ in this respect, there is
another sense in which they resemble each other. Identification of these two
categories of rights and their proper mode of justification serves to refute the
commonly heard claim that children can have no rights because they have
done nothing to earn any rights. There certainly are rights that have to be
earned, as we shall see below, but this does not apply to either positive or
negative rights of freedom, which we already possess as individuals,
provided we have done nothing to waive or forfeit them.

Rights of participation
In the 1970s advocates of children’s rights were inclined to claim that chil-
dren had the right to a say in the management of their schools, and A. S.
Neill (1962) is famous for his claims to have put this principle into practice.
It is not clear how far such a right could extend. It is nowadays considered
sensible practice to consult school and university students on various matters
and allowing some aspects of school life to be managed by students them-
selves has been represented as a valuable means of citizenship education
(Qualifications and Curriculum Authority 1998). This, however, does
nothing to establish that such participation is a right, as we might have
supposed had we not earlier recognised the mutual independence of rights
and the promotion of the good. We are able to see that the requirement of
rationality is stronger in the case of rights of participation than in the case of
positive rights of freedom, for though one may claim the right to make one’s
own mistakes in order to learn to manage one’s own life, one is scarcely enti-
tled to impose the errors of one’s immaturity on others, be these one’s fellow
students or adult professionals who have invested time, study and experience
in learning how to do the job of education or caring for children.
Talk of rights of participation, unlike some other parts of rights
discourse, belongs specifically to the field of political philosophy, and raises
the issue of the political status of the institution in relation to which they
are claimed. Schools are not independent sovereign states. They exist within
and are resourced by the adult community, which therefore has a legitimate
interest in how they are run and what they achieve. Like ‘rights’, ‘democ-
racy’ is another term that conceals multiple ambiguities and represents a
concept that profits from careful analysis, particularly when it is used in
relation to education. In liberal democracies, government does not normally
proceed by plebiscite or majoritarian fiat but is bound by constitutional and
procedural frameworks through a multitude of committees whose powers are
strictly limited by terms of reference. It is possible that there are areas of
 The case of children’s rights 51
school life in which consultation is desirable, or even a right, consonant with
our view of young people as increasingly sensible individuals with their own
aspirations and perspectives on the world. In particular, school committees
able to sound out student opinion, gather information and pass on comment
and criticism without fear of sanctions may be a legitimate entitlement. The
range of powers and functions properly delegated to such committees is
obviously a matter for debate in the light of the considerations outlined
above and local circumstances, such as the nature of the institution and the
age and maturity of the students. The links that are so apparent between
rights claims of this kind and the world of political democracy make it clear
that there can be no absolute rights in this field. The concept of that which
is ultra vires plays an important part in democratic procedure and rules out
many of the prerogatives demanded for school student councils by radical
elements in the 1970s.

Rights created by transactions and role relationships

Our positive rights of freedom are limited not only by the positive and
negative rights of freedom of others but also by the rights we create in
others by our own actions and the role relations into which we enter or upon
which we rely for our well-being. If I agree to work for someone from nine
to five each day, her right to my labour obviously limits my freedom to
spend the day as I wish. Rights created by transactions may be taken to
embrace rights of reciprocation, gratitude and reparation for harm done as
well as those created by contracts and promises. Somewhat similar are the
rights we acquire or create by entering into certain role relations. By
becoming a husband I would normally create in my wife a right to expect
that I will not spend all my evenings and weekends drinking with the lads
or enter into sentimental relations with other women.
It is a crucial characteristic of rights created by transactions that they are
justified by our own voluntary actions, choices and consents. The justifica-
tion of many role relationships and the rights they embody, however,
depends on the concept of tacit consent, in that we are assumed to consent
to the relationships in question because they are essential to our well-being.
Though we have not formally expressed our consent, no rational person
could be expected to refuse to do so. Such an analysis is of special relevance
to our understanding of the moral status of children who stand in two
important role relationships to adults, namely those of child to parent and
pupil to teacher. Precisely how these relationships are expressed will vary
from context to context and culture to culture, but if the rights they are
supposed to create are to be valid they must be relatively equitable: if
someone is supposed to have alienated their freedom voluntarily it must be
reasonable to suppose that it was advantageous to do so. We have already
commented on the Hobbesian argument for absolute paternal authority, and
children are no longer thought to owe their parents a permanent debt of
52 Colin Wringe
gratitude simply for ‘bringing them into the world’. However, a considera-
tion of the nature of childhood suggests that children normally receive
considerable benefits from the adults with whom they share living space,
even though these may not always be their natural parents, and we might
think that this creates obligations of gratitude, reciprocation and consider-
ateness, without substantially limiting the young person’s right to
increasing autonomy with advancing maturity. The act of deliberately (or
negligently) bringing the child into the world may also be thought to create
obligations upon parents towards their children.
Some pupils may deny that they voluntarily occupy the role of pupil
during the period of compulsory schooling. Nevertheless, most pupils do
benefit from their schooling, for all its shortcomings, and may therefore
seem obligated to duties of reasonable cooperation and compliance in return,
as well as being under an obligation not to disrupt the learning of others. If
compulsory schooling and the tasks and disciplines it entails truly
contribute to children’s well-being it cannot be regarded as the denial of
rights claimed by some radicals (Illich 1971; Holt 1974) who have sought
to portray it as arbitrary imprisonment and the imposition of meaningless
chores for the sole purpose of inculcating habits of docility and industry in
the interests of others. Of course, pupils who spend eleven or more years in
school in Western countries may expect some substantial benefit in return
and may seem entitled to a measure of competence and assiduity on the part
of their teachers who, for their part, do enter into their professional role
voluntarily.
The category of transactional rights may also have played an important
part in the development of the ‘correlatives’ theory of rights which, as we
saw, tends to stack the cards against those arguing in favour of children’s
rights. ‘If you lend me five pounds I have a duty to repay you and you have a
right to the repayment’ was for a time the standard exemplification of this
theory and considered paradigmatic of all relationships expressed in terms of
rights. If no analogous obligations to children had been incurred – and
many adults may have thought that they had in fact incurred no such obli-
gations – then it may have seemed that children in consequence possessed no
corresponding rights. One benefit of identifying and distinguishing between
a wider range of meanings of the expression ‘A has a right to…’ is to dispose
of this simplistic denial.

Welfare rights
This category of rights – to receive the necessities of survival and an accept-
able existence from society when one is unable to obtain them for oneself – is
of particular importance to children in view of their vulnerability and
dependence. Advocates of many important rights of children therefore need
to challenge the view of some traditional social and political philosophers
(Cranston 1967) that provision for the powerless and underprivileged is a
 The case of children’s rights 53
matter of benevolence or charity rather than strict obligation. Justification of
the claim that this is a matter of right rather than charity rests upon the fact
that no one can be expected to obey the law of a society that condemns them
to die of starvation or similar avoidable deprivations when the remedy is
readily to hand (Wringe 1992). In Hobbesian terms, we do not enter society
to be worse off than we were in a state of nature in which we are free to take
for ourselves whatever we need for our own preservation. We are entitled to
rebel and overthrow or simply disobey the law that denies us the very means
of survival. Provision of the minimum necessities of life in the last resort is
thus the price of our obedience – future obedience in the case of children –
to the law. Some further argument is necessary to justify education as a
welfare right. To achieve this conclusion we need to argue that to lack educa-
tion is to lack the means to a recognisably human existence or, perhaps, to be
denied membership of the moral community by whose rules we are suppos-
edly bound. This demands further tasks of analysis in respect of such notions
as moral community, a recognisably human existence and education, which
would take us rather beyond the bounds of the present case study.

Implications
The result of our analysis so far has been to reveal that rights are of various
kinds and that many of them may be possessed by children. The difficulty
in conceding that children, or indeed any other traditionally subordinate
group, may possess rights is supposed to arise from the fact that to be a
right-holder is to be in a position of moral equality or even moral advan-
tage with respect to the other. John and Patricia White draw our attention
to Feinberg’s (1970) claim that a right-holder is entitled to demand his or
her right insistently, urgently, even peremptorily, which is something that
many may see as inappropriate within the parent–child or teacher–pupil
relationship. Further analysis, however, suggests that such concern is
misplaced. There is no obvious inconsistency between respecting someone’s
rights and enjoying their affection and respect. Indeed, the notion that we
may disregard someone’s rights because they are supposed to hold us in
affection and esteem is monstrous. Someone may, perhaps, demand their
rights peremptorily when they are being systematically denied, but we do
not normally go around doing so. Even when someone has to insist, we still
think it appropriate that he or she should do so courteously as far as
possible. May we not reasonably require the same of children? And should
we really think an adolescent boy was responsible for undermining proper
family or educational relationships if he demanded insistently, or even
peremptorily, that his father or teacher should desist from sexually abusing
him? A careful analysis of those relationships would surely lead to a quite
different conclusion. To recognise someone as a right-holder is simply to
recognise he or she as someone not only whose interests, but also whose
wishes and aspirations, may not be simply brushed aside, required to wait
54 Colin Wringe
upon what one considers to be one’s own more important agendas or set at
naught in the light of what one regards as weightier or more urgent consid-
erations. If the notion of children’s rights sometimes gives rise to
indignation or derision in adults it is because they are often at odds with
traditional relations power.
A further cause of anxiety, and therefore of hostility, in relation to the
notion of children’s rights is undoubtedly the belief that rights are in some
sense absolute and that to concede that someone has a right is not only to
accept that they are justified in seeking its fulfilment but to be committed
to implementing it, whatever the circumstances. This is clearly mistaken,
for it is often the case that, in the adult world, what is undoubtedly
someone’s right cannot be implemented as, for example, when unforeseen
circumstances prevent one from fulfilling some undertaking given in good
faith. A dilemma for liberal-minded adults in charge of children often
arises when children or young people wish to be allowed to do something
perfectly reasonable in itself and which they would, in moral terms, seem
to have a perfect right to do but which one knows would be frowned upon
if not explicitly forbidden by some higher authority or the wider public,
which is demonstrably misguided. In this situation, the adult may decide
that the desired activity is not to be allowed, if only for the sake of
avoiding (totally unjustified) consequences to him/herself or the institu-
tion. What is significant in this situation is that a right of freedom has not
been extinguished but has been, however unavoidably, infringed. The
appropriate reaction in a situation in which the legitimate expectations of
either children or adults cannot be met is, obviously enough, expression of
regret, admission of impotence, apology or offers of compensation, which
the right-holder is at liberty to graciously accept or to rebuff.
Understandably, these are things which those accustomed to exercise
unquestioned authority over children may find unpalatable, threatening to
their own position or even detrimental to good order and family, school or
social discipline.
Such an understanding of the discourse of rights, particularly as it
applies to the rights of children, enables us to advance beyond a number of
controversies, which occasionally continue to obstruct our discussion of
relations between older and younger generations. Such a careful analysis
makes it clear that not all constraints placed upon children by adults are
grounds for strident and vituperative protest in the name of rights. Equally,
the acknowledgement of justified claims to rights on the part of children
does not carry the disastrous implications for social order that traditionally-
minded adults have sometimes feared. The implications of this go beyond
the confines of mere philosophical debate and may seem to justify a posi-
tive and flexible response to young people’s wishes, aspirations and
perspectives on the world even though their material dependence and the
preponderance of adult power often makes possible a more authoritarian
regime.
 The case of children’s rights 55
Concluding remarks
Our purpose has been to use the complex and still occasionally controversial
topic of children’s rights, and the question of whether their treatment is
more properly discussed in terms of adults’ obligations of general benefi-
cence towards them, to illustrate what has been termed an analytic approach
to philosophy or philosophy of education. We have seen how such an
approach has led us to focus initially on the ambiguities disguised by the
expression ‘A has a right to X’, indicating that our inquiry cannot proceed
until it is discovered which particular categories of rights children are being
said to have, and what justifications for such claims can properly be given or
demanded. It has also been suggested that the conclusions of such an inquiry
and the enhanced understanding of the nature of rights language such an
analysis brings have important implications for humane and flexible rela-
tions between adults and children.
An analytic approach to philosophical issues is sometimes spoken of as if
it were a local and, above all, a purely temporary episode in the history of
our discipline, being concerned with superficial questions about the mean-
ings of particular words rather than with the truly fundamental questions of
philosophy. The dichotomy is, of course, a false one for, as we have
suggested, the analysis of meaning may be an essential preliminary to and an
essential ingredient of any more profound inquiry. Such an approach is,
furthermore, no mere recent innovation but dates back, if Plato’s representa-
tion of his philosophical method is to be believed, at very least to the time of
Socrates.

References
Bentham, J. (1971) A Handbook of Political Fallacies, ed. H. A. Larrabee, New York:
Crowell.
Bradley, F. H. (1876) Ethical Studies, London: Macmillan.
Cranston, M. (1967) ‘Human Rights, Real and Supposed’, in D. D. Raphael (ed.)
Political Theory and the Rights of Man, London: Macmillan.
Feinberg, J. (1970) ‘The nature and value of rights’, Journal of Value Enquiry, 4:
243–257.
—— (1973) Social Philosophy, Englewood Cliffs: Prentice Hall.
Hobbes, T. (1968) Leviathan, Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Holt, J. (1974) Escape from Childhood, Harmondsworth: Penguin.
Illich, I. (1971) Deschooling Society, London: Calder & Boyars.
Kent, G. (1992) ‘Little Foreign Bodies: International Dimensions of Child Prostitu-
tion’, in M. Freeman and P. Veerman (eds), The Ideologies of Children’s Rights,
Dordrecht/Boston/London: Martinus Nijhoff.
Kleinig, J. (1976) ‘Mill, children and rights’, Educational Philosophy and Theory, 8
(1): 38–51.
Krill, F. (1992) ‘The Protection of Children in Armed Conflicts’, in M. Freeman and
P. Veerman (eds), The Ideologies of Children’s Rights, Dordrecht/Boston/London:
Martinus Nijhoff.
56 Colin Wringe
Locke, J. (1960) Two Treatises of Government, ed. P. Laslett, Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
MacIntyre, A. (1981) After Virtue, London: Duckworth.
Neill, A. S. (1962) Summerhill: A Radical Approach to Education, London: Gollancz.
Qualifications and Curriculum Authority (1998) Education for Citizenship and the
Teaching of Democracy in Schools, London: Qualifications and Curriculum
Authority.
Ritchie, D. G. (1916) Natural Rights, London: George Allen & Unwin.
Rousseau J.-J. (1913) The Social Contract, London: Dent.
Sachs, C. J. R. (1993) ’Children’s Rights’, in J. W. Bridge et al (eds), Fundamental
Rights, London: Sweet & Maxwell
Sandel, M (1982) Liberalism and the Limits of Justice, Cambridge: Cambridge Univer-
sity Press.
Wringe, C. (1981) Children’s Rights: A Philosophical Study, London: Routledge.
—— (1992) ‘The Ideology of Liberal Individualism, Welfare Rights and the Right
to Education’, in M. Freeman and P. Veerman (eds), The Ideologies of Children’s
Rights, Dordrecht/Boston/London: Martinus Nijhoff.
5 The problematic employment
of Reason in philosophy of
Bildung1 and education
Jörg Ruhloff2
in memoriam Wolfgang Fischer (05.01.1928–12.06.1998)

Preliminary remarks: exposition of the problem and

terminology
The methodological question under consideration, ‘How do we do philos-
ophy of (Bildung and) education?’, harbours several difficulties. For example:
What is it that we are doing when we engage in philosophy? Can this be
characterised as a mere methodical and operative activity, an activity as it
can be found in the procedures and practices of the positive sciences and
technologies – including educational science as a social science? Or does this
already represent a typically modern and instrumentally oriented view that
would restrict philosophical thinking from the start, and would thus lead us
astray? In fact, the philosophical usage of the concept ‘method’ can be traced
to Plato, as Paul Natorp (1903) pointed out. However, despite the intellec-
tual strictness that was associated with Plato’s methodos dialektike (Politics
533C), it is doubtful whether this method could be regarded as an operative
procedure that could be easily learned.
By restricting the question of method in philosophy of Bildung and educa-
tion to a way of ‘doing’ (in the sense of a procedural technique) something
important may be lost. It is crucial to realise that the modern operative idea
of method is based upon the Cartesian tradition (cf. René Descartes 1701).
Consequently, the issues relating to educational philosophy appear as if they
obey rules that are geared to us as human beings or that are inherent in
human Reason.3 In either case, one only needs to make use of them in order
to become a ‘maître’ and ‘possesseur’ and a professional educational philosopher.
Though philosophical thought may occasionally turn into an operative
process, it is essentially not restricted to it. In other words, philosophical
thinking includes more than an operative methodology – without turning
into mere mystical premonitions and vagaries because of that.
This transcending of operative rules is inherent to Plato’s concept of
method. His dialectical method surpasses presuppositions (hypotheseis)
(Politics, 533C). Doing philosophy precisely differs from all other sciences
by virtue of this recognition and transcendence in the effort to acquire
knowledge. The projects of the other sciences are tied to an operative
58 Jörg Ruhloff
methodology, and are not called into question. In this sense the kind of
procedure, which is not tied to a method, can be called specific to philos-
ophy. This point will be taken up again at a later stage.
Fortunately, in their invitation to this volume, the editors formulated
their question so broadly that it leaves room for a sceptical investigation into
a methodologically oriented and merely operative philosophical activity. I
will approach the problem of ‘methods’ in this way. I take the question to
mean that each of the different approaches in philosophy of education is to
be presented by specifying its specific emphasis on specific problems that are
characteristic for this area.
One further peculiarity in dealing with this topic should be explained in
advance. In the German discourse, we speak of ‘Bildungs- und
Erziehungsphilosophie’. I would like to retain this expression, not because of
the special German concept of ‘Bildung’, but because the expression contains
something which the Greek term paideia already included, and which has
entered the European pedagogical tradition, but which is not necessarily
covered by the modern term ‘education’. Without starting an in-depth
discussion of terminological history, the differences between problems of
Bildung and problems of education are important to my subject. Roughly
speaking, ‘education’ refers to an activity in relation to young people in the
process of becoming adults (sometimes also to people who already are
adults), usually leaving open the direction, sense and purpose of this activity.
Today, ‘education’ is mostly understood as aiming at something like ‘the
ability of independent action in a social context’. Conversely, the concept of
Bildung – in line with its logical function – regards the problems of direc-
tion, sense and purpose as independent pedagogical ones, essentially
belonging to the area of education.
In relating education to Bildung, thus speaking of philosophy of Bildung
and education, we postulate (the existence of) a pedagogical dimension of
education that refers to its proper dynamics of sense and purpose. The prob-
lems of this dimension must be distinguished from determinant social
configurations and factors such as economic and political conditions, indeed
from empirical conditions in general. A provisional specification of this
pedagogical dimension can best be given by referring to the multi-faceted
word ‘humanity’ (cf. Theodor Ballauff 2000: 18f.). An education based on
Bildung intends humanity; it refers to those things human beings should be
engaged in so as to be able to lead a life that can be considered ‘human’,
striving towards human ‘excellence’ (arete). It is by no means self-evident
that the concept of education is necessarily connected with these problems of
Bildung. Today, in everyday language as well as in professional educational
science, ‘education’ is predominantly used as if it were primarily or even
exclusively a matter of technical problems related to the training of people
or a matter of qualification of their behaviour, knowledge, ability and
actions with respect to purposes and goals of an unknown origin that are
labelled ‘societal’.
 Reason in Bildung and education 59
The central idea of the approach to philosophy of Bildung and education
to be presented here can be summarised using the expression ‘problematic
employment of Reason’. This phrase picks up on Immanuel Kant’s language
in the ‘Critiques’. Kant referred to the ‘employment’ or ‘use’ of our Reason
(Vernunftgebrauch) in many different ways. In the present context, the concept
‘employment of Reason’ implies that in a strict sense, one can only meaning-
fully speak of Reason in a modality of its employment. There is no
distinction between a faculty of Reason on the one hand and the various
ways of its employment on the other. The presence of Reason in trains of
thought or their linguistic expression in ideas, theories, artistic and tech-
nical works, social institutions, etc., is without exception a corresponding
(logical) modal form of its employment.
I refer to one of these modal forms as problematic. ‘Problematic employ-
ment of Reason’ refers to claiming the logical status of possibility and
relatedness of each proposition, being aware of, and stressing its dependence
on specific presuppositions. Other employments of Reason compete with
this problematic type. The dogmatic employment of Reason is the most
important one. It dedicates itself tenaciously to propositions of the logical
status of necessity, absoluteness, and strict universality. The term ‘Reason’ (nous,
intellectus) follows a terminology that distinguishes it from ‘Understanding’
(dianoia, ratio) and ‘Sense’ (aisthesis, sensus). In the modern era, using the term
‘ratio’ often annuls this distinction between ‘Reason’ and ‘Understanding’.
However, the problematic employment of Reason as a practical pedagogical
concept does not imply that people are exclusively considered in terms of
their (potential) rationality; they are addressed as beings endowed with
Sense and Understanding as well.
In conclusion, I wish to remark that the title of this chapter is in fact an
abbreviation. To be precise, one should speak of ‘the transcendental-critical-
sceptical and the problematic employment of Reason in philosophy of
Bildung and education’. The meaning of this full title will become trans-
parent in the course of this investigation.

Object and method of philosophy of Bildung and

education
If one does not advocate a ‘radical-constructivist’ approach, according to
which the method ultimately absorbs the object, something has to be said
about the ‘object’ as well as the ‘method’ of philosophy. According to the
tradition to be presented here, the ‘object’ is not a creation that is one-
sidedly dependent on the ‘method’, nor is it a product or construct of the
‘method’. To be sure, the object a posteriori always seems to be methodi-
cally constituted (i.e., it is somehow constituted and structured in
consciousness and language), and independent of consciousness it seems
impossible to say anything at all about any object. However, we will hold
on to the distinction between ‘what’ and ‘how’, which results in the
60 Jörg Ruhloff
following two questions: (1) What has the status of a problem in philosophy
of Bildung and education (‘object’)?’ and (2) How can it be treated, i.e.,
using which procedure (‘method’)?
In response to (1): not all kinds of pedagogical questions aim at insights
stemming from the philosophy of Bildung and education. But all, or nearly
all, are connected to problems of philosophy of Bildung and education, and
refer back to them. Persons involved in educational-empirical or
hermeneutic-historical research are not doing educational philosophy. Still,
their research depends on methodological stances, conceptual and categorical
stipulations, possibly also on dispositions and convictions that all imply
philosophical problems – regardless of whether or not researchers are aware
of them.
Pedagogical practice refers to philosophical problems also. In encouraging
and admonishing her child, telling the child stories, having conversations
with it or perhaps occasionally punishing it, a mother is not an educational
philosopher by virtue of her educational intention. Nevertheless, her activity
is related to presuppositions that refer to philosophical questions. Moreover,
the so-called everyday practical views on education are frequently the simpli-
fied sediments of great pedagogical theories from the past. These sediments
are conveyed by socialisation, together with their specific metaphysics, e.g.,
the still widespread interpretation of a human being as a monad determined
by activity, whose dormant ‘powers’ need only be awakened.
In making decisions in educational politics or in carrying them out,
politicians and administrators are not doing pedagogical philosophy either,
no matter how often they refer to their ‘philosophy’. Yet, they do pursue a
more or less transparent metaphysical position when, for example (in view of
the funding difficulties of the public education system), they ‘discover’ the
‘self-regulation’ of educational institutions (through release from the state’s
dominance, through competition and the market) as the institution’s ‘true’
organising principle.
It is the task of philosophy of Bildung and education to recognise such
presuppositional metaphysical positions and subject them to analysis and
sceptical-critical discussion. According to this view, the object of philosophy
of Bildung and education is as narrowly or as broadly defined as that of all
pedagogical ideas and practices. Nevertheless, the philosophical task within
this field remains highly specific. In contrast to the intentio (di)recta – which
determines the affirmative knowledge of educational science as well as peda-
gogical practice and policy – philosophical questions arise from an oblique
intention. It is within this pedagogical factual frame, that philosophy
becomes relevant in pedagogy. In the direct intention of recognition and
action, certain aspects remain self-evident presuppositions, supporting the
validity, in particular the truth and legitimacy of concepts, categories,
methods and attitudes. This is inevitable; for to operate both in intentio
(di)recta and in intentio obliqua at the same time would seem to be impos-
sible.
 Reason in Bildung and education 61
In conclusion, one can say that the problems related to presuppositions
constitute the subject matter of philosophy of Bildung and education. It
discusses those intellectual presuppositions on which the claimed validity of
pedagogical tenets and practices depends and to which this validity is
restricted (cf. Fischer 1989a; Funke 1979). Freely adapting an expression
from Karl Popper, one could add that everyone dealing with pedagogical
questions in science or in practice is thus at the same time caught up in
philosophical problems. However, one should distinguish between being
aware of these problems and aiming for their clarification on the one hand,
and following a metaphysical or dogmatic position (respectively ‘philos-
ophy’, alias: ‘that’s my philosophy’) – either without noticing it or by
assuming it deliberately – on the other hand. Philosophy of education and
Bildung as presented here concentrates on the former.
In response to (2): persistent and insistent investigations with respect to
the validity of presuppositions that underlie statements and actions go
back at least to Socrates. Immanuel Kant introduced the term ‘transcen-
dental method’ to establish a disciplined philosophical way of pursuing
knowledge and intended to inquire into the problem of presuppositions by
means of a scholarly procedure. This method proceeds ‘critically’ insofar as
it draws attention to limiting our employment of Reason whenever it
tends towards metaphysical extravagances, and insofar as it prevents
‘errors’ (cf. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason: B823). In particular, the transcen-
dental-critical method sheds light on the hidden weaknesses of Reason’s
dogmatic-affirmative claims. In other words, it implies continuous
methodological enlightenment.
Such enlightenment of Reason is not a task, which – as Kant still
assumed – could be undertaken once and for all. There is not one human
Reason seemingly unalterably fixed in its suprahistorical basic structure.
Thus the enterprise can and should be – case by case – practised and
renewed on the basis of the unforeseeable historical outcomes of Reason
(associated with the achievements of Sense, Imagination and
Understanding). As was stated above, a ‘metaphysical position’ underlies
each affirmative outcome of Reason, and ‘it completely depends upon oneself
whether one abides by such positions in an uncontrolled and naive way, (…)
not inquiring at all about their justification, treating the metaphysical posi-
tion as simply non-existent, or perhaps, whether one attempts to master it in
a critical fashion’ (cf. Funke 1968: 71f.).
Gerhard Funke called the methodological procedure for this metaphysical
examination ‘hypothetical-regressive’. ‘In contrast to all thetic postulations’
with an explicit or concealed ‘claim to finality’, he considers the ‘presupposi-
tions belonging to what is already given (…) as posed’ in a hypothetical
procedure. The ‘right to criticism and to raising deeper questions about
reasons’ is asserted ‘against all dogmatism and doctrine with established
content’ (Funke 1979: 18f.). Here, the following three remarks seem to be
important.
62 Jörg Ruhloff
First remark: Philosophical inquiry relates to those presuppositions on
which the claim for validity (truth, correctness) or legitimacy of pedagogical
propositions or practices depends. Philosophical questions do not relate to the
empirical conditions for the occurrence or genesis of the corresponding
phenomena. This does not mean, that such empirical questions are simply
considered superfluous – they just do not figure in the philosophical
problem. The transcendental-critical-philosophical analysis of the presuppo-
sitions for validity in philosophy of education is neither equal to ideological
criticism, which again does not imply declaring such ideology-critical anal-
yses as being of no importance.
Second remark: Transcendental-critical-philosophical inquiry always starts
with given propositions or phenomena. It does not proceed speculatively, but
operates analytically in topical relations of the ‘if…then’ structure. The
transcendental-critical-philosophical procedure determines the presupposi-
tions underlying specific and given historical-pedagogical ideas and facts, and
not presuppositions underlying ‘pedagogy’ in general, i.e., in an absolute
and unhistorical sense. More or less extensive exegetic (‘hermeneutic’) and
possibly empirical studies as well may therefore be quite usefully – or even
indispensably – precede these philosophical analyses. Such studies could
outline the facts that need to be analysed more precisely and possibly
examine them in terms of a suspected ideology. Philosophical analyses subse-
quently follow these studies (cf. Fischer 1989a: 63–84).
Third remark: From a formal prospective, the result of such analyses is a
specific kind of pedagogical knowledge. It contains the specific presuppositions
and limitations of the validity of the specific pedagogical propositions and
practices that are analysed. It also encompasses the relevant metaphysical
premises that have been deemed valid, for example, those premises enabling
one to expect from a certain concept of ‘aesthetic education’ the emancipation
of adolescents (cf. the corresponding exemplary analysis in Fischer 1989a:
36ff.). The knowledge can also refer to the legitimacy of presuppositions
justifying the use of the word ‘Bildung’, (cf. Fischer 1989b). It can also refer
to the questionable conditions of validity of scientific-pedagogical theories
or concepts competing with pedagogy (cf. Ruhloff 1980; for the debate with
competing conceptions in the social sciences, such as systems theory, see
Ruhloff 1996a). It can pertain to the reasons for the incompatibility of the
bureaucratic organisation of schools with the promise of Bildung, as Peter
Vogel (1977) demonstrates, to the possibilities and limitations of sexual educa-
tion in schools (cf. Müller 1992), and also to the metaphysical dimensions of
school teaching, of didactics, of the politics of school (cf. Schirlbauer 1992,
1996) and of Allgemeine Pädagogik4 today (cf. Breinbauer 1996). These and
other examples determine the current status of pedagogical problems.
The pedagogical-philosophical knowledge gained through the
transcendental-critical-sceptical analyses is not directly significant for
pedagogical practice in any positive way. The results of thus conceived peda-
gogical-philosophical analyses do not tell mothers, teachers, educators and
 Reason in Bildung and education 63
educational politicians how they should act or think. Initially, they only
inform them about their unproven premises concerning validity in conjunc-
tion with their actual activities, opinions, convictions, attitudes, concepts,
categories and methods – thus making possible discussion and critique. For
practitioners, as well as for colleagues in affirmative educational science, this
can be disappointing if not a nuisance.
This ‘disappointing’ feature of transcendental-critical knowledge is essen-
tially related to the sceptical characteristic, which has not yet been worked
out. Wolfgang Fischer developed it as a critique of the original neo-Kantian
approach to transcendental-critical pedagogy that aimed at a ‘science of
principles’ (for the history of this development see Fischer 1989a; Fischer
and Ruhloff 1993a). The connection between the transcendental method
(Kant) and scepticism5 comes about if and because Kant’s a priorism of pure
Reason is deemed untenable. For Kant, the (Pyrrhonically interpreted) scep-
tical method had the status of an indispensable precondition for a critique of
Reason. It served to awaken Reason from its ‘dogmatic slumber’, although
Kant considered independent scepticism – just like dogmatism – as the
death of a sound philosophy and the euthanasia of pure Reason (Kant,
Critique of Pure Reason: B433f.; cf. Meyer-Drawe 1994).
In the pedagogical-philosophical approach presented here, ‘scepticism’
differs in its meaning from Kant and also from its everyday use. Wolfgang
Fischer introduced the transcendental-critical-sceptical approach to present-
day German pedagogical discourse. In his use of the word ‘scepticism’, he
explicitly rejects building upon the classical ‘academic’ and ‘Pyrrhonic’ scep-
ticism, as well as upon philosophical sceptics from the modern era, such as
Michel de Montaigne, David Hume or Pierre Bayle. For Fischer, Plato’s
concept of scepticism as he ascribed it to his Socrates in his early dialogues
seems far more fruitful for philosophy of education (cf. Fischer 1993a).6
According to this view, scepticism – in contrast to the usual doubt (apisteo)
– stands for meticulous examination, consideration and checking. Its aim is
to discover possible gaps or weaknesses in the chain of argumentation that
underpins or refutes a proposition. In its radicalised Socratic form, scepti-
cism consists above all in consequently completing a line of reasoning by
tracing its constituting assertions back to their presuppositions. The general
validity of claimed propositions and lines of reasoning – that determine the
conceptual, categorical and methodological basis of our ways of thinking
and our attitudes – is thus called into question. In Protagoras, Plato exempli-
fies this view by demonstrating how the proposition ‘the good consists in
pleasure’ depends on the ‘hypothesis’ (presupposition) of a generally valid art
of measuring pleasure, which unfortunately – in its turn – has yet to be proven.
Apart from such reflection on presuppositions, the transcendental-
critical-sceptical inquiry obligates us to conclude with an insoluble conflict
of opinions, after having weighed equally all arguments in a discussion on a
specific topic and still finding ourselves not being able to have the scale tip
in favour of one specific view. In the history of philosophy, a paradigmatic
64 Jörg Ruhloff
case can be found in Kant’s discussion of the thesis that the world either has
a beginning or has no beginning (cf. Kant, Critique of Pure Reason: B462 (1.
Antinomie)).7 In the area of didactics and teaching, Theodor Ballauff (1970)
exemplifies his sceptical-antithetical approach. However, his approach is not
Socratic insofar as he does not dispense with didactical theories, even though
they are ‘sceptical towards themselves’.
In the strict theoretical-analytic version of Wolfgang Fischer, the
transcendental-critical-sceptical approach in pedagogy does lead to distinct
knowledge, namely, to a knowledge which demonstrates the lack of evidence
for presumed knowledge (presuppositions). There are no compelling reasons
though, to draw a lesson or practical pedagogical instruction from the
results of a sceptical analysis. Instead, the statement ascribed to Socrates –
never to have been anyone’s teacher – applies to those analyses as well. At
best one can expect a reorientation of thought to be the practical outcome of
recognised sceptical insights. But even this cannot be considered a logically
necessary consequence of sceptical analysis.
At this point we continue our chain of thought by introducing the
approach terminologically introduced above: pedagogy of the problematic
employment of Reason. Even though a sceptical approach seems to be indis-
pensable in philosophy of education, it does not exhaust the full range of
problems, as pedagogical scepticism itself concedes. In particular, it remains
a desideratum to develop constructive pedagogical theories in which the
tasks of education and Bildung are prospectively discussed and further devel-
oped in view of prevailing conditions at that specific moment in time (cf.
Ruhloff 1993a, 1993b, 1994, 1996b, 1996c). The idea of pedagogy of problem-
atic employment of Reason is to be seen as a response to this desideratum.
This approach focuses attention on the following consideration. In charac-
terising our current societies as post-traditional and detached from ethos and
mythos, we come to depend on preconceived theoretical views on education,
teaching and Bildung, from which we derive a perspective. Despite the
modern era, but ultimately also as a result of postulates of unity and
progress characteristic of the modern era, different disguised (cf. Bry 1924)
religious-ideological beliefs still tend to re-establish quasi ethical-mystical
conditions in the twentieth century. After the bankruptcy of these beliefs
and the collapse of dogmatic-metaphysical systems – including dogmatic
rationalism – and especially because of the feared paralysing effects of scep-
tical subversion of ultimate pedagogical justifications, one recognises that
claims to the validity of any educational statement – including statements
about the organisation and performance of education and Bildung, about
favourable and obstructive conditions, and about expectations and possible
consequences associated with pedagogical practices – will only be acceptable
today if provided with a problematic-reasonable argumentation.
The form of such argumentations is compatible with current models of
scientific knowledge acquisition in general, as modern scholarship is
assumed essentially hypothetical in character. In order for a pedagogy to be
 Reason in Bildung and education 65
called problematically reasonable, a complex of pedagogical statements should
at least meet the criterion of calling attention to the premises that support
its claim of validity. This enables an examination of the premises, as well as
a consideration of any alternatives. A complex of pedagogical statements can
be called reasonable if it demands a limited general validity and fulfils the
criteria of logical consistency and coherence. It should also sufficiently inves-
tigate the situation and consider alternative approaches of education and
Bildung from the past and present. One may ask how one can decide on the
fulfilment of these criteria. At this point, we encounter aspects that no
longer originate from pure Reason – an inevitability that is taken by up the
conception of ‘problematic employment of Reason’.
Dealing with practical pedagogical problems calls for taking into consid-
eration many contextual aspects. We deal with such problems:

• in view of a historical situation and with an eye to expectations for the

future;
• against the background of (historically stylised) traditional problem-
settings that we either take on and vary, or that we leave behind (cf.
Ruhloff 1993c);
• confronted with the political, social, legal, economic framework that
makes chances of realising conceived practices more or less probable;
• being more or less thoroughly aware of the research results of educa-
tional science and of the acknowledged quality standards for scientific
statements;
• being aware of our predecessors and contemporaries as adversaries or
allies in our ways of thinking; by way of the ‘common subject’ they are
at least partially related to us (even in disagreement);
• against the background of a biography encompassing our socialisation,
education, Bildung, possibly even our own and others’ academic career,
which may have shaped our inclinations and aversions towards certain
teachers, scholastic directions and books, resulting in disclosure of some
perspectives for us and an irrevocable closure of other perspectives;
• under the spell of one or more languages, with their categorical
prescriptions, potential for differentiation or lack of it;
• being in the situation of vita brevis, ars longa;
• compelled by pressure of time to act in the awareness of the inadequacy
of our knowledge, or in the awareness that by doing nothing, we are
still in the precarious position of perhaps causing terrible ‘pedagogical’
consequences.

In order to evaluate conceptions claiming improvement of pedagogical

practice sufficiently, one has to systematically call into question one’s own
preferred pedagogical conception – determined as it is by the conditions
mentioned above. In the sceptical approach supported here, this is to be
carried out by exposing this conception to the strongest possible antithesis.
66 Jörg Ruhloff
This approach assures the greatest possible degree of general validity and
(objective) capacity for assent (not consent) with respect to the situation for
which it is provided. Anyone who is sceptical and aware of problems will
presumably be the last rather than the first to have confidence in his or her
own opinion when judging the extent of the ‘success’ of the results.
Since we are dealing with the methodological question of the philosophy
of Bildung and education, we need not develop the outlines of a problematic-
reasonable conception of Bildung and education as regards content. Yet it is
important to address the question whether, and how far, the synthetic-
productive conceptualisation, construction and further development of tasks
in education and Bildung (in contrast to the corresponding sceptical-
transcendental-critical analysis and discussion) follow methodological rules
that should be explained in advance. I think this is not the case as long as we
restrict ourselves to the (intellectually) productive element of pedagogical
conceptions. Pedagogical productivity is not submitted to any methodolog-
ical rules that have to be laid out in advance.
This lack of method in the development of positive content does not
necessarily imply that one has to or even could adopt the attitude of
‘anything goes’. Faced with presuppositions and conditions that are always
restrictive and based on language and thought, on research (results) and
knowledge, on history, space, social situations, and on individual biog-
raphy, one can never say that anything goes. Nevertheless, the introduction
of new practical ideas as the core of new productive types of conceptions
(cf. Ruhloff 1998) does not seem to depend on methodological rules from
the outset. To this extent, the synthetic employment of Reason can be
considered free.
The intellectual scope for possible new types of conceptions for education
and Bildung does not depend on a methodology. However, that does not
imply arbitrariness. Especially, traditional thinkers as well as proponents of
the project of the modern era (see Habermas) considered any semblance of arbi-
trariness a danger. Some of the restrictive criteria that regulate Reason and
that limit the scope for productivity as conditiones sine quae non have already
been mentioned above. The most important prerequisite – which becomes
increasingly difficult to fulfil as the theoretical and empirical pedagogical
complexity and plurality grow – seems to be the constitution of a meaningful
unity of synthesis (‘Einheit der Synthesis’, Kant: B130ff. (B-Deduktion)), i.e., a
coherent constitution of the pedagogical object. Although the possibility of
unity for a universal and (at the same time) essential pedagogical conception
has recently been rightly doubted, it still seems an indispensable condition
within Reason in order to be able to present, comprehend and obtain assent
for pedagogical conceptions (cf. Ruhloff 1993d).
It remains an open question to what extent renewal of theoretical rhetoric
could improve the adequacy of complex pedagogical conceptions without
getting into an endless and (for practical purposes) useless structure and
topology (cf. Helmer 1996). In the context of the question how far an opera-
 Reason in Bildung and education 67
tive methodology could contribute to producing and composing new peda-
gogical conceptions, it is unlikely that any significant progress could be
expected from renewed pedagogical rhetoric. Only in retrospect could one
try to reconstruct the rules according to which formerly new conceptions –
such as Rousseau’s for example – came into being. But despite the presuppo-
sitions and conditions that can be expounded as favourable or obstructive, it
simply seems impossible to methodologically control the production of new
conceptions.

Children’s rights as a topic in philosophy of Bildung and

education
In order to exemplify the transcendental-critical-sceptical approach in
philosophy of education with an issue concerning children’s rights, a prelim-
inary question seems to be whether and to what extent children’s rights do
have a pedagogical – and in particular a pedagogical-philosophical – quality
at all. For neither children in general – i.e., without any specification – nor
law and rights can be considered subjects of pedagogical theory, or a philo-
sophical problem in themselves. I restrict myself to a rough outline of the
situation, first explaining the pedagogical-philosophical status of questions
concerning children’s rights.
As a start to my inquiry, I want to point out that rights discourse in
general, and discourse on children’s rights in particular, has limiting,
commanding and facilitating functions, which also affect education and
Bildung. The UN’s Convention of the Rights of the Child (Nov. 20th 1989)
constitutes a clear example. It explicitly states the Child’s Right to Education
(art. 28). In addition, certain aspects of the aims of education and Bildung –
like the right of the child to develop its own personality, of showing respect
towards its parents, its cultural identity, language and national values (art.
29) – are established in law.
Since a major subject of transcendental-critical-sceptical version of
philosophy of Bildung and education deals with questions about
presuppositions, it will also scrutinise legislation controlling and restricting
pedagogical practices. For example: which presuppositions support the claim
that the child has to learn to respect its cultural identity? Even without starting
a conceptual analysis of ‘cultural identity’, this concept may strike one as an
ideological fiction without any historical or empirical foundation, a fiction
that was generated by social science. Up to now, no ‘autochthonous’ or other-
wise culturally homogeneous ethnos has ever been proved to exist anywhere in
the world, and there is ‘no rational reason for an individual self-identification
with a certain ethnic [and cultural] unit’ (cf. Mühlmann 1984: 237).
This absence of demonstrated unitary ethnos remains, regardless of the
fact that fictitious assumptions of unity and unfounded suppositions of
membership also have a social effect and may have dire consequences. It
would be different if gaining an insight into our own dependency on and
68 Jörg Ruhloff
(blind) identification with culturally specific traditions, life patterns, hori-
zons of interpretation – as they are introduced in socialisation – were
emphasised as a task of education. In that case, the individual could show
more or less respect dependent on an evaluation of each situation, and would
not be left at the mercy of those undisputed authorities. It would become
possible only to show respect to worthwhile solutions to problems – which
does not necessarily mean that these solutions still have to be preferred in
one’s own situation as, for example, conditions now may have changed.
The paradigm of personality respectively its development (that defines educa-
tion and Bildung in the UN Convention) constitutes a second example. The
claimed validity of this paradigm depends (for instance) on the presupposi-
tion that each human being has by its very nature or in its quality of things as
a living being something like an individual core which – irrespective of social
circumstances – predisposes to a specific development, which in its turn
determines the course of education. None of these assumptions is self-evident
or even evident. A closer examination of the sources their proponents draw on
might, for example, lead to the conclusion that this personality paradigm
originated from European history. In the particular intellectual context of the
Italian Renaissance, human beings came to interpret themselves according to
this paradigm. Sceptical analyses of the validity of this paradigm would
subsequently direct our intention to the objectively questionable anthropocen-
trism (Ballauff 1970, 2000) that characterises this paradigm and that thwarts
the alternative possibility of selfless orientation in thinking.
It is true, Kant’s elaborate version of the individual personality paradigm
does require relinquishment of egoism and ‘self-love’ in favour of the moral
law, but this demand is in its turn only expressed for the sake of ‘the dignity
of mankind’. In this respect, it expresses self-reference at a higher level,
which, for example, does not allow for the justification of offering care and
protection to non-human ‘creatures’ because of their self-justified right to
existence (cf. Ballauff 2000: 103f.). Sceptically doubting this exclusive
orientation of actions and desires towards the safety and comfort of human
beings would however require consideration of the burden that a renuncia-
tion of this paradigm would involve. It has become an inner part of our
social and legal reality, and we lack room to discuss it in detail here. For
now, it suffices to draw attention to the way a transcendental-critical-
sceptical approach would deal with any specific problem.
Transcendental-critical-sceptical investigation does not only include anal-
ysis and discussion of single concepts and categories; it also deals with their
systematic connection within a theoretical conception, in this case a pedagog-
ically relevant conception according to a legal theory. In view of the Convention
of the Rights of the Child, one of the aspects to be examined is the coherence of
different legal tenets. For example, one could ask whether the child’s right to
develop its own personality or freedom of speech (art. 13) and freedom of thought,
conscience, and religion is compatible with the parents’ and (sometimes) guardians’
right or freedom to ensure the religious and moral education of their children in accor-
 Reason in Bildung and education 69
dance with their own convictions.8 In deference to history, one certainly has to
consider that this parental right first of all covers protection against arbitrary
use of state power. But one should also acknowledge the possibility of
misusing this as a springboard to reversing rights allocated to children.
Furthermore, one should ask oneself whether it does not contradict the idea
that has been developed since Plato but hardly ever carried out, namely, the
idea of maturity or emancipation induced by education. Should educators indeed
have the right – or at least not be excluded from it – to generate religious and
moral conformity by means of education (even apart from the question how
far conformism in conviction is compatible with morality)?
Finally, it should be pointed out that in the context of education, Bildung
and law, I think it is a philosophical question as to how far pedagogical
postulates and practices are compatible with giving rights to children. It is,
in other words, a philosophical task to investigate to what extent education
and Bildung can be a subject of law. Here I would like to recall an important
ingredient in several traditional pedagogical conceptions: the (proposed and
differently interpreted) love to be conferred upon young people that cannot
be imposed by law and that could hardly be controlled by it.9 This will very
likely hold true for other habits and attitudes advanced in pedagogical theo-
ries and practice that cannot be reduced to external actions subject to legal
regulation. Bearing this in mind, the legal totality of and increase in chil-
dren’s rights need not necessarily contribute to the well-being of the child (UN
1989: art. 3(1)). It could also go hand in hand with an externalisation of
education, Bildung and the status of being a child. Such externalisation
should be considered reprehensible, at least if it is to be judged bad (Übel) to
regard human beings only as part of a genus (Rousseau), e.g., in conceiving
them no longer primarily as thinking beings who – in spite of all dependen-
cies – exist apart from each other, a view which seems to be part of positive
statutory regulations.

Notes
1 Translator’s note: In connection with a very extensive history of concept, the
German word ‘Bildung’ is one of the most difficult terms in educational
science and philosophy. The extent and the use of the concept depends
strongly on the theoretical context, e.g., on the relation to terms such as
education and socialisation and what they should fulfil. Translations of
Bildung can vary from ‘culture’ to ‘imposition of moral behaviour’. In reference
to the second introductory remark the term Bildung makes sure that certain
questions are kept in the authority of a pedagogical dimension and lead to the
investigation of what education is about as such and what it means to be
human. Because of its openness and philosophical reference we leave the term
untranslated.
2 Translator: Christiane Thompson
3 Translator’s note: The term ‘Reason’ as translation of the German ‘Vernunft’ is
capitalised throughout the paper to enable an easy distinction between ‘reason
as a human faculty’ and ‘reason as argumentation’. The same with the Kantian
terms ‘Understanding’ (Verstand) and ‘Sense’ (Sinnlichkeit).
70 Jörg Ruhloff
4 Translator’s note: The term ‘Allgemeine pädagogik’ (generally oriented pedagogy)
denotes a branch in educational science as organised in Germany. This branch
corresponds largely, but not fully, with philosophy of education as it exists else-
where.
5 Translator’s note: ‘scepticism’ is the translation of ‘Skepsis’ (maintaining a
pensive position of examination) – as it is mostly used in this chapter – and of
‘Skeptizismus’ (established philosophical position). ‘Scepticism’ should not be
associated with the insistent attitude of denial.
6 For historical derivation as well as philological justification of attributing a
specific scepticism to the early Platonic Socrates, cf. Fischer (1997), in particular
the exegesis on the dialogue Protagoras (pp. 83–135).
7 For an analogous procedure with regard to a present-day pedagogical problem
see for example Fischer (1993b). An improved version of the first part of this
article cf. Fischer (1998).
8 Both positions have an equally legal status in the international documents. We
refer to art. 18 of the International Pact on Civil and Political Rights from 19th
December 1966; cf. Final Document of the Vienna CSCE Meeting on 15th January
1989, Fig. 16.7, or , art. 12 of the American Human Rights Convention on 22nd
November 1969. In the Convention of the Rights of the Child it is – more compat-
ibly – formulated that parents have the right and the duty, ‘to guide the child in
the exercise of this right (i.e.: to freedom of thought, conscience, and religion) in
a way which is adequate to his or her development’ (art. 14 (2)). – Quotations
were taken in German from the edition Simma and Fastenrath (1992) then
translated.
9 In its preamble the UN Convention of the Rights of the Child from 1989 states the
acknowledged fact that the child should grow up in a family and be surrounded
by happiness, love and understanding in order to be able to fully and harmo-
niously develop his or her personality. Apart from the idyllic character of this
formulation, it should be legitimate to ask whether it is an acknowledged fact
that, for example, 13–18 year-old adolescents, who according to the first article
of the same Convention are still regarded as children, are, from a pedagogical
point of view, best raised in a family, and whether it is an advantage for their
upbringing and education to be permanently surrounded by happiness (even if
this were possible, since it is a platitude that happiness is transitory).

Bibliography
Ballauff, Th. (1970) Skeptische Didaktik, Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer.
—— (2000) Pädagogik als Bildungslehre, 3rd edn, Baltmannsweiler: Schneider.
Breinbauer, I. M. (1996) Einführung in die Allgemeine Pädagogik, Vienna: WUV-
Universitätsverlag.
Bry, C. C. (1924) Verkappte Religionen, Gotha/Stuttgart: Friedrich Andreas Perthes.
Descartes, R. (1996) Regulae ad directionem ingenii (Rules for the Direction of the
Mind), Philosophische Schriften in einem Band [Latin resp. French, and German],
Hamburg. Felix Meiner Verlag; first published, 1701.
Fischer, W. (1989a) Unterwegs zu einer skeptisch-transzendentalkritischen Pädagogik, St.
Augustin: Academia.
—— (1989b) ‘Über Recht und Grenzen des Gebrauchs von “Bildung” ’, in Unter-
wegs zu einer skeptisch-transzendentalkritischen Pädagogik, St. Augustin: Academia.
—— (1993a) ‘Über den Mangel an Skepsis in der Pädagogik’, in W. Fischer and J.
Ruhloff, Skepsis und Widerstreit. Neue Beiträge zur skeptisch-transzendentalkritischen
Pädagogik, St. Augustin: Academia.
 Reason in Bildung and education 71
—— (1993b) ‘Über Sinn oder Unsinn fächerverbindenden Unterrichts und
fächerübergreifender Themen, 2 Teile’, in W. Fischer and J. Ruhloff, Skepsis und
Widerstreit. Neue Beiträge zur skeptisch-transzendentalkritischen Pädagogik, St
Augustin: Academia.
—— (1997) Kleine Texte zur Pädagogik in der Antike, Baltmannsweiler: Schneider
—— (1998) ‘Unterricht’, in Jürgen Rekus (ed.), Grundfragen des Unterrichts. Bildung
und Erziehung in der Schule der Zukunft, Munich: Juventa.
—— (1996) ‘Tranzendentalkritische Erziehungswissenschaft’, in H. Hierdeis
and Th. Hug (eds), Taschenbuch der Pädagogik, vol. 2, Baltmannsweiler:
Schneider.
Funke, G. (1968) ‘Die Problematik einer rein empirisch betriebenen Pädagogik’, in
M. Heitger (ed.), Möglichkeiten und Grenzen des empirisch-positivistischen Ansatzes in
der Pädagogik, Bochum: Kamp.
—— (1979) Phänomenologie – Metaphysik oder Methode?, 3rd edn, Bonn: Bouvier
Helmer, K. (1996) ‘Systematische Pädagogik und theoretische Rhetorik’, in M.
Borrelli and J. Ruhloff (eds), Deutsche Gegenwartspädagogik, vol. 2., Balt-
mannsweiler: Schneider.
Kant, I. (1956) Critique of Pure Reason, Nach der erstem und zweitem. Original-
Ausgabe, Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag.
Meyer-Drawe, K. (1994) ‘Bei Lichte betrachtet.’ Ein phänomenologischer Versuch,
die Transzendentalskepsis zu verstehen, in W. Fischer (ed.) Colloquium Paedagog-
icum. Studien zur Geschichte und Gegenwart transzendentalkritischer und skeptischer
Pädagogik, St Augstin: Academia.
Mühlmann, W. E. (1984, 3rd edition) Geschichte der Anthropologie., Wiesbaden: Aula-
Verlag.
Müller, W. (1992) Skeptische Sexualpädagogik. Möglichkeiten und Grenzen schulischer
Sexualerziehung, Weinheim: Beltz.
Natorp, P. (1962) Platos Ideenlehre, 3rd edn, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchge-
sellschaft; 1st edn, 1903.
Plato Politeia, in Plato, 12 vols, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press and London: Heinemann.
—— Protagoras, in Plato, 12 vols, Loeb Classical Library, Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press and London: Heinemann.
Ruhloff, J. (1980) Das ungelöste Normproblem der Pädagogik. Eine Einführung, Heidel-
berg: Quelle & Meyer.
—— (1993a) ‘Skepsis – auch eine pädagogische Praxis?’, in W. Fischer and J.
Ruhloff, Skepsis und Widerstreit. Neue Beiträge zur skeptisch-transzendentalkritischen
Pädagogik, St. Augustin: Academia.
—— (1993b) ‘Traditionen der Postmoderne in Antike und Renaissance. Zur
Theorie und Geschichte des problematischen Vernunftgebrauchs in der Päda-
gogik’, in W. Fischer and J. Ruhloff, Skepsis und Widerstreit. Neue Beiträge zur
skeptisch-transzendentalkritischen Pädagogik, St Augustin: Academia.
—— (1993c) ‘Über den gedanken-geschichtlichen Raum. Zur Idee einer Histori-
ologie’, Vierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche Pädagogik, 69 (2): 269–278.
—— (1993d) ‘EINE Allgemeine Pädagogik?’, in W. Fischer and J. Ruhloff, Skepsis
und Widerstreit. Neue Beiträge zur skeptisch-transzendentalkritischen Pädagogik, St.
Augustin: Academia.
—— (1994) ‘Problematisierender Vernunftgebrauch, Skepsis, praktisch-päda-
gogische Produktivität’, in: W. Fischer (ed.) Colloquium Paedagogicum. Studien zur
72 Jörg Ruhloff
Geschichte und Gegenwart transzendentalkritischer und skeptischer Pädagogik, St.
Augustin: Academia.
—— (1996a) ‘Pädagogik und Anderes’, in N. Luhmann and K. E. Schorr (eds),
Zwischen System und Umwelt. Fragen an die Pädagogik, Frankfurt am Main:
Suhrkamp.
—— (1996b) ‘Über problematischen Vernunftgebrauch und Philosophieunterricht’,
Vierteljahrsschrift für wissenschaftliche Pädagogik, 72 (2): 289–319.
—— (1996c) ‘Bildung im problematisierenden Vernunftgebrauch’, in M. Borrelli
and J. Ruhloff (eds), Deutsche Gegenwartspädagogik, vol. 2. Baltmannsweiler:
Schneider.
—— (1998) ‘Versuch über das Neue in der Bildungstheorie’, Zeitschrift für Päda-
gogik 44 (3): 411–423.
Schirlbauer, A. (1992) Junge Bitternis. Eine Kritik der Didaktik, Vienna: WUV-
Universitätsverlag.
—— (1996) Im Schatten des pädagogischen Eros. Destruktive Beiträge zur Pädagogik und
Bildungspolitik, Vienna: WUV-Universitätsverlag.
Simma, B. and Fastenrath, U. (eds) (1992, 3rd edition)Menschenrechte – Ihr interna-
tionaler Schutz, Munich: Beck.
United Nations (1989) Convention of the Rights of the Child, Geneva: United Nations.
Vogel, P. (1977) Die bürokratische Schule. Unterricht als Verwaltungshandeln und der
pädagogische Auftrag der Schule, Kastellaun: Henn.
6 Philosophy of education as
foundational analysis and
critique
Conflicting liberal views on the right
to an education for autonomy
Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften

Introduction
One of the key tasks of philosophy of education, in our view, is research into
the foundations of education, that is, the systematic analysis and critical
assessment of the basic ideas and conceptual models that, often implicitly,
guide educational theory and practice. In the first part of this contribution
we will explain what we mean by ‘foundations’ and sketch the main steps in
foundations research. In the second part we give an example by analysing
the foundations of differing liberal perspectives on the right of children to
an education for autonomy.

Foundations
‘Foundations’ will be our general term for basic ideas and conceptual models
underlying educational theories and educational practice. Very often these
ideas are implicit in the sense that the theorist or the practitioner have never
clearly decided to let these ideas guide their work. Yet they play a role in
determining what for the scientist or the practitioner, and for the reference
groups they want to measure up to, is to count as quality in their work.
They are decisive for what they will consider correct or incorrect approaches
in what they are doing, and for what they regard as correct or incorrect
reasons for what they are trying to achieve. More fundamentally, these ideas
shape the scientists’ and the practitioners’ tacit ontologies, and thus the way
they look at things in the everyday reality of their work. Foundations deter-
mine what can be seen as ‘the facts’.
The character of foundations may be further clarified by their status as
presuppositions. Not all presuppositions in discourse are foundations. In line
with Collingwood (1940) we may distinguish relative and absolute or founda-
tional presuppositions. For instance, when a teacher is asked: ‘What are you
going to do about the sexual harassment in the class room?’ a relative, factual
implication is that sexual harassment does indeed occur. Moreover, there is a
relative, normative implication in this question, namely, that the teacher
74 Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften
ought to do something about it. Absolute or foundational presuppositions
underlie such discussions. That is, they are in a more broad sense presupposed
in such questions their factual and normative implications. In the above
example an absolute presupposition is that persons can be held responsible for
what they do. Also, there is a certain pedagogical optimism involved here:
there is a basic conviction that something can be done about the situation in
question. Even when the relative implication would turn out false (no sexual
harassment in the class room), these absolute presuppositions would still
obtain. It should be noted, however, that Collingwood conceived of absolute
presuppositions as historical and changeable, a feature to which we will
return.
Foundations may be characterised as the hinge points in specific concep-
tions of (parts of ) reality. Often core terms or concepts in a debate fulfil this
hinge function, but it should be emphasised that these central concepts can
be, and often are, essentially contested concepts between the parties
involved. They can be different in many subtly differing ways and they can
be variously interwoven within their more encompassing conceptual
networks. Foundations can also take the shape of pervasive images or
metaphors, such as the machine metaphor in explanations of human
behaviour, or the computer metaphor for cognitive processes. In other
words, foundations are not necessarily (or rather: are typically not) shared by
all members within a language community, nor, on the other hand, are they
necessarily confined to any specific language.
Foundations influence our experience of reality in two ways. On the one
hand, they open up reality to us, because its experience would not be under-
standable for us without some kind of conceptual organisation. On the other
hand they clearly limit our perspectives. Without being fixed forever, they
close off or impede other ways of looking at things. In that way, foundations
will often work as ‘structures of prejudice’ (Gadamer 1989), literally
preceding our judgements. For example, when the earth is seen as the centre
of the universe, it cannot at the same time be looked upon as just one tiny
little planet in just one solar system in just one of countless galaxies. And
this world view in turn is strongly determinative of any astronomic theories
likely to emerge and of the evidence considered acceptable for them.
Similarly, conceptual frameworks may contain a certain view of man and of
personhood, which in turn may be strongly determinative of our modes of
theorising in the social sciences. Behaviourism based on the causality postu-
late yields theories and approaches different from a hermeneutic philosophy
of science. Along the same lines, the foundations of conceptual systems can
be said to ‘create’ (i.e., to both make possible and confine) not only our
thinking but also our doings. Every human practice is constituted by some
system of rules, more or less elaborate, organising the logical space for what
are taken to be appropriate judgements and actions. This is true for highly
formalised games like chess, as well as for our mostly intuitive everyday
practices in education. These constitutive systems of rules can be made
 Foundational analysis and critique 75
explicit, and can be shown to be guided by, and expressive of, certain basic
insights or supporting principles that can be seen as the foundations of these
systems.

Foundations research
Now let us see what are the successive steps in foundations research. First we
give a brief outline; in the next sections this will be elaborated using the
example of the relations between conceptions of political liberalism and
liberal education. It should be emphasised that not all steps will be always
required in full.

Material analysis
The first step consists in the description and analysis of the relevant material
about and from the educational practice, or textbooks, or theory in question.
The description should be clear, representative and fair to the actors and/or
authors involved. It should be reliable and valid, as in empirical research.
The analysis begins by making explicit what may be implicit factual and
normative relative presuppositions. Next, the inherent patterns of argumen-
tation, relating premises and conclusions, are reconstructed and evaluated:
Are there any missing premises? Are fallacies involved? Do the conclusions
really follow?

Foundational analysis
The second step is based on the first. Now we start looking for absolute or
foundational presuppositions as reflected for instance by the specific conno-
tations of core concepts and the particular ways they are related.
Foundational analysis aims at clarifying these presuppositions, which may be
in the sphere of philosophical anthropology, political philosophy, philosophy
of science, etc.
We can make a distinction here between variant and invariant founda-
tions. Invariant foundations are inescapable; we cannot back out of them.
Kant (1781/1973) is the prime philosopher who systematically tried to
elucidate this type of foundation, which he sought in the conditions of the
very possibility of any human experience. Examples are the (what he called)
‘transcendental’ forms of perception: space and time. The logical status of
these concepts is special because space and time are necessarily presupposed
in our knowledge of the world; we cannot perceive things but in space and
time. Similarly, Apel (1973) argued that we have by our use of language to
communicate with others unavoidably accepted certain presuppositions, for
example, not only the principle of non-contradiction but also a basic respect
for persons and their arguments. Apel calls the latter kind of presuppositions
‘transcendental-pragmatic’ because it is in the practice of any reasoning and
76 Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften
language use that we cannot but accept them. We have in fact already
accepted these principles the very moment that we might set out to deny
them. Presuppositions of this kind are necessary and invariant in the sense of
being equally unavoidable for any human being in any reasoning. They are
narrow, however, and they are few.
On the other hand, there are variant foundations, or networks of presuppo-
sitions underlying our reasoning in diverse fields. Differences may be
synchronic and diachronic, between cultures or historical periods. For instance,
different types of societies may entertain fundamentally different conceptions
of education (O’Hear 1981); and societal development may also involve new
perspectives on the person and his or her relation to tradition, and new views
of individual growth and adulthood (van Haaften and Snik 1994, 1997). The
‘transcendental-critical’ project, aimed at finding a universal and invariant
educational framework (Ruhloff 1979; Strauss 1982), has proven a failure.

Foundational critique
Philosophy of education should not, however, be confined to the analysis or
reconstruction of variant and invariant foundations. ‘For what is expected of
philosophy is not to describe concepts while taking care to leave them as
before, but to challenge them, rethink them, criticise or justify them’ (Kekes
1980: 10). Material and foundational analyses are directed ultimately
towards questions of validity; they are undertaken with an aim of evaluation.
The question here is not so much whether the foregoing steps have been
adequately performed, but, taking this to be the case, whether in particular
the variant foundations that are revealed to be operative are appropriate,
whether or not in comparison to rival foundations: Is this really the best
possible conceptualisation of the educational situation and requirements? Is
this the best relevant moral view? Is this the best conception of educational
science? Foundational analysis should therefore, in a third step, lead to foun-
dational critique (‘critique’ in the sense of Kant: tenacious critical
investigation and carefully argued evaluation). Sometimes this may, in a next
step, result in the proposal of an alternative, a ‘rescription’ (Steutel 1988) in
which by introducing new concepts or rearranging conceptual relations the
flaws of the original system may be obviated and a better, more consistent or
otherwise more fruitful conceptual system introduced.
We wish to emphasise that foundational critique should not be destruc-
tive but always aim at clarification and a deepening of insight, in particular
for the persons most concerned. Persistent misunderstandings in educational
practice or frictions in educational theory may be an indication of conceptual
contaminations at the foundational level. Foundational analysis may effect
recognition of previously opaque sources of obscurity. A second reason
always to present the results of the foundational analysis to the persons
involved is its inherent methodological vulnerability, as it unavoidably is an
interpretation and reconstruction on the part of the researcher. Interchange
 Foundational analysis and critique 77
may prevent, or help in rectifying, inaccuracies. Our third reason for this
interchange is that it is the best guarantee that the foundational critique
does not end in an ideological ‘explanation’ of the others’ ‘behaviour’
(behind their back so to speak) towards a third party, in which the persons
involved only figure as objects of the explanation instead of being the
subjects primarily concerned. This safeguard may not always be easily prac-
ticable but it should remain a hermeneutic requirement.

Justification
The final step is the justification of the foundational analysis and critique.
The foregoing remarks do not mean that the persons involved will or should
always consent, but the critique should be reasonably justified. This should
be done in two ways: firstly, the methods and results of the foundational
analysis should be made clear; and secondly, reasons should be given for any
critique based on it.
The relation between justifications and foundations is complicated.
Sometimes, educational practices will be debated on the basis of shared
foundations. More often, however, different viewpoints will derive from
differences at a more foundational level. On the other hand, any justification
makes its own presuppositions. This means that justifications in a discussion
about viewpoints based on differing foundations, as well as the justification
of a foundational critique or proposed rescription, may be based themselves
on other underlying and perhaps ‘deeper’ foundations (van Haaften and Snik
1997), as will be seen in the following example.

Foundations of liberal views on the right to an education

for autonomy
We will now illustrate what we mean by foundations research, by analysing
some of the presuppositions of a discussion about the educational rights of
the child in a liberal society. The discussion concerns the following question:
Should the state guarantee for each child the right to an education for
autonomy? At first sight, the answer may seem rather clear. However, opin-
ions differ considerably regarding these matters – interestingly enough even
within the liberal camp (see McLaughlin 1994; Callan 1997). The reason is,
as we will try to show, within liberalism (that is, within the scope of the
shared system of foundations typical of this view of the state) there are two
diametrically opposed sets of foundations underlying the debate about state
intervention in education. We will clarify and analyse these differing foun-
dations of liberal thinking about the aims of education and their
implications for the question of whether the state should guarantee the right
to an education for autonomy for all children.
The foundations involved are determining for what are considered the
rights and duties of educators (parents, teachers) and the rights of the child,
78 Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften
as well as the obligations of the state concerning these rights and duties of
educators and children. The foundations are decisive for the conditions and the
limits of possible state interventions, and thereby delineate the logical space of
what can be relevant empirical, juridical, moral and pragmatic arguments,
both pro and con, and both in general (‘When and how should the state inter-
vene?’) and in actual practice (‘What is to be done in this particular case?’).
There is no disagreement among liberals that civic education is a task of the
school. Even though this requirement may be interpreted in various ways, all
liberals concur in their view that civic education should be obligatory,
including for illiberal communities within a liberal society. However, liberals
have fundamentally different views about the right of children to an education
for autonomy and the pertaining duties of parents and teachers. They differ
with respect to the acceptability of separate or denominational schools and to
what should be the character of state schools. More generally, they differ as to
what are the obligations of the state regarding education.
The standard liberal view (as we will call it) denies the right to an education
for autonomy for every child (see Archard 1995). Parents in a liberal society
should, according to this view, have the right to bring up their children in
accordance with their own conception of the (morally) good life, and to have
them so educated in the school to which they send their children. This means
that education for autonomy is an option, but no more than that. Liberal
parents are free, but not in any way obliged, to realise this educational ideal.
The role of the state should be limited to preserving the right to a normal
development for each child and furthering civic education in all schools. The
state should protect and foster freedom of education. This means that parents
should be granted the right to have their children educated in line with their
own particular world views or religious convictions, including the right to
establish private schools.
On the other hand, according to what we will call the liberal education view
all children do have the right to an education for autonomy (White 1983).
This means that all parents have the corollary duty to accept every child’s right
to autonomy. Any form of values education in schools should in this view be
aimed at education for autonomy. The state should not only protect the right
to a normal development for each pupil and advance civic education in all
schools, but also see to it that each child’s right to autonomy be respected.
Let us now try to find out what precisely are the foundations of these two
opposed liberal views concerning the role of the state in matters of education.
Our reconstruction is in two steps. Firstly, we analyse their common ground,
the shared liberal perspective to which both parties appeal. Then we recon-
struct the specific foundations that cause the differences.

Common ground
It is not so easy to delimit a framework of basic principles shared by the
different types of liberalism. In many definitions, liberalism is identified with
 Foundational analysis and critique 79
what in fact is one particular historical form. Often the individual right to
autonomy is taken to be one of its necessary features (see, e.g., Johnston 1996;
Kekes 1997). The idea is, firstly, that only individuals can have rights, and
secondly, that individual rights as such involve the right to autonomy, that is,
the right to form and revise one’s own conception of the good life (Rawls
1993). However, many authors from various backgrounds have noticed that
this form of liberalism, with its emphasis on the right to autonomy, is the
result of a historical development in which non-individualistic types of liber-
alism, such as ‘diversity liberalism’, preceded the recent more individualistic
‘autonomy liberalism’ (Walzer 1992; Galston 1995; Sandel 1996; Kymlicka
1995).
Non-individualistic types take freedom of conscience and freedom of reli-
gion to involve the right of communities to a state-independent space in which
particular (religious) convictions can be freely put into practice and trans-
mitted (Galston 1995), and the right of individuals to profess and avow their
convictions within such a particular community (Sandel 1996). Clearly these
two types of rights are not mutually exclusive and in actual fact they often go
together. Freedom of religion implies the separation of church and state; it is
the right of (religious) communities to have their own state-independent
conceptions of the good life. It does not imply that individuals have the right
to choose their own world view, and therefore it is compatible with the idea
that a person’s conception of the good life is constituted by the community of
which he or she is a member. The state should protect these freedoms. The
state should make it possible for communities to continue their particular way
of life, and thus ought to guarantee freedom of confession. However, according
to this type of liberalism it is not the task of the state to guarantee the right to
autonomy. Autonomy is something that may be cherished in liberal communi-
ties. These communities have the right to maintain an autonomous way of life
for individuals, just as illiberal communities have the right to further non-
autonomous ways of life. The state should respect and protect both types of
communities. The limitation in the exercise of these freedom rights is where
the same rights of other communities are threatened.
In autonomy liberalism, the central principle is that every individual citizen
has the right to form and revise his or her own conception of the good life
(Dworkin 1978; Rawls 1993). This is not only the right to have such a
conception but also the right to choose one. The ethics of individual rights
constitute the foundation of how the relations between the citizens, and the
relations between citizens and the state, are conceived in this type of liber-
alism. The main task of the state is to protect and to facilitate the right of
all citizens to lead their own autonomous ways of life. The state should
further whatever is conducive to enabling every citizen equally to exercise
this right. Freedom and equality are seen as two sides of the same coin. The
limitation in the exercise of this freedom right is where the same right of
other individuals is threatened. The state should see to it that this individual
right is not infringed upon. This means that the state is allowed and obliged
80 Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften
to interfere, if necessary even in the private sphere, when this right of indi-
viduals is violated.
We can now see that three principles are common to these two views.
Together they constitute their shared liberal foundation concerning the rela-
tion between state and education. The first is that the state has to be neutral
with respect to contested conceptions of the good life. It does not have the
right to raise, or propagate, let alone to impose on all citizens a specific
world view. In other words, the state should be non-perfectionistic with
regard to any contested conceptions of the good life. The second shared prin-
ciple is that citizens have the right to lead their lives according to their own
convictions, as long as they do not interfere with other people exercising the
same right. (Notice, however, that it is this principle mainly that is inter-
preted differently.) The third principle is that the state has the obligation to
protect these freedom rights and to enable people to realise them.
In line with this shared liberal foundation, both the standard view and the
liberal education view accept that the state does not have the right to force
parents to educate their children according to a specific conception of the
good life. Both positions therefore hold this much in common – that state
schools should be neutral. For the rest, they completely disagree concerning
the implications of liberal morality for the relations between education and
the state. They differ not only in their views of liberalism, but also in their
ideas about the role of conceptions of the good life in educational matters.

The standard view

The standard liberal view starts from two principles: (1) that the state has
not the right to propagandise or advance (for instance in education) any
contested conception of the good life; and (2) that people have the right to
lead their lives according to their own convictions. It draws the conclusion,
(3), that parents and communities have the right to educate their children
according to their specific conceptions of the good life.
This means, firstly, that they have the right to establish separate schools
in which children can be educated in accordance with that conception. In
some countries, such as the Netherlands, these schools are even considered to
qualify for full state financing, because the state ought not only to protect
but also to facilitate exercising the right to freedom of religion. Secondly,
freedom of education means that state schools should be neutral with respect
to parents’ particular conceptions of the good life. Children should not be
confronted with world views that are contradictory to those of their parents.
Some adherents go so far as to reject the idea that it would be a task of the
school to confront the pupils with a diversity of world views. The reason is
that many parents and many communities do not accept autonomy as an
educational ideal. A state prescribing that public schools should in this way
aim to further the autonomy of the children would therefore violate the
requirement of neutrality.
 Foundational analysis and critique 81
In other words, education for autonomy can, according to the standard
view, be no more than an option that (liberal) parents and communities may
or may not prefer. Parents whose world view is at variance with ideals such
as autonomy, critical thinking or open-mindedness should not be demanded
to send their children to schools fostering an approach that goes against
their conscience.
State interference with education should be minimal, according to the
standard view. Education is seen as an independent sphere, only to be
protected and facilitated by the state. The only further responsibilities
usually granted to the state have to do with the protection of a ‘normal’
development of every child and the promotion of civic education.
An important part of the foundation of this standard liberal view is the
dependence principle, that is, the notion that all ideals and aims of upbringing
and education are inevitably dependent on conceptions of the good, perspec-
tives about human destiny, the ultimate meaning of life (Brezinka 1992).
Every conception of the good life and every community that is constituted
by a shared world view has its own educational normativity. Every education
involves the forming of substantive convictions and moral preferences even-
tually based on the ideas of virtuousness inherent in some particular
conception of the good. Conceptions of the good life and educational ideals
are intrinsically connected.
Notice that this dependence principle is not itself dependent on any
particular conception of the good. It is an independent meta-principle,
located at the base of quite diverse frameworks of educational ideas
(Brezinka 1992: 553). It is shared by parents and teachers who maintain
radically different notions of virtuousness – of which liberal education, with
its emphasis on autonomy and open-mindedness, is just one.
The dependence principle is an important and necessary presupposition
in the argument, referred to above, that parents and communities should
have the right to educate their children according to their particular
conceptions of the good life. Because aims of education involve value
options about which the state should be neutral in a liberal society, it is
the parents and the communities who have to make the required decisions.
Along these lines, freedom of education is a natural implication of freedom
of religion.
Usually, adherents of the standard view appeal to a non-individualistic,
diversity-liberal type of liberal morality, separation of church and state, and
freedom of conscience. The state is to protect communities and to enable
them to maintain and transmit their particular views of the good life. Some
authors, however, focus on the right to individual autonomy and defend the
standard view with an appeal to autonomy liberalism (see Archard 1995).
The state should not interfere with the life of individual people, and there-
fore also should not interfere with the way parents interfere in the life of
their children (Fried 1978). The dependence principle is presupposed in
either case.
82 Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften
The liberal education view
The liberal education view is in many ways the opposite of the standard
liberal view. Here the common liberal foundation is translated into the basic
principle that every child has the right to an education for autonomy and
every parent has the corollary duty to respect this right. Furthermore, the
state has the obligation to safeguard this right of the child to an education
for autonomy in addition to its obligation to protect the child’s normal
development and to advance civic education in all schools.
According to this view parents are not allowed to impose their concep-
tions of the good life to their children (White 1983, 1991). The general
aim of education and the particular goal of values education in schools is
to maximise freedom of choice (White 1973). The aim should not be the
transmission of the convictions of the parents, meaning that their
upbringing would have failed when their children would critically
distance themselves of the parents’ conception of the good life, but intro-
duction to the ‘examined way of life’, which means that their education is
successful when their children are able to either accept or reject or revise
their life-plans and conceptions of the good in a well-informed and critical
way.
The liberal education view implies a different foundation of state inter-
vention in education. It requires that education for autonomy should be the
aim of values education in every school. This means in the first place that
public education in schools ought to be neutral with regard to conceptions of
the good life, and for that reason should be liberal. The state has no right to
further any specific conception of the good. Because everybody has the right
to form his or her own ideas in this respect, values education in schools
should be first and foremost directed at forming the preconditions of
autonomy in all pupils. Children therefore should be informed about various
conceptions of the good in a neutral way. They should learn to think criti-
cally. They should develop intellectual virtues such as tolerance, openness
and independence of mind. All of this with the aim that children will be able
and prepared later on to critically devise and revise their own world views.
In the second place, this means that private schools, in which the trans-
mission of particular conceptions is the ultimate aim of education, can be
acceptable only under strict conditions – if at all. Opinions differ as to the
latter. Some authors think private schools should not be tolerated; others feel
they can be allowed if meeting liberal education criteria (McLaughlin 1992).
The problem with the notion of freedom of education, according to the
liberal education view, is not so much that illiberal parents or communities
might abuse this freedom for disseminating anti-liberal ideas. Rather, the
point is that the right to education for autonomy, that every child should be
entitled to, is incompatible with the notion of freedom of education
granting parents the right to impose their own convictions on their chil-
dren. For instance, education for autonomy is incongruous with education to
become a good Muslim (White 1982: 166ff.).
 Foundational analysis and critique 83
Two basic principles underlie this view. First, the general foundation of
liberalism now is specified in the direction of an ethics of individual rights,
in which autonomy is put centre stage. The right to live in accordance with
one’s personal convictions is interpreted as the right not only to have but also
to choose one’s own conception of the good life. Everybody should be granted
this right, which should be protected by the state (Crittenden 1988).
The second basic principle is that there is a logical relation between the
individual right to autonomy and the right to an education for autonomy. If
autonomy for everybody should be furthered, then should also the precondi-
tions that enable persons to exercise it. And if these preconditions should be
realised for everybody, then education should contribute to that. Therefore,
education for autonomy cannot be a mere option. In a liberal society, in
which the ethics of individual rights determine the relations between all
citizens as well as between citizens and the state, every future citizen must
have the right to an education for autonomy. The liberal education view is a
logical implication of the right to freedom of religion (Gutmann 1989).
The foundation of this liberal education view is the independence principle.
Although it may be acknowledged that many educational systems are in fact
dependent on conceptions of the good, the dependence principle is rejected
in that this is not a conceptual necessity (Hirst 1974). Liberal education is
claimed to be independent of any specific conception of the good. It is
claimed to be neutral, just as liberal morality is claimed to be neutral with
respect to particular world views. In other words, liberal education is not
just another instantiation of the dependence principle, but rather reflects a
particular view on the relation between education and specific conceptualisa-
tions of the good.
In brief, educational systems based on the dependence principle take
education to mean that the world view of the child should be constituted in
accordance with the conception of the good of the parents and of the
community in which they grow up. Educational systems based on the inde-
pendence principle accept the liberal education view that children should be
enabled to form their own conception of the good life.

Foundational critique and justification

In the foregoing we have rather extensively analysed the two main founda-
tions underlying different liberal views on the relation between the state
and the educational system. We will now more briefly discuss the next
steps in foundational research, in which the reconstructed foundations are
to be compared, criticised if necessary, and justified if possible. We will not
execute these steps in full, leaving the choices to be made here to the
reader. We limit ourselves to sketching two major problems involved in
foundational critique and justification, illustrating them using the various
positions that can be taken towards these problems in the debate about the
views on education discussed above.
84 Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften
The first problem concerns the comparison of foundations, in casu the
comparison between the dependence principle underlying the standard
liberal view of education and the independence principle underlying the
liberal education view. The first principle asserts that ideas about educa-
tional aims are necessarily related to conceptions of the good life. The
independence principle asserts that the aim of personal autonomy as
supported in liberal education is neutral with respect to conceptions of the
good. Clearly, these principles are incompatible. They cannot be both true.
Which one is false depends on the question whether personal autonomy as
such involves a conception of the good that is part of the diversity of goods.
Adherents of the standard view answer this question in the affirmative.
They interpret the ideal of autonomy as one possible option in the quest for
the good life. Autonomy is seen as ‘just another sectarian doctrine’ (Rawls
1999: 409) and liberal education as just one instantiation of the dependence
principle.
Adherents of the liberal education view deny this. They acknowledge that
the ideal of autonomy is incompatible with many kinds of traditional ways
of life in general and with fundamentalist ways of life in particular. Yet, they
do not conceive of the ideal of autonomy as being itself an answer in the
quest for the good life. In their view it is an ideal with respect to the way in
which specific conceptions of the good life should be developed (Crittenden
1992: 169–172; Kekes 1995: 9ff; Larmore 1996: 129; Callan 1997: 18).
Autonomy is not one ideal competing with other ideals of the good life, but
a ‘meta-ideal’ competing with other views of how particular ideals of the
good life should be formed. Therefore, liberal education is not to be seen as a
realisation of the dependence principle. In other words, liberal education
contains a view on the relation between education and the development of a
conception of the good life (namely, the idea that education should enable
children to form their own conception of the good life) which is on a par
with, and competing with, the perspective on the relation between educa-
tion and the development of a conception of the good life that is contained
in the dependence principle (namely, the idea that children should be
educated in accordance with the world view of their parents).
The second problem concerns the contents of the liberal principles
involved. Should the liberal state advance the ideals of diversity liberalism or
those of autonomy liberalism? Which of these can be considered the ‘most
truly’ liberal view? Both parties blame the other for illiberalism and both
claim for themselves the heritage of real liberalism.
Autonomy liberals reproach diversity liberals for allowing communities to
violate individual rights. Therefore, they cannot deserve the title of liberalism
(Kymlicka 1995: 152ff.). Liberalism should be defined by the individual
right to freedom of conscience, including not only the right to have and
disseminate particular convictions but also the right to form and revise
convictions of one’s own. Liberalism, according to autonomy liberals, may
involve curbing communities that do not respect these individual rights.
 Foundational analysis and critique 85
Many autonomy liberals consider the public value of autonomy beyond
doubt. Usually they simply refer to the agnosticism argument that claims
concerning the good life cannot be true or false. Choices based on value
judgements will be ‘ultimately arbitrary’ and ‘incapable of rational justifica-
tion or criticism’ wherefore in the end ‘they are equally rational, and so the
state has no reason to interfere in them’ (Kymlicka 1997: 201).
Diversity liberals, on the other hand, cast doubt on the way autonomy
liberals infer from the agnosticism argument that autonomy should be an
ideal for everybody. According to them, this ideal is neither a logically nor
an empirically necessary implication of the given diversity of incompatible
conceptions of the good life. It is only one amongst various possible norma-
tive reactions to this fact (Larmore 1996). The diversity-liberal reaction is a
more appropriate reaction, they think. In their view, autonomy liberals are
not really liberal as they are forcing fundamentalist communities to accept
liberal principles that contravene their (fundamentalist) conscience. The true
liberal tolerates illiberal communities. Fostering diversity is considered
more important as a liberal value than protecting individual autonomy
(Galston 1995: 523).
Which view of liberal state interference with the educational system
should be preferred? We have confined ourselves to clarifying what is
involved in the debate, by laying bare the foundations of the main opposite
views. The decision is left to the reader.

Conclusion
In this contribution, we have tried to explain and to illustrate what in our
view is one of the primary tasks of philosophy of education. Educational
theorising and educational practice are strongly value-laden, and debates in
this field are often passionate and emotional. What we have tried to show is
that underlying such often confused debates may be contradictory founda-
tions that need to be laid bare, need to be reconstructed and analysed, and
wherever possible criticised and/or justified in order to get a clear under-
standing of the real issues involved. In this way philosophy of education,
however abstract at first sight, can make a very practical contribution to
major educational concerns.

References
Apel, K.-O. (1973) Transformation der Philosophie. Bnd. II. Das Apriori der Kommu-
nikationsgemeinschaft, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.
Archard, D. (1995) Children: Rights and Childhood, London/New York: Routledge.
Brezinka, W. (1992) Glaube, Moral und Erziehung, Munich/Basle: Ernst Reinhardt.
Callan, E. (1997) Creating Citizens. Political Education and Liberal Democracy, Oxford:
Oxford University Press.
Collingwood, R. G. (1940) An Essay on Metaphysics, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
86 Ger Snik and Wouter van Haaften
Crittenden, B. (1988) Parents, the State and the Right to Educate, Carlton: Melbourne
University Press.
Crittenden, J. (1992) Beyond Individualism. Reconstituting the Liberal Self, New
York/Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Dworkin, R. (1978) ‘Liberalism’, in S. Hampshire (ed.), Public and Private Morality,
Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Fried, Ch. (1978) Right and Wrong, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Gadamer, H.-G. (1989) Truth and Method, London: Sheed & Ward.
Galston, W. A. (1995) ‘Two Concepts of Liberalism’, Ethics, 105 (3): 516–534.
Gutmann, A. (1989) ‘Undemocratic Education’, in N. Rosenblum (ed.), Liberalism
and the Moral Life, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
Hirst, P. H. (1974) Moral Education in a Secular Society, London: University of
London.
Johnston, D. (1996) The Idea of a Liberal Theory, Princeton: Princeton University
Press.
Kant, I. (1781/1973) Critique of Pure Reason, London/New York: Macmillan.
Kekes, J. (1980) The Nature of Philosophy, Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
—— (1995) Moral Wisdom and Good Lives, Ithaca/London: Cornell University Press.
—— (1997) Against Liberalism, Ithaca/London: Cornell University Press.
Kymlicka, W. (1995) Multicultural Citizenship. A Liberal Theory of Minority Rights,
Oxford: Clarendon Press.
—— (1997) Contemporary Political Philosophy, Oxford: Clarendon Press.
Larmore, Ch. (1996) The Morals of Modernity, New York/Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press.
McLaughlin, T. H. (1992) ‘The Ethics of Separate Schools’, in M. Leicester and M.
Taylor (eds), Ethics, Ethnicity and Education, London: Kogan Page.
—— (1994) ‘The Scope of Parents’ Educational Rights’, in J. Halstead (ed.),
Parental Choice and Education, London: Kogan Page.
O’Hear, A. (1981) Education, Society and Human Nature, London/New York: Rout-
ledge.
—— (1993) Political Liberalism, New York: Columbia University Press.
Rawls, J. (1999) ’Justice as Fairness: Political not Metaphysical’, in J. Rawls,
Collected Papers, Cambridge, MA, London: Harvard University Press, pp.
388–414.
Ruhloff, J. (1979) Das ungelöste Normproblem der Pädagogik, Heidelberg: Quelle &
Meyer.
Sandel, M. J. (1996) Democracy’s Discontent. America in Search of a Public Philosophy,
Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press.
Steutel, J. W. (1988) ‘Forms of Reflection on Educational Concepts’, Journal of
Philosophy of Education, 22 (2): 163–171.
Strauss, W. (1982) Allgemeine Pädagogik als transzendentale Logik der Erziehungswis-
senschaft, Frankfurt am Main/Bern: Lang.
van Haaften, A. W. and Snik, G. L. M. (1994) ‘Allgemeinbildung als Entprovinzial-
isierung des Denkens’, in F. Heyting and H. E. Tenorth (eds), Pädagogik und
Pluralismus, Weinheim: Deutscher Studien Verlag.
—— (1997) ‘Critical thinking and Foundational Development’, Studies in Philosophy
and Education 16 (1&2): 19–41.
Walzer, M. (1992) ‘Comment’, in A. Gutmann (ed.) Multiculturalism and the ‘Politics
of Recognition’. An Essay by Charles Taylor, Princeton: Princeton University Press.
 Foundational analysis and critique 87
White, J. P. (1973) Towards a Compulsory Curriculum, London: Routledge & Kegan
Paul.
—— (1982) The Aims of Education Restated, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
White, P. (1983) Beyond Domination, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul.
—— (1991) ‘Parents’ Rights, Homosexuality and Education’, British Journal of
Educational Studies, 39 (4): 398–408.
7 On the structuralist
philosophy of education
An analysis of the rights of the child
Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen

The structural method as an essential part of reflexive

educational science
Problems regarding education and educational aims emerge in every domain
of education, which is now conceived as a life-long process. In attempts to
solve these problems, suggestions are made on the correct treatment of chil-
dren, young people or adults and on the appropriate methods of educational
action. Such considerations are formed on the basis of scientific knowledge,
but also on the basis of everyday experiences, common sense and many false
assumptions, which are often supported by strong convictions. These types of
claims about educational processes and their correct design and accompani-
ment are to be found in a multitude of forms of human expression: in books
on education, in common sayings, even in recommendations on an appro-
priate architecture for school buildings (e.g., the opinion of
Waldorf-Pedagogic, that a pupil learns better in a room without perpendic-
ular angles). The correctness of these claims can be tested, for example, using
empirical methods to question teachers or to measure the learning achieve-
ment of pupils, just as the TIMMSS study did recently (cf. Baumert 1997).
However, with regard to such statements resulting from empirical studies, it
is often overlooked that empirical investigations do not actually allow the
assumption of causality, although this is frequently suggested. It is, for
example, not possible to claim that the performance of Japanese children in
mathematics is more effective simply because of differences in their instruc-
tion methods. The observation of a correlation can only be followed by a
further subsequent observation, where a number of variables are isolated.
Normally this process is repeated until the number of variables is so small
that the tested claim has an overly restricted domain of validity.
However, there is another method which is capable of investigating claims
for educational processes. It analyses such claims in a completely different way
and is therefore able to avoid the above dilemma. The structural method, which
will be presented here, does not ask about the validity of claims regarding
education, but instead attempts to discover their historical and structural
foundations. It investigates why such claims are being and have been made
 A structuralist approach 89
and what implications they entail. This is achieved through an analysis of the
‘deep-structures’1, the history of discourses, the myths, prejudices and ideolo-
gies, which are all to be found hidden inside of the investigated claim. For
this reason, it is a method, which supplements other approaches to the inves-
tigation of reality in an important way. This method emphasises the idea that
reality is a discoverable datum, but is as a reality always a constructed reality.
The method is based on the observation that thinking develops in the context
of ordering symbols, which open up a reality that is linguistically and cultur-
ally specific for a participant in a particular linguistic and cultural context.
Through a consideration of this issue, and with the use of the structural
method, the preparation of empirical investigations could indeed be
improved. Not only everyday wisdom about the correctness of educational
aims and methods, but also empirically proven scientific claims are, in actual
fact, discursively produced opinions, which carry a historical freight and are
full of presuppositions. When the structural method is used not to investigate
reality itself, but the way reality is talked about, it is possible to show that all
statements are structured symbolically. In this way, scientific statements,
proven on the basis of empirical research, are the result of discourses – that is
to say, of a specific way of speaking about reality, which is subject to historical
change. This can be clarified in an example: it is, for example, not possible to
explain the historically continuously changing – in most cases empirically
proven – evidence that ability is static (i.e., not changeable through new
initiatives of socialisation) or is dynamic (i.e., changeable) using empirical
methods. In order to understand why educational science has a static defini-
tion of talent or gift at one point in time and a dynamic definition at another
point, it is necessary to use the structural method. Using this method it is
possible to reconstruct the myths and conceptions that constitute the founda-
tions of these two definitions, which will facilitate explaining why one or the
other is understood as the correct description of socialisation and educational
processes at a certain point in time.
The structural method can demonstrate that the definition of talent as
static can be understood as having an underlying theological foundation based
on the concept of the mercy of God (i.e., giftedness = ability as gift), whilst
the dynamic definition of talent is based on a secular conception, according to
which a person has the obligation and the right to develop his/her own talents
(cf. Lenzen 1998). If the sparring opponents in this debate had had this
knowledge, made available through the structural method, of the ‘deep-
structure’ and discourse framing their own opinions, it would have saved not
only a lot of ideological argument, but it would have been apparent that the
choice of a definition of talent was more dependent on the existence of finan-
cial resources, economic booms or slumps and the accompanying ideological
needs, than on empirical evidence. Additionally, the scarce research monies
invested in psychological studies on the supposed ‘nature’ of ability could
have been saved. More than that: many parents would have been spared
disappointment, if the promises of a successful future for their children
90 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
resulting from the dynamic definition were not seen as empirical truth, but
understood as flowing from the rejection of the alternative theological
conception. Conversely, many children from rural, conservative-religious
homes could have had the path to higher education opened to them if their
supposed low and in any case unalterable ability had not been put across as
to them as God-willed.
This example shows that the structural method can achieve results,
which avoid ideology and instead concentrate on signs, symbols and
discourses. The method highlights the fact that everyday wisdom and scien-
tific statements, and indeed all types of human expression, involve
collective common sense and, therefore, potentially harmful effects.
Clarification could ensure, for example, that no one could carry out an
educational act or establish an education system and in the end claim he or
she knew nothing of the possible effects of their action. This is valid as
much for scientific knowledge on education, as for everyday wisdom refer-
ring to education, which is based on scientific knowledge in a popularised
form, as well as for so-called proverbial wisdom such as in the saying, ‘You
can’t teach an old dog new tricks’. A saying such as this is false and contra-
productive for a society subject to rapid change and with a requirement for
life-long learning. Nevertheless such historical opinions on educational
reality can be shown to be often more stable than the reality of educational
processes themselves. It is possible to observe how these opinions are
supported and followed as much today as they were in the past, even when
it has been shown that they are false. New studies into ageing have shown
clearly that the ability to learn can still be very high in old age; it is simply
dependent on regular learning throughout a person’s life. However, one can
still find the opposite conception, which contradicts this finding in nearly
all concepts of early learning. With the use of a structural analysis it would
be clearly recognisable that this common ground, which can indeed play a
role in scientific investigations, is in fact related to the theologically
inspired myth of the child’s ‘tabula rasa’. This conception is used to intro-
duce so-called necessary conditions (i.e., one must start learning as early as
possible if one wants to have a chance in life) in a covert attack on the care-
free quality of the life of a child. It would indeed also be possible to show
that the conception or demand for the carefree life of a child also transports
mythological elements (cf. Lenzen 1985).
In an attempt to avoid or at least to make transparent such mistaken
efforts, whether everyday or scientific, it is necessary to turn to a ‘reflexive
educational science’ (cf. Lenzen 1996). This entails not only a reflexive
investigation of empirical results in the sense of an estimation of their peda-
gogical implications, but also a type of estimation of the effects of
pedagogical reflection itself and of pedagogical activities. This involves an
analysis of symbols and signs (discourses) as representations of events and
reconstructions of the operation of systems of symbol-transfer, respectively.
It is important to note that discourses are, broadly speaking, stories about
 A structuralist approach 91
occurrences, but discourses are not occurrences themselves. Discourses are
mythologically framed, insofar as they attempt to deliver explanations and
justifications for elementary facts of life, social institutions and societal
actions. Reflexive educational science reconstructs the particular historically
formed dominant myths about educational processes and clarifies the impli-
cations of such mythologically framed discourses (Lenzen 1991a: 119ff.).
The structural method has a particularly important role in the fulfilment
of this task. Its goal is the reconstruction of interpretational patterns and
orientation activities which underlie the various forms of human expression
(gestures, rituals, texts, buildings, etc.) and are initially subconscious. Such
patterns and orientation activities have often emerged over hundreds of
years and are maintained in a kind of collective memory, which appears to
be particularly resilient to change. They can take the form of myths (cf.
Lenzen 1985, 1991b, 1991c) or even ideologies; they may however be
simply prejudices. In short, they include everything that a conscious system
implicitly takes on in the socialisation process and transmits to future
generations.
The structural method is the investigative method of structuralism, a
school of thought whose roots stretch back into the nineteenth century. In
educational science, however, the method was only discovered in the 1970s
(cf. Lenzen 1973; Ehrenspeck 2001). Structuralism originally resulted from
the search for universal, constant structures, which could, for instance,
underlie language. This essentialism was given up during the further devel-
opment of structuralism. The structural method then found application in
other academic fields, such as anthropology (e.g., Claude Lévi-Strauss), soci-
ology (e.g., Pierre Bourdieu) and psychology (e.g., Jean Piaget), when an
interest arose in discovering historical structures, which were not conceived
of as universals but as subject to change on the basis of historical events.
They might for example underlie and frame cultural phenomena, such as
marriage rules, systems of the social reproduction of social classes or topo-
logical structures of competency growth in children.
The structural method is an analytical method. This analysis cannot,
however, be compared to a chemical analysis. On the contrary, it has been
shown that different people have arrived at different results when analysing
the same subject matter. (Which, one should mention by the way, is
happening more and more often in natural sciences as well.) For the most
part, such differences are the product of inexact working procedures. Lévi-
Strauss showed that it is impossible to reconstruct structures without
‘bricolage’ – without a little bit of ‘tinkering’. This does not, however,
imply arbitrariness; rather, it implies the testing of different models until
the point at which all other models have to be thrown out because they do
not fit. At this point, a provisional end to the reconstruction has been
reached. It is quite clear that after several decades the same subject matter
may no longer be reconstructed in the same way. This, however, has less to
do with the fact that different people reconstruct in different ways than
92 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
with certain shifts in the focus of central interest. For ‘structuralists’ in
ancient times, the analysis of the Oedipus myth had to do with the ques-
tion of autochthony – in other words, with the ability of human beings for
self-creation. Such a ‘structuralist’ would see a message, which is recon-
structed correctly, but is nevertheless no longer applicable today, that
human beings should be humble and not meddle with the handicraft of the
Gods. The Oedipus myth interested Freud in a very different way. He
focused on how the taboo on incest was coded as a societal regulation in the
myth – an issue that was perhaps more relevant for Austria’s fin de siècle
Vienna.

Central concepts in the structural method

The variety of ways in which the concept of structuralism has been under-
stood is so great2 that it appears necessary to begin by clarifying the
concept. It is impossible, however, to define the various structuralist posi-
tions as one might in the case of more homogeneous analytic approaches
such as Marxism or Critical Rationalism. The followers of structuralism
have never been ‘bound together [by a] solidarity of doctrine or fight’ as
Roland Barthes expressed it once (Barthes 1966: 190ff.). Nevertheless, the
different positions within structuralism can all be said to share a number of
similarities:
A structure is understood as the quality of necessary interdependence
among elements in a system. These interdependencies may be continuous
or discontinuous. They are in any case definitely subject to constant, rule-
abiding transformations that capture the totality of the structure without
going beyond the framework of the system. This is so because a structure
regulates itself, even though – as a result of the fact that observation is
always momentary – it appears to be invariant and formalised.
This description of the concept demonstrates connectivity to systems
theory, in spite of the fact that structuralism developed entirely indepen-
dently of systems theory (cf. Lenzen 1994/1995). Formulated as sets this
means:

Structure: R1, R2,…’R

System: E1, E2,…’E R1, R2,…’R

where

E = an element of a certain system x;

R = the relation between two elements y, z of the system z

Structural analysis consists in uncovering or ‘reconstructing’ structures of

 A structuralist approach 93
natural (mineral, botanical, etc.) and social systems.That means that the
elements of a structure are identified and the co-existential or morpholog-
ical – in other words, the structural – ‘laws’ that mark the relations and the
alterations of those relations over time are investigated.
Structures consist of two levels: the surface level and the deep level. The
surface level refers to the way in which a structure appears. In the case of
natural systems, it can be – for example – a stone, a plant, the horn of a
bull. In the case of social systems (and especially pedagogical systems), it
can be a text, a verbal expression, a gesture, a dance, a building and much
more – but in all cases, a human expression that contains a meaning, a
syntax, a pragmatic. These all belong to the deep level. Due to its deep-
structure, which abides by rules, the symbol-creating human being brings
these symbols to the surface through a transformation of deep-structures to
surface-structures.
The reconstruction or deduction of the deep-structures underlying a given
surface structure is the true task of the structural method. In doing so, it is
assumed that a rule-abiding – though by no means a natural-law-abiding –
connection exists between the surface-structures, the symbols in a social
system, and the deep-structures of the participants in a social system. The
surface-structure makes it possible to draw conclusions about what the
deep-structures are, if the rules of transformation – the rules, according to
which the deep-structure is transformed into a surface-structure – are
known. Structural analysis, then, investigates the two types of structures
and the transformation rules according to which the surface-structures are
generated from deep-structures.
Whereas the simple structural analysis assumes invariant surface- and
deep-structures and invariant transformation rules that bind them, the
genetic-structural analysis goes even further and looks at the processes of
change to which the deep-structures, the transformation rules, and also the
resulting surface-structures are subject.
One can only assume invariant structures if the surface-structure that is to
be structurally analysed is stable and invariant. On the basis of this
premise the structural method can be used to analyse the deep-structure of
a text, a building, a gesture, a piece of art – of symbol structures that are
already fully developed. Claude Lévi-Strauss’ work is among the most
famous example for this sort of analysis – as when he reconstructed
marriage rules out of tribe members’ comments about life or when he
reconstructed the hidden ‘message’ of the Oedipus myth (the impossibility
of human autochthony) from its narrative surface-structure. The myth is
already completed from the start; it does not change. Its ‘meaning’, as an
invariant meaning, is the meaning that exists within it. However,
according to the post-structuralist perspective (a development and ‘decon-
struction’ of structuralism, which has been developed since the 1970s (cf.
Ehrenspeck 2001) by authors such as J. Derrida, M. Foucault and J.
Baudrillard), this premise cannot be held.
94 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
An invariance of deep-structures cannot be assumed since the supposed
meaning is always the meaning of whoever it is who is attempting a struc-
tural analysis. So the deep-structure of the invariant surface level – for
example, the myth – is in actual fact variant. It is a function of time and
particularly of the ‘discourse’ about a particular object. Thus, the discourse
about the autochthony problem or about the Oedipus myth brings about
new deep-structures during the course of history. According to post-
structuralists, then, it is only possible to analyse the changes in the
discourse – nothing can be said about the deep-structure, because the myth
itself does not contain any invariant deep-structure at all. In discourse
analysis, it is only possible to research the changes in the meanings that are
given to symbols at various periods of time.
This objection is valid, but it does not prohibit the structural analysis of
invariant statements. A structural analysis – and this is something that is
seldom noted – is namely the precondition for every discourse analysis.
Only when one masters the method of reconstruction from the surface-
structure on to the deep-structure is one in a position to identify the
changing transformation rules, which are nothing more than the changing
‘meanings’. It is therefore possible to take the post-structuralist objection
seriously without giving up the structural method. The essentialist notion
that was originally suggested in the concept of the deep-structure must be
rejected so that – with this in mind – the terminological differentiation
between deep- and surface-structure can be retained.
Variable structures are surface-structures that change with time (in
contrast to the invariance of specific expressions) and accordingly, they
entail variable deep-structures as well as the rules of transformation, which
connect these two types of structures. Let us turn to an example of a simple
structural analysis: A certain surface-structure, let us say an incorrectly
solved calculation, was brought about by a learner, let us say by an elemen-
tary school pupil. One could attempt to reconstruct the state of learning
that underlies that pupil’s transformation act, or to reconstruct the learner’s
cognitive deep-structure. Correspondingly, the same can be attempted for a
task that is later correctly solved by the learner. The change in the surface-
structure (incorrect solution–correct solution) cannot be understood in a
structural sense alone; instead, it can only be understood through an
analytical induction of the change in the pupil’s deep-structure. Insofar as
the learning process that takes place can itself be understood as a transfor-
mation of a cognitive deep-structure from A to B, this process also opens
itself to structuralist intervention; though, due to its character as some-
thing that is taken structurally as a process, it is a structural-genetic method
or genetic structuralism that is most suitable.
The example shown in Figure 7.1 is taken from a real instructional situ-
ation and makes it clear that a genetic-structural analysis involves using
the statements made by a human being – in this case a learner – to draw
conclusions in retrospect about deep-structures and the applied transforma-
 A structuralist approach 95

Figure 7.1
tion rules. It is important in the research on instruction (as well as in class-
room instruction) that one first draw conclusions based on one particular
(incorrect) surface-structure about specific (incorrect) transformation rules and
about the deep-structure that must therefore be inadequate, before one
starts thinking about how it might be possible to modify the deep-
structures through a correction of the transformation rules in such a way as
to generate correct surface-structures in the future. It seems as if this
description is complicating something that is actually quite trivial. And
yet, it is the precise description of what cognitive psychologists and biolo-
gists attempt when they reconstruct cerebral structures based on surface
deviancies (for example, aphasia).
It is possible to clarify some important concepts in educational research
by using these basic assumptions; but these concepts are not central to
demonstrating how the structural method can be applied to the issue of
children’s rights, which is the actual topic of this chapter. Because they are
central for assessing the value of the genetic-structural method, however, I
would like to focus on these clarifications of concepts in the form of a
digression (cf. Lenzen 1976),

Digression: the structural method in educational

research
The human cerebral system shows signs of having a cognitive deep-structure
that can change at every moment of its biological existence. The structural
organisation of the ecological system in the natural or social environmental
of a learner is referred to as surface-structure.
The deep- and the surface-structures are at least in part products of a
transformation process: the cognitive deep-structure is an ordered storage
or transformation of data experienced on the surface in the learning process.
96 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
The surface-structure of the natural and social reality is in fact the result of
forming activity and cognitive deep-structure transformational activity
produced through a human subject’s action. Both transformation processes –
action and learning – are activities of the subject.
Because the learning process is such a unique and active transformation
of learning, instruction cannot simply be understood as the institutionalisa-
tion of the transformation process. On the contrary, instruction is the
activity (of others) that does not leave the subjective process of the trans-
formation of surface-structures into cognitive ones to coincidence. Instead,
it optimises this process by offering the learner the overly complex system
of the environment in systematised or selected form – in transformed –
form.
In this sense, instruction itself is the production of a transformational
activity, namely the transformation of an overly complex surface-structure
of social and natural reality into the structure of instruction. Because didac-
tics (often called methodology in Anglo-Saxon universities) concerns itself
with the optimisation and legitimisation of this transformation process, it
can be understood as being a structuralist activity. A structural, didactic
theory, therefore, could be developed as a theory of didactic transformation
rules. (The same applies to socialisation, education, etc.)
Compared to the non-instructional learning process, the instructional
learning and action process can be schematised as a multi-functional transforma-
tion process in the manner shown in Figure 7.2.
It is possible to identify the interest of this book at this point:
approaches that take the learning process, the didactic organisation of
instruction, and the instruction itself, as being transformation processes
that can be understood in a structuralist manner are to be sought in the
didactic branch of educational science and brought together.

Figure 7.2
 A structuralist approach 97
This means:
Learning as a transformation of the surface-structure or the instructional
structure into the learner’s cognitive deep-structure;
Didactics as a theory of rules for the transformation of surface-structures
into instructional structures;
Instruction as a multi-functional process of didactic transformation – the
transformation of learning and of (instructional) action.

Structural analysis of the United Nation’s Declaration of

the Rights of the Child
In 1959 the United Nations passed a Declaration of the Rights of the Child
and, in 1989, the organisation agreed on a Convention on the Rights of the
Child (cf. Jenkner 1992: 16–18, 52–54). Both of these texts are invariant
when taken on their own. They exist, however, in an historical succession
and, as such, they are components of the discourse about children’s rights.
Because of this, both of these texts are suited to a structural analysis and are
also suited to be the topic of discourse analysis. We will begin with the
structural analysis of only a small part of the older text from 1959.

DECLARATION OF THE RIGHTS OF THE CHILD

(20 November 1959)
Principle 7
The child is entitled to receive education, which shall be free and
compulsory, at least in the elementary stages. He shall be given an
education, which will promote his general culture, and enable him,
on a basis of equal opportunity, to develop his abilities, his indi-
vidual judgement, and his sense of moral and social responsibility,
and to become a useful member of society.

The best interest of the child shall be the guiding principle of those
responsible for his education and guidance; that responsibility lies in
the first place with his parents.

The child shall have full opportunity for play and recreation, which
should be directed to the same purposes as education; society and
the public authorities shall endeavour to promote the enjoyment of
this right.
(Jenkner 1992)
98 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
The text consists of a variety of elements that can be classified. One of the
classification groups is that of designated ‘rights’. It is to be called ER1-n.
Specifically, it is about the following:

ER1: free and compulsory education

ER2: general culture

ER3: basis of equal opportunity

ER4: full opportunity for play and recreation

In the general understanding of law, rights are the options that individuals,
to whom these rights belong, have in the face of third parties. The task of the
state under the rule of law is to assert these rights in the face of third parties.
It is in this way that the state stands up for the rights of those who have
claims on them. The state represents the interests of those who have claims to
rights – in this case, children. In addition, rights are titles, which are claimed
by their proprietor in order to provide him or her with a good life. Rights,
therefore, must be useful for the leading of a good life.
Let us search for a second classification group for elements that give infor-
mation about the utility of these rights on their surface (EU1-n):

EU1: to develop his abilities, his individual judgement, and his sense of
moral and social responsibility

EU2: to become a useful member of society

EU3: directed to the same purposes as education

Finally, we will put the classifications of elements that relate to asserting

rights together – or more specifically, the authorities that should assert these
rights in the interest of the child (EI1-n):

EI1: that responsibility lies in the first place with his parents

EI2: society and the public authorities shall endeavour to promote the
enjoyment of this right

The surface-structure looks as follows when it is simplified:

Rights of the child that are to help the child have a better life are to be
guaranteed in the face of third parties – the other members of society.
They are to be asserted by the state (and parents) as the institutionalised
generalised authority of the society in the face of the society. On the surface
 A structuralist approach 99
that means that the society agrees to sacrifice a part of its own quality of
life in the interest of children, for example, by using some of the financial
means of adults (who must sacrifice something else in return) for the
education of children. Formally, this could look something like the
following:

EI1,2 → ER1–4SEUchildren

where

→ = the means that are used

and

S = for the purpose of

If we consider the single classification groups on their surface more closely,

however, we must conclude that EUchildren is not what is noted there, but
rather EU. If one looks at the quality of the elements U, then one sees that
they are all about utilities that are in the interest of the society, that all of the
means – even the means of play – are formulated for societal utility. In the
deep-structure, then – in other words, when we consider the quality of the
elements more closely – the formula goes as follows:

EI1,2 → ER1–5SEUsociety

That means that a transformation from the deep level to the surface level – in
the sense of the shift of utility – must have taken place:

EUsociety ⇒ EUchildren

This transformation sounds contradictory, because it comes down to the

assumption of an equation between the interests of children and the interests
of the society. Furthermore, it works with the notion that children should be
‘useful’ for the society. One speaks on the surface about rights that the child
has in the face of the society, but an opposite deep-structure underlies this
formulation: namely, that the authors of the Declaration assume the existence
of rights of the society in the face of children (namely, that children must be
‘useful’). The society, however, allows its own interests/rights to appear on the
surface as if they were the rights of the child and it goes on to place itself – via
parents and via the state – in the position of the power that is supposed to
assert these rights in the face of itself, or in other words, in the face of the
society. Speaking logically, we are dealing here with a contradictio in adjecto:
that is, the society asserts its own interests / rights in the face of itself.
We cannot assume that this was unknown to the authors. On the contrary:
100 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
because they intend to extend their own rights in the face of children on the
deep-level, the only way they can avoid the implicated contradiction of an
extension of the rule of adults is by suggesting that the interests/rights of the
child are identical to the interests of the society, so that it must lie in the
interest of children to be ‘useful’.

The transformation rule that lies at the base of this can be formally drawn
as follows:

ERchildren = ERsociety

The equation goes in both directions:

Whatever is useful to children is useful to the society – whatever is useful

to the society is useful to children; it is therefore necessary that the rights
of children are formulated as the duty of children to be ‘useful’.

This view was the fundamental basis of totalitarian states: it is the province of
fascism and communism.
We can conclude that: the Declaration of the Rights of the Child of 1959 has
totalitarian elements. In it, there is no trace to be seen of the Western under-
standing of a society in which individual rights are not instrumentalised
(exploited) by the society. We conclude, then, with a hypothesis that must be
investigated in further historical studies – investigations that must ask how it
could happen that the United Nations passed a totalitarian Declaration of the
Rights of the Child fifteen years after the collapse of German fascism. There
must have been interested parties from other totalitarian states and, more
centrally, from the communist world, who were able to assert their collectivist
understanding of child rearing.
The result of our structural investigation, however, does not only offer a
possibility of connectivity with historical research; it also offers the possibility
of connectivity with judgements about current attempts at educational
philosophy. Let us look at the Convention on the Rights of the Child, which was
passed thirty years later on 20 November 1989. It is about three times as long
as the 1959 Declaration, and the text is as follows:

CONVENTION OF THE RIGHTS OF THE CHILD

20 November 1989
Article 28
1 States Parties recognise the right of the child to education, and
with a view to achieving this right progressively and on the basis of equal
opportunity, they shall, in particular:
(a) Make primary education compulsory and available free to all;
 A structuralist approach 101

(b) Encourage the development of different forms of secondary educa-

tion, including general and vocational education, make them available and
accessible to every child, and take appropriate measures such as the introduc-
tion of free education and offering financial assistance in case of need;
(c) Make higher education accessible to all on the basis of capacity by
every appropriate means;
(d) Make educational and vocational information and guidance available
and accessible to all children;
(e) Take measures to encourage regular attendance at schools and the
reduction of drop-out rates.
2 States Parties shall take all appropriate measures to ensure that school
discipline is administered in a manner consistent with the child’s human
dignity and in conformity with the present Convention.
3 States Parties shall promote and encourage international cooperation
in matters relating to education, in particular with a view to contributing to
the elimination of ignorance and illiteracy throughout the world and facili-
tating access to scientific and technical knowledge and modern teaching
methods. In this regard, particular account shall be taken of the needs of
developing countries.
Article 29
1 States Parties agree that the education of the child shall be directed
to:
(a) The development of the child’s personality, talents and mental and
physical abilities to their fullest potential;
(b) The development of respect for human rights and fundamental free-
doms, and for the principles enshrined in the Charter of the United Nations;
(c) The development of respect for the child’s parents, his or her own
cultural identity, language and values, for the national values of the country in
which the child is living, the country from which he or she may originate, and
for civilisations different from his or her own;
(d) The preparation of the child for responsible life in a free society, in
the spirit of understanding, peace, tolerance, equality of sexes and friendship
among all peoples, ethnic, national and religious groups and persons of
indigenous origin;
(e) The development of respect for the natural environment.
2 No part of the present article or article 28 shall be construed so as to
interfere with the liberty of individuals and bodies to establish and direct
educational institutions, subject always to the observance of the principles set
forth in paragraph 1 of the present article and to the requirements that the
education given in such institutions shall conform to such minimum stan-
dards as may be laid down by the State.
(Jenkner 1992: 53f.)
102 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
The casual reader will notice that this text concentrates more on school
and educational rights than the earlier one. There is certainly more that can
be said about this – in the context of an interpretation of the text, for
example – but structural analysis is about uncovering (text) structures.
What we want to find out now is whether the structures that we discov-
ered in the Declaration of 1959 are different from the structures in the
newer Convention – something that it seemed reasonable to expect in 1989,
at the exact point in time when socialism was collapsing worldwide.
We will follow the same procedure here that we used in the analysis of
the Declaration of 1959. The first question is which rights are mentioned in
the 1989 Convention:

ER1: education

ER2: equal opportunity

ER3: human dignity

This catalogue does not contain any new rights that did not appear in
1959; on the contrary, it fails to mention ER4 (1959) ‘full opportunity for
play and recreation’.
We find the following elements in 1989 regarding the utility of these
rights:

EU1: elimination of ignorance and illiteracy throughout the world

EU2: facilitating access to scientific and technical knowledge and

modern teaching methods

EU3: the development of the child’s personality, talents and mental

and physical abilities to their fullest potential

EU4: the development of respect for human rights and fundamental

freedoms, and for the principles enshrined in the Charter of the United
Nations

EU5: the development of respect for the child’s parents, his or her own
cultural identity, language and values, for the national values of the
country in which the child is living, the country from which he or she
may originate, and for civilisations different from his or her own

EU6: the preparation of the child for responsible life in a free society,
in the spirit of understanding, peace, tolerance, equality of sexes, and
 A structuralist approach 103
friendship among all peoples, ethnic, national and religious groups and
persons of indigenous origin

EU7: the development of respect for the natural environment

If one were to separate the generalised formulations of the clauses in

Article 29 and make each one into a separate EU, then the catalogue of
utility is definitely longer than the one in 1959. A just differentiation
would result in well over ten different elements.
Now let us look for the institutions that are named with regard to
asserting the rights. In contrast to 1959, we only find:

EI1: state, school, (system of education)

Parents are no longer listed as guarantors that children’s rights are held.
The classifications of elements hold the same relation to one another on
the surface level as they did in the 1959 Declaration:

EI1 → EI1–3SEU

If one observes these structures on the deep level, however, it also

becomes clear that:

EI1–7 ⫽ EUchildren

but rather, that it

= EUsociety/country/people of different ethnic groups/natural environ-

ment/world

It is clear that a transformation has occurred here from the deep- to the
surface-structure according to the following pattern:

EUsociety/country/people of different ethnic groups/natural environ-

ment/world ⇒ EUchildren

The society once again places its own interests – and this time expanded to
include the country, people of different ethnic groups, natural environment
and even the entire world – behind the rights of the child. In contrast to
1959, however, this Convention does not even attempt to present the interests
of all the non-children as if they were the interests of children. One can no
longer say, then, that the same sort of transformation that held for 1959:

ERchildren = ERsociety
104 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
is still relevant here.
But what transformation rules do play a role in developing the surface
level ‘rights of the child’ from the deep level? The answer can be found when
one realises that the 1989 Convention contains one further classification of
elements that did not play any particular role in the 1959 Declaration. We
will call it Em1–5. It is the classification of means that are listed in
achieving the rights of the child. The following elements belong to it:

Em1: make primary education compulsory and available free to all

Em2: encourage the development of different forms of secondary educa-

tion, including general and vocational education, make them available
and accessible to every child, and take appropriate measures such as the
introduction of free education and offering financial assistance in case
of need

Em3: make higher education accessible to all on the basis of capacity

by every appropriate means

Em4: make educational and vocational information and guidance avail-

able and accessible to all children

Em5: take measures to encourage regular attendance at schools and the

reduction of drop-out rates

If one also takes a look at Article 29.1, one will read that ‘education of
the child shall be directed to…’ Logically, this means that education
follows ends, which we have named EU1–7. Education, therefore, becomes
the means to certain given ends.
That means that the 1989 Convention also contains a second transforma-
tion rule:

ER1(Bildung) = EU6(Bildung)

According to this, the Convention does not only suggest that the interests
of the society, of the country, of people of different ethnic groups, of the
natural environment and of the world are identical to the interests or rights
of the child (to have education); rather, in the transition from one article to
the other, it redefines this right – one that is actually an end – as a means.
In interpreting this structural finding, one has to notice that the totali-
tarian character of the 1989 Convention exceeds that of the 1959 Declaration
and that it instrumentalises the rights of the child, which were originally
thought of as individual rights, for social ends. The Convention uses the
traditional European concept of education in order to gain legitimacy, but
it then degenerates it to a means in the interest of society. That means that
 A structuralist approach 105
the United Nations does not want children in this world to be educated in
the sense that the individual right to a good life – one that is good,
because it takes place in a developed personality – is balanced against the
interests of the society and given equal weight. All this seems to be the
case, if we look only to the principles or articles cited above.
What can be learned from this example of a structural analysis of the rights
of the child? First of all, it is evident that a structural analysis cannot replace a
text interpretation. A semantic analysis of the way certain words are used in
the UN texts, for example, would be able to discover connotations that are
connected to certain terms. Structural analysis cannot replace discourse anal-
ysis either. It might be revealing, for instance, to compare legal codifications
of how children are handled over a long period of history – perhaps since the
beginning of codified law – in order to discover changes in the mentality of
how children have been dealt with. It is very possible that various breaks
would become clear where a discourse history could see significant changes in
notions about the child and ways in which the child is handled. In addition to
hermeneutics and discourse analysis, the history of scientific analysis of texts
clearly includes other – though in part less important – methods.
In comparison to these other analytical methods, structural analysis
accomplishes something that interpretation and investigation of historical
changes cannot accomplish – unless they refer to a structural analysis
themselves. As we have already shown, structural analysis ignores the area
of meanings and connotations; however, it does produce important results
– ones that are essential, for example, for being able to carry out a
discourse analysis. It is not accidental that discourse analysis developed out
of the history of structuralism. The findings of the above investigation that
the UN statements are increasingly ignorant with respect to the rights of
the child in regard to his or her education could not have been carried
much further using the hermeneutic method. At best, one would have to
try to find out what is meant by ‘Bildung’, but the text does not offer any
definitions, which means that this line of analysis would come to an end
very quickly. It is only through the identification of classification groups of
elements, through the reconstruction of a formal model on which the text is
built, through the assumption of two levels, that it becomes possible to see
that a suggestive text – one that appears certain of approval, because it
protects the rights of the individual – actually does something very different
on a second level: it denies the rights of the individual (the child) in that
these rights can be subordinated to very different ends every time they are
put into operation. It becomes clear that the dimension of ends is mixed
with that of means in the concept of education. It is only by revealing this
conjecture, however, that we gain a clue to understanding what the United
Nations apparently meant by ‘Bildung’. And what they meant is in any case
not what the European tradition, developed over two and a half millennia as
an unity of individual and social requirements via the medium of ‘Bildung’,
made into a central characteristic of the concept of education.
106 Yvonne Ehrenspeck and Dieter Lenzen
The frequent claim – particularly popular in non-European countries –
that UN declarations are nothing other than an imperialistic gesture that
assert European norms on a global level, cannot be applied to this text
according to the structural analysis. The concept of education that is used in
the above articles of the declarations does not contain anything of the philo-
sophical tradition of education and ‘Bildung’ that has its roots in Europe;
instead, pragmatic concerns have coloured this version of education – and
probably even this is saying too much.
What can one do in a philosophical educational sense with the result of
such a structural analysis? We believe that structural analysis of this sort is a
necessary, but not sufficient methodological instrument for grasping what in
the above case proved to be a rather important global regulation of educa-
tional concepts. In the context of rapid globalisation that also affects the
systems of education (the process of European unification is a prelude to
this), it is necessary to develop shared notions of education. If a ‘global text’
about education and the rights of the child allows the rights of young indi-
viduals to be deployed for societal ends, and if this fact is not transparent on
the surface level of the text, then one can expect that massive differences will
turn up in the way that such a declaration is applied in various nations. This
is likely to happen, because those who agreed to the text will interpret it
differently – some (the Europeans, for instance) will refer to the surface level
in their application, which suggests a well-intended awareness of children’s
rights, while others in other parts of the world, for instance in the United
States of America or in Asian nations, will allow for a complete instrumen-
talisation of children based on the same text.
For a correct understanding of relevant cultural expressions, and UN
declarations belong to this category as well, a complete text analysis and a
locating of the text within a discourse analysis – in other words, a combina-
tion of methods that includes elements of hermeneutics, structural analysis
and discourse analysis – is essential for the above reasons. This also means,
however, that analyses of a purely structural character would not be mean-
ingful in the context of philosophy of education – in the same sense that
purely hermeneutic or historical discourse analytic work would not be mean-
ingful either. Instead, all three methods are separate parts of a concept of
‘reflexive educational science’. They deliver instruments that make it
possible to take a second look at the far too optimistic reduction of educa-
tional science into a science of action, and they make it possible to protect
the potential victims of educational measures from mistakes that come from
a non-existent, partial, contradictory, stifled, or at least forgotten, under-
standing of a European tradition of thought.

Notes
1 Claude Lévi-Strauss uses the expression ‘profound structure’ in place of what we
called ‘deep-structure’ here.
2 On the different varieties of the concept, cf. Lenzen (1994/1995: 1485ff.).
 A structuralist approach 107
References
Barthes, R. (1966) ‘Die strukturalistische Tätigkeit’, Kursbuch, 5: 190–201.
Baumert, J. (1997) TIMMSS – mathematisch-naturwissenschaftlicher Unterricht im inter-
nationalen Vergleich, Opladen: Leske & Budrich.
Ehrenspeck, Y. (2001; in press) ‘Strukturalismus und Poststrukturalismus in der
Erziehungswissenschaft’, in A. Tervooren (ed.), Dekonstruktive Pädagogik,
Opladen: Leske & Budrich.
Jenkner, S. (ed.) (1992) Internationale Erklärungen und Übereinkommen zum Recht auf
Bildung und zur Freiheit der Erziehung, Frankfurt am Main: Fischer.
Lenzen, D. (1973) Didaktik und Kommunikation, Frankfurt am Main: Fischer.
—— (ed.) (1976) Die Struktur der Erziehung und des Unterrichts, Strukturalismus in der
Erziehungswissenschaft?, Frankfurt am Main: Fischer.
—— (1985) Mythologie der Kindheit. Die Verewigung des Kindlichen in der Erwachse-
nenkultur, Versteckte Bilder und vergessene Geschichten, Reinbek bei Hamburg:
Rowohlt.
—— (1991a) ‘Pädagogisches Risikowissen, Mythologie der Erziehung und päda-
gogische Methexis’, Zeitschrift für Pädagogik, 27. Beiheft: 109–129
—— (1991b) Vaterschaft. Vom Patriarchat zur Alimentation, Reinbek bei Hamburg:
Rowohlt.
—— (1991c) Krankheit als Erfindung. Medizinische Eingriffe in die Kultur, Frankfurt
am Main: Fischer.
—— (1994/1995) ‘Struktur’, in D. Lenzen (ed.), Pädagogische Grundbegriffe, vol. 2,
4th edn, Reinbek bei Hamburg: Rowohlt.
—— (1996) Handlung und Reflexion. Vom pädagogischen Theoriedefizit zur reflexiven
Erziehungswissenschaft, Weinheim/Basel: Beltz.
—— (1998) ‘Wird unser Bildungssystem den unterschiedlichen Begabungen
gerecht?’, in E. J. M. Kroker and B. Dechamps (eds), Erziehung und Bildung.
Verspielen wir unsere Bildungschancen?, Frankfurt am Main: Frankfurter Allgemeine
Zeitung.
8 Antifoundationalist
foundational research
Analysing discourse on children’s
rights to decide
Frieda Heyting

Constructivism, antifoundationalism and foundational

research
The term ‘constructivism’ refers to a range of epistemological views which
share the idea that scientific knowledge, and knowledge in general, should
be understood as resulting from a process of human construction.
Constructivists consider knowledge to be a product of ‘assembling better
instruments for prediction and control of the environment’ (Rorty 1998a:
76), rather than a representation of the intrinsic nature of reality (cf.
Goodman 1978; Rorty 1980). Having no means at our disposal for
comparing our descriptions of reality with the mind-independent version of
it, we are thrown back on our man-made perspectives and vocabularies of
perceiving and describing the world, indissolubly bound to our own inter-
ests and needs.
‘Facts are creatures of their descriptions’ according to Goodman (1987: 81).
Since there are many different perspectives from which we can describe the
world, every situation can be described, according to Goodman, in many
different correct (‘right’) ways. Or, as Rorty states, we can have recourse to
many different vocabularies for description. For example, the world of
‘molecules’ differs from that of ‘values’. In addition to this, those different
descriptions cannot be considered as two partial descriptions of one and the
same ‘external’ reality. In fact, no description can be reduced to ‘the’ reality
(Rorty 1989: 11f.). In this sense, constructivists assume that there must be
many worlds, each of them an artefact of its own description (Goodman 1987).
In the absence of any mind-independent access to external reality, we
cannot bypass our dependence on vocabularies and perspectives.
Consequently, as vocabularies and perspectives are of human origin, every
description of reality must be considered ‘conventional’ (Goodman 1987).
Not surprisingly, this leads many constructivists to the study of either indi-
vidual or social processes of knowledge development, sometimes equating
these processes with constructivist epistemology itself.
One tradition, reasoning from the genetic epistemology of Piaget, inves-
tigates the psychological and biological prerequisites of knowledge.
 An antifoundationalist approach 109
Glasersfeld is an important contemporary representative of this tradition
(Glasersfeld 1984, 1999). A second tradition stems from a sociological
rather than psychological interest in knowledge production. It stresses the
socially conditioned character of knowledge construction (Knorr-Cetina
1981; Latour and Woolgar 1979). Both traditions have produced construc-
tivist theories of learning and teaching (Harris and Graham 1994).
Such constructivist traditions, although they may sometimes seem to
imply this, do not render superfluous the study of philosophical questions
concerning the nature and justification of knowledge. Nelson Goodman and
Richard Rorty, for example, are primarily interested in these philosophical
questions (Goodman 1978; Rorty 1980). My argument will also be restricted
to philosophical questions, and will mainly concern questions of justification
evoked by the antifoundationalist epistemology of constructivism.
I will pay special attention to two issues raised by constructivist episte-
mology. One issue concerns a conception of justification and a related
conception of foundations that is compatible with – antifoundationalist –
constructivist epistemology. What limitations does a antifoundationalism
impose on foundational research, and what possibilities does it leave? The
second issue concerns the danger of cultural relativism often presumed to
result from constructivist epistemology. I will illustrate both issues with
examples from children’s rights discourses. My main example will deal with
the right of children to participate in decisions concerning their own
medical treatment.

Foundations and the structure of knowledge

Constructivism rejects foundationalist positions. Traditional foundation-
alism relies heavily on the so-called ‘regress argument’, which Post
summarises as follows:

If every justified belief could be justified only by inferring it from some

further justified belief, there would have to be an infinite regress of
justifications; because there cannot be such regress, there must be justi-
fied beliefs that are not justified by appeal to some further justified
belief. Instead, they are non-inferentially or immediately justified; they
are basic or foundational, the ground on which all our other justified
beliefs are to rest.
(Post 1992: 209)

Rorty (1980) discusses three kinds of arguments that are considered non-
inferentially justified: statements about sense experiences (in empiricism);
statements about the intuition of clear and distinct ideas (in rationalism);
and statements about the conditions of the possibility of knowledge (in tran-
scendental philosophy). Foundationalism presupposes that there are two
kinds of statements: statements that can be directly accepted as justified,
110 Frieda Heyting
and so enter into the justification of the second kind of statement, i.e., state-
ments that can only be indirectly accepted (cf. Dancy 1985: 53ff.). In this
view, knowledge has a hierarchical structure and foundations are considered
the most basic building blocks supporting the whole structure.
The idea of definite and self-justifying foundations no longer seems
convincing today. Popper (1974: 111), for example, compares the foundation
of theories with the piles that support a building on swampy ground: they
are driven down until they can support the structure, but they never reach
firm ground. Though no longer advocating the possibility of self-justifying
grounds, current forms of foundationalism still consider knowledge to be
hierarchically structured. The most basic argument is considered fallible and
only relatively epistemologically privileged. For that reason, Lehrer calls such
views ‘fallible foundationalist’ (Lehrer 1990: 63f.). They are still charac-
terised by regression, though in a weaker form (Dancy 1985: 57). ‘Good’
foundations should still have a special – though not absolute – relation to
truth.
In scientific contexts, sense experiences are now considered the best
candidates for fallible, yet epistemologically relatively privileged, founda-
tions. Dancy (1985: 66ff.) documents extensively the reasons why
empiricist epistemological privilege is untenable, but in principle,
antifoundationalism affects all kinds of epistemological privilege, including
weak versions (cf. Rorty 1980). If we compare foundations with criteria for
finally settling any issue, then the problem at stake is similar to the so-
called ‘problem of the criterion’. Applying it to empiricism, Moser, et al
(1998: 153ff.) summarise as follows. How can one consider particular
observations as criteria for deciding upon the justification of knowledge
(respectively, as foundations of knowledge) without having at one’s disposal
a general method of observation? This critique also applies the other way
around. Neither particulars (observations) nor universals (methods, theo-
ries) can be attributed – relative – epistemological privilege. Particulars
and generals seem to presuppose each other. However, foundationalism does
not allow for such ‘circular’ solutions. Foundationalist justification – in its
strong as well as its weaker versions – presupposes a linear structure and one
identifiable basic foundation, be it only a relatively privileged one (Bonjour
1986).
Constructivists reject the idea of (relative) epistemological privilege. They
have consequently to reject linear inferential justification. In addition, if
foundations have any significance in constructivist justification procedures,
they have to be endowed with the same epistemological status as any other
statement. This results in a replacement of hierarchical, linear structures by
‘horizontal’ ones, in which statements mutually justify each other. In this
context, Audi (1988: 188ff.) introduces the idea of justifying patterns. Moser
et al. (1998: 82) also reject the regression thesis, replacing hierarchical struc-
tures with holistic, systemic conceptions of justification. Antifoundationalist
conceptions of justification – which should be distinguished from theories of
 An antifoundationalist approach 111
truth – amount to the inferential relating of beliefs to other beliefs in the
overall context of a coherent system (Bonjour 1986: 120).1
The meaning of ‘foundations’ that results from the above argumentation,
then, must be horizontal and systemic. Foundations are still indispensable to
justification, but they themselves are no less in need of justification. In this
sense, the foundation of beliefs more closely resembles relating them hori-
zontally to a network of other beliefs than deriving them hierarchically from
a ‘most basic’ foundation. From this perspective, foundations are those
beliefs that anchor specific positions to the surrounding network of knowl-
edge (and vice versa), thus accounting for their plausibility. Vicious circles
can be avoided because ‘the justification of particular beliefs depends finally
not on other particular beliefs, as in the linear conception of justification,
but on the overall system and its coherence’ (Bonjour 1986: 121).
Consequently, foundational analysis should reveal the anchorage of beliefs
– as expressed in specific positions and arguments – in a structure of
surrounding beliefs, thus making them accessible for dispute. The founda-
tions of a specific position can accordingly be reconstructed by answering
the following two questions. Which – basically implicit – beliefs could
account for the idea that this specific position is apparently considered plau-
sible? Secondly, which – also basically implicit – beliefs can account for the
idea that the arguments to substantiate this specific position are considered
convincing? The anchoring belief does not need any special epistemological
status and can itself be subjected to foundational analysis at any moment.
Foundational analysis consists, then, in the reconstruction of contextual
presuppositions.
This ‘contextualist’ (Annis 1986) approach to foundational research can
be illustrated by De Ruyter’s (1993) discussion about justifying government
intervention in family education. Her proposition is that such intervention
is allowed if the circumstances of the child concerned may endanger the
development of an autonomous person. De Ruyter’s main argument in
favour of this proposition refers to the fundamental human right to be or to
become an autonomous person.
In a hierarchical model of justification, the appeal to this human right
would be the most basic argument, and consequently endowed with (rela-
tive) epistemological privilege. It would be the task of a foundational
critique to scrutinise the tenability of this privilege. In an antifoundation-
alist, horizontal or contextual model, additional subsidiary arguments come
to the fore. For example, De Ruyter considers personal autonomy a prerequi-
site for democratic participation, which in its turn should be an aim of
education. Answering the question as to which presuppositions are required
to make these and similar arguments persuasive reveals a complex of contex-
tual beliefs. These depict human beings as individuals who (should) make
decisions by themselves, democracy as a means of coordinating those
autonomous decisions, and the state as a body safeguarding the conditions
for this system. This cluster of presupposed beliefs may also explain why De
112 Frieda Heyting
Ruyter finds the withholding of democratic rights from children justified on
account of their (as yet) lacking competence, despite the fact that the demo-
cratic ideal itself entails everybody’s right to participate, irrespective of
competence (cf. Freeman 1992). The plausibility of De Ruyter’s position and
argument depends on this cluster of presuppositions.
To recapitulate, antifoundationalist foundational research reconstructs
the presupposed contextual beliefs that account for the plausibility of
specific propositions. These presuppositions are taken for granted, not
necessarily as a basic conviction, but – in this instance – to uphold the
proposition and its matching arguments before a specific audience.2 This
version of foundational research approaches linguistic theories of prag-
matics and rhetoric. There is in fact a close resemblance between concepts
stemming from epistemology and linguistics. Stalnaker’s pragmatic
presuppositions and Ginzburg’s ‘common ground’ resemble Goodman’s
use of ‘fact’ in that they all constitute an unquestioned basis that enables
dispute and discourse in general (Ginzburg 1997; Goodman 1987;
Stalnaker 1999). In her analysis of the child’s linguistic construction of
cognitive representations, Fleisher Feldman (1990) uses a similar pair of
concepts. She distinguishes between the ‘epistemic’ (that which is under
discussion) and the ‘ontic’ (the taken-for-granted context that makes this
discussion possible) just as Goodman (1987) distinguishes between ‘facts’
(the discussed) and ‘values’ (the optional, conventional background)
(Heyting 1997). Foundational research investigates the mutual relation-
ships between that which is explicitly discussed and that which is
implicitly taken for granted.

Belief systems and their foundations

Foundational research is not exclusively restricted to singular propositions
and arguments. It often concerns whole systems of systematically related
statements such as ‘educational statements’ or ‘pedagogical ideas on
authority’. In order to deal with such cases, we must be able to define the
epistemic (the ‘discussed’) and the ontic (the ‘taken-for-granted’) at system
level. On this issue, I follow Margolis (1995), who deals with the episte-
mological position of whole discourses. According to Margolis, a discourse
presupposes a ‘natural language domain’ that is not itself under discussion
but is presupposed as a clear-cut part of the totality of possible utterances
(the ‘universe of discourse’). This language domain represents the ontic
level of a discourse.
Though language domains – as presupposed discourse domains –
restrict the potentially plausible utterances in a given discourse within
limits, we cannot positively point them out as such. As an effect of the
indefinable boundaries of the universe of discourse, discourse domains
cannot be considered closed systems either (Margolis 1995: 154).
Consequently, we cannot decide at face value which possible statements
 An antifoundationalist approach 113
belong to a specific domain and which do not (an instantiation can be
found below). Nevertheless, not all statements are allowed in any concrete
discourse, only those considered as belonging to the specific domain of the
discourse. Without this selectivity, discourse would degenerate into chaos.
This means that the contextual language domain is artificially closed in
specific discourses to allow a limited range of statements. In this way,
specific, artificially closed, versions of language domains function as
presuppositions in actual discourses. They provide the presupposed ‘game-
board’ (Ginzburg 1997: 413) on which the actual discourse takes place.
These language domains are not overtly reflected (they are treated as
‘ontic’), and in that sense they function as if they were ‘naturally’ closed.
Margolis (1995: 157) observes a – foundationalist – tendency neverthe-
less to regard language domains as naturally closed systems, for example,
by appealing to first principles, insistence on the neutrality of particular
philosophical options, reference to ‘exceptionless’ laws of thought, etc.
However, according to him, such claims should be rejected because of
their appeal to epistemological privilege. Consequently, he concludes that
‘all thinking, including legitimation, is “horizonal” ’ (Margolis 1995:
166), dependent on the specific closure of the language domain as implied
in the specific discourse. For this reason, he calls the presupposed version
of a language domain ‘mythical’. Discourse relates to the mythical as
values to facts (Goodman) and as the epistemic to the ontic (Fleisher
Feldman).
According to the above, antifoundationalist version of foundational
research on systems of statements should concentrate on the specifically
defined language domains that discourses implicitly presuppose. However,
some problems remain unsolved. For example, discourses do not present
themselves as such either. It is rather the researcher who puts them
together from separate statements that in his or her view belong to the
same contextual language domain or predefined part of it. This means we
need a theoretical device to define and mutually delimit language domains
in order to identify discourses as such. For example, in my analysis of De
Ruyter’s argument about the right to intervene in family education, I
identified her argument as belonging to an educational discourse by
distinguishing it from a political line of reasoning. Such distinctions
should be further explained at a theoretical level.
For the sake of completeness, it should be mentioned that the researcher
makes still other theoretical assumptions in analysing discourses in view of
their presupposed language domains. For example, a certain conception of
logic and correct argumentation will inevitably come into play as well (cf.
Margolis 1995: 83f.). I will not discuss all of them. For the foundational
researcher, it is just as impossible to discuss some issues without assuming
others as it is for anyone else. Though not everything can be under discus-
sion at the same time, a device to identify language domains would appear
crucial.
114 Frieda Heyting
Social systems as language domains
In the theoretical definition of language domains – as contexts for discourses
to be analysed – the social systems theory of Luhmann (1984, 1995) can be
useful. This theory seems especially designed to define contextual language
domains and to make the identification of discourses possible. In the first
place, Luhmann defines social systems as communication systems, to be
distinguished in the light of the exchange of meaning. This makes social
systems theory potentially compatible with the above-mentioned group of
linguistic and epistemological theories. As social systems theory considers the
boundaries of social systems to be boundaries of meaningful communication,
without predetermining exactly which linguistic expressions belong to them,
social systems are comparable to Margolis’ language domains.
A second consideration in favour of social systems theory concerns the
contextual definition of social systems. Social systems are by definition
systems-in-context. Luhmann conceives of social systems as parts of the all-
embracing system of society, just as Margolis relates language domains to the
universe of discourse. Throughout this society (universe of discourse), social
systems (language domains) are seen as mutually related by definition.
A third consideration concerns the impossibility of defining the boundaries
of the encompassing system. The boundaries of the all-embracing society
cannot be determined any more than the boundaries of Margolis’ all-
embracing universe of discourse. According to Luhmann (1997: 89), society
has no substance of its own, just as Margolis’ universe of discourse has no
characteristics other than being the ‘context of all contexts’ (Margolis 1995:
154).
As social systems (or language domains) do not exist in isolation but only
as mutually related parts of an embracing system, foundational research will
not only reconstruct the (specific character of the) presupposed language
domain in a specific discourse, but it will also reconstruct the way this
discourse relates its presupposed domain to other domains – as my previous
example related the educational to the political and the ethical domain. Our
required theoretical instrument for the definition of language domains and for
the identification of discourses results from Luhmann’s explanation of social
systems and their mutual relations.
Luhmann considers the boundaries of meaning, which separate social
systems, as expressions of different social functions. He characterises society
accordingly as a functionally differentiated communicative system.
Consequently, social systems (domains) can be related in three ways. First, the
relation of the system to the embracing whole is called a ‘functional relation’.
Second, because the perception of other social systems (language domains)
always depends on the function-specific perspective of the current system,
Luhmann calls the relations between different social systems (domains)
‘performance relations’ (Leistungsbeziehungen). Third, the relation of a system to
itself – the ways in which the domain is described in discourses taking place
within its own boundaries – is termed a ‘reflexive relation’.
 An antifoundationalist approach 115
An example: the right of children to decide on medical
treatment
Since the 1980s, the right of children to participate in decisions on their own
medical treatment has been the subject of debate. In the Netherlands, this
resulted in new legislation in 1995. According to this legislation, children
between 16 and 18 years of age may independently agree on treatment; chil-
dren between 12 and 15 have the right to participate in the decision, together
with their parents. I will give below a short analysis of this question as an
educational debate, according to the theoretical framework sketched above.
The material consists of a sample of publications in scientific journals,
collected in a project by Hemrica (1998). These have been re-analysed for the
purposes of the following example.
Firstly, in order to recognise a discourse as ‘educational’ and to reconstruct
its specific presupposed version of the contextual language domain, the educa-
tional language domain in general (the educational social meaning system)
should be defined according to its function in society (or the universe of
discourse). As discussed in greater detail elsewhere (Heyting 1992), I main-
tain that educational discourses fulfil a specific reflexive function in society,
pertaining specifically to whichever kind of ‘better’ participation from new
generations we strive for in the specific kind of ‘better’ future society that
appears desirable to us. This function can be seen as a specific reflexive func-
tion to society, because the educational domain describes the improvement of
society itself from the perspective of the future participation of its members.
If we wish to analyse the discussion of children’s rights to participate in
medical decisions as an instance of educational discourse, we have to recon-
struct it as a discussion about the promotion of the child’s ‘better’
decision-making in ‘better’ social contexts. In the thus-reconstructed
discussion, a number of points are worthy of attention. Firstly, the reflexive
and future-oriented character of educational discourse emerge, since ‘better’
decision making is specified in terms of competencies to be acquired in
education. As regards content, many discussants mention competence in
abstract reasoning as a prerequisite for correctly balancing the pros and cons
(Braake 1987; De Ville 1997; Doek 1998; Hermans 1986; Koocher and De
Maso 1990; McCabe 1995; Oberman 1996; Scherer 1991). Secondly, and in
addition, good decision making is said to require an ‘adult’ – i.e., long-term –
perception of time (De Ville 1997; Doek, 1998; Holder 1989; Koocher and
De Maso 1990). Thirdly, discussants think that ‘good’ decision making
demands autonomy, which is understood as the ability to decide
independently of circumstances and of other people (Doek 1998; Koocher and
De Maso 1990; McCabe 1995; Scherer 1991).
Most authors introduce without any further explanation these cognitive
competencies that children should have acquired before taking part in
medical decisions. The required ability for autonomous decision making is
also the only one to be discussed in the context of required social abilities.
As mentioned above, good cognitive decision making appears to imply that
116 Frieda Heyting
children are capable of making decisions independently of parents and
friends. However, according to some discussants children should simultane-
ously possess the social competency to come to a decision in close
connection with friends and family, though ignoring their comments on
physical appearance (Doek 1998; Wright Clayton 1997).
None of the authors discusses the connection between the two types of
abilities – cognitive and social – and their possibly conflicting demands.
Wherever the two are related, the cognitive dimension seems to dominate.
For example, some authors think familial harmony important, but this
opinion is underpinned with reference to its effects on the likelihood of a
‘right’ decision, which is again understood in cognitive terms (Brands and
Brands-Bottema 1991; McCabe 1995; Oberman 1996; Wright Clayton
1997). Finally, some authors mention the moral ability to relate the decision
to a personal goal in life as a requisite to ‘good’ decisions. (De Ville 1997;
McCabe 1995; Oberman 1996; Wright Clayton 1997).
The profile of ‘right’ kind of decision making that arises from the discus-
sion is introduced as self-evident, thereby rendering further discussion
unnecessary. It is treated as a legitimate source for justifying educational
positions, as the anchorage of dominant views in this discussion. In addition,
it is striking that the absence of each of these conditions is put forward as a
defence for withholding the decision-making rights of children. Just as the
arguments in the example on government intervention were meant to justify
the denial of children’s democratic rights, the educational argument about
decision rights now primarily specifies under what conditions these rights
should be withheld from children.
The content of these views on children’s rights to decide in medical
issues can only be understood from a specific version of the educational
discourse – the presumed educational common ground in this discourse. It
reveals a view of education as a process aiming at autonomy and rationality.
In other versions of the educational domain, the same arguments would be
unconvincing. This specific cluster of views reflects the general function of
the educational domain in representing and keeping alive certain ideals
about individuals in society, despite the fact that many adults cannot live
up to those ideals in practice. In other domains or social systems, a similar
line of reasoning would be equally unconvincing, as illustrated by the
impossibility of defending the withholding of children’s democratic rights
from a political perspective. This leads to the next level of analysis: how
does this discussion about children’s decision rights reflect a specific
version of the educational domain as related to other social systems or
language domains?
As demonstrated above, this discussion relates the educational domain to
the universe of discourse (society as a whole) – thus fulfilling its reflective
function – by maintaining certain ideals such as autonomy, rationality and
familial harmony as portents of a desired future, irrespective of existing
social reality. The discussion also relates the educational domain in a specific
 An antifoundationalist approach 117
way to other language domains or social systems. I shall deal mainly with
legal and medical instances of these. To be able to do this, these legal and
medical domains must also be defined as language domains, i.e., as partial
systems of society, according to their own social functions. For the sake of
brevity, I simply adopt Luhmann’s definitions. According to Luhmann, in
the medical domain, events derive meaning from the perspective of the
distinction between illness and health. In the legal domain, the attribution
of meaning is dominated by assessment of the (un)certainty of normative
social expectations (Luhmann 1984: 509).
The judicial system enters this discussion when authors discuss the ques-
tion whether allocation of decision rights in medical issues should follow
fixed age limits. In this part of the discussion, the problem of settling
normative social questions unequivocally (how can we decide when exactly a
child is rational or autonomous enough?) contributes to the character of the
discussion. Hermans (1986), for example, argues in favour of fixed age limits
to facilitate the enforcement of decision-making rights in everyday practice.
This is a clear example of an argument that belongs to the legal domain. In
Hermans’ argument, the legal domain even takes precedence over the educa-
tional: though he explicitly recognises that children develop at different
rates, the prospect of complex decision processes and ambiguous social
expectations is decisive for him.
However, the vast majority of authors reject such argumentation. When
confronted with legislative problems they try rather to incorporate as many
educational arguments as possible and are ready to tolerate legal complexity
and vagueness in the interests of educational opportunities. However, in this
process, the necessity for an unequivocal statutory regulation is not ques-
tioned, it is rather taken for granted. Only Roscam Abbing (1986) radically
considers the gradually developing judgmental competencies of children
more decisive than legal safety. To sum up, in this particular discussion, a
version of the educational domain is presupposed that is related to the legal
domain in such a way that its intentions are recognised and incorporated on
the one hand, while on the other hand judicial considerations are subordi-
nated to educational ones.
The educational domain is related to the medical one in this discussion in
a quite different way. By far the majority of authors appear to subordinate
educational (as well as legal) arguments to considerations of health (Doek
1998; Hermans 1986; Holder 1989; McCabe 1995; Roscam Abbing 1986;
Scherer 1991; Wright Clayton 1997). Whenever medical risks are involved,
all educational arguments in favour of decision-making rights are cast aside.
Consciously running medical risks – of all kinds, not only life-threatening
ones – is considered by definition irrational, and sometimes even seen as
proof of cognitive failure due to a short-term perspective or undue concern
about physical appearance (Doek 1998; Holder 1989).
None of the authors systematically weighs up educational and medical
risks, let alone gives priority to the educational risks. More than that, in this
118 Frieda Heyting
discussion, the educational risks in being ill and submitted to medical treat-
ment are hardly mentioned at all. Only Wright Clayton (1997) mentions
the risk that those children who are not consulted may lose their decision
skills. If participation of children is considered at all in relation to medical
risks, this mainly concerns situations in which the child has to be persuaded
into the medically ‘correct’ treatment (Roscam Abbing 1986). In summary,
it may be stated that this discussion reveals a version of the educational
discourse domain that is related to the medical one in such a way that it
suspends itself in favour of the latter in the event of any health risk
emerging. The medical concept of risk functions as a dominating and
unquestionable presupposition and, in this respect, the educational domain
is subordinate to the medical.

Foundational critique
Foundational research is not necessarily restricted to the analytic reconstruc-
tion of presuppositions and presupposed versions of language domains
(social systems). In many cases, it also pursues a critical appraisal of those
presuppositions. However, from the antifoundationalist perspective, it
hardly seems possible to formulate the criteria for such an appraisal, let
alone justify them. Postulating such criteria and considering them justified
would in fact amount to making an appeal to epistemological privilege. If
foundational critique is feasible, it should hold on to the ‘horizonal’
(Margolis 1995), ‘symmetrical’ (Audi 1988) or ‘system-oriented’ (Moser et
al. 1998) structure as explicated above.
According to such system-oriented procedures, justification does not refer
to ‘final’ arguments, and consequently critique cannot do so either. Both
refer rather to a complex and differentiated horizon of knowledge that is
itself disputable in every respect. Such procedures may avoid privilege; one
may wonder whether they lead to arbitrariness. To solve this problem,
Margolis suggests an appeal to history. According to him: ‘Legitimation
cannot escape the dilemma of privilege or arbitrariness, except by histori-
cizing its own regulative function’ (Margolis 1995: 166). It seems as if – in
order to avoid arbitrary postulation of criteria – the historical-cultural
context now takes the place of epistemologically privileged foundations,
depicting itself instead as a last court of appeal.
Rorty too appeals to culture, to the local and temporal ‘we’ of present
Western societies, in order to substantiate his ideas on democracy. Lyotard
(1985) – though endorsing antifoundationalist views himself – strongly
rejects any kind of appeal to culture for justificatory ends. He compares
Rorty’s views to those of the Nazis, who also claimed the superiority of their
own ‘we’, simultaneously providing themselves with a justification for not
expecting other (read: less developed) ‘in-groups’ to understand the legiti-
macy of Nazi views. According to Lyotard, this example clearly
demonstrates why an appeal to culture cannot provide a good reason for
 An antifoundationalist approach 119
holding any view. The tenor of this controversy between Rorty and Lyotard
(Lyotard 1985; Lyotard and Rorty 1985; Rorty 1985) prompts a further
explication of the relation between antifoundationalist foundational critique
and cultural relativism.
I believe there are two reasons why – from a antifoundationalist point of
view – culture cannot provide grounds for justification. Firstly, if we
consider culture as the last court of appeal in matters of justification, we
actually attribute epistemological privilege to whatever culture dictates.
Such a position is indefensible from a antifoundationalist view and may be
dangerous as well because it rules out the possibility of explaining stand-
points to representatives from other cultures if they do not already share the
same basic ideas. If Rorty had meant his appeal to culture in that way,
Lyotard’s critique would have been convincing. However, this is not the case.
In his reply to Lyotard, Rorty (1985) makes it clear that he does not claim
any epistemological privilege for Western cultures. However, Rorty’s appeal
to culture could still be problematic in another way, which is a second reason
why culture cannot provide criteria for either justification or critique.
According to some authors, culture primarily limits the ways in which
people can understand and interpret things. In this view, the ‘horizonal’
function of culture means that one cannot look across its borders, and conse-
quently any justification will be restricted to its own jurisdiction. Without
necessarily regarding one’s own culture as ‘the best’, one is nevertheless
bound hand and foot by it. Feyerabend, for example, once supported this
kind of relativism (cf. Preston 1997: 191ff.). However, this kind of cultural
relativism does not appear to be tenable either. Feyerabend eventually
rejected it, stating as follows: ‘Other armchair views did not fare so well. I
am referring to my “relativism”, to the idea that cultures are more or less
closed entities with their own criteria and procedures’ (Feyerabend 1995:
151). Margolis contributes a related argument. Like Feyerabend, Margolis
(1995: 167, 174) stresses that cultures should not be seen as ‘closed’.
Comparing cultures to universes of discourse, he points out the impossi-
bility of designating their boundaries. Consequently, it is impossible to use
them as contexts of justification. The possibly culturally influenced limita-
tions of our imaginative powers should not be confused with the use of
criteria for justification or critique.
Only if we mistake an artificially ‘closed’ representation of a culture for
that culture itself can culture be supposed to function as a context of justifi-
cation (cf. Margolis 1995: 171–172). According to Margolis, Rorty misses
this last point (Margolis will be refuted below). Whenever justification
appeals to culture – or to other limitless entities like ‘society’ or ‘universe of
discourse’ – it is in fact an artificially closed version of it that is invoked and
mistakenly passed off as ‘the’ culture. This explains why democracy repre-
sents ‘the’ American culture for some people and the Ku-Klux-Klan ‘the’
American culture for others. General appeals to ‘culture’ or ‘us’ always hide a
presupposed specific definition of the entity at stake. This insight opens up
120 Frieda Heyting
new leads to a constructivist view of critique, which can remain ‘horizonal’
without being perverted into cultural relativism.
To return to our example, it will be impossible to find any grounds justi-
fying one single correct standpoint on the rights of children to participate in
medical decision making. However, after reconstructing presuppositions and
presupposed versions of language domains in foundational analysis, these
basic assumptions that we take for granted are opened up for critical
discourse, which will prevent them from becoming fossilised. This allows for
two forms of critique, firstly a critique on grounds of form, and secondly a
critique with respect to content.
Critique on grounds of form will detect gaps, inconsistencies and loose
ends in the presuppositions once they are made explicit. This kind of
critique is not specific to constructivist views.3 In our example, the omission
of reflection on educational risks could be considered a lacuna in the justi-
fying of standpoints in the analysed discussion. An inconsistency could be
found in the argument about autonomy, which is stressed in a cognitive
context and rejected in a social (familial) context. Prioritising autonomous
rational judgement without any further argument could be considered a
loose end – it could be too rashly transferred from the medical domain.
A antifoundationalist view of critique with respect to content seems less
obvious. Essentially, it should take advantage of the optional rather than the
obligatory character of each justification – without ever passing a final
judgement. This view of critique stresses its dynamic rather than its decisive
powers. Critical discourse now concentrates on the replaceable character of
the basic assumptions that were revealed in foundational analysis. Rorty
(1998b) also supports this view of critique. Rejecting cultural relativism
because it wants to ‘reduce “better” to consensus’ (Rorty 1998b: 59), he
stresses the possibility of ‘getting beyond our present practices by a gesture
in the direction of our possibly different future practices’ (Rorty 1998b: 61).
At the same time, however, he warns of erroneously confusing ‘the possible
transcendence of the present by the future with the necessary transcendence
of time by eternity’ (Rorty 1998b: 61). According to this view, critique can
propose possible alternatives – to be tested and revised in future discourses –
in order to transcend actual practice. It can lay a current consensus on the
table; it cannot definitively preclude any dissent.
In our example, the educational duty of parents and therapists to support
children in their difficult task of medical decision making could be a
possible alternative for the presupposed necessity of making autonomous
rational competencies prerequisite for granting decision rights to children.
Furthering socially embedded decision making could be an alternative to the
isolated and cognitively interpreted view of decision making that our foun-
dational analysis revealed. A conception of risk, finally, that takes into
account both developmental and medical dimensions of the future of the
children involved could be an alternative to the purely medical conception
that resulted from our foundational analysis.
 An antifoundationalist approach 121
Between epistemological privilege and arbitrariness lies the possibility of
meaningful and critical discussion. Though such discussions may intend ‘to
maximise the tenability of the systems we endorse’ (Elgin 1996: 145), we
should be aware that none of them ‘affords a permanent resting-place. The
task is endless’ (Elgin 1996: 220). Against this background, it becomes
obvious why it is, according to Margolis, that we should consider matters
historically in order to solve the dilemma between privilege and arbitrari-
ness. By taking a historical perspective, we can avoid mistaking our own
version of culture for either ‘the’ universe – which leads to privilege – or a
prison of judgment – which leads to arbitrariness. A historical perspective
stresses the possibility of changing one’s criteria, not because people can do
so at will, but because people can learn, can make mistakes and – to a
certain extent – can correct them (Elgin 1996: 205).

Short epilogue on the foundations of constructivism

In conclusion, this historical, rather than cultural, relativist view of justifica-
tion and critique prevents antifoundationalism from being self-refuting. Its
‘horizonal’, contextualist view of justificatory relations does not presuppose
the rejection of (relative) epistemological privilege to be ‘true’, thus
ascribing this principle epistemological privilege itself. Rejecting epistemo-
logical privilege is nothing more or less than a momentary starting point, an
attempt to try and avoid the epistemological problems foundationalist
approaches seem to evoke. It is used until a ‘better’ one, appearing more
plausible to a community of philosophers, emerges from philosophical
discourse. This makes philosophy itself historical, able to profit from
discourse and feedback, rather than being fallaciously circular (cf. Walton
1995).
This is how Rorty explains his position in the face of criticism from John
Searle, who apparently fears that leaving ‘mind-independent truth’ will
convert academic departments into political power bases (Rorty 1998a: 68).
Rorty certainly intends nothing like turning philosophy over to the most
powerful by rejecting the notion of ‘mind-independent’ truth. However, he
does oppose the idea that academic freedom – or any other positive social
value – could be saved by being given epistemological justifications.
According to Rorty, giving social justifications for social positions would be
‘more honest and more clearheaded’ (Rorty 1998a: 69); he distances himself
thereby from what Quine called ‘a stubborn old enigma of epistemological
priority’ (Quine 1986: 223).
Of course, such a view will condemn us to endlessly continuing
discourses, simply because we are robbed of ultimate correctness. On the
other hand, in the light of the imperfection of available evidence, such a
course of action might be the wisest. From this perspective it seems prudent
to maintain ‘that the point of edifying philosophy is to keep the conversa-
tion going rather than to find objective truth’ (Rorty 1980: 377).
122 Frieda Heyting
Notes
1 However, this idea of contextual justification must not be confused with a
coherence theory of truth, because it states nothing about the nature of truth-
claims themselves (Bonjour 1986: 132ff.; Moser et al. 1998: 83ff.). Bonjour opts
rather for an argumentation along the lines of correspondence theory, but going
into this would lead us too far from the subject. His main arguments consist of
requiring input from the world (be it causally, not epistemologically) and
concluding that a system without such input cannot be expected to be coherent.
2 We can be sure only of the author’s or speaker’s actual formulations. Whether he
or she ‘really’ believes the presuppositions that account for the plausibility of his
or her propositions cannot be deduced. This need not be the case. Educational
texts, for example, are often strongly adapted to the presumed presuppositions
of the children whom one is addressing.
3 One must remember that the rules of logic and other procedures for practising
this kind of critique themselves are not immune. This makes critique on
grounds of form not principally different from critique with respect to content.

References
Annis, D. B. (1986) ‘A Contextualist Theory of Epistemic Justification’, in P. K.
Moser (ed.), Empirical Knowledge. Readings in Contemporary Epistemology, Savage:
Rowman & Littlefield.
Audi, R. (1988) Epistemology: A Contemporary Introduction to the Theory of Knowledge,
London: Routledge.
Bonjour, L. (1986) ‘The Coherence Theory of Empirical Knowledge’, in P. K. Moser
(ed.), Empirical Knowledge. Readings in Contemporary Epistemology, Savage: Rowman
& Littlefield.
Braake, T. A. M. te (1987) ‘Rechter, wetgever, minderjarige in de gezondheidszorg’,
Tijdschrift voor gezondheidsrecht, 11 (6): 310–322.
Brands, W. G., and Brands-Bottema, G. W. (1991) ‘De minderjarige en de
geneeskundige behandelingsovereenkomst’, Tijdschrift voor gezondheidsrecht, 15
(2): 129–141.
Dancy, J. (1985) Introduction to Contemporary Epistemology, Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
De Ruyter, D. J. (1993) Met recht ingrijpend: een pedagogisch criterium voor het opleggen
van hulp, Vrije Universiteit, Amsterdam, PhD thesis.
De Ville, K. (1997) ‘Adolescent parents and medical decision-making’, Journal of
Medicine and Philosophy, 22 (3): 253–270.
Doek, J. E. (1998) ‘De minderjarige in het gezondheidsrecht: bekwaam en in staat
tot een redelijke waardering van zijn belangen?’, Tijdschrift voor gezondheidsrecht,
22 (1): 1–15.
Elgin, C. Z. (1996) Considered Judgment, Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Feyerabend, P. (1995) Killing Time. The Autobiography of Paul Feyerabend, Chicago:
University of Chicago Press.
Fleisher Feldman, C. (1990) ‘Thought from Language: The Linguistic Construction
of Cognitive Representations’, in J. Bruner and H. Haste (eds), Making Sense. The
Child’s Construction of the World, London: Routledge.
Freeman, M. D. A. (1992) ‘The Limits of Children’s Rights’, in M. D. A. Freeman
and P. Veerman (eds), The Ideologies of Children’s Rights, Dordrecht: Reidel.
Ginzburg, J. (1997) ‘Interrogatives’, in S. Lappin (ed.), The Handbook of Contemporary
Semantic Theory, Oxford: Blackwell.
 An antifoundationalist approach 123
Glasersfeld, E. von (1984) ‘An Introduction to Radical Constructivism’, in P.
Watzlawick (ed.), The Invented Reality, New York: W. W. Norton.
—— (1999) ‘Konstruktivismus und Unterricht’, Zeitschrift für
Erziehungswissenschaft, 2 (4): 499–506.
Goodman, N. (1978) Ways of Worldmaking, Indianapolis: Hacket Publishing
Company.
—— (1987) ‘Just the Facts, Ma’am!’, in M. Krausz (ed.), Relativism, Interpretation,
and Confrontation, Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press.
Harris, K. R. and Graham, S. (eds) (1994) ‘Implications of constructivism for
students with disabilities and students at risk’, Journal of Special Education, 28 (3):
special issue.
Hemrica, J. (1998) ‘Kinderen en de medische behandelingsovereenkomst’, Univer-
siteit van Amsterdam, unpublished PhD thesis.
Hermans, H. E. G. M. (1986) ‘Toestemming voor een medische behandeling bij een
minderjarige patiënt’, Tijdschrift voor Gezondheidsrecht, 10 (3): 71–79.
Heyting, G. F. (1992) ‘Pädagogische Intention und pädagogische Effektivität.
Beschreibungsformen und Perspektiven der Pädagogik’, in N. Luhmann and K.
E. Schorr (eds), Zwischen Absicht und Person. Fragen an die Pädagogik, Frankfurt am
Main: Suhrkamp.
—— (1997) Het vanzelfsprekende en het discutabele. Een schets van opvoedkundig grond-
slagenonderzoek, Utrecht: SWP.
Holder, A. R. (1989) ‘Children and Adolescents: Their Right to Decide about their
Own’, in L. M. Kopelman and J. C. Moskop (eds), Children and Health Care,
Dordrecht: Kluwer.
Knorr-Cetina, K. (1981) The Manufacture of Knowledge, Oxford: Pergamon Press.
Koocher, G. P., and De Maso, D. R. (1990) ‘Children’s competence to consent to
medical procedures’, Paediatrician. International Journal of Child and Adolescent
Health, 17 (1): 68–73.
Latour, B. and Woolgar, S. (1979) Laboratory Life. The Social Construction of Scientific
Facts, Beverly Hills: Sage.
Lehrer, K. (1990) Theory of Knowledge, London: Routledge.
Luhmann, N. (1984) Soziale Systeme, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.
—— (1995) Social Systems, trans. J. Bednarz and D. Baecker, Palo Alto: Stanford
University Press.
—— (1997) Die Gesellschaft der Gesellschaft, Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp.
Lyotard, J. F. (1985) ‘Histoire universelle et differences culturelles’, Critique: Revue
générale des publications françaises et étrangères, 41 (May): 559–568.
Lyotard, J. F. and Rorty, R. (1985) ‘Discussion entre Jean-François Lyotard et
Richard Rorty’, Critique: Revue générale des publications françaises et étrangères, 41
(May): 581–584.
Margolis, J. (1995) Historied Thought, Constructed World, Berkeley: University of
California Press.
McCabe, M. A. (1995) ‘Involving children and adolescents in medical decision
making: developmental and clinical considerations’, Journal of Pediatric
Psychology, 24 (4): 505–516.
Moser, P. K., Mulder, D. H., & Trout, J. D. (1998) The Theory of Knowledge. A
Thematic Introduction, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Oberman, M. (1996) ‘Minor rights and wrongs’, Journal of Law, Medicine and Ethics,
24 (2): 127–138.
124 Frieda Heyting
Popper, K. R. (1974) The Logic of Scientific Discovery, London: Hutchinson.
Post, J. F. (1992) ‘Infinite Regress Argument’, in J. Dancy and E. Sosa (eds), A
Companion to Epistemology, Oxford: Blackwell.
Preston, J. (1997) Feyerabend. Philosophy, Science and Society, Cambridge: Polity Press.
Quine, W. V. O. (1986) ‘Epistemology Naturalized’, in P. K. Moser (ed.), Empirical
Knowledge. Readings in Contemporary Epistemology, Savage: Rowman & Littlefield.
Rorty, R. (1980) Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature, Oxford: Basil Blackwell.
—— (1985) ‘Le cosmopolitisme sans emancipation. En réponse à Jean-François
Lyotard’, Critique: Revue générale de publications françaises et étrangères, 41 (May):
569–580.
—— (1989) Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity, Cambridge: Cambridge University
Press.
—— (1998a) ‘John Searle on Realism and Relativism’, in R. Rorty, Truth and
Progress. Philosophical Papers, vol. 3, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
—— (1998b) ‘Hilary Putnam and the Relativistic Menace’, in R. Rorty, Truth and
Progress. Philosophical Papers, vol. 3, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.
Roscam Abbing, H. D. C. (1986) ‘De minderjarige en het toestemmigsvereiste’,
Nederlands tijdschrift voor geneeskunde, 130 (43): 1944–1948.
Scherer, D. G. (1991) ‘The capacities of minors to exercise voluntariness in medical
treatment decisions’, Law and Human Behavior, 15 (4): 431–449.
Stalnaker, R. C. (1999) Context and Content. Essays on Intentionality in Speech and
Thought, Oxford: Oxford University Press.
Walton, D. (1995) A Pragmatic Theory of Fallacy, Tuscaloosa: University of Alabama
Press.
Wright Clayton, E. (1997) ‘Genetic testing in children’, Journal of Philosophy and
Medicine, 22 (3): 233–251.
9 How can philosophy of education
be critical? How critical can
philosophy of education be?
Deconstructive reflections on
children’s rights1
Gert Biesta
Some one will say: Yes, Socrates, but cannot you hold your tongue, and then
you may go into a foreign city, and no one will interfere with you? Now I
have great difficulty in making you understand my answer to this. For I tell
you that to do as you say would be a disobedience to the God, and therefore
that I cannot hold my tongue, you will not believe I am serious; and if I say
again that daily to discourse about virtue, and of those other things about
which you hear me examining myself and others, is the greatest good of
man, and that the unexamined life is not worth living, you are still less
likely to believe me. Yes I say what is true, although a thing of which it is
hard for me to persuade you.
(Plato, Apology: 37e–38a)

Deconstruction, if such a thing exists, should open up.

(Derrida 1987: 261)

Introduction
If philosophy of education has reason to exist, it is because it has to perform
a critical role vis-à-vis education and vis-à-vis the study of education.
Philosophy of education is not there to provide ultimate answers, let alone
to lay the foundations for education. It exists to raise questions and to insti-
tute doubt. In doing so, philosophy of education remains loyal to the main
thrust of Western philosophy which, ever since it has lodged itself in
Western culture, has conceived of itself as a critical enterprise.
Socrates is without doubt the main icon of the critical style of philos-
ophy. By a constant questioning of received opinions, he tried to reveal that
these could not be sustained as easily as was assumed. Plato translated the
Socratic approach into a distinction between knowledge (epistémé) and belief
(doxa). This was not only a formalisation of the Socratic style. It also
installed a division of tasks – and thereby a distinction – between the
common man, who could only achieve doxa, and the philosopher, who could
have epistémé, i.e., knowledge of an ultimate reality beyond mere convention
and decision.
126 Gert Biesta
Plato’s distinction not only provided a justification for the superior posi-
tion of the philosopher in the polis. It also articulated a specific understanding
of the resources for critique. For Plato it was the knowledge of ultimate reality,
i.e., of the world of Ideas, which provided the philosopher with a criterion so
that krinein – distinction, separation, decision, judgement – would become
possible. In a similar vein Aristotle stressed the indispensability of a criterion:
‘there must be certain canons’, he wrote, ‘by reference to which a hearer shall
be able to criticise’ (Aristotle, De Partibus Animalium: I. 1, 639a, 12).
While Western philosophy has travelled many different routes since
Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, the critical temper has not been lost. Rather
the critical motive has become the central concern for modern philosophy,
especially from the time that philosophy had to renounce its claim to a
higher form of knowledge about the natural world as a result of the emer-
gence of modern science (see Rorty 1980).
A crucial step in the development of the critical face of modern philos-
ophy was the generalisation of the idea of critique. Pierre Bayle, the other
philosopher from Rotterdam, was among the first modern philosophers who
broke with the idea that only texts could be the object of critique (see his
Dictionaire Historique et Critique from 1715). From then on institutions like
church and state, and society more generally, became possible targets for
critical examination (see Röttgers 1990). This culminated a few decennia
later in Kant’s claim that the age of Enlightenment, ‘is the true age of
critique’, a critique ‘to which everything must be subjected’. 2
Kant’s three Critiques still stand out as a major attempt to articulate what
it could mean for philosophy to be critical. But Kant has not said the last
word. His idea of critique as a tribunal of reason was, for example, chal-
lenged by Hegel and Marx from a perspective in which a much more
historical orientation came to the fore. These two orientations – reason and
history – have continued to play a central role in the two main critical tradi-
tions of twentieth-century philosophy: Popper’s critical rationalism and the
critical theory of the Frankfurt School.
In this chapter, I want to explore the opportunities for philosophy of educa-
tion to perform its critical role. How can philosophy of education be critical?
And how critical can philosophy of education be? To find an answer to these
questions I will discuss three ‘modes’ of critique which I will refer to as critical
dogmatism, transcendental critique, and deconstruction, respectively. My aim is not
only to provide a systematic account of these modes. I will also argue that the
second mode of critique tries to overcome the main problems of the first one,
while the third mode tries to solve one of the central problems of the second
one. Implied in my reconstruction is, therefore, the claim that the third mode
of critique – deconstruction – provides the most sophisticated answer to the
question how philosophy of education can be critical. At the end of this
chapter I will turn to the question how critical philosophy of education can be
if it opts for a deconstructive approach. In this context I will take up the issue
of children’s rights.
 Critique and deconstruction 127
Critical dogmatism
I propose to define critical dogmatism as any style of critique in which the
critical operation consists of the application of a criterion. The operation is
critical in that it gives an evaluation of a specific state of affairs; the opera-
tion is dogmatic, in that the criterion itself is kept out of reach of the critical
operation. The criterion, in other words, is applied from the ‘outside’.
Although I refer to this style of criticism as ‘dogmatic’, there is as such
nothing objectionable to this approach. That is to say, there is nothing
objectionable to critical dogmatism as long as one recognises and accepts its
dogmatic character. Hans Albert has even argued that critical dogmatism is
the only way in which critique is possible. In what has become known as the
Münchhausen Trilemma, Albert argues that any attempt to articulate founda-
tions – and in critical dogmatism the criterion is the foundation of the
critical operation – inevitably leads to trilemma, that is ‘to a situation with
three alternatives, all of which appear unacceptable’ (Albert 1985: 18). The
trilemma forces one to choose between three options. The first is an infinite
regress, because the propositions that serve as a fundament need to be
founded themselves. The second is a logical circle which results from the
fact that in the process of giving reasons one has to resort to statements that
have already shown themselves to be in need of justification. The third is
breaking off the attempt at a particular point by dogmatically installing a
foundation (see Apel 1987a: 251). Since in looking for foundations neither
the first nor the second option yields any satisfactory result, Albert’s conclu-
sion is that the only possible foundation for critique is a dogmatic
foundation. This in turn implies that the only possible form of critique is
critical dogmatism.
It is not difficult to see that this conclusion raises some problems. If
dogmatism appears at the heart of the critical enterprise, if, to put it differ-
ently, critique is made possible by dogmatism, then it seems that the critical
operation is immediately subverted by its own justification. Isn’t it, after all,
the whole point of critique to oppose dogmatism? How, then, can critique
be ‘effective’; How can critique be critical, if its ultimate foundation is
merely conventional?
Although I do not want to suggest that the application of dogmatically
installed criteria has never had any positive effects, I do want to argue that
the justification of this mode of critique is unsatisfactory. Is it possible
circumvent the paradox of critical dogmatism? The next mode of critique
claims it can.

Transcendental critique
The transcendental style of critique should be understood against the back-
ground of the way in which philosophy had to reconsider its position as a
result of the emergence of modern science and the scientific world view.
From then on philosophy could no longer claim to provide knowledge of the
128 Gert Biesta
natural world, nor could it claim to provide knowledge of a more funda-
mental reality (metaphysics). It thereby lost its role as a foundational
discipline. It was Kant who put philosophy on a new track – the transcen-
dental track – where it became the proper task of philosophy to articulate the
conditions of possibility of true (scientific) knowledge (and, within the Kantian
project, also of true metaphysical knowledge, i.e., knowledge of the
synthetic judgements a priori; see Kant 1956).
Although transcendental philosophy opened up a whole new field for
modern philosophy, Kant’s programme was almost immediately criticised
for the reflexive paradox it contained. It was Hegel who pointed out the
problematic character of the attempt to acquire knowledge of something of
which the existence had already to be presupposed in order to be able to
acquire any knowledge at all. One of the main reasons why Kant did not
perceive this paradox had to do with the framework in which he operated,
viz., the framework of the philosophy of consciousness. For Kant, the ‘Ich
denke’ (I think) was ‘that highest point to which we must ascribe all employ-
ment of the understanding, even the whole of logic, and conformally
therewith, transcendental philosophy’ (Kant 1929: B134).

Karl-Otto Apel’s transformation of philosophy

The work of Karl-Otto Apel can be seen as a re-articulation (or transforma-
tion; see Apel 1973, 1980) of transcendental philosophy, one which tries to
circumvent the dogmatic element in Kant’s position by making a shift from
the framework of the philosophy of consciousness to the philosophy of
language. The main difference between Kant and Apel lies in the latter’s
recognition of the fact that all knowledge is linguistically mediated. While
Kant assumed that the acquisition of knowledge is an individualistic enter-
prise, Apel argues that our individual experiences must be lifted to the level
of a language game in order to become knowledge. The link between experi-
ence and language is, however, not established automatically. The question of
the validity of our individual experiences has to be answered by means of
argumentation. Because argumentation only makes sense within a language
game, within a specific ‘community of communication’, Apel concludes that
this community is the condition of possibility of all knowledge.
Apel’s ‘linguistic turn’ results in the recognition of the a priori of the
community of communication. This community is ‘das Letzte,
Nichthintergehbare’, i.e., that what cannot be surpassed (Apel quoted in van
Woudenberg 1991: 92). Because we can never get ‘behind’ or ‘before’ the
actual use of language in a specific community of communication, any
reflection on language in formal terms can only take place in, and hence is
only made possible by, a specific language game, i.e., in a specific commu-
nity of communication. The pragmatic dimension of language is therefore
the most basic dimension, for which reason Apel refers to his position as
transcendental pragmatics.
 Critique and deconstruction 129
Although Apel establishes a strong link between transcendental prag-
matics and really existing communities of communication – a manoeuvre
which seems to give his project a strongly conventionalist basis – he intro-
duces a critical element which is meant to enable him to go beyond mere
convention. This is the idea of the ideal community of communication or the
transcendental language game. Apel claims that a participant in a genuine
argument is at the same time a member of an actual community of commu-
nication and of a counterfactual ideal community of communication, a
community that is in principle open to all speakers and that excludes all
force except the force of the better argument. Apel argues that any claim to
intersubjectively valid knowledge implicitly acknowledges this ideal
community of communication, as a meta-institution of rational argumenta-
tion, to be its ultimate source of justification (Apel 1980: 119).

Reflexive grounding
The idea of the ideal community of communication provides a criterion
which makes critique possible. What distinguishes Apel’s position from
critical dogmatism is that this criterion is not installed dogmatically but by
means of a process to which Apel refers as ‘reflexive grounding’
(Letztbegründung durch Reflexion’). With respect to this process, Apel claims
that he can circumvent the dogmatic implications of the Münchhausen
trilemma. How should this be understood?
The first thing to acknowledge is that the first and third option of the
Münchausen trilemma – infinite regress and dogmatism – hang together.
Both follow from the fact that Albert thinks of the process of foundation in
terms of deduction. It is evident that if we talk about foundations in a deduc-
tive style, i.e., if we raise the question of the foundation of the foundation,
we immediately enter an infinite regress, which can only be stopped arbi-
trarily. Apel admits that if we understand founding in this deductive sense,
we will never find foundations. But, so he argues, this does not mean that
we should give up the idea of foundation as such, but only that we need
another way to bring foundations into view. 3
Apel’s approach starts from the recognition that the conditions of possi-
bility of argumentation have to be presupposed in all argumentation
(otherwise they would not be conditions of possibility). From this, it follows
that one cannot argue against these conditions without immediately falling
into a performative contradiction. This is the situation where the performative
dimensions of the argument, i.e., the act of arguing, contradict the proposi-
tional content, i.e., what is argued (as in sentences such as ‘I claim that I do
not exist’, or ‘I contend – thereby claiming truth – that I make no truth
claim’). This implies that all contentions that cannot be disclaimed without falling
into a performative contradiction express a condition of possibility of the argumenta-
tive use of language. The principle of the avoidance of the performative
contradiction, which is the principle of performative consistency, thus is the
130 Gert Biesta
criterion which can reveal the ultimate foundations of the argumentative use
of language, i.e., those propositions that do not need further grounding
because they cannot be understood without knowing that they are true. 4
Although Apel articulates the method and the criterion by which the
ultimate foundations of the argumentative use of language can be revealed,
he doesn’t say much about what these foundations actually are (see van
Woudenberg 1991: 134–135). Yet what the application of the principle of
performative consistency can bring into view are precisely the foundations,
or, as Apel calls them, the ‘meta-rules’ of all argumentative use of language.
These meta-rules, which include such things as that all communication aims
at consensus, that all communication rests upon the validity of claims to
truth, rightness and truthfulness, and that these claims can in principle be
redeemed, outline the ideal community of communication (see van
Woudenberg 1991: 134–135). 5

Transcendental critique
Apel’s transcendental pragmatics provides an attempt to articulate the
criteria for critique in a non-dogmatic way. The importance of Apel’s posi-
tion lies in the fact that he goes beyond the individualism of Kantian
transcendental philosophy. Apel brings the transcendental approach into the
realm of argumentation and communication. More than simply another
conception of critique, Apel’s position suggests that critical dogmatism – at
least insofar as it concerns the dogmatic, or what Popper calls the irrational
choice for a rational form of life – is an untenable position, because ‘any
choice that could be understood as meaningful already presupposes the tran-
scendental language game as its condition of possibility’ (Apel 1987a: 281).
Only, therefore, ‘under the rational presupposition of intersubjective rules
can deciding in the presence of alternatives be understood as meaningful
behaviour’ (Apel 1987a: 281).
Apel stresses that it does not follow from this that every decision is
rational, but only, that a decision in favour of the principle of rational legitima-
tion of criticism is ‘rational a priori’ (Apel 1987a: 282). Reason, so Apel
argues, in no way needs to replace its rational justification, for ‘it can always
confirm its own legitimation through reflection on the fact that it presup-
poses its own self-understanding of the very rules it opts for’ (Apel 1987a:
282).
These remarks reveal that for Apel transcendental critique is motivated
by the principle of rationality. After all, so we could say, the ‘sin’ of the
performative contradiction is a sin against rationality. In this respect, ratio-
nality gives transcendental critique its ‘right’ to be critical. Transcendental
critique suggests a style of critical thinking that is primarily aimed at spot-
ting performative contradictions. It can therefore be understood as a specific
form of internal critique, where the main critical work consists of the
confrontation of a position or argument with its often implicit conditions of
 Critique and deconstruction 131
possibility, in order to reveal whether such a position or argument is rational
or not.
The main advantage of the transcendental style of critique lies in the fact
that it brings into vision a critical programme that does not rest upon an
arbitrary, dogmatic choice for criteria. In doing so transcendental critique
outlines a stronger and more consistent critical programme than critical
dogmatism. It will be clear, however, that the strength of transcendental
critique rests upon the validity of the transcendental style of argumentation.
It is at this point that the third mode of critique raises some important
issues.

Deconstruction
The writings of Jacques Derrida can be understood as yet another reaction to
the Münchhausen trilemma. Like Apel, Derrida rejects the possibility of
grounding by deduction. Like Apel, Derrida seeks a solution along the lines
of the second option of the trilemma, i.e., the option of the reflexive
paradox. But unlike Apel, Derrida doesn’t try to escape the paradox by
means of a transcendental movement. He rather chooses to stay within this
paradoxical terrain in order to explore its critical potential. In doing so he
not only offers yet another way to think about critique, he also provides a
critique of the transcendental approach in that he questions the possibility
to articulate conditions of possibility in an unambiguous way. In this respect
Derrida moves the discussion about critique again one step forward.

Deconstruction and the metaphysics of presence

Derrida argues that the history of Western philosophy is a continuous
attempt to locate a fundamental ground, an Archimedean point which serves
both as an absolute beginning and as a centre from which everything origi-
nating from it can be mastered and controlled (see Derrida 1978). Since
Plato, this origin has always been defined in terms of presence. The origin is
thought of as fully present to itself and as totally self-sufficient. This ‘deter-
mination of Being as presence’, Derrida holds, is the matrix of the history of
metaphysics. The ‘metaphysics of presence’ (Derrida 1978: 281) includes a
hierarchical axiology in which the origin is designated as pure, simple,
normal, standard, self-sufficient and self-identical, in order then to think in
terms of derivation, complication, deterioration, accident, etc. This, so
Derrida argues, is ‘the metaphysical exigency’, that which has been ‘the most
constant, most profound and most potent’ (Derrida 1988: 93).
Derrida wants to put the metaphysical gesture into question. He
acknowledges that he is not the first to do so. But unlike Nietzsche, Freud,
Heidegger and all the other ‘destructive discourses’, Derrida argues that we
can never make a total break, that we can never step outside of the tradition
that has made us. ‘There is no sense’, he argues, ‘in doing without the
132 Gert Biesta
concepts of metaphysics in order to shake metaphysics. We (…) can
pronounce not a single destructive proposition which has not already had to
slip into the form, the logic, and the implicit postulations of precisely what
it seeks to contest (Derrida 1978: 280).’ While Derrida definitely wants to
shake metaphysics, he acknowledges that this cannot be done from some
neutral and innocent place outside of metaphysics.6 What is more to the
point, to put it simply, is to say that Derrida wants to shake metaphysics by
showing that it is itself always already ‘shaking’, by showing the impossi-
bility of any of its attempts to fix or immobilise being through the
presentation of a self-sufficient presence, by showing, in sum, that meta-
physics is always already ‘in deconstruction’ (Bennington 2000: 11).
Deconstruction is therefore not something that is applied to the (texts of
the) metaphysical tradition from the outside. Deconstruction is not a
method, Derrida stresses, ‘and cannot be transformed into one’ (Derrida
1991: 273). Deconstruction rather is ‘one of the possible names to designate
(…) what occurs [ce qui arrive], or cannot manage to occur [ce qui n’arrive pas
à arriver], namely a certain dislocation which in effect reiterates itself regu-
larly – and everywhere where there is something rather than nothing’
(Derrida and Ewald 1995: 287–288).

Différance and deconstruction

One way in which Derrida articulates the occurrence of deconstruction is
through the ‘notion’ of différance. Derrida develops his ideas about différance
in the context of a discussion of the structuralism of Ferdinand de Saussure
(see Derrida 1982: 1–28). Saussure had argued that language should not be
understood as a naming process, a process of attaching words to things, but
that it should be seen as a structure where any individual element is mean-
ingless outside the confines of that structure. This means that language only
consists of differences. These differences, however, are not differences
between positive terms, i.e., between terms that in and by themselves refer
to objects outside of the system. In language, there are only differences
without positive terms. From this insight, two conclusions follow.
Firstly, the idea of differences without positive terms entails that the ‘move-
ment of signification’ is only possible if each element ‘appearing on the scene
of presence, is related to something other than itself’ (Derrida 1982: 13).
What is called ‘the present’ is therefore constituted ‘by means of this very rela-
tion to what it is not’ (Derrida 1982: 13). This contamination is a necessary
contamination: for the present to be itself, it already has to be other than itself.
This puts the non-present in a double position, because it is the non-present
which makes the presence of the present possible, and yet, it can only make
this presence possible by means of its own exclusion. What is excluded
thereby, in a sense, returns to sign the act of its own exclusion. And it is this
apparent complicity which ‘outplays the legality of the decision to exclude’ in
the first place (Bennington 1993: 217–218; see also Derrida 1981: 41–42).
 Critique and deconstruction 133
If this is what deconstruction can bring into view, we can already get an
idea of its critical potential, because at the heart of deconstruction we find a
concern for the ‘constitutive outside’ of what presents itself as self-sufficient.
This reveals that deconstruction is more than just a destruction of the meta-
physics of presence. Deconstruction is first and foremost an affirmation of
what is excluded and forgotten. An affirmation, in short, of what is other (see
Gasché 1994).7

Deconstruction is justice
There is, however, a complication, which has to do with the question how
deconstruction can bring that what is excluded into view. For if there are
only differences without positive terms, we can no longer articulate the
differential character of language itself by means of a positive term (such as
‘differentiation’). Difference without positive terms implies that this dimen-
sion must itself always remain unperceived, for strictly speaking, it is
unconceptualisable. For this reason Derrida concludes that the ‘play of
difference’, which is ‘the condition for the possibility and functioning of
every sign, is in itself a silent play’ (Derrida 1982: 5).
If we would want to articulate that which does not let itself be articulated
and yet is the condition for the possibility of all articulation – which we may
want to do in order to prevent metaphysics from re-entering – we must
acknowledge that there can never be a word or a concept to represent this
silent play. We must acknowledge that this play cannot simply be exposed,
for ‘one can expose only that which at a certain moment can become present’
(Derrida 1982: 5). And we must acknowledge that there is nowhere to begin,
‘for what is put into question is precisely the quest for a rightful beginning,
an absolute point of departure’ (Derrida 1982: 6). All this is expressed in the
new word or concept – ‘which is neither a word nor a concept’ (Derrida
1982: 7) but a ‘neographism’ (Derrida 1982: 13) – of différance.
The reason why Derrida introduces that ‘what is written as différance’
(Derrida 1982: 11) is not difficult to grasp. For although the play of differ-
ence is identified as the condition for the possibility of all conceptuality, we
should not make the mistake of thinking that we have finally identified the
real origin of conceptuality.8
The predicament can be put as follows: because we are talking about the
condition of possibility of all conceptuality, this condition cannot belong to
that what it makes possible, i.e., the ‘order’ of conceptuality. Yet, the only way
in which we can articulate this condition of possibility is from within this
order. Because the condition of possibility is always articulated in terms of the
system that is made possible by it, it is, in a sense, always already too late to be
its condition of possibility (which implies that the condition of possibility is at
the very same time a condition of impossibility; see Gasché 1986: 316–317).
At this point, the critical potential of deconstruction returns in an even
more radical way. The point is that because conditions of possibility are
134 Gert Biesta
always already contaminated by the ‘system’ that is made possible by them,
this ‘system’ is never totally delimited by these conditions. In this respect
we might say that différance is a quasi-transcendental or quasi-condition of
possibility. As Caputo (1997: 102) puts it, différance does not describe fixed
boundaries that delimit what can happen and what not, but points a mute,
Buddhist finger at the moon of uncontainable effects.
Following this line of thought, it becomes clear that deconstruction tries
to open up the system in the name of that which cannot be thought of in
terms of the system, and yet makes the system possible. This reveals that the
deconstructive affirmation is not simply an affirmation of what is known to
be excluded by the system. Deconstruction is an affirmation of what is
wholly other (tout autre), of what is unforeseeable from the present. It is an
affirmation of an otherness that is always to come, as an event which ‘as
event, exceeds calculation, rules, programs, anticipations’ (Derrida 1992:
27). Deconstruction is an openness towards the unforeseeable in-coming
(l’invention; invention) of the other (see Caputo 1997: 47). It is from this
concern for what is totally other, a concern which Derrida sometimes refers
to as justice, that deconstruction derives its right to be critical, its right to
deconstruct – or, to be more precise, its right to reveal deconstruction. 9

From critique to deconstruction

If we look at the three critical ‘programmes’ that I have discussed above, it is
not too difficult to see the profound difference between deconstruction and
critical dogmatism. As Derrida points out, ‘the instance of krinein or of krisis
(decision, choice, judgement, discernment) is…one of the essential “themes”
or “objects” of deconstruction’ (Derrida 1991: 273), for which reason he
even concludes that ‘deconstruction is deconstruction of critical dogmatism’
(Derrida 1995: 54). Derrida tries to show in many different ways that there
is no safe ground upon which we can base our decisions, that there are no
pure, uncontaminated, original criteria on which we can simply and
straightforwardly base our judgements.
The distance between deconstruction and transcendental critique is
perhaps more difficult to grasp. Yet I want to argue that deconstruction,
while in a sense staying remarkably close to the main intuitions of the tran-
scendental pragmatics, also puts a serious challenge to this programme. Apel
and Derrida agree on the fact that we are always on the inside of language
and history, so that the language game that made us who we are, that gives
us the possibility to speak in the first place, is, in Apel’s words, ‘nichthinter-
gehbar’ (unsurpassable).
Difficulties arise as soon as we want to say something about that which
makes our speaking – and more specifically in the case of Apel: argumenta-
tion – possible. Although Apel hesitates to give a positive description of the
conditions of possibility of the argumentative use of language, he at least
believes that these conditions can be identified in a positive way by means of
 Critique and deconstruction 135
the principle of performative consistency. This eventually leads him to the
meta-rules that constitute the ideal community of communication.
Derrida is much more radical in his rejection of the possibility of iden-
tifying and articulating the conditions of possibility of our speaking in any
positive and unambiguous way. This is the whole point of différance, which
is nothing less than an attempt to express the inexpressible, to point out
the predicament that a condition of possibility has to be ‘outside’ of the
system that is made possible by it in order for it to be a condition of possi-
bility, and yet at the very same time can only be articulated from the
‘inside’ of the system that it has made possible. Différance is, therefore, at
the very same time inside and outside – it is both origin and effect – for
which reason it can only be understood as a ‘quasi-condition of possi-
bility’, that is, a condition of possibility which does not delimit what can
happen.
The crucial difference between transcendental critique and deconstruc-
tion, I wish to argue, lies precisely here. If I see it correctly, Apel has to
assume that the conditions of possibility control the system that is made
possible by them. After all, it is only on the basis of this assumption that a
performative contradiction can arise. What Derrida brings to the fore is that
conditions of possibility can never be articulated independent of the system,
that they can never be articulated from some safe (metaphysical) ground
position outside of the system. And it is precisely because of this that they
cannot have total control over the system. What is possible, one could say, is
therefore always more than what any conditions of possibility allow for.
Deconstruction wants to do justice to this unforeseeable excess.
Deconstruction can be seen as offering yet another mode of critique
(though it should by now be clear that after deconstruction both the idea of
a conception and the idea of critique have to be understood differently, just
as the ‘after’ of ‘after deconstruction’ is not simply an after) in that it envis-
ages another way to go beyond the present and the given, another way, in
short, for judgement to become possible. Unlike critical dogmatism, this
judgement does not come from some allegedly safe ground. Unlike transcen-
dental critique, it does not come from the inside – as a form of internal
critique through a test of performative consistency. Deconstruction suggests
that both resources of critique are not as pure and self-sufficient as is
assumed. The critical work of deconstruction, we could say, consists in
revealing the impurity of the critical criteria, it consists in revealing that
they are not self-sufficient but need something other than themselves to
be(come) possible. Not, as is so often claimed about deconstruction in partic-
ular and post-modern and post-structural thought more generally (see for a
recent example Hill et al. 1999), to subvert the very possibility of critique,
but rather to open up critique for its own uncritical assumptions – albeit not
from some higher position or higher form of insight or knowledge (see also
Biesta 1998a). Not, in other words, to destroy, but rather to affirm what is
out of sight, excluded, forgotten.
136 Gert Biesta
How critical can philosophy of education be?
I have explored three ways in which philosophy of education might perform
its critical role. Implied in my reconstruction of these three positions is the
claim that, from a philosophical point of view, deconstruction is the most
sophisticated of these three positions. If this, within the scope of this
chapter, can stand as an answer to the question how philosophy of education
can be critical, we may now move to the question how critical philosophy of
education can actually be. What, in other words, does the foregoing discus-
sion have to offer to philosophy of education?
What first of all should be acknowledged is that both critical dogmatism
and transcendental critique are well established in educational philosophy.
Critical dogmatism can, for example, be found in those instances where crit-
ical work relies on a definition of what counts as education. Richard Peters’
definition of education is a good case in point, since for Peters ‘education’
does not refer to an activity, practice or institution, but to criteria that are
‘implicit in central cases of “education” ’ (Peters 1966: 45). Another example
can be found in the work of educationalists who see themselves as children’s
advocates. Such an approach often results in a critical style where pedagog-
ical practices and theories are criticised on the basis of the conviction that
the child represents a value of its own, a value that must be respected in
educational theory and practice (see, for example, Langeveld 1979; Beekman
1982). Critical dogmatism can also be found, so I want to argue (see also
Biesta 1998a), in the work of those who take ‘emancipation’ as the primary
criterion for the evaluation of educational theory and practice (for example,
Mollenhauer 1973; McLaren 1995).
What all these examples have in common is their reliance upon the
evidential character or, more specifically, the ‘truth’ (see Masschelein and
Wimmer 1996: Ch. 1) of the criterion that is used to take a critical stance.
While there may be good arguments for the adoption of the criteria
mentioned above – and I wish to stress once more that I don’t want to ques-
tion that some good has come and will remain to come from the application
of these criteria – the line of argumentation will eventually arrive at a point
where no more can be said than ‘This is how I see it’, ‘This is what I believe
in’, or ‘This is what history tells me’.
Transcendental critique – more specifically related to a defence of ratio-
nality as an intrinsic aim and standard of education – also has a respectable
history in educational philosophy (see, for example, Scheffler 1973 and
others who have defended rationality as an intrinsic educational aim and
standard). In the work of Harvey Siegel the principle of performative consis-
tency figures prominently in his (transcendental) defence of rationality in
and for education (see, e.g., Siegel 1988, 1997). The main – and to my mind
decisive – difference between critical dogmatism and transcendental critique
is that the latter provides a more sophisticated and philosophically
compelling justification of the critical criterion. Both positions do rely,
 Critique and deconstruction 137
however, upon the same conception of the critical operation in that in both
cases the critical operation consists in the application of the criterion.
What does deconstruction have to offer philosophy of education? One
thing is clear: deconstruction will not provide philosophy of education with a
new critical method. Deconstruction is not a method and cannot be trans-
formed into one. Deconstruction, in Derrida’s own words, is one of the
possible names to designate what occurs or cannot manage to occur, namely,
a certain dislocation which reiterates itself regularly everywhere where there
is something rather than nothing. Does this mean that deconstruction
simply occurs and that, for that reason, it can take care of itself? The answer
has to be both yes and no.
On the one hand, we can say that for deconstruction to take place we do
not need deconstructors. Or, to approach this issue from the other side: even
if we would want to, we cannot deconstruct anything. But this does not
mean that there is nothing to do – not in the least because the dislocation
called deconstruction has a tendency to hide itself and make itself invisible,
at least in the ways of thinking that we, in the Western philosophical tradi-
tion, are most familiar with. Bennington (2000: 8) refers to ‘what has
become famous as “deconstruction” ’ as a demonstration. It is not, he writes,
‘that Derrida (actively) deconstructs anything at all, but rather that he shows
metaphysics in deconstruction’ (Bennington 2000: 11).
While the writings of Derrida do not provide us with a method, they do
make us – or at least can make us – sensitive to this dislocation, for meta-
physics in deconstruction. They can make us sensitive for that which cannot
be thought of in terms of a system and yet that which makes the system
possible, i.e., for the ‘constitutive outside’ of any system, any decision and
any criterion. Derrida’s demonstration of metaphysics in deconstruction thus
summons us to be vigilant for the occurrence of deconstruction.
The sensitivity to metaphysics in deconstruction also brings with it a
responsibility, for the whole point of the demonstration of deconstruction is to
expose the injustice brought about by good intentions, by noble criteria, by
laudable ideals, by visionary utopias. Not, as I have stressed, for their
destruction but for their betterment. This is not only important for the
deconstruction of critical dogmatism. Deconstruction is also – and explicitly
– concerned with the constitutive outside, with the ‘other’ of rationality.
Contrary, therefore, to Siegel’s contention that ‘the philosophical enterprise
does not have as its goal the bringing about of social justice’ (Siegel 1995:
22), I want to argue that deconstruction also implies a constant vigilance for
the possible injustice brought about in the name of rationality.

An example: the rights of children

If we now turn to the example of children’s rights in order to get a better
appreciation of what a deconstructive approach might achieve, we must bear
in mind that deconstruction is not a method that can simply be applied to
138 Gert Biesta
the case of children’s rights. It rather has to be understood as a specific form
of questioning meant to open up, meant to affirm, what is out of sight,
excluded and forgotten. This is what eventually motivates any attempt to
demonstrate the ‘occurrence’ of deconstruction. The question then is
whether deconstruction occurs in children’s rights, and if so, where and how.
A possible answer to this question can be found in the alleged univer-
sality of children’s rights. On the one hand it is clear that the idea of
children’s rights only makes sense – or to be more precise (see below), can
only be effective – if we assume that these rights are universal, i.e., that they
apply to all children in all situations. It makes no sense to talk about chil-
dren’s rights if we would at the very same time say that these rights only
apply to a specific group of children, e.g., white children, rich children or
able children. In such a situation, it would be inappropriate to talk about
rights; we would simply be talking about privileges. While it is therefore
necessary for the very idea of children’s rights to claim that they are not
connected to specific groups or specific cultures, it is also clear that these
rights have not always been there, that they have a specific history, that they
are the outcome of a specific struggle, which took place in a specific histor-
ical, social and political context. One could of course argue that we now have
arrived at a stage where we finally know what children’s rights are. But the
problem of that would be that it forecloses to possibility to change and to
improve (our current conception of) these rights.
It is precisely here that we find a deconstructive ‘moment’ in the
discourse on children’s rights. On the one hand, it is necessary to claim that
children’s rights are transhistorical – otherwise they won’t be rights. Yet at
the very same time – and deconstruction occurs in this concurrence – it is
necessary to claim that children’s rights are historical. The point is that we
need both claims in order to give meaning to and be true to the intention of
children’s rights. If we would only claim that children’s rights are historical
(e.g., Western, middle class or modern), they would lose their force. But if
we would only claim that they are transhistorical, so that the only thing to
be concerned about would be their implementation in national laws and
policies (see, e.g., Osler and Starkey 1996: Ch. 2), we would lose the oppor-
tunity to see and to say that what we are implementing is perhaps not right,
is perhaps doing injustice to some children. We would lose the opportunity,
to put it differently, to improve children’s rights. It is, therefore, for the very
sake of what we want to secure with the idea of children’s rights – viz., that
justice will be done to all children – that we need to claim that these rights
are both universal and contextual, that they are both transhistorical and
historical. Deconstruction occurs in this very moment in which the condi-
tion of possibility of children’s rights appears to be their condition of
impossibility. The point is that we not only cannot escape the deconstructive
‘nature’ of children’s rights, but also that we should not try to escape it,
since neither a 100 per cent transhistorical, nor a 100 per cent historical,
understanding of these rights would be able to capture what is at stake.
 Critique and deconstruction 139
In practice, this means that we should not only be concerned with the
implementation of children’s rights – something which has been on the rise
since the adoption of the United Nations Convention of the Rights of the Child
in November 1989 – but that we should also continuously be engaged in
raising questions about the status of the rights that are implemented,
perhaps even more so now that they have become solidified in a United
Nations Convention.
One author who has contributed to the latter task is Judith Ennew (see
Ennew 1995; Ennew and Milne 1989). Ennew argues that the Convention of the
Rights of the Child takes as its starting point ‘Western, modern childhood, which
has been “globalised”; first through colonialism and then through the imperi-
alism of international aid’ (Ennew 1995: 202). Ennew is not alone in pointing
to the fact that the image of childhood, to which the Convention of the Rights of
the Child refers is a modern image. As Franklin observes, this conception of child-
hood, which dates from the sixteenth century and stresses the innocence and
frailty of children, ‘forcefully ejected childhood from the worlds of work, sexu-
ality and politics, and designated the classroom as the major focus of children’s
lives’ (Franklin 1995: 7). Such a historicisation of the conception of childhood
should, as such, not pose a problem for the Convention, as long as it can claim
that the present condition of children is adequately captured by this modern
image. Yet, it is at this point that Ennew pushes the issue one step further.
Ennew argues that there are children – so-called ‘street children’ (the very
label already indicates that ‘real’ children should not be on the street) – who
do not ‘fit’ the image of the Convention. Consequently, these children not
only do not ‘benefit’ from the rights that the Convention is assumed to safe-
guard. In some cases, these rights even work against the interests of these
children. An example of the latter can be found in the emphasis on the
importance of families in the Convention. This emphasis, Ennew argues, is
based on the modern conception of families ‘as private arenas for the correct
performance of childhood’ (Ennew 1995: 211). But the effect of this is that
there is no provision in the Convention ‘for respect and support to be to be
paid to children’s own friendships and support networks’ (Ennew 1995: 211).

‘In the case of street children, who usually belong to and contribute to a
supportive group of children, this gives a potentially harmful edge to
rehabilitation programmes. The friendships and close relationships in
these groups are important for the emotional and physical well-being of
members. They are strengths to be built on, rather than ties to be
broken’
(Ennew 1995: 211–212)

Ennew suggests that instead of looking through the eyes of the

‘Northern’ conception of childhood, we should look at street children as the
people they are, young people ‘who work for themselves, care for themselves
and do not, in fact, ask society to rescue them’ (Ennew 1995: 210). Do these
140 Gert Biesta
young people have any specific rights ‘that challenge the hegemony of
Northern childhood’ (Ennew 1995: 210)? Ennew believes they have, and
suggests several rights that, indeed, sit uncomfortably in the approach of the
Convention, such as: the right not to be labelled; the right to be correctly
described, researched and counted; the right to work, and to do so in fair
conditions and for fair wages; the right to have their own support systems
respected; the right to appropriate and relevant services; the right to control
their own sexuality; and the right to be protected from harm inflicted by
‘caring’ social agencies (see Ennew 1995: 211–213).
Although Ennew neither refers to Derrida or deconstruction, her
approach to the issue of children’s rights provides a good example of the
kind of work that follows from the acknowledgement of the deconstructive
‘nature’ of these rights. Ennew reveals that what presents itself as universal
and inclusive in fact has an outside which is excluded from this universality
and inclusiveness. She argues that this exclusion is very strong in that, from
the point of view of the Convention, street children almost appear to be
‘unnatural children’ (Ennew 1995: 210). Ennew challenges the conception of
children’s rights expressed in the Convention. She does this, however, in the
name of the very rights that the Convention tries to secure. Her critical
work does not consist in simply showing that the rights of the Convention
are typically Western or typically Northern. She exposes their historical
character in order to do justice to the children that are excluded from this
articulation of (their) rights. She claims rights for those children. Her
approach thereby confirms that we need the vocabulary of rights as universal
rights, but that at the very same time we must acknowledge the historicity
of these rights and the structural possibility of exclusion brought about by
them. The point here is that deconstruction does not claim that we can
know what the outside of our current conception is. It only claims that this
outside is not merely contingent but that it is a structural and hence neces-
sary outside.
Ennew’s approach to children’s rights provides an example of the imagi-
nation and commitment that is characteristic of a deconstructive ‘style’ of
critique. There is, of course, nothing which forces philosophy of education to
adopt such an approach – except, perhaps, when one recognises that Derrida
has crossed a ‘critical’ threshold and that once one has crossed this threshold
with Derrida it might well be impossible to go back. As Emmanuel Levinas
has put it:

May not Derrida’s work cut into the development of Western thinking
with a line of demarcation similar to that of Kantianism, which sepa-
rated dogmatic philosophy from critical philosophy? Are we again at
the end of naïveté, of an unsuspected dogmatism which slumbered at
the base of that which we took for critical spirit? We may well ask
ourselves.
(Levinas 1991: 3)
 Critique and deconstruction 141
Notes
1 Over the past years I have explored the line of argument of this chapter in
several different settings. I would like to express my gratitude to all who have
been willing to discuss my explorations with me.
2 ’Unser Zeitalter ist das eigentliche Zeitalter der Kritik, der sich alles
unterwerfen muss. ’ (Kant quoted in Röttgers 1990: 892).
3 In a sense, we could say that Apel uses the middle option of the trilemma, the
logical circle, to find his way out (cf. Sas 1995: 506–511).
4 In Apel’s own words: ‘(dieses) Kriterium…ist in der Lage, unbestreitbare
Präsuppositionen der Argumentation als reflexiv-letztbegründete Sätze aufzuzeichnen:
d.h., Sätze, die keiner Begründung aus etwas anderem bedürfen, weil man sie nicht
verstehen kann, ohne zu wissen dass sie wahr sind’ (Apel 1987b: 185).
5 Apel’s point, to put it briefly, is that one cannot deny the characteristics of the
ideal community of communication without falling into a performative contra-
diction. For this very reason all argumentation – which, as Apel argues, can only
have force within a specific community of communication – is bound to the
characteristics of the ideal community of communication.
6 Precisely for this reason, deconstruction is not antifoundational or post-
metaphysical – at least not in the straightforward sense of these words.
7 Although I present these ideas in the context of a discussion about language,
they have a larger significance than the field of language alone. For a brilliant
application of these ideas on issues concerning politics and political theory, see
Honig 1993.
8 Strictly speaking, there is only one way to avoid this mistake, which is by
acknowledging that the differences that constitute the play of difference ‘are
themselves effects’ (Derrida 1982: 11). This means, then, that in the ‘most clas-
sical fashion’, that is, in the language of metaphysics, we would have to speak of
them as effects ‘without a cause’ (Derrida 1982: 12).
9 Over the past years a whole body of literature on Derrida’s rather idiosyncratic
use of the idea of justice has been published. Besides Derrida 1992, see also
Derrida 1999; Critchley 1999; Biesta 1998b.

References
Albert, H. (1985) Treatise on Critical Reason, Princeton: Princeton University Press.
Apel, K.O. (1973) Transformation der Philosophie. 2 Bde, Frankfurt am Main:
Suhrkamp.
—— (1980) Towards a Transformation of Philosophy, London: Routledge & Kegan
Paul.
—— (1987a) ‘The Problem of Philosophical Foundations in Light of a Transcen-
dental Pragmatics of Language’, in K. Baynes, J. Bohman and Th. McCarthy
(eds), After Philosophy. End or Transformation?, Cambridge, MA. : MIT Press.
—— (1987b) ‘Falllibilismus, Konsenstheorie der Wahrheit und Letztbegündung’,
in Forum für Philosophie (eds), Philosophie und Begründung, Frankfurt am Main:
Suhrkamp.
Aristotle (1992) De Partibus Animalium I and De Generatione Animalium I, trans. with
notes by D. M. Balme, Oxford : Clarendon Press.
Beekman, A. J. (1982) ‘Theoretische pedagogiek; een existentieel-fenomenologische
visie’, in B. Spiecker, B. Levering and A. J. Beekman (eds), Theoretische Pedagogiek,
Meppel/Amsterdam: Boom.
142 Gert Biesta
Bennington, G. (1993) Derridabase, in G. Bennington and J. Derrida, Jacques
Derrida, Chicago/London: University of Chicago Press.
—— (2000) Interrupting Derrida, London/New York: Routledge.
Biesta, G. J. J. (1998a) ‘ “Say you want a revolution…” Suggestions for the impos-
sible future of critical pedagogy’, Educational Theory, 48 (4): 499–510.
—— (1998b) ‘Deconstruction, justice and the question of education,’ Zeitschrift für
Erziehungswissenschaft, 1 (3): 395–411.
Caputo, J. D. (1997) Deconstruction in a Nutshell. A Conversation with Jacques Derrida,
New York: Fordham University Press.
Critchley, S. (1999) The Ethics of Deconstruction: Derrida and Levinas, expanded 2nd
edn, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press.
Derrida, J. (1978) Writing and Difference, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
—— (1981) Positions, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
—— (1982) Margins of Philosophy, Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
—— (1987) ‘Some Questions and Responses’, in N. Fabb et al. (eds), The Linguistics
of Writing. Arguments between Language and Literature, Manchester: Manchester
University Press.
—— (1988) Limited Inc, Evanston: Northwestern University Press.
—— (1991) ‘Letter to a Japanese Friend’, in P. Kamuf (ed.), A Derrida Reader:
Between the Blinds, New York: Columbia University Press.
—— (1992) ‘Force of Law: The “Mystical Foundation of Authority” ’, in D. Cornell,
M. Rosenfeld and D. Carlson (eds), Deconstruction and the Possibility of Justice, New
York/London: Routledge.
—— (1995) Points…Interviews, 1974–1994, Stanford: Stanford University Press.
—— (1999) ‘Hospitality, Justice, and Responsibility. A Dialogue with Jacques
Derrida’, in R. Kearney and M. Dooley (eds), Questioning Ethics. Contemporary
Debates in Philosophy, New York/London: Routledge.
Derrida, J. and Ewald, F. (1995) ‘A certain “madness” must watch over thinking.
An interview with Jacques Derrida’, Educational Theory, 45: 273–291.
Ennew, J. (1995) ‘Outside Childhood: Street Children’s Rights’, in B. Franklin (ed.),
The Handbook of Children’s Rights, London/New York: Routledge.
Ennew, J. and Milne, B. (1989) The Next Generation: Lives of Third World Children,
London: Zed Press.
Franklin, B. (ed.) (1995) The Handbook of Children’s Rights, London/New York: Rout-
ledge.
Gasché, R. (1986) The Tain of the Mirror. Derrida and the Philosophy of Reflection,
Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
—— (1994) Inventions of Difference. On Jacques Derrida, Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press.
Hill, D., McLaren, P., Cole, M. and Rikowski, G. (eds) (1999) Postmodernism in
Educational Theory. Education and the Politics of Human Resistance, London: The
Tufnell Press.
Honig, B. (1993) Political Theory and the Displacement of Politics, Ithaca/London:
Cornell University Press.
Kant, I. (1929) Critique of Pure Reason, trans. N. Kemp Smith, New York: St
Martin’s Press.
—— (1956) Kritik der reinen Vernunft. Nach den ersten und zweiten Original-Ausgabe neu
herausgegeben von Raymund Schmidt, Hamburg: Felix Meiner.
 Critique and deconstruction 143
Langeveld, M. J. (1979) Beknopte Theoretische Pedagogiek. Tweede Herziene Editie,
Groningen: Wolters Noordhoff.
Levinas, E. (1991) ‘Wholly Otherwise’, in R. Bernasconi and S. Critchley (eds), Re-
Reading Levinas, Bloomington/Indianapolis: Indiana University Press.
Masschelein, J. and Wimmer, M. (1996) Alterität, Pluralität, Gerechtigkeit. Randgänge
der Pädagogik, Sankt Augustin/Leuven: Academia/Leuven University Press.
McLaren, P. (1995) Critical Pedagogy and Predatory Culture. Oppositional Politics in a
Postmodern Era, London/New York: Routledge.
Mollenhauer, K. (1973) Erziehung und Emanzipation, München: Juventa.
Osler, A. and Starkey, H. (1996) Teacher Education and Human Rights, London: David
Fulton Publishers.
Peters, R. S. (1966) Ethics and Education, London: George Allen & Unwin Ltd.
Plato (1972) Apologia Socratis. The Trial and Execution of Socrates, trans. with intro. by
Peter George, London: Folio Society.
Rorty, R. (1980) Philosophy and the Mirror of Nature, Oxford: Blackwell.
Röttgers, K. (1990) ‘Kritik’, in J. J. Sandkühler (ed.), Europäische Enzyklopädie zu
Philosophie und Wissenschaften. Band 2, Hamburg: Felix Meiner Verlag.
Sas, P. (1995) ‘Het Geweten van de transcendentaalfilosofie: Karl-Otto Apel en de
mogelijkheid van strikte reflectie’, Tijdschrift voor Filosofie, 57 (1): 505–525.
Scheffler, I. (1973) Reason and Teaching, New York: Bobbs-Merrill.
Siegel, H. (1988) Educating Reason. Rationality, Critical Thinking and Education, New
York/London: Routledge.
—— (1995) ‘What price inclusion?’, Teachers College Record, 97 (3): 6–31.
—— (1997) Rationality Redeemed? Further Dialogues on an Educational Ideal, New
York/London: Routledge.
Woudenberg, R. van (1991) Transcendentale reflecties. Een onderzoek naar transcedentale
argumenten in de contemporaine filosofie, met bijzondere aandacht voor de transcendentale
pragmatiek van Karl-Otto Apel, Amsterdam: Vrije Universiteit.
10 Children’s rights and
education
A hermeneutic approach
Alfred Langewand

Preliminary remarks
Hermeneutics originated at the beginning of the modern age in three main
contexts. Within European humanism it developed as the art of resolving
philological problems that arose in the reading of classical works, e.g., where
the textual corpus transmitted from Antiquity was uncertain. With the
beginning of the implementation of generally binding legal norms, it arose
with the juridical problem of applying general legal principles appropriately
to specific concrete situations. And in the context of disputations during the
Reformation and Counter-Reformation, in particular following the end of
the European civil war between 1618 and 1648, it acquired the role of a
means of deciding upon the ‘correct’ interpretation of the Christian Bible.
With regard to its historical origins, hermeneutics was a form of reflec-
tion on a crisis of the understanding of disparate things and,
simultaneously, was the attempt to master this crisis. Even today, this more
or less holds true. From the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries through
to the nineteenth and twentieth, the main change overcoming hermeneu-
tics was its transformation from an art of understanding into a
philosophical discipline making the same kind of foundational claims as
had been made formerly by the transcendental philosophy of the German
classical tradition. Chiefly representative of this ‘foundational-ontological
turn’ are the works of Martin Heidegger and Hans-Georg Gadamer. Within
the educational sciences, ‘hermeneutics’ primarily signifies reflection upon
and illumination of the concepts we use in daily life or in science to talk
about things. It investigates the judgements that we have already made
when we turn to things. To this extent, hermeneutics is an analysis of the
‘pre-judgements’ we bring to the consideration of things. Since these pre-
judgements are only in relatively few cases our own individual inventions,
hermeneutic analysis also means the analysis of the nexus of the historical
origins and the context of the concepts we apply. The goal of hermeneutic
analysis is to come to terms with the matter with which we are concerned.
Edmund Husserl’s slogan for this goal of inquiry was: ‘Back to the things
themselves’.
 A hermeneutical approach 145
There are divergent opinions on the question of what hermeneutics is and
what it can do, even within hermeneutics itself. It thus makes sense to
clarify at the outset what these divergences are within hermeneutics, and I
should like to draw attention to two in particular.
Firstly, considering the hermeneutic debate only during the course of the
twentieth century, there are – to simplify – two currents of opinion as to
whether or not hermeneutics is a method. Those in favour of this view
include Wilhelm Dilthey within philosophy, Emilio Betti in the philosophy
of law and Eduard Spranger within educational theory, to name only the best
known. Those who deny that hermeneutics is a method include Gadamer in
philosophy and all those who follow him. Most proponents of the latter work
within the tradition of Martin Heidegger’s Being and Time. It was Gadamer
himself who had originally introduced this divisional line in his magnum opus
of 1960, Truth and Method. Indeed, this book title coming from a disciple of
Heidegger must naturally be read as meaning ‘Truth instead of Method’.
According to Gadamer, not only is understanding as a method not an alter-
native to explanation in the natural sciences (or in the social sciences insofar
as these are oriented to natural scientific models of explanation) but, further,
hermeneutics is not even a doctrine of method as once conceived by Dilthey.
E. Betti first subjected the position represented by Gadamer within
hermeneutics to critique. More or less fully operating within the Dilthey
tradition, Betti proposes methodical canons, or fundamental rules, which are
to secure the objectivity of the understanding. To date, this debate internal
to hermeneutics has not been settled. It probably cannot be brought to an
end unless it can be shown that understanding in the sense of knowledge
(Betti) can also be understanding in the sense of education (Gadamer), and
how this can be so. My own view is that, in comparison with the method-
ology of description and explanation within the natural sciences, one cannot
speak of understanding as a method, nor indeed of hermeneutics as a
methodological doctrine.
What understanding means, can be most quickly illustrated by going
into some of the complexities. The activity of translating is an eminently
hermeneutic activity. When, for example, Franz Kafka in The Castle writes of
the church spire which was built ‘mit höherem Ziel’ in contrast to the lower
houses surrounding it, his expression in German is open to very many
different interpretations (or, if one forgoes a conscious interpretation, the
everyday understanding of the expression will remain in play, and thus
remain problematic in a reading of the novel). In the first English transla-
tion of 1930 by Edwin and Willa Muir, Kafka’s phrase is rendered as ‘loftier
goal’. Clearly, this translation is simultaneously an interpretation expressing
a very specific understanding of Kafka’s fiction. Indeed, the Muirs’ transla-
tion of The Castle is permeated with religious and metaphysical
connotations, like Edwin Muir’s own poetry. Kafka can be understood in this
way, but he does not have to be. The point is that each interpretation follows
from some such pre-understanding. It is precisely this context in which
146 Alfred Langewand
understanding is expressed which is not itself reducible to method. Another
example would be the ninety or so different translations of Shakespeare’s
66th Sonnet into German (‘Tyr’d with all these for restfull death I cry…’).
Does anyone really think there is a single method of understanding by
which we would be able to distinguish the adequate from the inadequate
translations of this sonnet? Understanding is the condition of ‘method’: it is
not itself a kind of method, nor is it an alternative to method.
The example of translating Kafka goes to show that prior to all possible
aspects of method, the matter in question has already been pre-judged, pre-
understood – in this case, as is known, through the influential interpretation
of Max Brod. Understanding is not independent either of the interpretative
situation or of the interpreter him/herself. And the understanding cannot
remain identical over time in the historical experiences we have when
working with the text and its interpretations. In the particular case of
Kafka’s work, today we regard the 1930 translation as being somehow one-
sided.
With the concept of method, however, we usually combine three convic-
tions:

• that, in respect of fact, methods can grasp the matter in hand;

• that, in respect of the social, methods are neutral and are not themselves
influenced by the person applying them in a certain situation;
• and that, temporally regarded, methods remain constant and do not
undergo alteration from one application to the next.

Now, understanding does not meet even such very vague conceptions of
what method is. Our factual understanding is bound up with a pre-
understanding which has already opened up the matter in hand in advance of
all subsequent investigations. This factual pre-understanding always contains
a self-understanding on the part of the interpreter. And both pre-
understanding and self-understanding are in turn inextricably entwined with
the historicity of understanding. The process of understanding is circular from
the very beginning. Hermeneutics draws attention to the fact that no strict
separation is possible between interpreters, ‘methods’, the situation of
application and the matter to be understood. There is a circular relation
between pre-understanding and understanding, a circular relation between
understanding and application and a circular relation between understanding
and the historical situation, as well as the historical anticipation of a specific
situation.
Thus, understanding is not a method. Rather, understanding and pre-
understanding are conditions for the development and application of methods.
And methods can only be deployed where areas of the lifeworld have already
been understood. Hermeneutics is therefore not a theory of method, nor a
methodology. This does not, of course, imply that understanding and
hermeneutics completely lack order, that they are chaotic, random. This
 A hermeneutical approach 147
already follows from the brief remarks above on pre-understanding and its
historicity. For we can as little step outside the historical situation in which
we find ourselves as we can remove ourselves from the lifeworld.
‘Historicity’ is not determined methodologically. It is experienced in
concrete interpretation and in reflection.
To reflection belongs the attempt to become clear about a situation in
which certain questions, problems or states of affairs have come about. It
also involves opening up the historical context to which the topic belongs,
or which it opposes, over and above the specific situational context itself.
And the question of practical relevance will also have to be borne in mind,
be this obvious and direct, or hidden and enigmatic. Such aspects of the
understanding do not allow themselves to be methodised. Even the sequence
of understanding cannot be determined in advance, once and for all. In this
respect, hermeneutics follows Husserl’s call at the beginning of the twen-
tieth century to ‘return to the things themselves’, but in such a way as to
sharpen the idea of a phenomenological historiography into the thesis of the
radical historicity of all understanding.
This debate on whether understanding is a method and hermeneutics a
doctrine of method has also been accompanied by another debate within
hermeneutics, which also reveals a lack of agreement between the protago-
nists. This is the question of whether or not hermeneutics is a practical
discipline, as has traditionally been claimed of disciplines such as ethics,
political science and educational theory. In this debate, the lines of engage-
ment of both parties to the argument are less clearly defined. Gadamer
himself claimed the title of a ‘practical science’ for hermeneutics. But it is
also clear to him that hermeneutics can probably be a practical science – i.e.,
a science oriented to ethical, political, legal or educational action – only if
what is to be understood through analysis is itself, in some undefined sense,
‘normatively appropriate’, whether ethically, politically, legally or education-
ally. With regard to the issue of children’s rights and education, this means
that – strictly speaking – hermeneutics cannot discuss the question of
whether children have rights, ought to have rights or whether such rights
can even be claimed. Hermeneutics, at least to date, has not developed any
instruments for answering such normative questions and taking such deci-
sions. In this discussion, hermeneutics must remain silent. Moreover, it
must listen. Why this is so is related to hermeneutic work and its insight
into the historicity of all that is understood and all understanding itself.
What hermeneutics can do, however, in cases where talk of children’s rights
make sense, is to show what function children’s rights can have for educa-
tional practice.
If we ask what can be expected from a hermeneutic analysis, I think such
an approach has to address the following three aspects:

• the understanding of the context in which an issue is taken up for the

first time or anew;
148 Alfred Langewand
• the implications embedded in the issue, here meaning principally in the
case of children’s rights the conceptual and historical implications; and
• the practical meaning of the issue being treated.

This in turn means that hermeneutics should at the very least

• undertake a contextual analysis of the issue, since issues do not just fall
out of the sky but are themselves embedded in a complex reality;
• attempt an analysis of pre-judgements and presuppositions, since reality
is saturated by historical preconceptions, just as is hermeneutic analysis
itself; and finally
• initiate a practical analysis of the significance of the issue, because
one of the fundamental convictions of hermeneutics is that reason,
whatever this may be, can only be concrete reason. The assertion that
truth is concrete – a risky proposition first advanced by Karl Marx –
has subsequently been taken up and claimed by hermeneutics for
itself.

On the historical context of the children’s rights

movement
The children’s rights movement emerged at the beginning of the 1970s
in Anglo-American countries. From the outset, it has been connected
with the anti-schooling stream of thought in the West, though in point
of fact there was no necessary connection between the two movements.
Though it was not the first time that children’s rights had been claimed
from the educational side, this time it pointed forward to an outcome
which was formative of rights: the Convention on the Rights of the Child
passed by the General Assembly of the United Nations on 20 November
1989.
It could be asked why it was precisely at this moment that a discussion
began to develop concerning children’s rights. There are no simple answers
to this question. But it well assists comprehension if we try to bring back to
mind the historical situation in which this discussion arose. If this is done,
the following states of affairs at that time become apparent.

• At the same time as the discussion about children’s rights began, debates
were also taking place in other areas of social life in Western nations
which did not indeed originally appear to be related in terms of
contents with the children’s rights movement but which were, however,
responding in similar fashion to felt deficits in the everyday life of the
West. To shed some light on the issue of children’s rights, three of these
complex debates may be mentioned. Like the children’s rights debate,
they were formed in relation to the so-called student movement of the
late 1960s. These are
 A hermeneutical approach 149
• the women’s movement which began to develop again after a morato-
rium of almost half a century
• the anti-psychiatry movement which was active on the Continent,
particularly in Italy and Great Britain, and
• the environmental and animal rights movement.

The women’s movement opposes the disadvantaging or degradation of

women in society, the anti-psychiatry movement protests against the institu-
tional isolation of the ‘mad’ from the ‘normal’, and the animal rights
movement and the environmental movement campaign against the use of
animals in scientific experiments and in the food industry in particular and
against the exploitation of nature in general.
If one tries to bring out the common features of these protest movements,
it could probably be said that all of these, including the children’s rights
movement, come together to assert a discontent with civilisation, or to
assert – often trenchantly – a distinct reservation against the predominant,
superficially ‘rational’ way of life in Western societies. In the societies of the
former Eastern Bloc, this reaction appeared after some delay and was to be
directed against state obstruction. All four movements, to put it another
way, have raised a fundamental objection to historically determinate ‘reason’
at the end of the twentieth century. This dominant ‘rationality’, to charac-
terise it in overstated terms, is:

• masculine and chauvinistic in tendency, from the point of view of the

women’s movement
• normalising, from the point of view of the anti-psychiatry movement,
• perversely anthropocentric, according to the fundamental conviction of
the environmental movement, and species-centric in the eyes of the
animal rights movement; and
• adult-centric, from the viewpoint of the children’s rights movement.

If you therefore happen not to be male, adult and a normal animal ratio-
nale, then you have every reason to suffer under the dominant form of reason,
either for yourself or for the sake of others.
It would be necessary and tempting to analyse in detail and through
examples the form of this dominant reason, and then to check whether there
is also something common to this four-fold objection to the dominant ratio-
nality and of what it consists. Feminist philosophy and the animal rights
movement, insofar as I can judge, have already initiated the most important
steps in this direction. On the other hand, such a way of looking at a critique
of reason platform shared by all four movements is still far too premature.
But what of the issue of children’s rights and education in particular?
If we want to understand what the claim of children’s rights can mean,
we must ask at the outset what was and remains the precise form of reason
with respect to the child and its rights which led to children’s rights first
150 Alfred Langewand
becoming an issue for philosophy and educational theory at such a late point
in time. The initial, as yet completely atheoretical, answer we need only
state: for initially children’s rights was not a genuine thematic of either
philosophy or the philosophy of education, meaning here institutionalised
disciplines. The issue was first and foremost a practical issue, one belonging
to the educational lifeworld.
Let us address the question of the form and content of determinate
historical ‘reason’ against which the children’s rights movement has
turned. What the educational, feminist, anti-psychiatry and environmental
protests against the ruling concept of reason have in common is that they
protest as particular voices against a reason understood as universalist.
Reason is only putatively universal. It is philosophically understood as
such but in fact it is historically connected to the exclusion of the partic-
ular. Children count, morally and in terms of rights, as being just as
immature as animals and lunatics. It is thus not surprising that the debate
on children’s rights and education has points of contact with the so-called
post-modernist debate. For if ‘post-modernity’, beyond all the fashionable
twaddle, primarily means undertaking the attempt to draw the attention of
a reason presenting itself as universal to those particularities it has
excluded and defending the latter against their ‘rational’ extraterritorialisa-
tion, then children’s rights and education is a theme much more closely
related to the often-disputed diagnoses of post-modernism than might at
first appear to be the case.

Historicity
Philosophically considered, the rationality to which the children’s rights
movement is opposed is neither pure reason nor ahistorically guiltless. It
bears the defining marks of its history, and is itself historical. I want to go
on to show that the form taken by this rationality which has been handed
down to us has a contradictory structure from the point of view of educa-
tional theory. I also want to show that the children’s rights movement, if
taken seriously philosophically, represents an objection to this inherited,
contradictory form of rationality, possibly leading us to search for a somehow
different concept of reason. To what extent, then, is the dominant rationality
– from the point of view of the children’s rights movement – structured in
an educationally antinomian or contradictory way? As an initial answer to
this question, a small anecdote.

In the middle of the seventeenth century there was a member of a religious

brotherhood called Jean Garat who came from the Dordogne in south-west
France. On a visit to Limoges, he was shown his little nephew lying in a
cradle. Garat was so upset at this sight that he fled from the house in panic,
as if he had just seen a wild beast rather than a small infant. Instead of ‘O,
how sweet!’, or ‘Isn’t he lovely!’, or a more matter of fact ‘Just like his
 A hermeneutical approach 151
mother and father!’, or more reserved ‘O Lord, how small he is!’, Garat’s hair
stood on end (evidently, the ‘small child schemata’ of our contemporary
behavioural scientists had little place in the seventeenth century). H.
Bremond, who mentions this anecdote in his monumental Histoire litteraire
du sentiment religieux en France, points out that Garat, otherwise a pious
Catholic and rationalist, was overly sensitive to small children – in fact, he
didn’t want anything to do with them. But is this alone the reason for his
panic-stricken flight? Especially since shortly thereafter Garat joined a pious
society for the veneration of the infant Jesus!

What did Garat see when he looked at his nephew? A child, of course, we
would want to say, suspecting that Garat is just one more example in that long
line of unworldly philosophers and theologians who become upset by every-
thing that doesn’t fit the grid of their own theoretical frameworks. But let us
try to shed a little more light on the behaviour, viewpoint and reaction of this
man so that he doesn’t entirely remain the idiosyncratic monster of his
century. I will put forward two possible background motives for his behaviour.

First motive: anthropology

The first motive results from what was for Garat an unquestioned anthropo-
logical tradition combining two conceptions of nature and the place of man
in the world which, analytically speaking, do not necessarily belong
together. The first conception is that man is a rational animal (animal ratio-
nale). Man has much in common with other animals, but one thing is his
alone: reason. Reason here is the differentia specifica of man as opposed to
other animals. Whatever is or could be animal within man, it is reason that
ennobles him, and it is through the use of reason that he can discipline,
order, raise, even educate his animal nature. This conception is the common
philosophical heritage not only of the seventeenth century – it was already
ancient and honoured in that century – and its basic conceptual equipment
derives from the pagan, classical philosophy of ancient Greece.
The second anthropological conception of nature and man’s essence is
historically connected with that of the animal rationale. It asserts, roughly
speaking, that everything that lives has a soul, be it plant, animal or man.
The soul of a living being expresses itself as a potential for power. In this
way, for example, plants have a potential for nutrition, growth and move-
ment; besides these powers, (some) animals have the additional potential of
imagination and desire; but it is man alone who has the additional potential
of reason, the potential to think and to judge.
In terms of this anthropological conception, there is an ascending series of
organisms at whose pinnacle stands man. This order differentiates three
aspects. The plant–animal–man sequence is conceived materially as an addi-
tion of potential. The sequence is also considered normatively as an
ascending series of value (with the plus ultra of reason as its conclusion). And
152 Alfred Langewand
it is viewed temporally as a sequence of developmental steps. This means
that man, who brings together all the potential of plant and animal within
himself (plus reason), also develops in his ontogenesis along this material,
normative order of gradation.
According to the anthropological conception of man as a reasoning
animal, we know that man possesses reason, not animals. But neither does
the child. In this conception of the order of living things, we also know why
this has to be so. Man, for whom the highest position is reserved, requires a
little time.
When Jean Garat looked at his nephew, we are forced to conclude that he
did not see a person, but a creature just like an animal. To overstate: he saw
the animal in the child. And then, presumably, he saw himself in the child.
He was once like this: small, totally in need, absolutely defenceless, useless
and ignorant.

Second motive: religion and theology

The Aristotelian conception of man as part of the animal kingdom lasted
well into the twentieth century. In Aristotle’s mature and chief work, the
Nicomachean Ethics, animal and child are mentioned together as belonging to
the same species and as not distinguishable in kind. Augustine later spoke of
children as ‘little animals’. The rationalism of early modern Europe then
attempted to reinforce this conception and position of the child as opposed
to reason, not by juxtaposing the luminosity of reason against the animality
of the brute beasts, but by mentioning in the same breath the mad, the
suicidal and the child as counter-instances.
Besides these anthropological conceptions, all of which were developed
in the pagan philosophies of Greece and Rome, a second, specifically
Christian motive, plays a central role in the response of Jean Garat to his
baby nephew. Childhood, according to this Christian conviction, is conse-
quent upon Original Sin, a direct result of transgressing the divine
prohibition to eat from the Tree of Knowledge instead of the Tree of Life.
Had Adam and Eve not sinned, humans would presumably not have been
born, or at least not in the way that we know. Augustine wrote:
‘Henceforward it was God’s will that through sin and punishment the
initial condition of these little animals, as the newly born can be charac-
terised, should be one of childish helplessness and frailty of mind and
body’ (De Civitate Dei: Book XIII). Childhood, the condition of man as
little animal, is the continually recurring and, to the torment of adults,
always visible factum brutum of the original sin of man, his radical corrupt-
ness and depravity. What can be read as holding for the most significant
figure of early Christianity and Father of the Church can also be read as
holding for early modernity. In the Discours de la Methode of 1637, the
founding text of rationalism, René Descartes complains that ‘since we have
all been children before being men, and since it has long fallen to us to be
 A hermeneutical approach 153
governed by our appetites and by our teachers (who often enough contra-
dicted one another, and none of whom perhaps counselled us always for the
best), it is almost impossible that our judgements should be so excellent or
solid as they should have been had we had complete use of our reason since
our birth, and had we been guided by its means alone’. And Augustine
sounds as if he was an author belonging to the pagan, pre-Christian world:
‘But who would not recoil and, faced with the choice of whether to die or
be a child again, would not rather choose death?’
Given such conceptual preconditions, the fact that neither a philosophy
nor a paedagogy of children’s rights has developed hardly requires explana-
tion. From the outset, the concept of right was itself bound up with the
concept of the animal rationale. Even in the nineteenth century with Fichte,
who treats of educational theory in the context of natural law, the paedagog-
ical determination of the child is not that of having rights but of having
duties: the duty of unconditional obedience and absolute submission to the
will of the parents (which surely means: to the will of the father).
It could, of course, be said that today we no longer speak of rights and
children within the terms of the Christian-rationalist tradition. But I regard
this as an error. A glance at the philosophy of law and right in the work of,
for example, J. Habermas or B. Gert indicates that, from the point of view of
educational theory, nothing has changed between Aristotle and Hobbes on
the one hand and the discourse theory of right on the other.
One side of the educational antimony of reason thus goes: children are not,
in the strict sense, able to be the subject or bearer of rights because they lack
something essential. Themselves incapable of reason, education must thus
first guide them towards reason. The other side of the antimony goes: chil-
dren should not be subject of rights because they themselves do not require
such rights. It is education that should save them from this adult fate.
Here we have the basic conviction of the ‘obverse side’ of the traditional
concept of reason, a conviction that has been continually developing since
the seventeenth century. It is the conception which, arising out of the
mystical theology of the late seventeenth century, was introduced into
educational theory in secularised form by Rousseau. It was then repeatedly
propagated both by the Romantics from the end of the eighteenth century
onwards and by a major part of the educational reform movement of the
twentieth century. This counter-conception to the rationalist concept of
reason and the older concept of childhood only arises when and insofar as the
adult suffers from him/herself and from his/her world, when s/he begins to
feel estranged and uncomfortable under the skin; and when s/he recognises –
and this is decisive – that reason not only cannot heal his/her own suffering,
but that it is reason itself which makes he or she suffer.
Viewed historically, this is exactly the point of introduction of the ‘alter-
native’ concept of reason and childhood. Viewed sociologically, it was
paradoxically the nobility of the seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries
who prepared the way for a different conception of childhood. Concerned
154 Alfred Langewand
about the proper kind of Christian piety to be adopted, the nobles paved the
way for this essentially pagan concept of childhood. Not only did they suffer
from the rise of new economic concepts and conceptions of action (interests,
systems, etc.), which put their worldly orientation to the test. They also
suffered massively from their own ‘rational-reasonable’ form of life insofar as
it proved, under closer scrutiny, to be thoroughly unreasonable. Morals and
virtue, in the diagnosis of the French moralists of that era, have the sole
purpose of concealing self-love and vanity. Reason, they agreed, is central,
but it is the centre of egocentricity, not the organ of Christian brotherly
love. Reason is an instrument of the self-infatuated ego. In social terms, it
alienates virtue. In religious terms, it alienates humility. Piety and reason
thus come into opposition. Under such conditions, it did not take long for
childhood to be discovered by the later seventeenth and eighteenth centuries
as the exemplary condition of humankind.
Take the fact that children play, in the sense of the older conception of
reason. But now, under altered conceptual conditions, doing useless things
means that the child is not entrapped in vain narcissism. The fact that the
child does not think about tomorrow, i.e., has no thoughts (in the old sense),
now means that the child lives – as the saying goes – without a worry or a
care in the world. The fact that the child is non-rational, i.e., non-
predictable, now means that the child trusts the positivity of the world. The
fact that the child is spontaneous, i.e., immoderately passionate and yet
defenceless (in the old sense), now means that the child is authentic. In
short, under new conditions, the child is always itself, the adult is always
other than him or herself.
What is important to grasp here is that in this ‘other’ conception of
reason and childhood, the child’s relationship to rights is just as unimpor-
tant and educationally nonsensical as for the earlier rationalist conception.
Significantly, although the initially mystical conception of childhood and
rights, which was then given an educational turn by Rousseau, was devel-
oped through the critique of the older forms and contents of traditional
reason, any access to rights remains closed off, philosophically speaking. The
educational antimony of traditional reason is that either one was not able to
have rights because as a child one was (still) non-rational, or one did not
need to have rights because one was (as yet) not alienated as a child. The
child falls outside the realm of right, either because it cannot yet exercise
reason or because it should not exercise reason too early. (This framework is
outlined in Table 10.1.)
Those wishing to deal seriously with the issue of children’s rights from the
point of view of educational theory are thus well advised to study the snares
within the traditional conception of reason, together with the snares within
the traditional conception of childhood. If and how it is possible, in the strict
philosophical sense, to talk of children’s rights at all is not at all clear. But
we can still attempt to show hermeneutically which functions have to be
linked with children’s rights and what practical significance these have.
 A hermeneutical approach 155

Table 10.1 The educational antinomy of traditional reason

Rationalistic thesis Romanticistic
antithesis
Internal valuation
(1) Concept of animal rationale + - animal rationale
man (adult) alienatumque

(2) Concept of animal inrationale - + animal inrationale

child non alienatumque

(3) Consequence no rights: they - - no rights:they

for legal status of can’t have rights don’t need to have
children because of (2) rights because of
(2)

Practical truth
The educational antimony of traditional reason will remain virulent as
long as the preconceptions shared by both theses of this antimony remain
unnoticed. The rationalist and the romantic concepts of childhood have
three presuppositions in common.

1 It is possible and sensible to philosophise about the child without

entering into the child’s own self-understanding. This is the conviction
of both the rationalist concept of childhood, when it conceives of the
child only as a deficient, unreasoning being, and of the romantic
concept of childhood, where the child is understood only as a self-
sufficient being. In both cases, ‘methodologically’ regarded, the result is
an objectivist concept of the child – I, as adult, am to determine
philosophically what is to count as ‘the child’.
By contrast, a hermeneutic philosophy of education and children’s rights
has as its first principle that no interpretation is reliable which bypasses the
self-understanding of those whose behaviour is to be interpreted, as
opposed to including it as constitutive of the interpretation. Any form of
hermeneutic philosophy will recognise that ‘childhood’ is not a mere
‘anthropological’ state of affairs but always, even primarily, a historical
concept. In respect of the theme of education and children’s rights,
hermeneutic analysis thus has to recognise and acknowledge that the child
learns that it is a child. The gap, the difference that the adult interpreter, as
philosopher, creates between himself and the child, belongs to the content
of his or her own reflection. The alternative to this would be objectivism.
2 It is possible and sensible to philosophise on rights when one is oriented
only to the criteria of adult communication and thus have to regard all
actual transitional phases prior to adulthood as strictly (and ‘rationally’)
extraterritorial, beyond bounds. (Here, it should not be forgotten that
what Kant termed ‘difficulties of transition’ are the product of the type
of criteria deployed.) The result, again viewed ‘methodologically’, is a
156 Alfred Langewand
conception of rights bereft of development or history, and which are
understood independently of the conditions of their appropriation and
rational rehearsal. I, as adult, determine (philosophically) who is the
bearer of rights, i.e., only those who are already adult (rational, capable
of reflection and discourse, etc.)
By contrast, a hermeneutic philosophy of education and children’s rights
has as its second basic principle that such transitions are concrete and
cannot lie beyond right and reason simply because they are transitions.
Right and education, regarded hermeneutically, are practical and concrete
concepts for the normative accompaniment of transitions. To think of
these concepts philosophically means to elucidate the conditions of their
practical possibility. And this means that ‘right’, as ‘education’, cannot be
determined without the process of experience, which has to be made in
and through its appropriation. In this sense, hermeneutics is always a
reflection on the conditions of appropriation of practical concepts. What
is excluded in the traditional, static concept of reason is the insight that
transitions themselves are reasonable, or can be understood to be so. In the
traditional concept, ratio and transitio mutually exclude each other. If it is
true that the well-known attempts to systematise a teleology of human
nature (neo-Stoicism) or a teleology of history (Hegelianism) have failed,
the concepts of ‘right’ and of ‘child’ have to be compatible with the
concept of a practical reason which permits transition.
3 It is possible and sensible for a form of human practice (e.g., education)
to be conceived either as a means to achieve a different human practice
(that of a social life regulated by law), so that both stand in a relation of
pure rationality of ends (calculated rationality), i.e., rationalism, or
where one of these is marginalised as a terra incognita, i.e., romanticism.
Both of course issue in the same result. Rationalism and romanticism
fall victim to the denial of the historicity of their object.
If it is true, however, that a meaningful analysis can as little exist by
abstraction from self-understanding as an analysis without reflection on
the conditions of the practical appropriation of rights, then the approach
of a hermeneutic philosophy of education can only set out from the idea
of a congruence of conditions for the practical possibility of children’s
rights and education. These can stand neither in a relation of means and
end to each other in the sense of calculated rationality, nor in the rela-
tion of extraterritorial enclaves. The necessity of an integral
conceptualisation is thus a further fundamental conviction of the
hermeneutic philosophy of education.

What functions can children’s rights have in education?

In the Romantic concept of childhood, children’s rights would simply be
inappropriate, in a practical sense. This would be to ascribe to the child
something which is incompatible with the child’s way of life, and not only
 A hermeneutical approach 157
for that period in which children have no cognitive understanding of what
‘rights’ mean. Here, children’s rights would not just be inappropriate; they
would also be disruptive. They would disturb the child with things, which
go against the child’s way of life.
In the rationalist concept of education, children’s rights would be either
useless and dangerous, where children do not understand rights, or –
conversely – extremely useful, even if they do not understand them. In the
latter case, children at least get to know something of the reciprocity of
rights and duties from the habitus of adults they encounter, even before they
are capable of this reciprocity themselves. We speak to children even before
they themselves have learnt how to speak. Accordingly, John Locke in his
Letters on Education recommended that adults talk rationally to children, a
recommendation which Rousseau, in his Émile, branded a kind of educa-
tional crime. Starkly counterposed, the Romantic would be committed to
protecting the child from rights, whereas the rationalist would be
committed to protecting rights from children. In the context of children’s
rights, the concept of the child would be violated, from the Romantic point
of view; from the rationalist point of view, the concept of right would be
rendered void.
Hermeneutics proceeds from the conviction that people cannot
adequately be understood by ignoring their own self-conception. Children
conceive of themselves as children when they come to know that this is what
they are. Likewise, children only have rights if they themselves know that
they have them. Given the circumstance that children have to learn that
they are children and that they might have rights, the philosophical
problem of children’s rights presents itself quite differently from how prob-
lems of rights are normally analysed and discussed within philosophy.
Normally, problems of right are concerned with contents, their justification
and their appropriate application. But with the issue of children’s rights,
things look quite otherwise. The communicative structure as well as the
self-understanding of children and adults is fundamentally altered through
the introduction of children’s rights. For here, the consciousness of right
emerges through the introduction of the concept of right, and not directly in
one single instant.
Even if the child already had rights ‘by nature’, in the sense of natural
law, this would be immaterial, from a hermeneutic point of view, as long as
these rights were determined only from the perspective of the observer. Even
when, in educational practice, adults see children as the originally bearers of
rights, this is immaterial as long as the child itself knows nothing about it.
The central educational question from the hermeneutic point of view is thus:
What does the communicative situation look like in which the concept of right
is introduced in terms comprehensible to the child, as a practically mean-
ingful and real concept, and in which communication between adult and
child is reciprocally practicable? It now becomes clear just how far ‘problems
of transition’ are central to the issue of children’s rights. The concept of
158 Alfred Langewand
right itself cannot structure the transitional situation from non-conscious
possession of rights (or non-possession) to the possession of rights. The
structuring of educational situations is, however, one of the many tasks of
education. At this point, there thus follows of necessity the primacy of educa-
tion over right, just as it is obvious, e.g., for Aristotle in the Nicomachean
Ethics, that it is only through education that can there be a solution to the
problem of how and under what conditions rights can be maintained over
time.
If we talk about structuring situations for the introduction of rights, we
do not imply that the educator should simply tell the child that it has
rights. The point here is that the educational situation must itself exhibit an
interactive form, which is at least not contrary to the concept of right. A
concept of right which proceeds from reciprocally shared and corresponding
rights and duties suggests a form of educational communication which does
not exclude such reciprocation from the outset. To consider what positive
form the educational situation should take is a question for the theory of
education.
It should also here be mentioned that another issue, hermeneutically
regarded, belongs within the context of children’s rights and education. It is
not necessarily part of the concept of right that the type of sanctions in
respect of the violation of another person’s rights is itself discussed. Whether
the problem discussed is treated as one of rights or as a moral problem is
dependent on whether it is internal sanctions (internal to the
person/‘conscience’) or external sanctions (expected/enforced by others)
which are assumed. Discussing the relation between the concepts of rights,
childhood and education without the concept of the moral would appear to
be extremely difficult.
From the hermeneutic perspective, the relation between children’s rights
and education should be discussed, first and foremost, as a problem of transi-
tion. Since we are what we are and never exist without an understanding of
ourselves, it thus follows that there can be neither ‘childhood’ nor ‘right’,
practically speaking, without the corresponding self-understanding. In
education, we must therefore discriminate between the educational struc-
tures prior to the introduction of rights, during the introduction of rights
and subsequent to their introduction. With the concept of right alone, the
first two phases could at best be outlined negatively; they could be posi-
tively outlined only within the framework of a theory of education. In
respect of the third phase, determinations of rights alone are as insufficient
as in civil society more generally, where the question of how we want to live
together is not answered merely in terms of principles of rights.
The hermeneutic treatment of the relation between children’s rights and
education is certainly unusual in that it differentiates considerably our daily
discourse concerning children, education and rights. The ‘child’ and ‘rights’
are, for hermeneutics, elements in a self-understanding, which is itself
historically variable. It has been shown that even the discourse of ‘natural
 A hermeneutical approach 159
rights’ has a communicative sense and is not based upon a factum of natura
humana. Everything that is to be real for the acting persons must pass
through the eye of the needle of communication and self-understanding, unless
one of the participants, fearing the unavoidable reflection characterising
educational communication, so determines educational conditions that they
remain inaccessible to each other. This latter was the strategy of Rousseau. It
still awaits its in-depth refutation even today.
Faced with the fundamental question of whether children actually do
have, or should have, rights at all, hermeneutics remains silent.

Further reading
Dilthy, W. (1981) Der Aufbau der geschichtlichen Welt in den Geisteswissenschaften (The
Construction of the Historical World in the Human Sciences), ed. M. Riedel,
Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp
Gadamer, H.-G. (1960) Wahrheit und Methode, Tübingen: J. C. B. Mohr.
—— (1999) Truth and Method, trans. W. Glen-Doepel, 2nd rev. edn., London: Sheep
& Ward.
Heidegger, M. (1927) Sein und Zeit, Halle an der Saale: May Niemeyer.
—— (1962) Being and Time, trans. E. Robinson, New York: Harper & Row.
—— (1996) Being and Time, trans. J. Stambaugh, Albany: State University of New
York Press.
Mueller-Vollmer, K. (ed.) (1986) The Hermeneutics Reader, Oxford: Blackwell
11 Rights of children and future
adults
A cultural educational perspective
Wilna A. J. Meijer

Introduction
A ‘cultural educational theory’ (Dutch: cultuurpedagogiek) puts the issue of
cultural transmission at the centre of educational reflection. There are two
sides to this issue. The first is the question of culture as context of education,
and of educational theory as reflection on this relation. This requires, as I
will argue, that history of education and theory of education go together
more closely than has become customary since the 1960s. Education and
ideas on education (i.e., educational theory) vary in time and culturally. It is
therefore necessary, in order to understand education and educational ideas,
to incorporate the historical and cultural context in the discussion. The
second question on the relation between culture and education concerns
culture as content of education. This refers to the educational question of
which parts of the existing culture ought to be passed on to the new genera-
tion. This second question brings the educational theory–practice problem
into focus. Analogous with the argument that theory and history should go
hand in hand when it comes to education, it can be argued that educational
thought and action, theory and practice, ought to be linked.
In this chapter, I will first explore the relation between theory and history
of education. Then I will dwell on the relation between theory and practice
of education. These two relations that are of central importance to a cultural
educational theory are themselves again entwined. In the analysis of educa-
tional concepts (i.e., the theory of education), the importance of historical
and cultural context is emphasised; that does not, however, only concern the
context of origin and development of these concepts, but also the contempo-
rary context of educational thought and action. And this historical and
cultural context is the arena in which educational action is set.
In a final section, I discuss environmental education as a case of the
approach of a cultural educational theory. Clearly, both the aspects of culture
as context of education and culture as content of education are present in
this case: environmental pollution and the prevailing social and political
awareness of it as a global societal problem induces, among other things,
reflection on environmental education and its aims and contents. The case of
 A cultural educational perspective 161
environmental education also is our contribution to the theme of this
volume: children’s rights. A cultural educational approach will not start
reflection on a theme from non-educational concepts, such as, in this case,
ethical or juridical concepts of rights. The starting point is deliberately
chosen in classical educational thought and concepts. The case of environ-
mental education shows that the classical concept of the relative autonomy of
education may help to criticise the reduction of education to a sheer instru-
ment for political aims. Through this, the right of children and future adults
to be educated to emancipated, self-reliant and responsible involvement and
participation is defended.

The relation between theory1 and history of education

Up until the 1960s in fundamental educational research in the Netherlands,
theory and history went hand in hand. Consideration of educational concepts
was interwoven with historical inquiry. This was for instance manifested in
the so-called history of ideas: surveys of the ideas and ideals of ‘great
thinkers’, from Plato via Erasmus and Comenius, Rousseau, Pestalozzi,
Fröbel and Herbart, to Dewey and Montessori (see, for example, Vloemans
1949; Van der Velde 1964; Van der Meer and Bergman 1975). Langeveld, a
prominent exponent of the ‘geisteswissenschaftliche Pädagogik’ in the
Netherlands, publicised about the ‘dialogue between system and history’,
thereby giving rise to debate in the field of fundamental educational
research on the subject of the nature of the history of education (Noordman
1978: 193). Langeveld argued, in a way typical of the
‘Geisteswissenschaften’, in favour of a ‘problem-historical approach’ which
would not produce a ‘warehouse of historical facts’, but which would ‘show
the essential possibilities of educational thought’ (Langeveld 1959: 5).
Inquiries in the field of history of education would then revolve around
systematic educational issues (‘questions of education’). ‘With a tentative,
maybe even a vague question, but nevertheless one which penetrates the
essence of education, one sets forth and in interchange with history one
returns more mature, richer, more specific and diverse in one’s questioning’
(Langeveld 1959: 12).2
Since then, however, history of education has loosened its bonds with
systematic educational theory and emphasised rather empirical historical
research into the social and cultural reality of education in the past (cf. De
Wolf 1971). Educational theorists went their own way also. Some concen-
trated on the philosophical analysis of educational concepts. Rather than
towards history of education, this kind of educational theory tended to look
towards empirical-analytic research as an inspiration for its analysis and defi-
nition of educational concepts (cf. Stellwag 1970, 1973; cf. in the German
language area: Brezinka 1971). Also, an orientation towards philosophy,
philosophy of science and especially linguistic-analytic philosophy gained
ground in philosophy of education (cf. Spiecker 1974). Theory and history of
162 Wilna A.J.Meijer
education separated ways. Whereas history of education, as part of social
history, studied past practices of upbringing and education without paying
much attention to educational ideas and ideals or concepts, philosophy of
education limited itself more and more to the analysis of educational
concepts without bringing historical cultural context – and therefore real
educational practice – into play.
The traditional bond between ‘theory and history’ of education and
educational thought was also modified by critical theory which became
popular towards the end of the 1960s. It is true that a critical theory
(contrary to Anglo-Saxon linguistic-analytic philosophy) conceives thought
and ideas in close connection to history and praxis. However, according to
critical theory, on this score educational theory does not differ from other
social sciences. The relation between educational theory and practice is not
reflected upon starting out from the specific nature and task of educational
practice (in distinction to other practices, such as juridical or medical prac-
tice). Critical educationists tend, rather, to choose a non-pedagogical
problem and theory as point of departure, the theory in this case being crit-
ical theory, which studies the sciences as a political phenomenon. A theory of
science must be a theory of society. The fundamental assumption underlying
Habermas’ theory of knowledge interests is, for instance, that there is no
pure scientific knowledge, but that all knowledge is utilised in (political)
action (Habermas 1968). Critical educational theory serves the knowledge
interest of emancipation. This critical commitment to practice and the
political goals of emancipation and liberation are shared with other social
sciences (see, for instance, for psychology: De Boer 1980). The critical
reserve of a ‘hermeneutics of suspicion’ is the befitting attitude towards
educational ideas and practices passed on to us from the past. Consequently,
the traditional bond between educational theory and history of education has
to be reviewed. Sociological and social philosophical notions take their place.
From the 1980s onwards, the necessity of bringing theory and history of
education closer together after their having grown apart since the 1960s has
been emphasised from different sides. Benner is one of the German philoso-
phers of education representing this development. In the 1960s German
‘Pädagogik’ (educational theory) released itself from its own tradition, in
which theorists such as Schleiermacher and Herbart developed their ideas on
‘Pädagogik’ as a practical theory, and accommodated itself to current models of
scientific theory as one of the social sciences (Benner 1994: 151 ff.). In this
way, specific educational questions and fundamental educational ideas were
forgotten. There is only one way to redeem them: by once more taking the
educational tradition as a starting point. And so, it is not surprising that in
a number of his publications Benner describes his approach as
‘problemgeschichtlich’ (problem-historical; see, e.g., the subtitles of Benner’s
monographs: Benner 1990, 1991, 1993) and that he includes ideas of clas-
sical educationists such as Herbart and Von Humboldt in his present-day
theoretical educational reflection. This building forth on pre-twentieth
 A cultural educational perspective 163
century classical educational theory was also characteristic of Benner’s earlier
work, e.g., his 1973 overview of approaches in educational theory
(Hauptströmungen der Erziehungswissenschaft), and of the work of several other
German and Dutch authors as well – both educational historians and educa-
tional theorists, who set themselves the task of accomplishing cooperation
between theory and history of education (cf. Oelkers 1989a, 1989b; Tenorth
1992, 1994; Rang 1989; Imelman 1989; Imelman et al. 1990; Meijer
1999).
Theory of education should not become totally preoccupied with ques-
tions of a meta-theoretical nature. In this context, it is worthwhile to fall
back on the idea of the ‘Geisteswissenschaften’, that systematic educational
theory and the history of education should be practised in mutual conjunc-
tion. Systematic educational theory is not possible without the historical
reconstruction of fundamental educational (hence object-theoretical, not
meta-theoretical) concepts, in other words: without paying attention to the
historical and cultural developments in which educational thought and
action have taken shape in mutual interaction. By the same token, history of
education is not possible without concern for educational ideas, which have
formed and developed in interaction with educational practices of all kinds
(i.e., upbringing, school education). One the one hand, history of education
must amount to more than a history of ideas, which interprets the writings
of ‘great thinkers on education’ without discussing the societal and cultural
context. But on the other hand, history of education ought to be more than
mere social history: the history of (for example) institutions such as the
family, the school, of adolescence, of motherly love and of fatherhood, etc.
The history of education should on principle give heed to the interaction
between theory and practice, of pedagogical thought and action; it should in
other words also involve educational ideas when charting the history of
education. This would mean a history of education, which simultaneously
contributes to reflection on the theoretical underpinnings of education, and
not merely be a branch of history. Instead of being, on the one hand, ‘only’
social history of the social reality of upbringing without paying attention to
the history of educational thought, or, on the other hand, ‘only’ history of
educational thought and ideas without paying attention to the social and
cultural context of the developing ideas, this approach, which could be
named a ‘problem historical approach’, explicitly focuses on the dialectic in
the development of educational thought and educational practices and insti-
tutions. It makes a difference to the history of education to emphasise this
dialectic; it also makes a difference to the theory of education, which is the
main theme of this chapter.
According to Benner, from the 1960s onwards it has been customary to
view theory of education as meta-theory, viz., as philosophy of educational
science. Frequently, this has meant distinguishing a number of paradigms or
meta-theoretical currents and subsequently attempting to reintegrate the
forms of thought and research distinguished. The integration of empirical-
164 Wilna A.J.Meijer
analytic and historical-hermeneutic research, or otherwise of quantitative and
qualitative research respectively, has, for example, become one of the main
themes of fundamental educational research. Attempts at achieving integra-
tion, such as that undertaken by critical educational theory (cf. Miedema and
Biesta 1989), may have yielded a social scientific research model but not a
philosophy of education, a ‘systematic educational theory’. An educational
theory, which limits itself to meta-theoretical issues, is, by its very definition,
deficient as an object theory. In his outline of the object-theoretical founda-
tional concepts of education, Benner chooses a historical angle. This is
consistent with the above view on the relation between theory and history in
fundamental educational research. Whereas historically (or rather: in our,
Western, European history) education was initially conceived as part of polit-
ical praxis, geared towards the reproduction of society, in modern history the
specific nature and task of educational practice is stressed and the relative
autonomy of educational thought and action comes into sight. According to
Benner, the most significant general educational conceptions of the twentieth
century are set within this modern pedagogical tradition.

Die ältesten Versuche einer objekttheoretischen Bestimmung des

Pädagogischen begriffen die pädagogische Praxis als einen Teil der auf
die Erhaltung des Staats und der Gesellschaft gerichteten politischen
Praxis und verstanden die wissenschaftliche Beschäftigung mit päda-
gogischen Fragen als angewandten Teil der Philosophie, insbesondere
der Erkenntnistheorie und der praktischen und politischen Philosophie.
Die systematischen Pädagogiken der Neuzeit betonen dagegen die
Eigenart und relative Autonomie pädagogischen Denkens und Handelns
und legen diese auf das Verhältnis von Pädagogik, Erkenntnistheorie,
Ethik und Politik aus.
(Benner 1989: 366)3

Instead of limiting itself to analytical philosophy, philosophy of science or

social philosophy, philosophy of education should be oriented towards clas-
sical pedagogical concepts in relation to the context of their historical and
cultural origins. The issue of cultural transmission, of ‘Bildung’ and general
education, are at the heart of this. Currently there is a renewed interest in
the classical educational issue of the relation between culture and education.
I discussed this elsewhere as the revival of ‘cultural educational theory’
(Meijer 1999: 100ff.). This approach places the relation of culture and
education, culture as context and as content of education, high on the
agenda (cf. Hamilton 1990; Imelman 1989, 2000; Mollenhauer 1983;
Meijer 1995a, 1999). In the reflection on education as cultural transmission
(i.e., culture as content of education), the connection between theory and
practice of education is essential. In the next section, I will turn my atten-
tion to that connection, and again I will try to do this in continuity with the
tradition of educational thought. Here I draw attention to the acknowledge-
 A cultural educational perspective 165
ment of children’s rights as integral part of this historical development of
educational theory-cum-practice. It will be argued that the concept of the
relative autonomy of education as related to the institution of general
schooling is the educational route to defend the right of children and future
adults to education and emancipation.

The relation between theory and practice of education

In the above section it was argued that historical knowledge of education
and educational ideas and their social and cultural context is of importance
in theory of education. I would now like to show that such a cultural educa-
tional approach also caters for an appropriate perspective on the relation
between theory and practice, because of its acknowledgement of historicity.
This view, and this may complete the acknowledgement of historicity, does
not choose a meta-theoretical model of (social) science in general as a
starting point, but ties in with the tradition of educational theory. Classical
educational conceptions of education as a practical discipline, e.g., those of
Schleiermacher and Herbart, can help us to avoid the deficits of normative
educational and technological conceptions of the theory–practice relation.
Educational practice is a reality which has developed in the course of
cultural history. That also applies to the questions and aspirations, ideas and
ideals of individual educators and educational institutions. Instead of
accepting these as fixed norms and expecting no more from a scientific
theory than supplying means to realise given norms, a cultural educational
theory will tend to put the given ideas and ideals into cultural historical
perspective. In doing so it relativises those ideas and ideals. This alone is of
practical educational significance. The educator who is able to put his or her
own ideas and actions into perspective will not hold his/her own views and
norms as the sole standard for the new generation; s/he will realise that s/he,
too, is but a child of his times. The basic assumption of historicity which the
cultural educational approach shares with ‘geisteswissenschaftliche Pädagogik’
implies the insight that it is not up to the adults of today to lay down the
future for the new generation. We might rephrase this in terms of children’s
rights: this new generation, i.e., the present children and future adults, has
the right to be educated to emancipation. They ought to be enabled to deal
self-reliantly and responsibly with their future situation and the problems
and opportunities that they will face – and that the present adult generation
cannot even know of, let alone deal with beforehand.
The approach of cultural educational theory is consonant with the clas-
sical idea of educational theory being a practical theory. Practical theory
must, however, be distinguished from normative educational theory, which
prescribes how practitioners, i.e., educators, should act. Such a linear appli-
cation model is inconsistent with the basic notion that both educational
theory and educational practice have developed historically and culturally
and are historically and culturally variable. Educational practice and its
166 Wilna A.J.Meijer
problems and questions therefore require constant redefinition and charting.
Cultural educational theory would therefore state that the sole contribution
educational theory could make to educational practice would be in the form
of insight into the specific nature of present practice and its specific questions
and problems in relation to the contemporary historical cultural context.
As pointed out before, educational theory prior to the twentieth century
is frequently rejected in our day, and is considered as outdated normative
theory; it is then denounced for having constantly perceived of education as
the realisation of educational aims deduced from normative ideologies and
world views (Meijer 1999). In that connection one often refers to Herbart’s
statement that educational theory is based on ethics and psychology: ethics
determining the educational aim and psychology supplying the means (see,
for example König and Zedler 1983: 116ff.; Miedema and Biesta 1989: 50).
It would be beyond the scope of this chapter to elaborate in detail on the
interpretation of the work of Herbart. It suffices to say that the case under
consideration singles out a certain passage from the context of Herbart’s
complete oeuvre and interprets it incorrectly. It concerns a phrase in the
second section of the Umriß pädagogischer Vorlesungen.4 The interpretation of
the passage from the Umriß that I object to presupposes a conception of
ethics, which is not to be found in Herbart’s work. On the subject of his
ethics or practical philosophy, Herbart does not intend to supply any aims or
norms for action at all, but he rather offers frameworks and directives for
practical judgement. In other words, no one is exempt from passing his or
her own practical judgements. In our context, it is perhaps even more
important that the conception of educational theory as applied psychology –
often attributed to Herbart – is at odds with numerous passages from
Herbart’s work. For instance in his Allgemeine Pädagogik, first published in
1806, Herbart already suggested that educational theory ought to concen-
trate more on the ‘einheimische Begriffe’ (indigenous concepts) and the specific
questioning of the pedagogical theory and practice (Herbart 1986: 278).
The relation between educational theory and practice, in favour of which
Herbart is in fact arguing, seems to have lost none of its usefulness in the
light of a present-day cultural educational theory. Educational theory does
not rob educational practitioners of their own judgement of their situation,
but offers them insight with which they can improve their judgement.
Herbart uses the concept of tact to describe this relation between educational
theory and practice (cf. Oelkers 1989a: 61 ff.). The educator’s tact joins
theory and practice together. Tact consists in the power to judge situations
of action. As every action situation is necessarily historical and therefore
unique, it is not possible to deduce from theory, how to act in a certain situ-
ation. The situation itself always has to be judged on its own merit and in
the light of its specific problems. Educational tact is the practician’s theoret-
ically formed power of judgement. Theory does not produce ready-for-use
recipes which educators might apply blindly, but sharpens, schools and
directs the perception and interpretation of one’s own situation. The
 A cultural educational perspective 167
educator is never exempt from judging the practical situation, because no
theory has ready-made answers for future historical situations on offer.
Educational practice should not be considered the counterpart of educational
theory: theory-less, meaning-less and reflection-less. In this context, another
idea from nineteenth century classical educational theory is still perfectly
usable: Schleiermacher’s idea of the dignity of praxis (Dignität der Praxis, cf.
Meijer 1999: ch. 2). This leads to a different starting point for educational
theory in comparison to other social sciences: educational practice is not
merely empirically given, waiting for science to develop concepts and theory
about it, on the contrary; it has, as a practice, already its own characteristic
questions and problems (such as the educational question of what should be
transmitted to the following generation). Practice is not only gegeben (given),
but also aufgegeben (a task).
Educational practice, being permanently subject to historical cultural
change, continually demands reflection, i.e., educational theory. Instead of
perceiving the relation between theory and practice as a matter of linear
application, the classical educational view perceives the relation between
theory and practice as a dialectical one: a ‘Wechselverhältnis von vorgängiger
Praxis und aufklärender, die Praxis weitertreibender Theorie’ (a mutual relation of
preceding practice and explaining, practice-promoting theory) as Blankertz
(1982: 113) paraphrases Schleiermacher. Such a dialectical relation between
theory and practice expresses the idea that education and educational theory
are historical and cultural phenomena. Theory thinks existent practice
through and reflects on its specific questions and problems. The eventuating
understanding will contribute to changing practice. Changed practice, in
turn, produces material for further theoretical reflection, etc. Theory and
practice, alike, are, in mutual relation, part of the ongoing tradition (cf.
Oelkers 1989a: 74). Both the ‘norms’ and the ‘facts’ of the educational situa-
tion are historical variables (Imelman 1992: 27 ff.; cf. Imelman and Meijer
1985), and that is why a linear-deductive model of application of theory or
science on practice falls short.
Hence, educational practice is not a meaning-less, theory-less and
reflection-less starting-point for educational theory, but conversely theory of
education must not be separated from the problems and responsibilities of
educational practice. Due to ongoing historical and cultural changes, new
educational questions will continuously present themselves. To give some
illustration of how one might incorporate current practical educational ques-
tions on a theoretical educational plane, I add an example: the actual
problem of the environmental crisis. For the educational practice of general
education, that problem raises the educational question of what aim and
content of environmental education ought to be. This case of environmental
education presents us with an opportunity to put one of the classical educa-
tional fundamental concepts to the test, to determine its potential relevance,
value and usefulness for the present day. Educational theorists from the
tradition of the ‘Geisteswissenschaften’ developed this concept of the ‘relative
168 Wilna A.J.Meijer
autonomy’ of education and educational theory. Educationists from the
tradition of critical theory, in turn, were suspicious of that concept, because
they feared it would sever education from its societal connections and
misguidedly avoid social conflict material and social criticism. I would like
to attempt to show through our casus that the critical educationists’ fears are
unjustified. The concept of the relative autonomy of educational practice
and theory has in fact critical educational potential and serves to protect the
right of the children and future adults to be educated to emancipated and
responsible involvement and participation. This right is sacrificed when
education is instrumentalised for reasons of environmental policy.

A classical educational defence of the right to education

in the case of environmental education
In the Netherlands, some have such high hopes of environmental education
that no less than radical cultural change is anticipated:5 the new generation
is expected to exhibit such concern and love of nature and demonstrate a
degree of environmentally friendly behaviour as are often lacking at the
present time. Such changes in behaviour and attitude are seen as the aim of
nature study and environmental education. In this case, the relative
autonomy of education is at stake: in other words, the question whether
education is guided by its own inherent aims and values, such as the right of
children and future adults to education and emancipation. The involvement
and concern of individuals and organisations sympathetic towards the
current societal problem of damage to nature and environmental pollution
supply the norm for nature education and environmental education.
However commendable this concern for nature and environment as such
may be, the norm in itself is foreign to education. The inherently educa-
tional norms of promoting emancipation and responsible involvement are at
risk of being buried under the promotion of care and concern for nature and
the environment as the higher norm.
Frequently the school setting is considered a hindrance to furthering the
latter higher aim. In prevailing educational school practice of separate
subjects, classes and periods, it would be more or less impossible to get the
message across. It may well be justified to have higher expectations from
week-long projects or from making environmental concern a constant point
of interest for the entire school. Instead of ‘just’ imparting knowledge, one
would then also be particularly addressing children’s feelings and actions. In
this manner, participation is made the heart of environmental education. In
doing so, a paradoxical reversal is achieved of that which originally charac-
terises education. When, in the course of history, society became too
differentiated and complex to enable children to get to know society just by
participating in daily life and the work of the adult generation, education
became a separate concern and task. Important aspects of life in society
began, increasingly, to be enacted behind the scenes of day-to-day life. The
 A cultural educational perspective 169
work of breadwinners, for instance, disappeared beyond the horizon of the
remaining family members. To enable the new generation to become
acquainted with the world anyway, the transmission of knowledge and
culture became a matter of careful planning. The time is past that children
grew into adult tasks and responsibilities as a matter of course, by participa-
tion in daily life. Educational institutions, such as schools, and professional
educators, such as teachers, have been brought into existence. The school is
an institute in which new generations are afforded the time and space to
learn and to prepare themselves for life. That is a luxury; the fact that the
classical word ‘scholè’ means ‘free time’ is revealing. Children are exempt
from working for their livelihood. The school is an asylum (vrijplaats,
Freistatt). It is not until later that full responsibility for one’s life has to be
accepted. At school, one can prepare oneself for adult life with all its current
complexity: as worker, consumer, citizen, etc. This ‘free space and time for
learning’ is part of what the right to education and emancipation – repeat-
edly mentioned in the above – amounts to. The school as an asylum does,
however, immediately open the door to a characteristic danger, namely, that
of estrangement from life and unworldliness. It is therefore understandable
that arguments in favour of ‘learning by doing’, of learning through partici-
pation in ‘real life’, may be heard at regular historical intervals. In
environmental education too, one can discern this note.
A clear example is the idea of ‘environmental campaigns’ in education.
Nature and environmental organisations would like this: in this way chil-
dren would learn to contribute to the solution of environmental problems
and problems in nature by learning environmentally friendly behaviour.
Campaigns like this offer the opportunity of direct participation in the solu-
tion of concrete environmental problems. Learning by living, by experiencing,
by acting oneself, count as an ‘ancient wisdom’, which is dug up at regular
intervals and constantly treated as being topical. The current catchword in
the Netherlands in this context seems to be ‘participation’. An ‘open connec-
tion’ between school and society is argued (cf. De Winter 1995). The school
ought to offer opportunities for practice and bringing into practice real
social responsibility. ‘Environmental campaigning’ is a case in point. De
Winter sides with the idea of ‘land of youth’ (jeugdland) as described by the
historian of education Lea Dasberg (1981). In our history, children have been
increasingly excluded. To protect them from the evils of the adult world
they were shielded from it and directed to a separate land of childhood and
land of youth. But how can they, socially sidelined as they are, ever attain
active commitment? This idea of ‘youth land’ reminds us in some respects of
the classical educational idea of educational autonomy. In one crucial
respect, they are not completely analogous, however, and the concept of
‘land of youth’ seems to draw an erroneous caricature of educational
autonomy. ‘Land of youth’ is essentially a merely negative affair: children are
shut out; one wishes to keep them far away from the harshness and evils of
adult existence. Although this conveys well-meaning intentions: one wants
170 Wilna A.J.Meijer
to protect children from evil, the outcome is negative: when children are
kept small, they will never grow up. The concept of educational autonomy,
on the other hand, implies that the educational field of action has its own
ends and meaning and its own task and responsibility. The ends are not
negative: keeping children away from the adult world, but positive: intro-
ducing children to the culture which has become too complex and obscure
for children to automatically become sufficiently at home. The aim is also to
introduce them in such a way as to ensure that in the future they will be
able to deal in a self-responsible way with the insights and skills and other
cultural attainments they are introduced to by the current adult generation.
Without a doubt, in the future these insights will prove outdated in some
respects. Tradition should always be regarded critically and the adults of the
future will have to say goodbye to aspects that prove inadequate for their
times and issues. Awareness of historicity is obviously educationally essen-
tial.
In the meantime, it is certainly justified to conclude that education must
be wary of becoming unworldly. We had our reservations as far as ‘learning
by living’ was concerned, but the idea of non scholae sed vitae discimus is defi-
nitely an ancient wisdom which has not lost its currency. When learning is
only aimed at the reproduction of scholastic knowledge in a school context
in order to pass exams and ultimately to obtain school certificates, then
there is something fundamentally wrong. The ‘solution’ of more or less
getting rid of the barrier between school and society and allowing learning
to take place through participation and social action falls into another
extreme. When such reasoning is followed through to its ultimate conse-
quence, we end up with an appeal à la Illich (1971) to ‘de-school’ society.
Hence, one loses sight of the strengths of the school, which form the
complement of the risk of unworldliness. In order to gain a good under-
standing of the problems concerning the deterioration of nature and the
environment, more knowledge and insight is needed than can be acquired
by participation in environmental protection campaigns. Such campaigns
are, by definition, directed towards certain concrete and current problems.
Knowledge is only relevant as far as it informs action in this concrete,
current, momentary and often local casus. The enthusiasm of action has an
extremely undesirable drawback from an educational point of view. Activism
and topicality are hardly ever in tune with the critical distance and quiet
necessary for critical reflection and well thought out judgement. Instead of
getting rid of the school and delivering the new generation to ‘full life’ in
society, allowing them to be swayed by the issues of the day, school should
take advantage of its status of ‘asylum for study’ by systematically and thor-
oughly promoting acquisition of knowledge and insight, including
knowledge of the societal problems of the day, such as those pertaining to
nature and the environment, though these, in all their complexity and rela-
tive recency, are certainly not the easiest to comprehend. So, if critical
distance and reflection are much needed somewhere, it would be in regard to
 A cultural educational perspective 171
such complex current issues. Of course, there is nothing against active
commitment towards nature and the environment. But the appeals to such
involvement must not lead to the evaporation of the distance between school
and society. This very critical distance helps to safeguard people from a
misguided form of commitment: blind commitment, which is obviously
blatantly at odds with the educational value of responsible involvement.
Education should not allow itself to be used as an instrument for healing
the societal ills of the environment, public health, criminality, etc. Those
who believe that this is what education ought to be about are in fact trans-
ferring the current problems within society to the future and are shifting
something which is primarily the responsibility of the present adults onto
the new generation. It is principally wrong to consider environmental
education as a solution strategy for the environmental crisis, health educa-
tion as the strategy for promoting public health and lowering the costs of
the health service, ‘character education’ as a means to preventing criminality,
etc. Such ends of political, medical and juridical policy warrant searching for
alternative means. Educationists, educators and teachers should refuse to
take on general problems of society such as environmental pollution,
smoking and other problems threatening public health. It is not where they
belong.
Perhaps such refusal seems rather negative. In fact, the outcome of such a
distrusting attitude towards a policy, which is perpetually burdening educa-
tion with new tasks for which it is not in the least equipped, is positive: the
school can once more determine itself by what it is good at, by its reason for
existence. From the seventeenth century onwards, educational thought and
practice, the educational idea of general education and its professional prac-
tice have developed together. As I have already said, one of the central
insights since then has been that educational practice has its own end and
meaning and must not solely be placed in service of other societal domains.
This end, which is inherent to education, is to prepare the child, the pupil,
the new generation, for autonomous, responsible involvement in society. To
this end they need to be introduced to knowledge, understanding and skills
with which in the future (their future, in which they are the current genera-
tion and the now current adult generation ceases to be) they will live, think,
plan and act self-reliantly and responsibly.
Educationally speaking, the new generation must be prepared and
equipped for an open future, which is unforeseeable. And we, the current
generation, should not interfere with this, because it is their future and not
ours. The central educational question then becomes: what to pass on to
the next generation? What is worthwhile transmitting? Today’s environ-
mental policy, public health policy, etc, will probably lose validity in the
future, and so such policies, lines of conduct and moral standards can never
form the heart of education. Instilling knowledge, insight, and skills – the
best we have at the moment, up to date and relevant – so that pupils learn
to understand their world, learn to understand it better and better, its
172 Wilna A.J.Meijer
problems and its development, its history – that is the best equipment
they can get to prepare them for an open, unknown future. And educators,
in all modesty, have their hands more than full with the fulfilment of this
task of introducing young people to such knowledge, insight and skills. In
schools, everything should revolve around teaching and learning – and not
around tobacco determent policy, environmental conservation or whatever
extra-educational concerns one might think of.
Education should strive to teach the members of a new generation to think
for themselves, to form responsible judgements and to act in a responsible
way – in other words: the aim is promotion of autonomy and responsible
involvement. The adults of the future would not be sufficiently equipped
with only the ready-made views and rules of conduct construed by the adults
of today. They will have to be able to think and judge their own – at the
moment still opaque – situation, the problems and solution perspectives
pertaining to that situation. A broad field of vision will be to their advantage.
That is exactly what general education seeks to bring about: broadening hori-
zons, learning to look further than they originally did, and learning to look
further than the issues of the day. Those who do not surrender the school to
the latest social fashion and powers, but rather use the school’s critical
distance to concentrate fully on the real work of general education – to the
systematic and thorough acquisition of knowledge, insight and skill – only
they acknowledge the right of the child to be educated and the right of future
adults to critical autonomy and responsible involvement.

Notes
1 Within fundamental educational research, we distinguish theory and history of
education. In this case, ‘theory’ is not understood as an empirical (scientific)
theory, but rather as the philosophy of education, which deals with the funda-
mental concepts of education. When, in this chapter, I speak of ‘theory’ (or:
‘educational theory’ or ‘systematic educational theory’), the terms are used to
convey this ‘fundamental’ meaning.
2 ‘Met een voorlopige, een mijnentwege vage vraag, maar met een vraag, die
binnendringt in het wezen der opvoeding, gaat men op pad en in een
uitwisseling met de historie keert men rijper, rijker, bepaalder en veelzijdiger
vragend weer terug’ (Langeveld 1959: 12).
3 ‘In the oldest attempts to define the subject of educational theory, educational
practice is seen as a part of political practice, aiming at the reproduction of state
and society. Scientific study of educational issues was considered part of philos-
ophy, especially theory of knowledge and political philosophy. More recent
systematic educational theory rather stresses unicity and relative autonomy of
educational thinking and action, explaining the relations between educational
theory, theory of knowledge, ethics, and politics from that point of view’
(Benner 1989: 366).
4 This is Herbart’s late work, which has in fact frequently been misunderstood.
Caselmann (1962), for example, observes a gap between this extremely system-
atic work and the earlier work of what he calls ‘the unsystematic Herbart’
(which he appreciates more). Nowadays, however, it is without doubt that
Herbart’s oeuvre constitutes a strong unity (see, e.g., Benner 1993).
 A cultural educational perspective 173
5 See for a thorough study on environmental education in the Netherlands:
Praamsma 1997. Cf. also: Meijer 1992, 1995a. In the context of this chapter, I
speak only of environmental education at school.

Bibliography
Benner, D. (1973) Hauptströmungen der Erziehungswissenschaft. Eine Systematik tradi-
tioneller und moderner Theorien, Weinheim: Deutscher Studien Verlag; 3rd edn,
1991.
—— (1989) ‘Systematische Pädagogik und historische Rekonstruktion. Zur Bedeu-
tung der Strukturprinzipien pädagogischen Denkens und Handelns für die
Verständigung über pädagogische Fragen und die Geschichtsschreibung der
Pädagogik’, in P. Zedler and E. König (eds), Rekonstruktion pädagogischer
Wissenschaftsgeschichte: Fallstudien, Ansätze, Perspektiven, Weinheim: Deutscher
Studien Verlag.
—— (1990) Wilhelm von Humboldts Bildungstheorie. Eine problemgeschichtliche Studie zur
Begründungszusammenhang neuzeitlicher Bildungsreform, Weinheim/München:
Juventa.
—— (1991) Allgemeine Pädagogik. Eine systematisch-problemgeschichtliche Einführung in
die Grundstruktur pädagogischen Denkens und Handelns, 2nd edn,
Weinheim/München: Juventa.
—— (1993) Die Pädagogik Herbarts. Eine problemgeschichtliche Einführung in die
Systematik neuzeitlicher Pädagogik, 2nd edn, Weinheim/München: Juventa.
—— (1994) Studien zur Theorie der Erziehungswissenschaft. Pädagogik als Wissenschaft,
Handlungstheorie und Reformpraxis, Band I, Weinheim/München: Juventa.
—— (1995a) Studien zur Theorie der Erziehung und Bildung. Pädagogik als
Wissenschaft, Handlungstheorie und Reformpraxis, Band II, Weinheim/München:
Juventa.
—— (1995b) Studien zur Didaktik und Schultheorie. Pädagogik als Wissenschaft, Hand-
lungstheorie und Reformpraxis, Band III, Weinheim/München: Juventa.
Blankertz, H. (1982) Die Geschichte der Pädagogik. Von der Aufklärung bis zur Gegen-
wart, Wetzlar: Verlag Büchse der Pandora.
Brezinka, W. (1971) Von der Pädagogik zur Erziehungswissenschaft, München/Basel:
Reinhardt; re-published as Metatheorie der Erziehung, 1978.
Caselmann, C. (1962) Der unsystematische Herbart, Heidelberg: Quelle & Meyer.
Dasberg, L. (1981(7)) Grootbrengen door kleinhouden als historisch verschijnsel, Meppel:
Boom.
De Boer, T. (1980) Grondslagen van een kritische psychologie, Baarn: Ambo.
De Winter, M. (1995) Kinderen als medeburgers: kinder- en jeugdparticipatie als
maatschappelijk opvoedingsperspectief, Utrecht: De Tijdstroom.
De Wolf, H. (1971) ‘Aantekening der inleiding van een methodologie van het
historisch pedagogisch onderzoek’, Pedagogische Studiën 48 (12): 528–535.
Habermas, J. (1968) Erkenntnis und Interesse, Frankfurt: Suhrkamp.
Hamilton, D. (1990) Learning about Education. An Unfinished Curriculum, Milton
Keynes/Philadelphia: Open University Press.
Herbart, J. F. (1964) Umriß pädagogischer Vorlesungen, Paderborn: Schöningh; 1st edn,
1835.
—— (1986) Systematische Pädagogik, introduced, selected and interpreted by Diet-
rich Benner, Stuttgart: Klett-Cotta.
174 Wilna A.J.Meijer
Illich, I. (1971) Deschooling Society, New York: Harper & Row.
Imelman, J. D. (1989) ‘Hoe laat is ‘t aan de tijd binnen de wijsgerige, historische en
empirische pedagogiek?’, in F. D. Wirtz et al. (eds), Stilstaan bij vooruitgang.
Beweging en tegenbeweging in opvoeding, vorming en onderwijs, Nijmegen: Dekker &
Van de Vegt.
—— (1992) Pädagogik und Normativität, Norderstedte Hefte für Philosophie und
Pädagogik – Beiheft 1, Norderstedt: A. Fischer-Verlag.
—— (2000) Theoretische pedagogiek, 2nd edn, Nijkerk: Intro.
Imelman, J. D. and Meijer, W. A. J. (1985), Kleine wijsgerige pedagogiek 1, Haren:
Sassenhein.
—— (1987), Kleine wijsgerige pedagogiek 2, Haren: Sassenhein.
Imelman, J. D. et al. (1990) Cultuurpedagogiek, Leiden/Antwerpen: Nijhoff.
König, E. and Zedler, P. (1983) Einführung in die Wissenschaftstheorie der
Erziehungswissenschaft, Düsseldorf: Schwann.
Langeveld, M. J. (1959) Bijdragen tot het gesprek van systeem en historie in de
opvoedkunde, Groningen: Wolters.
Meijer, W. A. J. (1992) ‘Milieu-onderwijs, geen moraalonderwijs’, in K. Th.
Boersma (ed.), Milieuproblemen in het basisonderwijs, Enschede: SLO.
—— (1995a) Perspectieven op mens en opvoeding, 4th edn, Nijkerk: Intro.
—— (1995b) ‘Hoe educatief is natuur- en milieu-educatie?’, in J. van Bergeijk
(ed.), Natuur- en milieu-educatie didactisch beschouwd, Wageningen: Wageningen
Pers.
—— (1999) Stromingen in de pedagogiek, 2nd edn, Baarn: Intro.
Miedema, S. and Biesta, G. J. J. (1989) Filosofie van de pedagogische wetenschappen,
Leiden: Nijhoff.
Mollenhauer, K. (1983) Vergessene Zusammenhänge. Über Kultur und Erziehung,
München: Juventa.
Noordman, J. (ed.) (1978) Literatuurwijzer historische pedagogiek. Becommentarieerd
bibliografisch apparaat, Nijmegen: Sun.
Oelkers, J. (1989a) Die grosse Aspiration. Zur Herausbildung der Erziehungswissenschaft
im 19. Jahrhundert, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft.
—— (1989b) Reformpädagogik: Eine kritische Dogmengeschichte, Weinheim/München:
Juventa.
Praamsma, J. M. (1997) Nieuwe wereldburgers. Aantasting van natuur en milieu als
vraagstuk van algemene vorming. Een zaakpedagogiek, University of Utrecht. PhD
thesis.
Rang, A. (1989) ‘Historische dimensies van de theoretische pedagogiek’, in F. D.
Wirtz et al. (eds), Stilstaan bij vooruitgang. Beweging en tegenbeweging in opvoeding,
vorming en onderwijs, Nijmegen: Dekker & Van de Vegt.
Spiecker, B. (1974) Idealen en idolen van de opvoedingswetenschap, Meppel: Boom.
Stellwag, H. W. F. (1970) ‘Situatie’ en ‘relatie’. Inleiding tot een filosofisch-analytische
studie der pedagogische grondbegrippen, Groningen: Wolters Noordhoff.
—— (1973) ‘Gezag’ en ‘autoriteit’. Pedagogische grondbegrippen 2, Groningen: Wolters
Noordhoff.
Tenorth, H.-E. (1992) Geschichte der Erziehung. Einführung in die Grundzüge ihrer
neuzeitlichen Entwicklung, 2nd edn, Weinheim/München: Juventa.
—— (1994) ‘Alle alles zu lehren’. Möglichkeiten und Perspektiven allgemeiner Bildung,
Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft.
 A cultural educational perspective 175
Van der Meer, Q. and Bergman, H. (eds) (1975) Onderwijskundigen van de twintigste
eeuw, Amsterdam/Groningen: Intermediair/Wolters Noordhoff.
Van der Velde, I. (ed.) (1964) Grote denkers over opvoeding, Groningen: Wolters
Noordhoff.
Vloemans, A. (1949) Aristeia. Geschiedenis van de opvoedingsidealen, Den Haag:
Leopold.
Index

absolute presuppositions 73–6 Archard, D. 75, 81

abuse 20, 46, 49; right not to be Aristotle 126, 152, 153, 158
sexually abused 40, 41 artifical intelligence 20
aesthetic experience 19 assumptions, educational 88
aesthetics 15 attitudes 22
Albert, Hans 127 Audi, R. 110, 118
Alcoff, L.M. 8 Augustine, St 152–3
Allgemeine pädagogik 62 Austin, John 14, 16
American Human Rights Convention Australian philosophy of education 16
(1969) 70n8 autochthony 92, 93, 94
analytical approach 5, 9, 13–27; autonomy 15, 27, 52, 111; and
analytic tradition 13–17; children’s decision making 115, 116, 120;
rights 20–7, 44–55; citizenship and liberal views on the right to an
education 24–5; implications of education for 77–85; relative, of
rights justification 53–5; education 161, 165, 167–8,
justification of rights 48–53; 169–72; right to develop
meaning and nature of key concepts autonomous judgement 11, 165,
45–8; misconceptions about 15–17, 168–72
45; parents’ educational rights autonomy liberalism 79, 81, 83, 84-5
25–6; philosophy of education
17–20; post-war analytical Ballauff, Theodor 58, 64, 68
philosophy in Britain 13, 14–15; to Barthes, Roland 92
rights and rights talk 21–3 Baudrillard, J. 93
animal rights movement 148, 149 Baumert, J. 88
animals: children as 151–4 Bayle, Pierre 63, 126
Annis, D.B. 111 Beekman, A.J. 136
Anscombe, Elizabeth 14 behaviourism 74
anthropocentrism 68 Being and Time (Heidegger) 145
anthropological tradition 151–2 belief : analytical philosophy 17, 19;
anti-psychiatry movement 148, 149, foundations of systems of 111,
150 112–13; Socratic approach 125
anti-schooling movement 148 Belliotti, R.A. 41
antifoundationalistm see constructivist Benner, D. 162–3, 164
approach 108–22 Bennington, G. 132, 137
‘APE’ 16 Bentham, Jeremy 46
Apel, Karl-Otto 75, 127, 128–30, 131, Bergman, H. 161
134 Betti, Emilio 145
applied philosophy 18 Biesta, Gert 10, 135, 136, 164, 166
arbitrariness 66, 91, 118, 121 Bildung 164; Reason and 57–69; UN
 Index 177
Convention on the Rights of the rights 30, 39–41; structural analysis
Child and 104, 105–6 of UN declarations 97–106;
Blankertz, H. 167 transcendental-critical-sceptical
Bonjour, L. 110, 111 approach 67–9
Bourdieu, Pierre 91 children’s rights movements 148–50
Braake, T.A.M.te 115 Chomsky, Noam 20
Bradley, F.H. 48 citizenship 27; rights 24–5, 26
Brands, W.G. 116 civic education 30, 78, 82
Brands-Bottema, G.W. 116 civil society 158
Brandt, R.B. 41 classical moral intuitionism 32
Breinbauer, I.M. 62 classical pedagogical concepts 161–7
Bremond, H. 150 passim; applied to environmental
Brezinka, W. 81, 161 education 168–72
‘bricolage’ 91 cognitive deep-structure 95–7
Brod, Max 146 coherentism 31, 32–3, 41–2
Bry, C.C. 64 Collingwood, R.G. 73, 74
bureaucracy, school 62 Comenius 161
common sense 88, 90
Callan, E. 21, 26, 77, 84 communication, hermeneutic analysis
Caputo, J.D. 134 of children’s rights and education
Carr, D. 42 157–9
Cartesianism see Descartes communism 100
Casselmann, C. 172n4 communitarian moralists 48
causality 74, 88 communitarianism 27
character education 171 community of communication 128–30,
childhood, conceptions in UN 135
Convention on the Rights of the community rights 21, 79, 80, 81, 83
Child 10, 139–40 comprehensiveness criterion 33, 35, 41
children: acquisition of knowledge, Concept of Mind, The (Ryle) 14–15
insight and skills 169, 170, 171, 172; concepts: analytical philosophy 9,
as animals 151–4; cognitive and social 14–15, 17–19; descriptive and
abilities in decision making 115–16; rescriptive approach 37–9;
cognitive development 41; distinguished from ethical
implications of rights for aspirations, conceptions 36–7; meaning and
wishes and interests 53, 54; nature in analytical philosophy 44,
representing value of their own 136; 45–8
self-understanding 155, 156, 157, conceptual analysis 37–8, 39
158, 159; see also children’s rights; connective analysis 9, 14–15, 17,
duty, duties; interests 18–19, 27
‘children’s liberation’ movements 24, considered ethical judgements 34–6,
27 37–8, 39–40, 41, 42
children’s rights 2, 7, 8, 9–11; constructivist approach 108–22;
analytical approach 18, 20–7, concept of foundations related to
44–55; constructivist 109–14; constructivist tradition
antifoundationalist approach to 108–9; example of children’s right
medical decision making 10, to medical decision making 115–18;
115–18, 120; cultural educational foundational critique 118–21;
perspective on environmental foundations of constructivism 121
education 160–1, 167, 168–72; content 6; culture as content of
deconstructive approach 137–40; education 160, 164, 165–8
hermeneutic approach 147–59; context: constructivist
liberal views on right to education antifoundationalist approach 10,
for autonomy 10, 77–85; reflective 111–12, 118, 120; culture as
equilibrium as approach to sexual context of education 160, 161—5;
178 Index
deconstructive approach to nature of Dancy, J. 110
children’s rights 138–40; historical Daniels, N. 33, 35, 42
context of children’s rights Dasberg, Lea 169
movement 148–50; transcendental- De Maso, D.R. 115
critical-sceptical approach 65 De Ruyter, D.J. 40, 111–12, 113
Convention on the Rights of the Child De Ville, K. 115, 116
(1989) 67, 68, 69, 70n9, 97, 148; De Winter, M. 169
authorities supporting rights 101, De Wolf, H. 161
103; deconstructionist approach 10, Dearden, R.F. 17
139–40; designated rights 100–2; decision making, children’s rights 10,
structural analysis 10, 100–6; utility 47, 50–1, 115–18, 120
of designated rights 101, 102–3 Declaration of the Rights of the Child
convictions, educational 88 (1959): authorities supporting
correlatives theory of rights 52 children’s rights 97, 98–9;
correspondence theory 122n1 designated rights 97, 98;
Counter-Reformation 144 structural analysis 10, 97–106;
Cranston, M. 22, 52 utility of designated rights 97, 98,
criteria 31, 110; critical approach 126, 99–100
127, 129, 130, 136 deconstructionist approach 10, 93, 125,
critical approach 10, 125–41, 164, 126, 131–40; to children’s rights
168; contribution to philosophy of 137–40; value for philosophy of
education 136–7; critical education 137
dogmatism 127, 134–5; deduction, rejected as grounding 129,
deconstruction 131–5; 131
deconstructive approach to deep-structures 10, 89, 93–106
children’s rights 137–40; democracy 19, 23, 26, 50–1; education
transcendental critique 127–31, for 18
134–5; of Western philosophy democratic rights 111–12, 116
125–6 DePaul, M.R. 41
critical dogmatism 126, 127, 129, 130, dependence principle in liberal views of
131, 134, 135, 136–7 children’s rights 81–2, 83, 84
critical rationalism 126 Derrida, Jacques 93, 131–5, 137, 140
critical theory 126, 162; in philosophy Descartes, René 2–3, 14, 57, 152
of education see critical approach developmentalist theory 17, 26
Crittenden, B. 24, 83, 84 Dewey, John 7, 161
Crittenden, J. 84 dialectical method 2, 57
cultural educational approach 11, didactics 62, 64, 96–7
160–73; environmental education différance (Derrida) 132–4, 135
160–1, 167, 168–72; relationship dignity of praxis (Schleiermacher) 167
between theory and history of Dilthey, Wilhelm 6–7, 145
education 160, 161–5; relation Discours de la Méthode (Descartes) 3,
between theory and practice of 152
education 160, 162, 164, 165–8 discourse analysis 94, 105, 106, 113;
cultural pluralism 27 children’s rights to decide 10,
cultural relativism 10, 109, 119–21 115–18
cultural rights 67–8, 97, 98, 101, 102 discourses 89, 90–1, 94, 112–13, 114
cultural transmission 160, 164, 169 diversity liberalism 79, 84, 85
culture: analytical philosophy’s Doek, J.E. 115, 116, 117
attention to 18; constructivism and dogmatism 63, 64
justification 10, 118–21; as content duty, duties: of children to parents 49,
of education 160, 164, 165–8; as 51-2, 153; negative 40; of parent as
context of education 160, 161–5; guarantor of children’s rights 97, 98,
influence on foundational 103; of parent in medical decision
presuppositions 76; see also Bildung making 120; positive 40;
 Index 179
relationship to rights 21, 22, 47, ethical approach 30–42; description
158; see also obligation and rescription procedures 36–9;
Dworkin, R. 79 justifying conceptions 9, 30, 31–6
ethical conceptions, distinguished from
early learning concepts 90 concepts 36–7
education: aims 27; concept 37; ethical epistemology 31
definition 136; policy 20; politics ethical principles 34–6, 37, 38, 40
60, 62; problems 8; sociology of 19, ethics 15, 17–18, 166; see also morality
20; see also history of education; everyday experiences 11, 88
learning; right to education; evidence, in analytical philosophy 17
teaching Ewald, F. 132
educational practice 9, 60, 62–3, 65; exploitation of children 39, 46, 49; see
hermeneutics and children’s rights also non-exploitation principle
147; relationship to theory of
education 160, 162, 164, 165–8 fallible foundationalism (Lehrer) 110
educational reform movement 153 family 25–6, 70n9, 139
educational research: contribution of fascism 100
analytical philosophy 19–20; feasibility test 36, 41
structural method 88–92, 95–7 feelings 22
educational theory: reason and rights Feinberg, J. 23, 47, 53
153–4, 157; relationship to history Feyerabend, P. 119
of education 160, 161–5; Fichte, J.G. 153
relationship to practice of education Finkelhor, D. 35, 40
160, 162, 164, 165–8; Fischer, W. 61, 62, 63, 64
transcendental-critical-sceptical Flanagan, O. 36
approach 64; see also philosophical Fleisher Feldman, C. 112, 113
methods Foucault, M. 93
educators, rights and duties of 20, foundational analysis 10, 75–6, 111,
77–85 120
Ehrenspeck, Y. 10, 91, 93 foundational approach 10, 31–3,
Elgin, C.Z. 32, 121 73–85; to children’s rights 77–85;
Elliott, J. 20 foundational research 75–7;
emancipation 162; criterion of foundations 73–5
evaluation for education 136; right foundational critique 10, 76–7, 83–5,
to education for 165, 168–72 118–21
Émile (Rousseau) 157 foundational-ontological turn in
emotions 17 hermeneutics 144
empirical research/method see scientific foundational presuppositions 73–6
method foundationalism 109–10; fallible
empiricism 3, 109, 110 foundationalism (Lehrer) 110 (see also
Ennew, Judith 139 antifoundationalist approach)
environment, development of respect foundations 10, 73–5; constructivist
for 101, 103 antifoundationalist approach
environmental education 11, 160–1, 109–13, 121; critical approach 127,
167, 168–72 129, 130; ethical 31–3
environmental movement 148, 149, foundations research: constructivist
150 perspective on critique 109, 111–18;
epistemological privilege 110–11, 113, steps in 75–7 (see also foundational
118, 119, 121 analysis, foundational critique,
epistemology 15 justification)
equality 19, 79; children’s sexual rights Frankfurt School 126
40; of opportunity 18, 97, 98, 100, Franklin, B. 139
102 freedom: of choice 82, 83; of conscience
Erasmus, Desiderius 161 68, 84–5; of religion 68, 79, 80, 83
180 Index
freedom rights 48–50, 51, 54, 68–9, Hemrica, J. 115
79–80 Herbart, J.F. 161, 162, 165, 166
Freeman, M.D.A. 112 Hermans, H.E.G.M. 115, 117
Freud, Sigmund 20, 92, 131 hermeneutics 5, 7, 11, 62, 74, 105,
Fried, Charles 25, 82 106, 144–59, 163; debates in
Fröbel, 161 144–8; functions of children’s rights
Funke, G. 61 in education 156–9; historical
context of children’s rights
Gadamer, Hans-Georg 7, 16, 74, 144, movement 148–50; historicity and
145, 147 rationality 150–4; practical truth
Gallagher, S. 7 154–9
Galston, W.A. 79, 85 Heyting, G.F . 2, 112, 115
Garat, Jean 150–1, 152 Hill, D. 135
Gardner, P. 26 Hirst, P.H. 20, 83
Gasché, R. 133 historical context, hermeneutic
Geach, Peter 14 approach 146–54
Geisteswissenschaften tradition 7, 161, history 20; of discourses 89; orientation
163, 165, 167–8 in critical tradition 126
genetic-structural analysis 93–5 history of education 19; relationship to
genital mutilation 39, 40 theory of education 160, 161–5
Gert, B. 153 Hobbes, Thomas 46, 49, 51, 53, 153
Giddens, Anthony 20 Holder, A.R. 115
gifts, definition 89 Holt, J. 52
Ginzburg, J. 112, 113 homosexuality 40
Glasersfeld, E. von 109 Houston, B. 22
good, definition 30–1 human agency 18
good life: children’s rights and human dignity, right to 101, 102
definition of education 25–6; liberal human sciences, philosophy of 18
views 78–85 passim; utility of humanism 144
children’s rights to 98, 105 Humboldt, William, Freiherr von 162
good sex, right not to be impeded in Hume, David 3, 6, 63
developing 40–1 Husserl, Edmund 144, 147
Goodman, Nelson 108, 109, 112, 113 hypothetical-regressive procedure
Graham, S. 109 (Funke) 61
Griffin, J. 32
guilt 18 ideal community of communication
Gutmann, Amy 25, 83 129, 130, 135
ideologies 64; structural method 89,
Habermas, Jürgen 7, 66, 153, 162 90, 91
Hacker, P.M.S. 13, 14, 16 Illich, I. 52, 170
Hacking, I. 8 images, as foundations 74
Hamilton, D. 164 imagination 17
happiness 70n9 Imelman, J.D. 163, 164, 167
Harris, J. 24, 25 incest 39, 92
Harris, K.R. 109 independence principle, liberal views of
Harrison, R. 23 children’s rights 83, 84
Hart, H.L.A. 22, 24 initial ethical judgements 33–6, 37, 39
Haydon, G. 24 initially tenable beliefs 32-3
health education 171 instruction, structural approach 96–7
Hegel, G.W.F. 126, 128, 156 intentio (di)recta 60
Hegelian moralists 48 intentio obliqua 60
Heidegger, Martin 7, 16, 131, 144, interests: children’s 24, 26, 53; social
145 and professional 49; UN declarations
Helmer, K. 66 on children’s rights 97, 98, 99, 100
 Index 181
International Pact on Civil and Political language domains 112-13, 115,
Rights (1966) 70n8 117–18, 120; social systems as 114
interpretation 5, 7, 11; see also Lankshear, C. 24
hermeneutics Larmore, Ch. 84, 85
invariant foundations 75–6 Latour, B. 109
invariant structures 93–4 law 9, 15, 27, 46, 69, 105;
IQ 20 hermeneutics 144; philosophy of 15,
Ives, R. 40, 41 40, 41, 153
learning 17; structuralist approach
Jenkner, S. 97, 101 95–7
Johnston, D. 79 legal domain 117–18
justice/injustice 22; deconstruction as legal rights 46–7, 48, 67
demonstration of 133–4, 137–40 Lehrer, K. 110
justification 3, 5, 6, 8, 9; analytical Leibniz, G.F. von 3
approach 44, 46, 48–53, 55; Lenzen, Dieter 10, 89, 90, 91, 92, 95
constructivist antifoundationalist Letters on Education (Locke) 157
approach 109–12, 118, 119, 121; Lévi-Strauss, Claude 91, 93, 107n1
ethical approach 30, 31–6, 37; Levinas, E. 140
foundational approach 77, 83–5 liberal culture 18
liberal democracy 23, 27, 50
Kafka, Franz 145–6 liberal views on education 10, 15,
Kant, Immanuel 6–7, 35, 41, 47, 59, 77–85; common ground between
61, 63, 64, 66, 68, 75, 126, 128, different types 78–80; foundational
130, 140, 155 critique and justification 83–5;
Kekes, J. 79, 84 liberal education view 78, 82–3,
Kenny, Anthony 15 84; standard liberal view 78, 80–2,
Kent, G. 49 84
Keulartz, J. 7 liberalism 15, 17; see also liberal views
Kleinig, J. 24, 49 liberation see emancipation
Knorr-Cetina, K. 109 liberty 15, 18, 27, 41; see also freedom
knowledge: analytical philosophy 17, liberty rights see freedom rights
19; ascertaining by philosophical life-long learning 90
methods 1–2, 5–7, 8; constructivist linguistic analysis see analytical
antifoundationalist approach approach
108–12; critical approach 125–6, linguistic theory 112
127–8, 162; cultural educational Locke, John 49, 157
perspective on acquisition of 169, love 22, 69
170, 171, 172; scientific 2, 88; Luhmann, N. 114, 117
sociology of 109; transcendental- Lyotard, J.F. 118–19
critical approach 62, 64
König, E. 166 MacIntyre, Alasdair 18, 48
Kootcher, G.P. 115 MacNabb, D.G.C. 3
Krill, F. 49 Makkreel, R.A. 7
Kymlicka, W. 22, 79, 84, 85 Margolis, J. 112, 113, 114, 118, 119,
121
‘land of youth’ (Dasberg) 169 Marx, Karl 126, 148
Langeveld, M.J. 136, 161 Marxist philosophy 16
Langewand, Alfred 11 Masschelein, J. 136
language: analytical philosophy 14, material analysis, foundations research
16–17; children’s rights 67, 101, 75, 76
102; deconstruction 132, 134; Matthews, G. 2
invariant foundations 75; McCabe, M.A. 115, 116, 117
transcendental pragmatics 128–30, McLaren, P. 136
134 McLaughlin, T.H. 26, 77, 82
182 Index
medical decision making, child’s right negative rights: analytical approach 47,
to 10, 115–18, 120 49–50, 51; ethical approach to
medical domain 117–18, 120 sexual rights 40–1; right not to be
Meijer, Wilna A.J. 11, 163, 164, 166, formed into mould 25, 26; right not
167 to be harmed 20, 24
Merleau-Ponty, M. 16 Neill, A.S. 50
metaphors, as foundations 74 neo-Kantian approach 63
Metaphysics of Mind, The (Kenny) 15 neo-Stoicism 156
Meyer-Drawe, K. 63 Netherlands: educational research 161;
Miedaema, S. 164, 166 environmental education 168, 169;
Mill, J.S. 24 liberal views on education 80;
Milne, B. 139 participation of children in medical
mind 19; development of openness and decision making 115
independence 82; philosophy of Newtonian science 3, 6
14–15 Nicomachean Ethics (Aristotle) 152,
modernism 66 158
Mollenhauer, K. 136, 164 Nietzsche, F. 131
Montaigne, Michel de 63 non-exploitation principle 34, 41, 46,
Montessori, Maria 161 49
Moore, George Edward 3–4 Noordman, J. 161
moral community 53 normative educational theory 165, 166
moral education 18, 27, 42
moral intuitionism, classical 32 Oberman, M. 115, 116
moral realism 32 objectivist concept of child 155
moral rights 21–3, 46–53 obligation 9, 15, 18, 27, 52, 55; see also
moral rules 27, 46, 47 duty, duties
moral virtues 18 Oedipus myth 92, 93, 94
morality 9, 15, 18, 19, 27; hermeneutic Oelkers, J. 163, 166, 167
approach 154, 158; see also ethical O’Hear, A. 76
approach; ethics opinions, conflict of 63–4
Moser, P.K. 110, 118 ordinary language philosophy 16, 17;
motivation 19 see also analytical approach
Mühlmann, W.E. 67 Osler, A. 138
Muir, Edwin 145 Oxford school see analytical approach
Muir, Willa 145
Mulder, E. 2 paedophilia 9, 30, 34, 36
Müller, W. 62 parents: child’s duty to and respect for
Münchhausen trilemma 127, 129, 131 49, 51–2, 67, 101, 102, 153; duty
mutual consent principle 30, 34, 35, 41 to support child in medical decision
myths 89, 90, 91, 92, 93, 94 making 120; educational rights 20,
25–6, 68–9; guarantors of children’s
narrow reflective equilibrium 35, 36, rights 97, 98, 103; rights and duties
37, 41 51, 77–85
national differences in philosophy of participation: democratic 111; and
education 2 environmental education 168–72;
national values 67, 101, 102 right of participation in decision
nationality 27 making 10, 47, 50–1, 115–18, 120
Natorp, Paul 57 performance relations (Luhmann) 114
natural law 153, 157 performative consistency/contradiction
natural rights 158 129-30, 135, 136
natural sciences 2–3, 7, 8; see also personal autonomy see autonomy
scientific method personality, right of development 67,
nature 26 68, 70n9, 101, 102
Nazism 118 Pestalozzi, J.H. 161
 Index 183
Peters, Richard S. 5, 13, 17, 18, 37, 41, rationalism 109; hermeneutic
136 interpretative approach to children’s
Philosophical Investigations rights 11, 149–59
(Wittgenstein) 14 rationality: and children’s rights 49, 50,
philosophical methods 1–11, 57–8; 115, 116, 120, 154; motivation for
functions 1–2; methodism versus transcendental critique 130, 136; see
particularism 5–7; plurality 2–5 also rationalism; reason
philosophy: of human and social Rawls, J. 33, 34, 79, 84
sciences 18, 20; of law 15, 40, 41, Raz, J. 22
153; of mind 14–15; of politics 15, reality 2, 8; constructivism and 108;
18, 20, 50 foundations and 74; structural
Piaget, Jean 20, 91, 108 approach 89
Plato 2, 25, 26, 55, 57, 63, 69, 125–6, reason 6–7, 126; hermeneutics 148–59;
131, 161 problematic employment of Reason
play, right to 97, 98, 102 in philosophy of Bildung and
pluralism 2-5; cultural 27 education 57–69; see also
political liberalism 10 rationalism; rationality
political philosophy 15, 18, 20, 50 recreation, right to 97, 98, 102
politics, educational 60, 62 reflection, hermeneutics 144, 147, 155,
Popkin, R.H. 2–3 156, 159, 167, 170
Popper, Karl 61, 110, 126, 130 reflective equilibrium 33–42; applied
positive rights: analytical approach 47, to children’s sexual rights 39–41;
48-9, 50, 51; ethical approach to four major steps 33–6
sexual rights 40–1 reflexive grounding process (Apel)
Post, J.F. 109 129–30
post-modernism 5, 135, 150 reflexive paradox 128, 131
post-structuralism 93, 94, 135 reflexivity: constructivist
power relations 54 antifoundationalist approach to
pre-judgements, hermeneutics as education and society 114, 115, 116;
analysis of 144, 148, 150–4 structural method in educational
prejudice, structures of (Gadamer) 74 science 88–92, 106
prejudices 89, 91 Reformation 144
presence, metaphysics of 131–2 relative presuppositions 73
Preston, J. 119 religious beliefs 64
presuppositions: constructivist religious education 20
antifoundationalist approach religious tradition: definition of talent
111–12, 113, 120; foundational 89–90; hermeneutics 144, 152–4;
approach 73–6, 77–85; justifying conceptions in reflective
hermeneutics as analysis of 148, equilibrium 31, 38
150–4; philosophy of Bildung and Renaissance 68
education 60–3, 66, 67 rescriptive analysis 38–9, 76
privacy invasion, negative rights 49 responsible involvement: right to
private education 82-3 education for 165, 168–72; UN
profound structures see deep-structures declarations on children’s rights 97,
Protagoras (Plato) 63 98, 101, 102
psychology 20, 41, 166; of education Rickman, H.P. 6
19, 20; of knowledge 108–9 right to education: analytical perspective
punishment 18, 49 20, 24, 25–6, 27, 45, 48; cultural
educational approach to right to
qualitative research 164 education for emancipation 165,
quantitative research 163–4 168–72; liberal views on right to
Quine, W.V.O. 5, 8, 16, 121 education for autonomy 77–85; UN
declarations 67, 97, 98, 100–1, 102
Rang, A. 163 rights 67, 153; analytical philosophy 9,
184 Index
15, 20–3, 27, 45–8; of others 47, signification, movement of 132
49, 51, 158; see also children’s rights; signs 90
natural rights; negative rights; Sinnott-Armstrong, W. 32
positive rights; right to education Skinner, B.F. 20
rights movements 148–50 Snik, G.L.M. 10, 76, 77
risk, and decision making 117–18, 120 Snook, I. 24
Ritchie, D.G. 47 Soble, A. 39
role-related rights 47, 49, 51–2 social sciences see philosophy, of human
Romanticism 153, 155, 156, 157 and social sciences; sociology
Rorty, Richard 8, 108, 109, 110, social systems theory 114
118–19, 120, 121, 126 socialisation 60, 68, 89, 91
Roscam Abbing, H.D.C. 117, 118 society: influence on foundational
Röttgers, K. 126 presuppositions 76; rights and
Rousseau, J.J. 49, 67, 69, 153, 154, duties in UN declarations on
157, 159, 161 children’s rights 97, 98, 99–100,
Ruhloff, Jörg 9–10, 62, 63, 65, 66, 76 103–6
rules, systems of 74–5 sociology 20, 162; of education 19, 20;
Russell, Bertrand 14, 16, 17 of knowledge 109
Ryle, Gilbert 14, 17 Socrates 55, 61, 63, 64, 125
Soltis, J.F. 35
Sachs, C.J.R. 46 Sosa, E. 6
Sandel, M. 48 space, as invariant foundation 75
Sandel, M.J. 48, 79 special rights 47, 51–2
Saussure, Ferdinand de 132 Spiecker, Ben 9, 34, 35, 39, 41, 161
Sayre-McCord, G. 31, 32 Spranger, Edouard 145
Scarre, G. 24 Stalnaker, R.C. 112
sceptical-antithetical approach 64 Starkey, H. 138
sceptical approach 2, 10, 58, 63 state: duty to promote rights of the
Scheffler, I. 136 child 97, 98, 101; and education 20,
Scherer, D.G. 115, 117 25–6, 27, 69; justification for
Schirlbauer, A. 62 intervention in family education
Schleiermacher, Friedrich 7, 162, 165, 111, 113, 116; liberal views on right
167 to education for autonomy 77–85
Schrag, F. 24, 25 Stellwag, H.W.F. 161
scientific knowledge 2, 88 Steutel, Jan 9, 34, 35, 36, 37, 39, 41,
scientific method 3–4, 7, 57–8, 62, 42, 76
110, 163; relationship of structural Strauss, W. 76
method to 88, 89, 90, 91 Strawson, Peter 14
Searle, John 121 street children, rights 139–40
self 18 Strike, K. 35
self-creation see autochthony structural approach 10, 88–107;
self-knowledge 15 analysis of UN declarations on
self-love 68, 154 children’s rights 97–106; central
Sense 59 concepts 92–5; structural method as
Sextus Empiricus 2 part of reflexive educational science
sexual abuse, negative rights 40, 41 88–92; structural method in
sexual education 9, 20, 62 educational research 95–7
sexual preference 40–1 structuralism 91, 92, 132
sexual rights of child 9, 30, 39–41 structures of prejudice (Gadamer) 74
Shakespeare, William 146 student movement 148
shame 18 substantive ethics 31
Sher, G. 32, 35 surface-structures 93, 94–7, 98–9
Siegel, H. 41, 136, 137 symbols 89, 90, 93
Siegel, Harvey 136, 137 systems theory 62, 92, 114
 Index 185
tacit consent concept 51 utilitarian argument about rights 46,
tact, relationship between educational 47
theory and practice 166
talents: child’s right to development validity, foundational critique 75, 76
97, 98, 101, 102; definition 89 values education 78, 82
Taylor, Charles 18 Van der Meer, Q. 161
teaching 62, 64, 96–7 Van der Velde, I. 161
Tenorth, H.-E. 163 Van Haaften, Wouter 10, 76, 77
time: adult perception of as prerequisite vanity 154
for decision making 115; as variable structures 94–5
invariant foundation 75 variant foundations 75–6
tolerance 30, 82 Vienna CSCE Meeting Final Document
totalitarianism, of UN declarations on (1989) 70n8
children’s rights 100, 104 virtue(s) 18, 27, 30, 36, 154
Tractatus Logicus-Philosophicus virtue approach 42
(Wittgenstein) 14, 17 Vloemans, A. 161
transactional rights 47, 49, 51–2 Vogel, Peter 62
transcendental-critical approach 61–3,
76 Waldorf-Pedagogic 88
transcendental-critical-sceptical Waldron, J. 22
approach 59–69; to children’s rights Walton, D. 121
67–9 Walzer, M. 79
transcendental critique 126, 127–31, welfare 15, 27
134–5, 136–7 welfare rights 22, 23, 24, 25, 48, 49,
transcendental method 61 52–3
transcendental philosophy 109 well-being 18, 19, 27, 52, 69
transcendental pragmatics (Apel) 75, White, J.P. 9, 19, 44, 45, 53, 78, 82,
128–9 83
trust 22 White, John 9, 19, 44, 45, 53
truth 17, 148; ascertaining by White, Patricia 9, 44, 45, 53
philosophical methods 1, 3, 4, 5, 8; wide reflective equilibrium 35, 36, 38,
coherence theory 122n1 41, 42
Truth and Method (Gadamer) 145 Wilkinson, John 1
typing 38–9, 40 Williams, B. 3, 16, 18, 36
Williams, Bernard 16, 18, 36
understanding: as method 145–7 (see Wimmer, M. 136
also hermeneutics); Understanding Winch, Peter 14
distinguished from Reason 59 Wittgenstein, Ludwig 3–4, 13, 14, 16,
United Nations declarations see 17
Convention on the Rights of the Wolff, J. 22
Child (1989); Declaration of the women’s movement 148, 149, 150
Rights of the Child (1959) Woolgar, S. 109
universality: of children’s rights, critical Woudenberg, R. van 128, 130
approach 138–40; of reason, protest Wright Clayton, E. 116, 117, 118
movements against 150 Wringe, Colin 9, 24, 44, 48, 53
University of London Institute of
Education 13 Zedler, P. 166